Water from decades-old well is still swell

Grey, black, brown and white are the colors that I see today. Even the sky is grey and white. It is a still and silent Sunday morn. If I look to the west I get relief from the drabness in the two Colorado blue spruce that stand sentinel over my back patio. To the north some interest is provided by the red tones in the rocks that Tom Paisley chose to fit together for the base of my wishing well. The well was dug by hand and lined with stone somewhere in the years between 1923 and 1925. A man by the name of Leff Brendidge performed the feat. He lived across the alley from where Marie Greager now lives. Each time I look down the well it is difficult to imagine how such craftsmanship could be accomplished in such tight quarters. Another titillating thought is that this underground masterpiece has withstood the test of time. All the stones are perfectly placed, serving as an encasement for an underground reservoir. Each spring I toss a stone or a coin into the well in hopes of hearing a splash and spying a ripple. The results are usually positive save the four years of drought and grasshopper plague. Those years only brought a plink and a stillness. There was no life in the old well during those years. Apparently this well did not provide ample water to support the large Greager tribe and their livestock. On Aug. 1, in 1952, another well was drilled by the Johnson brothers. This well is in closer proximity to the house. This is the well that has served me well for nearly 18 years. I've had my water tested three times over the years and it comes clean every time. It is so good and tasty that up until last year Marie Greager would have her plastic jugs filled with my well water to enjoy at her home on Summit Street. She has since had a filtration system installed on her town supply of water. I am thankful that I own a home that sits above a sweet and pure source of water. Amen.
Last week on a cold day with a frigid breeze blowing, I was downtown doing errands. I covered all three blocks of our commercial district. Out of the car and into the businesses I went. Banking, mailing, purchasing birdseed, groceries, car wash. Geesh, I was happy to be home, storing seed and filling the pantry. I had removed the gloves, the boots, the hand knit wool socks, the hat, the scarf and the knee length knitted coat. My feet were clad in sheepskin slippers propped on the cherry wood footstool that I had made a quarter of a century ago. Between the wooden footrest and my feet sat a cushion covered in fabric that my friend Mona had woven on her loom that quarter of a century ago. Chores done, I began to relax and read as the sun sank behind the western horizon. Darn! I forgot to fill the suet feeders. Back on went all the cold weather clothing. The wire cages were filled and by the time I disrobed yet again and sat down again there were a flicker and a hairy woodpecker tapping their beaks at the blocks of suet and seeds. Watching their enjoyment was worth the effort.