Big Creek Water
Occasionally
during the late afternoon, weather permitting Linda and I sit outside in front
of the fireplace and watch the evening light grow dim as the sun sinks lower
and lower behind the mountain. We sit there under a blue velvet cupola that is
almost touchable formed by the mountains that surround us. Up in the vastness
of the night sky a scattering of perfectly arranged stars punctuate the
firmament, so beautifully arranged even an atheist could see the hand of God in
it. We frequently have a drink, mainly because after being married for almost
forty years we do not have all that many urgent things to discuss. Sometimes we
light the fire; sometimes we don’t. In the summer we have gin and tonic; in the
cooler months of the year I tend to prefer bourbon and branch water. Of course
the branch water is not dipped from the creek in a rusty bucket as you might
think but runs out of the faucet in the kitchen originating from a one hundred
and fifty foot deep well below the surface close to the house.
The water honestly
is amazing! When we lived in Clayton County we took the Big Creek water home in
milk jugs from our well here at Big Creek on Sunday afternoon when we left for
home. We drank it in Jonesboro from the refrigerator until it was finished
which was usually by the middle of the week. It was wonderful to have the north
Georgia well water in Jonesboro and consume it through the week. It was almost like doing something forbidden.
The quality of water in Clayton County was and is very good. It originates from
the Flint River and through a purification facility that has always been an
example of how to do things right. There was always plenty of it. This was
possible because county politics was kept out of the process when it was built and
it is all the better for that. It is not however spring and rain water filtered
through eons of accumulated alluvial dirt, soil, rocks and sand, sleeping in
darkness deep below the surface waiting to anxiously spew up into the daylight
through our faucet in the kitchen. It is an artisanal river deep below the
rolling landscape gently moving somewhere down there in the darkness never seen
or touched by anything or anyone until it emerges surprisingly in our kitchen.
Since we now
live here at Big Creek full time the water quality issue has become somewhat
routine and we no longer are so amazed when we drink down an icy cold glass of
that incredible liquid. It is impossibly clear, fresh and delicious and at the
same time tasteless. Drinking the water here is like hearing the truth after
being told a pack of lies. Almost glacial, it awakens your taste buds and enlivens
your palette. The water when added to something like Woodford Reserve Bourbon and
a handful of ice is totally amazing and honestly it is not all about the
alcohol. The Big Creek water is simply delightful when mixed with fresh
cucumbers, grated carrots from the garden, a splash of Pernot, a slice of
jalapeno, spiked with leaves from the cutting celery herb and added with basil and
a dash of salt or sugar, to make an infusion of vegetable water. Served ice
cold, it is one of my favorite things…..not counting the bourbon of course. Maybe
I am over selling this a little; after all this is not an advertisement for Big
Creek Drinking Water. Although I am sure
it would be a big hit!
As we sit in
the dimming landscape I see peripherally the bushes where the head of a doe
silently pushes through. She looks and steps into a clearing followed by a
small speckled fawn. Her eyes are black and wide as the two of them step on to
the driveway as silent as underwater shadows. Neither of them disturbs even a
pebble. Walking obliquely towards us, Linda and I do not make a move or a
sound. The doe browses the willow, the hydrangea and the hostas. The fawn follows
the doe’s example and makes diminutive withdrawals from the plants she sampled.
The damage to the plants is insignificant compared to the thrill of seeing
these nocturnal visitors moving towards us like silent movie stars in the
fading light. Moose jerks his head up and smells the intruding pair. He snorts
and jerks his head towards them. I look back in their direction and they have
vanished like an apparition. It is as though they were never there and I had
imagined it all.
From the far
end of the garden voices drift up through the mist and into my hearing. The
voices say, “Not here, I declare, barak and you did it!” I realize the voices
are coming from the chickens, not humans. The chickens have their own language
and most of the words begin with B or R. I know you are thinking I have perhaps
had more than one gin and tonic but honestly I do hear the chickens talking
down in the garden when it is very quiet like it is at dusk.
Water, night
skies, stars, chickens and deer are all very small matters to discuss and I am
sure no one cares one way or the other. But I do!
