Plumbing at these old houses

Years ago a relative sent me a note she received from a mutual cousin. I did a slow burn over a comment in it which I still remember almost word for word: “It is wonderful being at the Ranch . . . when the plumbing works.” I thought that was the rudest thing to say about this National Register of Historic Places District. Of course the plumbing was old, the place was old. What a fussy person, she needn't come to visit!

That was then, now is now and I must admit, it sure is nice when the plumbing is working. What was often a nagging pain back then is a big aggravation now. The movement of water through these houses has always been sort of strange, but now the aged pipes and fixtures have their own agendas. Pipes burst, even disintegrate, with no warning. They do it regardless of what plan or job is on the books for that day, and it's a humbling experience calling a present-day plumber to these old houses.

The Ranch houses are all between 98 and a 125 years old. No, the plumbing isn't that old; in the earliest days there was no plumbing. The first potable water was collected from the roofs into the cistern and pumped up with a hand pump into the kettle or a bucket for the house. Our mother remembered that everyone drank from a dipper hanging inside the cistern house and then dipped out another portion for the maidenhair ferns Grandma kept there. The outhouse served for the early years but our great-grandmother insisted on the first bathroom with running water. Of course, getting water into those early pipes was interesting. In the beginning two hand-dug wells near the creek down under the big pecans supplied water. It was pumped uphill by a windmill (up a very steep hill) and sometimes there was water and often there was none. Our great-grandfather experimented with a large earthen tank lined with bricks which was higher than the houses. This served gravity-flow water which was pumped up from the windmill and later from a well drilled near the houses. It must have been plain joy to have water coming downhill with some regularity, but the water from the new well gave no cause for praise. It was gyp water and we all remember it. We only tasted it when we came on brief visits from West Texas, but it was no picnic for those who lived day in and day out with it. When we moved in from the west our horses refused to drink it for a full week, scaring us to pieces. They finally found a puddle of rainwater and drank it dry. The gyp water stained white clothing with red dots and everyone had a technique for washing clothes and getting the stains out. Nothing really worked; you just wore what you had, stained or not.

When we were children, a metal water tank was erected next to the huge old pump and the water for household use was stored in it. Everyone then used the open tank for a swimming pool. The well, pump, and water tank eventually were replaced by a new well drilled on the hill in back of the Kitchen House, which mercifully produced decent tasting water. It has a pump house and a pressure tank; modern at last! (There is almost no need for a water heater in the Kitchen House during the summer because the water is warmed on its long journey downhill in the blazing sun.)

Some dastardly deeds were done in laying the pipe from the new pump house to the house complex. Our uncle, ever on the lookout for the way to do a job the cheapest and fastest, chose awful black plastic pipe which had just come on the market in the late 1960s. It worked safely for about 20 years, but often had to be patched. We still have it for the lines coming from the pump and it is a nightmare. Also cutting corners, very few valves were used. In order to fix any break, one main valve always has to be cut off, shutting down all water flow. All or nothing. I added a couple of valves here and there and have paid for that modernizing with pressure leaks which appear as small wet spots along the line. I can't describe the sinking feeling when I see one. I can fix these leaks but hate them and would rather anyone else dig those holes. We found a right-angled connection actually in the middle of the road.

During the 30 years I have lived here new septic tanks and lines were added. That is a story in itself since the installer managed to put one tank in slightly higher than the line running from a house. He would have pleased our uncle, for he used the flimsiest PVC pipe on the market, all unknown to me until tree roots broke the line. That has all been replaced with best quality now but it wasn't funny at the time. I guess when he drove his truck into the old cesspool it was some justice. We had been wondering where it was.

Speaking of wondering, when I first had charge of the Ranch plumbing there was no map of the lines to follow. The first winter was informational because nearly every pipe broke whenever there was a freeze. The plumber and I were busy that whole season, but it took years to figure out how to keep Christmas from being spoiled by broken pipes. There is no way to use logic in finding the lines because people without a shred of common sense put them in. I once found a line when I went out of the yard to dig a grave for a pet chicken. On the very first drive with the pick-axe there was a geyser. That line circled the entire yard instead of going directly through it to the house. I have found many lines while gardening and learned to shovel and spade gently. Slowly I have made maps of the lines, axe by axe, foot by foot.

Bebe Fenstermaker