I read a story recently about Tuolumne County (California) being at risk of running out of drinking water.
I’m often thankful for where I live when I read these sorts of stories. This area of northern Wisconsin is blanketed with lakes. There’s one out my back door and another across the road. But I don’t live in town. I have no city services. My water comes from a 175-foot-deep well in my yard. No water bill, but no help when things go wrong either.
My water went out in late March. I poured a glass of water in the kitchen late one Saturday afternoon, and when I came back and lifted the faucet handle a minute later, a light stream drained out and trickled to a stop.
Dread filled me as I watched the last drop of water cling briefly to the spout. I’d narrowly avoided a frozen line on this sink bursting earlier in the winter, so my first thought was that a pipe must have frozen somewhere. It’s Wisconsin, after all. But both hot and cold were dry in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom, where the shower and sink delivered more disappointment.
I checked the basement, the line coming into the house. Everything was dry.
I have an aboveground well pump outside in a small protected structure, so I threw on a jacket and some boots and ran outside to check on it. I’m not a plumber, but I quickly deduced that nothing was frozen. At that point I called a friend, also not a plumber, but the director of a nearby public works department and the guy I call when I have a water question.
After a little discussion, a few random asides and an update on the basement he’s remodeling, he told me to check the breakers. So back inside I went, down to the basement. I was pleased to find the breakers clearly labeled; I flipped them off, flipped them back on, checked the water. Nothing. I flipped the breakers again, checked the water again, and went back outside. The pump’s silence was noticeable.
At that point I knew there was nothing else I could do, and I was at least pretty sure there was nothing frozen that could cause more problems. So I gave it a little thought and then called a well-drilling company I’ve had do some other work in the past. I didn’t think the situation warranted a call to the emergency line — I had plenty of water to get through a day and a half — so I left a message and asked them to call me back when they were in the office.
We talked first thing Monday morning and a couple of guys were here an hour later. As it turned out, my fears of a major problem and many thousands of dollars draining into the repairs were unwarranted. It turned out to be just a bad pressure switch. Forty-five minutes and a couple hundred bucks later, the taps were flowing.
It’s one thing to take a camping trip or stay at a cabin without running water for a few days. It’s a whole other thing when your home, your safety zone, has no water.
I’m on a private well. The problem here only affects me, and I can usually make do. But your wells serve hundreds, thousands, even millions. Keeping your systems in constant operation is critical.
The profile on Medicine Hat, Alberta, in this issue is about building resilience in infrastructure. Resilience is a powerful thing. It’s what keeps water flowing. It’s what gets you through when it isn’t flowing. And in my case, in some small part at least, it’s why I didn’t need to make the call for emergency weekend service. I had water stored.
Aging infrastructure, insufficient budgets and even a lack of rain can provide added challenges to building system resilience. You can’t make it rain, but you can keep an eye on the future, focus on efficiency, prioritize projects by criticality and keep doing what you’re doing to keep your communities safe.
Enjoy this month’s issue.
