Today’s MBOB is a monograph written by my late brother whose Naval career spanned from the Korean War into the 80s.
He relates memories of the water issues from dry prairie country which were triggered by a conversation he had with a fellow crew member from an aircraft squadron based in Jacksonville, FL in 1965. As is usually the case when I’m preparing MBOBs, initials only are used to reference those he mentions by name.
On April 20, 1965, while at 30,000′ traveling at 450 kts (520 MPH or 8.5 miles a minute), I had just turned the cameras off as we finished the last flight line in mapping the flooding Red and Pembina Rivers in North Dakota for the U. S. Geodetic Survey. As navigator, I gave the pilot the heading to take us to St. Paul International where we would spend the night.
The pilot, Commander P. C., Commanding Officer of VAP-62, a Douglas RA-3B long range navy photo reconnaissance and mapping aircraft squadron, 
operating out of Jacksonville, Florida, came to the new heading. Then, as he leveled off, he asked me, “Do you require your children to drink all of their water before they leave the table?”
We had also mapped the flooded Northern Tributaries of the Mississippi River in the previous days and we had seen a lot of water, but the skipper’s question left me a total blank. After a long pause I answered, “Yes, we do the same thing in our home. We drink all of our water before leaving the table.”
As we headed for St. Paul, he told me that he knew that I had grown up in drought-stricken Northeastern Montana in the thirties. He then told me that he had grown up about 100 miles southeast of us during that period in the same kind of environment north of Dickinson, North Dakota. That evening we compared notes, and talked of how water, or the lack thereof in our youth, had affected our lives.
My memories of water on Grandpa’s place where I was born were of the water in the dam. I remember the ripples made when we threw rocks into the water, and the frogs there in the water. My one job then, at five and six years old, was picking the eggs but when we moved up on the hill after Dad bought the J place in late 1934, it became my job to help bring water from the outside cistern into the kitchen for Mother. At first Dad or Mother helped, but within a couple of years that was my job and later D [a younger brother] was helping me do it. The cistern was located just north of the house and the water was pumped out by hand.
There was no electricity on the farm until 1948 or so, long after I had joined the Navy. The only well water on the farm came from a wind driven pump in a 350′ deep well down by the barn. It had a heavy soda content and was not fit to drink. The cattle drank it, but since the well produced only about a barrel a day, they got most of their water from the dam which was about 1/2 mile southwest of the home place.
The water that was in the cistern came from the one room school house well located 2 1/2 miles north of us. Dad hauled it from there in a 150 gallon tank in a wagon with a team o
f horses. He pumped the water by hand from the well into the tank. By 1938 [my brother would have been 11 years old in 1938] , I was driving the team and D was helping me pump the water from the well into the tank into the wagon. It took the two of us on the pump handle to do it. We’d drive the team home and dump the water in the cistern. Then, slowly but surely over the weeks, it would all be pumped back out of the cistern and carried into the kitchen for Mother.
After bringing water into the house it was stored in the 4-5 gallon warming radiator built into the kitchen coal range. Here then was warm water for washing, bathing and
for cooking. A large tea kettle filled with water was generally on the stove top. The pail in which we carried the water into the house was left filled near the stove. Often another pail of water stood in the washroom for washing up. The wash room was just that, a counter top with a wash basin.
If the water could not be used for any purposes after it had been used in boiling food or 
washing, it was discarded into a “slop” pail. This pail also received potato and turnip peelings, egg shells, food that would spoil, squash, pumpkin and fruit peelings, pits and seeds. Any non-useable parts of meat like fat, bones, gristle, cartilage or skin trimmings also went into the slop pail. When this four or five gallon pail was full, D and I carried it down and poured it into the hog trough for the pigs. They ate most of it and drank the water.
In the summer time, 
cooking or cleaning water which did not have much food in it was put into a separate pail and this was carried to the garden and used to water the vegetables.
My added note: The outhouse was about 40 feet from the back door. Electricity came about 1948 and made electrical water pumps possible. The wonder of indoor plumbing made its appearance in 1954.
Late add for clarification: the water in the cistern hauled from the well 2 1/2 miles away continued to be the only source for water for the house, for laundry, kitchen, drinking and bathroom through the years. As far as I am aware, to this day that is the only source for house water in that community. It was still so in the 1980s.
Living in a state that has water in abundance and is, in fact, surrounded by it, it is difficult to imagine having to be a strict steward. On the family farm, they had a very deep well, and the water was sweet and cold. Before electricity, a windmill pumped it up for use by the family and farm animals. They carried water into the house for cooking and bathing and, of course, the outhouse served the usual purposes. I don’t know when the electric lines finally reached the farm, probably during the 1930′s. I know the “government” spent lots of cash electrifying rural areas during the Depression.
I remember visiting my mom and aunts in later years, and know that they had different practices than we did in the city. For instance, there was no garbage disposal, so non-meat scraps were saved and composted (since they had no pigs or chickens by the time I came along), cans were crushed and taken to the dump (where I assume they were recycled), and papers were burned in a burning barrel that was surrounded by a mesh cage.
P.S.: Here’s an article from the USDA, called “When the lights came on”:
http://www.rurdev.usda.gov/rbs/pub/aug00/light.htm
One paragraph heading in the article seems to suggest that “proverty” was the reason there was no electricity. They’re mistaken about that portrayal. There was no one in our farm community who had electricity. And no one was in poverty.
Now that I think of it, we had one bachelor who lived in a tiny village near us in a one room building; outhouse out back. Never had 2 nickels to rub together. He didn’t live in poverty either. He had an old car. He was in church every Sunday. He participated in every community event in that smaller segment of our community. He was always clean, and always wore clean clothes. He had family in the area with whom he regularly spent time. He had a little garden every summer. Nobody thought he was weird. And nobody thought he was poor. He just didn’t have any money. Big deal.
Bachelors who lived alone, never married, lived moral lives, enjoyed coming to dinner, had few possessions and worked hard as farm hands had exactly the same status in the community as everyone else. He never went without. He was not a victim. He was our neighbor and friend.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to have plenty of water, stellap. It was just a reality that had to be taken into account. It wasn’t considered a problem to be solved. 3″ of water in the bathtub on Saturday evening, used by 3 people minimum. And for those who might wonder–no, that wasn’t yucky. Siblings learned courtesy about being quick in the bath so that it might still be a little warm for the next person. And our hair was never washed in the bathtub, since that would have required more water. When we were young, our hair was washed in the kitchen sink in this manner: the counter top extended for about 6′ to the right of the sink, ending in the wall of the kitchen, of course. The cookie jars would be moved aside, the counter cleared, the sink filled with water, a towel folded up to provide some cushion for our neck, and in order, each kid would hop up on the counter, lay down on our back–head hanging into the sink–and mom would scrub our hair and head.
One of my older brothers joined the Marines at age 18, got on the bus out of Glendive, MT headed for the MCRD in San Diego for basic training. In retrospect, I realize that while he was very anxious to get away from home, he had absolutely no idea what “far, far away from home” was awaiting him. On his first visit home on leave (involving a 3 day bus ride again), when mom was done washing my hair on a Saturday night (I was probably about 10 at the time), my now-Marine brother showed up in the kitchen, stripped off his shirt and hopped up on the counter for his turn. It had been many years since his hair had been washed by mom. I came across a slide of that event the other day: my dad was obviously pleased brother was enjoying being home and actually went and got the 35mm camera out and took a picture. That was a major event. (we didn’t “run around taking pictures”)
I’m sure it was part of the farm boy’s effort to gather up some security in his heart before heading back for more Marine training. He was horrified by what he had been through in basic. Those were the days when Marines who died in basic training probably had it coming. IFYKWIM.
I noticed the mention of “poverty” too, Sharon. I know my family never thought of themselves as poor. They had food, water, and a warm place to sleep. Yes, they worked hard, and provided for themselves just fine, thank you. My one uncle and his family were “poor” during the depression – they lived in a tent. The rest of the family helped out, but he was always considered the “lazy” one, although he was probably one of the smartest!
Washing the hair – that is exactly the way I washed my daughter’s hair when she was little. It was easier, and the soap didn’t get in her eyes that way. Come to think of it, I don’t think we had a shower (just a tub) at that time anyway.
We had a shower installed in the basement that my dad used for a quick washoff at the end of his long days. It was certainly never made normal use by anyone as a luxury item…
The first house I lived in as a child only had a shower. That was because the house was a converted garage, and the bathroom was so small, there was no room for a tub!
My pop, who grew up in western MN, did not get electricity until 1948. They did not get indoor plumbing until 1966. As a youngster I can remember using the outhouse and was told stories about getting a bath in an old washtub with heated water. While this was somewhat of an adventure, I’m glad we only visited so I didn’t have to use the facilities on an ongoing basis, or in the winter. As my dad says – “those who talk about the good ol days either weren’t there, or they’re lying”.
My uncle’s cottage “up north” didn’t have electricity in the 1940′s (maybe in the 50′s?) and they didn’t install an indoor bathroom until the 1960′s, when my aunt and uncle moved up there full time. It was a trial without refrigeration. We pumped water by hand on the porch, used kerosene for light, and a wood stove for heat. In the summer, I got clean in the lake but, otherwise, it was a wash basin!
My mom grew up in western (drought stricken) North Dakota on a farm with many brother and sisters during the 30′s. When I was growing up in eastern Montana I noticed that she collected the rinse water from the washer and did three or more loads of cloths with the same water. She conserved everything. She said it was sinful to waste a precious resource like water. She lived a life of absoute awareness of what its like to have things in short supply.
Triage, our farm was about 20 miles west of Williston. Whereabouts were you–if you don’t mind sharing?
That’s big country out there, isn’t it? I still just dearly love driving around there..south of Watford City–between Watford and Beach–oh, goodness, what an amazing feast for the eyes that road is. There is still at least one tiny old church standing along that road that (last time I drove there–before the current oil boom–still stood with unlocked doors).
Whenever I drive through that country(ND, MT or WY all have the same lovely phenomena) even the little tiny churches that are no longer used stand with unlocked doors, and most still have piano and pump organ standing in them. If the doors are open, I always go in and sit and play hymns for about 15 minutes, so the old church and the birds outside know that I have not forgotten.
You might enjoy my blog, http://mailboxesandoldbarns.com/
A publisher has indicated interest in putting the stories on the market. As soon as editing and financing come together (probably no later than this fall) there may be a book by that title Mailboxes and Old Barns. Genre: true stuff in narrative history, nostalgia from the prairie and the good, hard life that was found there.
The past few years of extreme drought in West Tejas have instilled in most of us out here a new appreciation of this most precious resource – and the stewardship of same. To save our carefully hand planted trees we save dishwater and shower/bath water, and have bought or fashioned rain barrels for our infrequent cloudbursts. All of this lifesblood is transported by hand – water weighs 8.35 lbs. per gallon, so “saving” all the rainwater possible during a downpour or transporting the shower buckets out to the trees is backbreaking work. We saved ourselves a lot of grief last year by installing some gutters – and no, houses out here DON’T have them, for the most part.
It’s getting worse with the influx of people moving to the oil patch for much needed work – I imagine that ND is having the same problems that we are.
Rain barrels are something we had when I was a kid, and I understand that they are becoming popular again. The water is used for the garden and other outdoor needs. We all have gutters here, though, so it is relatively easy to set one up.
You folks have really been having a trial of it with regard to the water. And yeah–we were familiar with the weight of a gallon of water from early on.
ND is really being impacted in long terms way re oil work. They’re managing it as well as can be, I know, but the sheer impact is inherently difficult to manage at all. There was an oil run that swept through that area in the late 80′s that left marks even though it was of far lesser magnitude than what’s going on now. Regardless of the “down sides” of the wonders of it all–you can’t imagine how tickled all of us native types are to know that many of those old dirt farmers are now enjoying really big trucks that they paid cash for.
And it’s pretty much a given that they’ll never do that again because they didn’t do it for status or something that had to repeated: they did it because–all of their lives, since they were boys–they really dreamed about the possibility of some day just buying the biggest stupid old truck on the lot and not having to worry for one minute how it might impact the family. Because the family was their priority, obviously, they never bought a truck they didn’t pay cash for. And they never bought one of those big honkers. Now they can and they did. And I love it.
Folks who have lived and worked in those areas don’t change their “way of living” much when they get money. They’re grateful. They appreciate it. They certainly do spend it. But they don’t think of themselves in a different way. Just grateful. They can relax.
Like my dad said more than once, “Money isnt’ the first thing in life, but it’s sure ahead of whatever’s in second place.”
Sharon, my grandparents farm was about 15 miles outside Minot. I love that country and still have family in western North Dakota, eastern Montana, S.D., and Wyoming. I try to drive back as much as I can as the land is so wonderful and makes for great road trips. My mothers brothers and sisters wrote memoirs of North Dakota farm life and put them in a pamplet that makes great reading and gives us a record of our family history. Heartwarming stories. I try to share them as much as I can with my children because life can be so much easier now but I don’t think the culture is as good for the soul as those times were.
Triage, I went to high school in Minot, at a Lutheran boarding school.
Here’s an MBOB I wrote a couple of months ago that dipped into that era for me…
http://theconservativetreehouse.com/2012/12/23/mailboxes-and-old-barns-christmas-concerts-in-north-dakota/
Growing up in west Texas, water shortages were always on the horizon. I can recall even/odd rationing for things like watering lawns and washing cars. When I moved to Houston, it amazed me that people washed their cars on the driveway instead of on the grass and let their yard watering go, long after most of it was going into the street. To this day, I’m still a water conservator. The droughts we’ve had the past few years have resulted in some water restrictions that east Texans chafe at, and we old desert rats find perfectly normal, if not actually on the generous side.
My concern is that agriculture still proliferates west of the 100th Meridian, much of it using aquifers that are getting lower and lower every year. At some point, the west is going to go bone dry unless we find out to move it from the eastern river systems. Instead, Obama speaks of high-speed rail and unicorns that blow rainbows out their arses. I guess that without water red states will turn brown and then blue, as the Gummint “saves” them.
Hi, Elvis!
I live in water rich country, but I don’t water lawns. If we don’t get the rain, then my lawn goes dormant. In this state, it won’t die because the rain comes eventually. Garden watering is different, and tree watering is sometimes necessary, especially if we don’t get enough rain in the Fall. My car gets washed at the car wash, where they recycle water. Even though we have lots of water here, it still costs money.
P.S.: The government is preparing to take over all of the water resources. I can’t wait to see how that goes down in the Great Lakes. My state has already entered into a water compact with other regional states, and Canada.
The water compact was devised in preparation for water grabs by farmers in the desert. If you can’t collect enough water to farm, maybe you shouldn’t be farming there, imo.
stellap, that makes way too much sense what you said there….you’re never gonna be elected to any dignified, high-paying public office if you keep talking that way, y’know.
Yeah, I know. It’s difficult to be a politician if you believe in common sense.
Ah, yes…a #3 washtub out behind the house on Saturday. Bath time! I don’t think we even took baths in the dead of winter. We did wash up with wash cloths though on a daily basis, and washed our hair now and then. Another nice MBOB, Sharon.
Thank you for all your shared stories today…these things remind us that it can be done. There’s a certain type of American who ‘got it done’ the first time around. Not all of them did, you know. Not every one was a hard worker. Some were shirkers. Some couldn’t recognize the solution to a problem if it crawled up their butt and bit them on the nose. I think our personal MBOBs are reminders, not only of the past, but the present resources within ourselves.
When my maternal grandparents bought their own farm (after renting land for many years), it took them a while to save to have a well of their own drilled. Before they had their own well, my grandmother would go everyday with her four young ones in tow to the neighbor and bring home enough water for the day. There was also the concerns in many years of the “well running dry” in drought conditions. Even when she married my father and moved to the city, my mother was a careful steward of water.