Water, Water Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

I haven't written in a bit too long -- darn, that unicycle elbow -- but even if I have to peck this one out with the index finger of my right hand, this one is just too rural to wait until my tendinitis has fully abated. This is a blog, after all, about moving to New Paltz and about what surprises await those who make that move.

The economy may be tanking, but my mom managed to secure the last loan from some bank just before it went under. I imagine some huge, dying dragon getting out the word "approved" just before snorting its last fiery breath. Cash in hand, she paid off a few big debts of her own and lent me enough to fix up our cottage. The previous owners had canabilized the water and gas pipes when they built the newer house a few years ago. Since they were landscapers, this trick saved them a few thousand dollars but ended up costing us more than we could float on our own, and since that time, we've used the cottage as storage and as a place to set up Fiona's drum set. It's been home to spiders, insects, and a few snakes, but now, after nearly two years of dormancy, the old house is about to come back to life.

We hired a couple of really good local men to install the pipes and give the cottage a kitchen once again, and they began work this past week. Yesterday we got a big surprise when Shirra flushed the toilet and discovered that the water looked worse afterwards. It was pure grey, the color of a liquid hairball. Even our Britta filter didn't make an improvement. Running the sink for a few minutes didn't help things, either, and Shirra's trip to the basement didn't lead to any answers. When we checked with the men, we learned that one of them had accidentally put an ax thru a pipe. I'm not sure what had contaminated our well water for a day, but it's all better now. The Dow Jones may have fallen back into the 8000s, but we can drink our own water once again. Phew.