This afternoon I put on my shorts and a poly running shirt, lowered a ladder into the dark abyss one of my six, 12′-tall, 5200-gallon water tanks and climbed in. I also brought in a hose and a scrub brush on a long stick.

I’ll tell you about it in more detail, but note that my primary purpose here is to describe yet another way in which the country life is pushing me toward the city.

When I turn on the kitchen faucet or a garden hose, the water that most of you take for granted got there through a long and complicated process. The kitchen tap starts as creek water pumped into the the two left-most tanks (they’re numbered “Tank 1” and “Tank 2”) during the winter when the creek is flushed out and running clear. Then I chlorinate the life out of it and gravity feed┬áit from the tanks to the house and shower. Since the tank lids are vented, the chlorine volatizes and is not so bad by the time it reaches the tap. I need to install a countertop filter or whole-house filter at some point, but no one has gotten sick yet.

My wall of water tanks.

Tanks 1 through 4. I was down inside Tank 3