Reflections - Trickle Troubles

Showerhead

Showering became races to avoid trickle torture. I longed for the luxurious gush which the geothermal hot water gave in the winter of 2022. I would wash and rinse my hair, soap and rinse my body, then linger under the soothing spray as if getting a treatment at a health spa. The force gradually diminished. This winter, with Spence, our son, and me performing morning ablutions and toilet flushings, showers sprayed modestly at first. I rushed to get my hair washed and my body soaped before performing an awkward ballet under the showerhead to catch the last drops for a final rinse. 

We had trickle troubles.

“What happened to the water pressure?” Spence shouted to no one in particular one morning at the beginning of March. Frustrated, he rubbed the towel briskly over himself.

Leaning against the door jam, I explained the gradual drop in water pressure. “I wonder if a pipe froze underground between the water pump by the old cabin site and the new log house.”

“Maybe something in the furnace is blocking water going to the hot water tank.” Spence scrunched his lips, wiggling his mustache. “Could be a blockage in our water filters. I’ll check with Jerry.” He emailed Jerry Kennihan, who designed our geothermal system.

“Sounds like you need to clean the filters,” Jerry wrote back.

Spence traipsed downstairs, banged around causing six cat ears to stand at attention upstairs, and returned with a report. “The air filter wasn’t bad. The screen behind was.” He made the outline of a cat with his hands. “It had enough hair to make another cat.” 

Cleaning the air filters gave us minor relief—for a day.

Spence emailed Jerry.

“It’s good you cleaned the air filters, but that wouldn’t affect the water pressure,” Jerry wrote, continuing their troubleshooting discussion. “Check the pressure where the water enters the house. It should be eighty pounds.” 

Spence monitored the incoming water pressure. We had forty to fifty pounds per square inch whether or not the geothermal furnace was running—lower than ideal, average for us.

“Clean the water filters where the water enters the house,” Jerry wrote next.

Oops.

Spence Unscrewing Ceramic Candle Canister

We’d installed Doulton water filters August 2, 2012. Once or twice a year I replaced the sediment filter in one blue canister and scrubbed the ceramic candles in the other two. This guaranteed our water at 99.99% purity. Because we live downhill from cow pastures and a gas well, we boil drinking water then refilter it to be extra safe.

Last spring, medical appointments distracted us. Spence was waiting for a referral to a surgeon concerning his hernia. I busied myself with pre-op preparations at Magee Women’s Hospital in Erie. In the fall we had surgeries and our recoveries took priority. Cleaning water filters never occurred to me. If it had, the task wouldn’t have been possible—too strenuous for our temporary restrictions. 

We’d recovered and could have managed the job. We just had to shut the indoor water off while I cleaned the filters outside at the cistern hydrant.

But it snowed. 

We lived with the trickle until sunny March 20 when the air temperature reached the mid 40s. Welcoming the sunshine, Spence dashed out to repair Mr. Hooper, the hoop house. Winter winds had broken the connections in the PVC frame making the plastic roof sag.

I bundled—boots, jeans, two turtlenecks, a sweatshirt, a fleece jacket, and the knit tam mom made me. No gloves. Lugging rags, scour pads, two empty buckets, a replacement sediment filter, and replacement candles, I crossed the soggy grass, setting my load halfway between the hydrant and Mr. Hooper. I yelled to Spence. “Would you unscrew the canisters for me?”

Back in the basement, he loosened the canisters with the plastic wrench then his hands. We walked as if on a tightrope carrying each canister to avoid spilling the water or breaking the ceramic candles. They are hollow, about ten inches long, one inch in diameter, and very fragile.

I started with the easiest—the polyester sediment filter, which turns earth brown with use. Normally, gripping and pulling removes it. This year the slimy, mud-covered filter slipped through my fingers. Twice. I upended the canister and, thud-splat, dumped it. 

Canister by the Cistern Hydrant

Windblown maple leaves lined with snowflakes lay in the shade of the old pine stand by the hydrant. Instead of splashing, like I do on balmy spring or fall days, I filled the canister with a couple inches of water and toted it into the sunshine. My fingertips touched the wet rag and snowmelt water as little as possible, to wipe off the mud. 

Spence passed by when I’d removed all the mud and installed a new white filter. “Need any help?”

I handed the blue canister to him. “This one’s ready to install.”

Easing the first ceramic filter set out, I twisted a candle to free it from the holder. The candle didn’t budge. I twisted again. Crack. The top broke off leaving a jagged stub. Gritting my teeth but reassuring myself that’s why I brought the replacements, I unscrewed the others and placed them in an empty bucket. I covered the sharp edges with the scour pad and muscled the stub out. 

A chickadee sang hey sweetie and I dipped the first candle into water in the canister to scrub the treated clay, darkened by harmful chemicals and impurities it magically caught from water passing through. Rinsing the candle in the cold cistern water, I rushed back to the sunshine for more scrubbing. Shish-shish. Clay splattered boots, jeans, and jacket. My fingers numbed. One by one, chestnut brown candles turned creamy white.

Shivering, I scrubbed the second set. Spence and I repeated the tightrope-walking to take the ceramic filter canisters inside. I watched him screw them in place while rubbing my tingling, throbbing fingers.

We had clean water filters. Did we solve the water flow problem?

The following day Spence took the first shower. “The water gushed. We’ll see if it lasts.”

I showered second. Water pounded me. 

The real test came Friday, laundry day. Following morning ablutions and toilet flushings for three, I lingered in the shower, luxurious again. I washed breakfast dishes, scrubbed the cat fountain, and refilled it. Dreading a trickle after the morning’s draining of the water tank, I turned the utility tub tap for pre-soaking Spence’s garden jeans and the socks he scuffs around the house in like dust mops. Water spouted with fire hose force. I didn’t have to wait until mid afternoon for my first laundry load.

The clean filters flushed away trickle trouble for now. I learned my lesson. My google calendar for September 20 reads: Clean water filters on a sunny 70° day.

Candles Ready to Clean and Replacement Candle Ready to Insert