When people hear that I spent a chunk of my childhood without plumbing, they’ll often say “But you had a well, right?”
Well, no.
There was a pump but the water wasn’t potable. We washed dishes with it and ourselves but for drinking water, we went to the creek.
I dreamed of a well out back and we’d turn a crank and send a bucket down, then bring it back up filled with water. Then it would just be a few quick steps back to the house.
The creek required crossing the front yard, going down the steps to the road, circling down the road into the little opening in the trees and up a little ways to a place you could get some depth. To a small person, it felt like an epic journey – especially once the bucket was full.
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