FOR THE past few months, many of my waking moments have been devoted to intense thought about water. It may be mundane to you, but to me it's the flowing, cleansing, thirst-quenching, life-giving, property value-preserving nectar of the gods.
Think of the everyday thrill provided by just the sound of water. The rush of water into the sink. The hissing spray of a hot shower. The liquid satisfaction of a good, healthy flush.
At my house, we've been missing these sounds. The drought has taken its toll; our well has been failing. It's supposed to yield at least one gallon per minute; we're getting less than a quart. Often we have no water at all.
We can wait for rain -- lots of it -- or dig a new well.
After weeks of showering at work, bumming water from neighbors and hoping for a nice monsoon, we've opted for the new well. We pay the deposit, putting ourselves on the well driller's long waiting list, and then succumb to frequent bouts of water anxiety. The cost is bad enough -- $8 dollars a foot, with 500-foot wells common. Then there are dry holes.
You hear stories about people who never hit water after eight or 10 tries. Their houses are worth about the same as our stock portfolio, where another kind of drought has had similar effects. Everything seems to be evaporating.
Then, finally, after months of waiting, it happens. A huge well-drilling rig arrives in our front yard. It looks like something out of War of the Worlds. A gigantic, heavy beast of a machine, capable of piercing the earth through sheer rock for 1,000 feet or more. Where to drill? I have decided that my wife, Fran, should have the honor of choosing the spot. She has powers I cannot explain.
The next day they drill. I'm at work, filling milk jugs with water, out of habit. I get a call. It's Debby, from the well driller's office. She has the results. My heart is pounding, my hands sweat, the jug is dripping on my feet.
"Mr. George," she says, "we hit water at 400 feet. Eight and a half gallons a minute."
Eight and a half gallons! I'm in ecstasy. In my mind I see fountains, waterfalls, my own water theme park.
Quickly, I put these thoughts aside. It's not right. Our personal drought may be over, but it still afflicts others.
Nevertheless, we look forward to the sublime luxury of flushing every time.
Today's writer
Dick George is a public relations executive who writes frequent commentaries for radio. He is a former head writer at Maryland Public Television, for which he created and produced the local comedy series Crabs. He lives in Baldwin.
Metro Journal provides a forum for examining issues and events in the state and welcomes contributions from readers.