RSKY
Veteran Member
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2003
- Messages
- 2,475
- Tractor
- Kioti CK20S
This happened years ago but I thought you might find it interesting.
When I was a kid we got our water from a well. This was one of the old types dug with a big dumping auger and lined with concrete tiles about a yard in diameter. The top tile and a half stuck up about four feet above ground and had a very heavy concrete cover on it. We had a submersible electric pump which fed into a tank in the unfinished basement. The tank was right next to the washing machine. Standard set up. Dad worked at a coal fired power plant and when they took down a boiler unit for maintenance he got plenty dirty. So my mother bought a second hand washing machine for $25 to wash Dad’s work clothes in. She didn’t want to get all that coal dust on our good clothes.
Well, one Saturday morning Mon started a load of work clothes in the old washer (looks good, sure fills up fast, wonder why they wanted to sell it so cheap) and they left the house to drive about forty miles to another town for some purpose or another. Eight hours later they returned home. When they pulled into the carport Dad was driving and on the side towards the well. Mom was facing it when she looked at him. As was related later the conversation went something like this.
Mom, “Where is the well?”
Dad, “What well?”
Mom, “Our well?”
Dad, looking at her strangely, “In the back yard, where it has always been.”
Mom, “No it’s not.”
Dad, “What do you mean? A well can’t move by itself.”
Mom, “The well is gone.”
Dad, “Are you okay? A well can't move.”
Mom, getting irritated, “Would you just look, the well is gone.”
Dad, refusing to look, “Is this a joke?”
It may not have been exactly in those words but my mother was laughing about it yesterday and Dad has been dead for more than twenty years.
Mom finally used some bad language and since that was something she never did Dad slowly turned to look in the direction of the well. He cut his eyes at Mom while doing so expecting to get punched or pinched or something when he took his eyes off her. Sure enough the well was gone!
They got out of the car and walked the sixty feet or so to where the well had been. As they neared it they heard a peculiar whistling noise. The concrete cover was about two feet below ground level and the whistling was coming from it. Next they went into the basement through the large double doors on the carport.
Actually I believe they just opened the doors and stood there for a long time.
The ‘looked like new’ old washing machine had hung in the rinse cycle, and it had rinsed, and rinsed, and rinsed. Enough water had been pumped out of the well that it started to pull a little very fine clay into the pump. Same fine clay was deposited in the tank, went through the lines, and into the washing machine. Still more clay was pumped and the bottom tile settled an inch or two, then a foot or two, them about five feet. All that clay had to go somewhere and it filled the washer up started spilling out the top, and plugged the basements floor drain. Still more clay was pumped.
Dad finally waded through the mound of clay to pull the fuse on the pump. The washer was full and you could walk up to the top of it on the clay. It completely covered the washer except for the control panel on back and spread out in a gentle slope to about twelve feet away.
I have never seen such a mess.
The clay was as fine as talcum powder when dry. When wet it fflowed like water. When merely damp it had the consistency of play dough. We shoveled it into a well barrow, rolled it up a board ramp and dumped it in the pickup. Drove to a gully and shoveled it out.
Clean up took two days, had no water to wash out the concrete floored basement. Actually we had no water to drink since the well, pump, and tank were all ruined. As were both the washers, the dryer, and the water heater. Had to have a new well dug and all new equipment installed. For about ten years afterwards we all stayed away from the old well because the ground would cave in around it a couple of feet every now and then. Dad would shovel dirt to fill it up.
Can’t think of a good moral for this story, just thought it might kill some time for you.
When I was a kid we got our water from a well. This was one of the old types dug with a big dumping auger and lined with concrete tiles about a yard in diameter. The top tile and a half stuck up about four feet above ground and had a very heavy concrete cover on it. We had a submersible electric pump which fed into a tank in the unfinished basement. The tank was right next to the washing machine. Standard set up. Dad worked at a coal fired power plant and when they took down a boiler unit for maintenance he got plenty dirty. So my mother bought a second hand washing machine for $25 to wash Dad’s work clothes in. She didn’t want to get all that coal dust on our good clothes.
Well, one Saturday morning Mon started a load of work clothes in the old washer (looks good, sure fills up fast, wonder why they wanted to sell it so cheap) and they left the house to drive about forty miles to another town for some purpose or another. Eight hours later they returned home. When they pulled into the carport Dad was driving and on the side towards the well. Mom was facing it when she looked at him. As was related later the conversation went something like this.
Mom, “Where is the well?”
Dad, “What well?”
Mom, “Our well?”
Dad, looking at her strangely, “In the back yard, where it has always been.”
Mom, “No it’s not.”
Dad, “What do you mean? A well can’t move by itself.”
Mom, “The well is gone.”
Dad, “Are you okay? A well can't move.”
Mom, getting irritated, “Would you just look, the well is gone.”
Dad, refusing to look, “Is this a joke?”
It may not have been exactly in those words but my mother was laughing about it yesterday and Dad has been dead for more than twenty years.
Mom finally used some bad language and since that was something she never did Dad slowly turned to look in the direction of the well. He cut his eyes at Mom while doing so expecting to get punched or pinched or something when he took his eyes off her. Sure enough the well was gone!
They got out of the car and walked the sixty feet or so to where the well had been. As they neared it they heard a peculiar whistling noise. The concrete cover was about two feet below ground level and the whistling was coming from it. Next they went into the basement through the large double doors on the carport.
Actually I believe they just opened the doors and stood there for a long time.
The ‘looked like new’ old washing machine had hung in the rinse cycle, and it had rinsed, and rinsed, and rinsed. Enough water had been pumped out of the well that it started to pull a little very fine clay into the pump. Same fine clay was deposited in the tank, went through the lines, and into the washing machine. Still more clay was pumped and the bottom tile settled an inch or two, then a foot or two, them about five feet. All that clay had to go somewhere and it filled the washer up started spilling out the top, and plugged the basements floor drain. Still more clay was pumped.
Dad finally waded through the mound of clay to pull the fuse on the pump. The washer was full and you could walk up to the top of it on the clay. It completely covered the washer except for the control panel on back and spread out in a gentle slope to about twelve feet away.
I have never seen such a mess.
The clay was as fine as talcum powder when dry. When wet it fflowed like water. When merely damp it had the consistency of play dough. We shoveled it into a well barrow, rolled it up a board ramp and dumped it in the pickup. Drove to a gully and shoveled it out.
Clean up took two days, had no water to wash out the concrete floored basement. Actually we had no water to drink since the well, pump, and tank were all ruined. As were both the washers, the dryer, and the water heater. Had to have a new well dug and all new equipment installed. For about ten years afterwards we all stayed away from the old well because the ground would cave in around it a couple of feet every now and then. Dad would shovel dirt to fill it up.
Can’t think of a good moral for this story, just thought it might kill some time for you.
