Governor Gregoire declared Washington State drought prone. The Concervation Corps offered water barrels, made out of recycled olive drums for $52 + tax.
"Shall we fill it with water from the faucet?" Pleasant Husband Dearest asked.
"Of course not, we wait for the rain," I said, forgetting that even if it would ever rain again, we don't have gutters, nor pipes, that would direct the water to the barrel.
But then the clouds came racing, wanting to let go, and then it started raining. And not a little bit either, but only so many drops made it into our barrel. Something had to be done.
Under the gazebo, in galoshes and late Mama's raincoat, I unscrewed lids of a grocery bag load of empty glass jars, placing each under the drip of the gazebo's scalloped edged cloth roof. "I can hear the rain," (Ann Peebles), " in my glass jars." (JvP) Who would ever have thought rain water would be music to my ears, here in the Pacific Northwest?
I was emptying the first set of filled jars into the barrel, when PHD stuck his head out the door. "One of your spigots is open," he yelled, "'sLike pissing in the rain!"
And yes, the water I poured in from the top, drained just as fast from the bottom. Concervation Corps turns out to be Conversation Corps.
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