So, Tim met us this morning to see if he could locate of supply of underground water which we might tap. Picture a summertime Santa: bald head, big white beard, jolly disposition who drove up in this:. Larry fell in love, immediate and deep. And look at that bed on the back for hauling blackberry canes, downed oak branches, water, thistle spray.
Oh, man. We would have to park it up the hill somewhere, out of sight, until we build a garage. Cover it with a tarp? This is one sweet tool toy that puts our weed whacker, I mean brush cutter, in deep shadow. Just wait until we get home from France! But, what about the water? In fact, Tim says he has located several sources, and has marked them with fiberglass stakes, festooned with gaudy blue and pink ribbon.
All the way home, we are optimistic, happy. The property was beautiful in the cool of early fall, the trees a tapestry of color as they turn according to their own inner timing. The grass by the creek is greening, the birds gone mad with the harvest of acorns and spent berries. Lost in our own dreams. Of course, we have to call Joe, he has to drill the well, the water actually has to be there.
And first, we leave for France tomorrow. And the rain? Still not sure if these city people even know what an elk may be, other than something they might have seen on some NPR wildlife special. Yes, that Shirley.
Luckily, nothing going Mondays, so we were free to go. The news from the old well, as per the nitrates, had been bad. Like, five thousand dollars bad, if we still want to use that source for our water.
