Sand In Our Well Water

There are a few disadvantages to living on an island, the major ones being sewage disposal and availability of adequate fresh water. On small islands there is usually no central sewage system so every residence has its own septic system. On our island these range from ordinary single tank septic systems to sophisticated newer sand filter or mound systems, but because so much of the island's soil is hardpan these septic systems need vigilant upkeep or we risk polluting the sea around us. Our county is only now recognizing the need for regular inspections, having faced up to current pollution, and beginning next year we will all be required to have annual inspections.

As for water, there are hundreds of individual and community wells relying on the one island aquifer about which no one knows the capacity or how quickly it recharges. Even the island hydrologist doesn't know. One thing we do know is that our deeply forested topography is advantageous to the aquifer, and as the island is logged off most of the rainwater that would naturally recharge the aquifer runs off into the sea, taking topsoil with it and eventually causing land slides. We know also that the further south you go on the island the more salt water intrusion there is, and once you have salt water mixing with fresh water you're in trouble.

Our property had two sources of water now because, although we'd drilled our own well due to the time constraints relating to improvements the water association was required to make, we still belonged to the association and were entitled to connect to their water. We retained membership primarily because as members we were also entitled to beach rights on the beach front lot the association owned below us.

It wasn't too long after we moved in before we noticed sand in our water. We noticed it in the dishwasher, in the washing machine and in the toilet tanks eventually, where it collected to about 1/4". We called Sarah, our builder, who called the well driller. They came out and suggested we install a water filter, which we did. Then the filter started clogging up and we complained again. Oddly enough, we'd had the same problem with a new house we'd lived in in the Midwest, and the problem was finally solved by drilling the well deeper. Well drillers hate to admit they haven't gone deep enough, for it cuts into their profit. They can't charge extra after they've as much as guaranteed you a pure and adequate water supply for which you've already paid, but we put our collective feet down and they drilled down another 50 or so feet. This appeared to solve the problem, but to be honest, we still have small amounts of sand every once in awhile, but nothing like before. So it's good to know we have another supply of water if it eventually becomes necessary. And so far the community well has no salt water intrusion.

Is David Really Comfortable Here?

I am by nature an introvert and loner. First children frequently are, and for the first four years of my life I lived in an apartment building with just my parents, and because there wasn't an opportunity to play with other children I entertained myself. I never outgrew my introverted independence.

David, on the other hand, was the youngest of 3 children and was brought up in a neighborhood of numerous children. He's never been without the company of others. He is an extrovert, in need of others from whom he can bounce ideas and exchange views. Opposites DO attract, and David and I have been juggling our different needs throughout our life together.

I had foolishly thought that once we were ensconced in our beautiful house on our beautiful property with our beautiful view that's all he would need--besides me, of course. In retrospect, I don't know what I thought he'd do with his time. For 15 years or so he'd been playing golf 3 times a week. He had his own business that he ran out of our home, but he'd planned that so that his business never interfered with his golf.

I really didn't expect him to turn to me for his sole source of company. I knew both of us too well, and I knew having him around all the time, depending on me for conversation would soon drive me up the wall. A friend, who was familiar with my personality, had once given me a decorative pillow with a hanging ribbon attached that I could hang on the doorknob and shut the door to my office. On it was embroidered, "I vant to be alone." Supposedly a famous actress from the twenties, Greta Garbo, who spoke with a Swedish accent, had said this in a movie and it became an "in" thing to say.

I guess I thought he would just sort of putter around, take up painting again or do yard work to take up the slack. But of course he would never be able to tolerate this. He'd moved here to please me and I was grateful for it. But now he drove 120 miles, 3 times a week, to the golf course we had left and that he'd simply had to walk across the fairway in order to meet his friends. Still, I thought this wouldn't last. If he couldn't give up golf he could surely find a golf course closer. But what I failed to fully understand was that it wasn't really the golf course as much as it was the company he kept. If he couldn't play with convivial guys the golf wasn't worth the trouble.

We Really ARE In The Boonies

Picturesque, quiet and peaceful, away from the madness of the big city. These were the things we had looked for and found on this island we now called home. We slept with the windows open and throughout the night we could hear animal noises frequently in the woods around us: owls, cats and other small animals, large animals and sometimes screams that sounded like distress. We read in the local paper about coyotes and disappearing pets and saw the culprits often on the edge of the road and sometimes even in our driveway, peering at us warily. There were also reports in the newspaper of a cougar on the loose, but after a few months the reports ceased.

A mountain beaver regularly ran across the back yard while I was making dinner; a family of raccoons traipsed through, single file, looking for sunflower seeds the birds might have dropped from the feeder (and anything else they might scavenge); small, brown native squirrels, a separate specie from the European grey squirrels on the mainland, were never at a loss when it came to raiding squirrel-proof bird feeders; possums wore a path from our little garden house into the woods, looking for who knows what; salamanders lived in holes at the base of a Douglas Fir in our back yard; whales meandered by in the spring returning from wintering in Mexico; hummingbirds arrived in March and fed voraciously at my feeders until the early part of July. And of course, the deer. People who didn't have gardens were known to coax them into their yards, for they are graceful, non-threatening animals who remember profitable feeding stations and bring back their young the following year.

One day I came to a stop in the middle of the road on my way home from somewhere. A doe was attempting to cross the road with two newborns who were still wobbly on their feet. A couple in a car coming from the opposite direction had stopped too, and the man was on the road taking pictures. Since I didn't have my camera with me I just sat and watched. And hoped they would avoid becoming road kill like so many others.

There is an albino deer on the island--there'd been pictures in the paper, but it frequented another part of the island and we never saw it. People who did see it regularly fretted about hunters getting it during the season.

From the Interstate it was a 20 minute drive to our house, with no stop lights or stop signs. I never knew exactly, but it seemed as though only about half the homes here were occupied year round. Only 20 years ago it was far lower. There were 3 small markets on the island, 1 on the south end and 2 on the north end, but when you're accustomed to a supermarket you frequent the island markets only in emergencies. For everything else it was a 45 minute drive off the island. Well, I didn't mind. This was what I wanted. I just saved up my errands and went to "town" once a week.