On a sunny spring morning in 1955, our physical science teacher at Centralia High School told us he had a surprise for us. We were all going outside to watch a young woman demonstrate the phenomenon of locating underground water sources. The process was usually called water witching or dowsing, and this young woman had a proven track record working with local well diggers and drillers.
We were excited about being out in the sunshine and not in the classroom, and the demonstration proved to be very interesting.
She told us that water could occur in underground “veins” and that by using a forked branch of willow, hazel nut or vine maple she could locate those sources. She held the stick by the two ends of the fork, palms facing up, with the shaft of the fork parallel to the ground. As she slowly walked across the school grounds in a grid pattern, the stick she carried began to point down, and she declared there was water below. Backing away, she approached that area several times with the same result: The stick twisted down in her hands.
At that point she invited the class to give it a try. Some of my classmates got no action from the stick, no matter how they tried. Some could only feel the stick point down if the woman walked beside them, with each holding one side of the fork.
But for some, the stick would turn down and point where the water was believed to be. I was one! It was as if the forked stick was alive, and it twisted in my hands rather forcefully. This was a very interesting experience, and one I could not easily forget.
A few years later, my parents purchased a 1-acre building site in a rural area where no municipal water supply was available. A well would be needed, and after contacting his future neighbors, Dad discovered that all the existing homes in the area had shallow, hand-dug wells of no deeper than about 25 feet.
Assuming that there was water everywhere at a shallow depth, Dad hired a well digger and asked for a well right behind where the new garage would house the pump.
Hand-digging a well involves setting large, concrete, circular, open-ended tiles or casings, one on top of the next, as the digger works from the inside to remove dirt. The casings weigh several hundred pounds each, and they sink down of their own weight as dirt is removed from below them. A system of pulleys is used to hoist the dirt out, bucket by bucket. It takes effort, time and money.
In my dad’s case the tiles were 30 feet down when he and the well digger decided this was not a good spot. They were too deep and no water had been found. A dry hole! It was time to reconsider and maybe take drastic, desperate action.
While my parents were considering a next step, I happened to come home from college for a weekend visit. They were visibly upset. As they explained the failure of the well project, I remembered that high school science demonstration, and the sensation of the forked stick twisting in my hands as it pointed to water.
When I asked if I could try to find water for him, Dad must have figured it would be good for a laugh and couldn’t hurt. He told me to go ahead. He may have added, “Crazy kid.”
Full of youthful confidence I found a nearby vine maple tree, cut a forked stick like I’d used in the high school demonstration and began to pace north to south across the backyard. There was no action at all. Then I changed to an east-to-west pattern.
About 20 yards east of the failed well, the forked stick twisted in my hands and pointed down! I tried several times coming from both east and west, and each time the stick twisted in my hands, indicating there was an area with water beneath the surface. Even though this was a less convenient location than the earlier one, it seemed to be a good bet.
I’m sure my dad was filled with doubt, but then he noticed that the location indicated by the stick lined up with the neighbors’ pump houses to the south and north. That convinced him to give my well-witching effort a chance, and try the new location.
I returned to college. Dad had the well digger try the new spot. A few weeks went by. One day I picked up my mail and saw I had a postcard from Dad, and the message was: “Water, water, water.” It was written about 40 times. The new location had been a success!
That well provided water for the home and a large garden for nearly 50 years. My parents are gone now, and so is the house. It, and many in the area, were purchased and torn down to make room for industrial expansion a few years ago.
Was finding water for my parents luck or skill? I’ve never known for sure. With the passage of time, boyish confidence wanes, wisdom increases and common sense prevails. I wouldn’t want to take responsibility now for telling someone to spend money digging or drilling a well for water at a place of my choosing.
But there was this one time …
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