Recently my tenant called me saying he was not getting any water. That’s a pretty serious problem so I jumped into action to investigate. My rental house is supplied with water from a private well so my first thought was that a pipe had burst. It turned out I was right.

But in the lead up to going down and fixing the problem in person (and before I actually knew for sure that a burst pipe was the problem) I had to re-acquaint myself with the ins and outs of well technology.

Wells are pretty simple but if you don’t know a few key things they can be infuriating and mind boggling.

Fundamentally, a well is a hole in the ground that’s drilled deep enough to tap into the ground water. Luckily we’ve moved past the cartoon-style well we’ve all seen with the crank and bucket. Today’s wells feature a long pipe (sometimes as long as 200 feet) that goes down into the hole just like the straw you insert into the top of your Big Gulp Slurpee. That’s how the water gets sucked up!

On the end of that pipe is a thing called a “foot valve,” for obvious reasons. Foot valves look like this: 

It’s basically a strainer with a little spring-loaded valve inside of it that opens up when the water pressure weighing down on it from above lets up as it’s being sucked through the pipe by the pump.

Next is the pump. A lot of residential wells have an in-ground pump. Here’s a great, sort of unintentionally funny DIY video of a guy replacing one of those: YouTube

Mine, however, is an above-ground pump. A pump is basically just a little engine that sucks the water out of the ground and pushes it through the house’s pipes. Simple enough right?

Well there’s a couple things to know about the pump. When all the faucets are off, a water-well system is a pressurized, closed system. The pump has a pressure switch on it that cuts on and cuts off at certain, pre-set points. For instance, when you’re up in the house taking a 45-minute shower you are using up all the water in the pipes. At the same time, the pressure in those pipes is being released through your shower head.

The pressure switch senses this drop in pressure when it gets low enough and switches the pump on, which pumps water into the pipes to make up the difference so that you never run out of water. Usually this low-pressure mark is set at around 30 psi. That’s pretty standard. The high or cut-off point is usually around 60 psi. Those settings can be changed by loosening or tightening the two nuts inside the pressure switch casing. In addition, the pressure switch is where the electricity hooks into the well system to power the pump.

Here’s a standard pressure switch with the casing pulled off showing the inner workings as well as a handy diagram for remembering which nut does what and how the electrical connections are wired:

But wait, there’s more! A water well system also has a pressure tank attached between the pump and the house. Obviously a house’s water pipes contain a relatively small amount of volume and as such can’t contain a huge reservoir of pressure. So without some reservoir of pressure as backup, the well pump would turn on every time someone turned on a faucet for more than a few seconds in order to maintain pressure in the system.

The pressure tank looks like a big propane tank but on the inside it contains what is essentially an inner-tube. Approximately the top 2/3 of the tank is comprised of this inner-tube, which is filled with pressurized air at approximately 1-3 psi lower than the cut-off pressure. So for most systems, approximately 27-29 psi.  The lower portion of the tank is filled with water. So when trouble-shooting a well for problems, an easy way to test whether or not the tank’s inner-tube has burst is to simply tap the side of the tank with your knuckle. If the tank is in good, working condition, the top should sound like a high-pitched ping when it is tapped because there is nothing but air inside of it while the bottom 1/3 should make a deeper sound because it’s filled with water.

The pressure in a well pressure tank can be tested with a simple car tire pressure meter. If it’s low simply top it off with an air compressor or electric tire pump. Bicycle pumps are a bad idea.

As far as plumbing (pipes) go, cpvc is super easy to use. It’s like putting legos together. Metal water piping is probably hardier but it’s a pain in the neck to get cut and then you have to get every end threaded and if you messed up in measuring it’s a huge hassle and way more expensive. Cpvc is easy to cut (with a pvc pipe cutter tool). Simply glue it together with the one-step pipe glue found in every home improvement store in the nation and let it sit overnight.

First steps when troubleshooting a well that no longer pumps water:

1. Inspect the pipes. If it’s winter and your water suddenly cuts off, it’s probably a burst pipe.

2. Check the circuit breaker. Turn it off and turn it back on. (If it immediately clicks back off, leave it off and call someone who knows about electricity because something is wrong electrically. Don’t risk getting zapped. With the amount of current it takes to power these well pump systems it could be fatal.)

3. Check the Pressure Switch. Turn the valve going to the house off to isolate the pump system and open another valve to drain the pump. The pressure switch should cut on when the pressure gauge reaches the cut-on pressure. If it doesn’t, the switch may be blown. If it’s blown, replace it!

4. Check the Pressure Tank. Tank pressure should be 2-3 psi lower than the pressure switch cut-on pressure.

Also, a country realtor once told me that when you move into a place with a well it’s prudent to dump a gallon of bleach into the well, let it sit for a few hours and then run the water off at the house until the bleach smell goes away. This is to clean any nasty bacteria out of your pipes. (Although I think a carbon filtration system is probably a healthier and tastier option).

That’s basically it. Have fun and be well!

I want a wool knit cap, slightly pointed at the top, slightly curved at the bottom to better cover the ears.

I want it to be lined with thinsulate and have a little “stash” pocket inside for hiding a money bill or an ID. The pocket could have a button or maybe a velcro strip or something although I’d want it to be a very weak velcro–and fasteners might get lumpy and uncomfortable so maybe just an open-top pocket would be fine as long as it was deep enough for an ID card.

I tried posting this idea to Reddit /r/KnitRequest but I’ve had zero interest in the project. Reddit is always hit or miss anyway. I guess I’ll try to find a knitter on Etsy next.

I’d like the knit pattern to be a viking or celtic-themed pattern.

I’ve attached a pinterest board with lots of inspiration for this project: Wotanstag

And here’s a drawing I made of what I want (although it’s a rough sketch and I would leave the pattern up to discussion–pro-knitters are probably way more knowledgable and creative in that department than I am. It might even be cool to have an inset of Thor’s hammer or something knit into it–that would be awesome actually):

I think the cap should be Earth-toned. I was thinking maybe an olive wool yarn with muted flecks of other colors in it–if that exists. But I’d also be open to a burnt sienna like one of the caps featured in the pinterest board or black or gray–Color is kind of open haha.

I definitely want wool and I’d like it to be slightly elastic I think. I want this cap to be wearable on the slopes as well as normal every day wear.

My head is 23.25″ diameter. From ear lobe bottom to ear lobe bottom over the crown of my head is 17.5″.

“I have a dream! And this knit viking cap is my dream!” Knitters are awesome.

EDIT:

Here is the message I’ve been sending Etsy knitters:

Hello!

I am hoping my ridiculous request is doable.

I would like a wool knit cap, slightly pointed at the top, slightly curved at the bottom to better cover the ears.

I want it to be lined with thinsulate and have a little “stash” pocket inside for hiding a dollar bill or an ID. The pocket could have a button or maybe a velcro strip or something although I’d want it to be a very weak velcro–and fasteners might get lumpy and uncomfortable so maybe just an open-top pocket would be fine as long as it was deep enough for an ID card.

I’d like the knit pattern to be a viking or celtic-themed pattern. The Celtic cable pattern is excellent.

I’ve attached a pinterest board with lots of inspiration for this project:www.pinterest.com/lukeprater/wotanstag/

And I’ve also attached a drawing I made of what I want (although it’s a rough sketch and I would leave the pattern up to discussion—pro-knitters like yourself are probably way more knowledgable and creative in that department than I am.

One detail I would like to have is an inset of Thor’s hammer knit into the brim so that it shows when I’m wearing the hat–(If that’s possible that would be awesome actually): There’s plenty of examples of the traditional Thor’s hammer on the pinterest board I linked to.

I think the cap should be Earth-toned. I was thinking maybe an olive wool yarn with muted flecks of other colors in it–if that exists. But I’d also be open to a burnt sienna like one of the caps featured in the pinterest board or black or gray–Color is kind of open haha. If you decide you can do this project I will decide on a color.

I definitely want wool and I’d like it to be slightly elastic I think–I don’t know if that’s just a natural byproduct of knitting. I assume it is. I want this cap to be wearable on the slopes as well as normal every day wear.

My head is 23.25″ diameter. From ear lobe bottom to ear lobe bottom over the crown of my head is 17.5″.

Thoughts? Price estimate?

Thanks, can’t wait to hear back from you.

-Luke

***EDIT: I achieved success! Behold the glory of my viking beanie…

Twelve days. That’s all it had taken for the Holschcomb-B virus to sweep across every continent on the globe. Future historians would call the two and a half years that followed, “The Desecration,” but for those of us who lived through it, it was just life. Within those first 12 days, every city on Earth had been violently overrun by H-B victims.

The virus had been airborne. No one knew for sure where it had come from—of course, there were rumors: the Russians made it in a lab and then unleashed it or maybe it was the Americans or maybe it had come from space or been unlocked from prehistoric Arctic ice. Nobody really knew and anyone who did was probably either dead or worse, dead-alive. That’s what H-B did to its victims. There was no “incubation” period like a normal influenza. You could be having an espresso and reading the Wall Street Journal at the local cafe, perhaps brushing a bit of fluff off the shoulder of your suit jacket one minute and the next minute dead in a pool of your own fluids—one blood vessel in the left eye ruptured. It was the same every time. What came next, of course, is what no one was prepared for.

By all accounts, the first wave of the epidemic had hit New York City, Paris, Beijing, Mumbai and Sydney simultaneously. Suddenly millions had just dropped dead all over the world, their lifeless bodies oozing blood from every orifice. Everyone who remained, we later learned, had either been immune or just plain lucky. The initial shock of what had happened to friends and loved ones all over the planet had only lasted five minutes—that’s approximately how long it takes for H-B to revive its host body. When the dead began to reanimate no one knew what was going on. Relief at the sudden, miraculous recovery of millions of people turned to pure, unadulterated horror.

In those first, few seconds, the living tried reasoning with them. But within hours, every city named in the initial outbreak was thrumming with rabid, sprinting, roaring hordes of reanimated cannibal monsters. Monsters with the faces of mothers, fathers, friends, co-workers.

Armies and national guard were quickly overrun. The dead far outnumbered the living. Moscow, London, Tokyo, Jerusalem, Atlanta and Los Angeles were all nuked. The rest of the Earth’s cities simply went dark.

The precious few who remained alive, really alive, around the globe hunkered down for the worst two and a half years of their lives. Those first six months had been the worst—at least for me. I was alone the whole time. Be me, a 22-year-old fifth-year engineering student. I was on my way home for fall break when traffic came to a standstill and the horde spilled out onto the freeway like Noah’s flood cracking-open people’s cars like clamshells and mauling people to death.

When I recall those first moments I can’t remember details. I can’t remember how I made it off the freeway. I can’t recall thinking that I should probably take my tool kit with me. Somehow I knew what was going on when I saw them spilling out onto the road. Somehow I managed to pack up exactly what I would need in those first dark days. I don’t know, when I think about it I am dumbstruck. Maybe in moments of extreme terror, some people can think more clearly than others. Maybe I had a guardian angel. I can’t explain it. Knowing everything I know now, I believe it was a miracle that I even made it off that freeway that day.

My first clear memory from that time starts in the woods. I hiked for an entire day running from every sound I heard. Eventually I made it to a house. “Compound” is the better word. It was a 30-acre white-tailed deer farm completely fenced in on all sides by 16-foot chain-linked fence. Luckily there wasn’t any razor wire. When I climbed over the fence I found four out-buildings and a main house. It was one of those places owned by an old Vietnam vet prepper hermit, full of tools, weapons, equipped with diesel generators, ATVs, MREs—the works. I found the old vet rabidly clambering up at me from inside a mechanic bay he had under one of the out-buildings. He must have been under there working on one of his vehicles when the epidemic hit. I kept him “alive” down there for about two weeks before I could finally bring myself to put him out of his misery. The old bastard growled and gnashed his rotten teeth at me with the energy of a rabid Robin Williams right up until I blew a hole through his brain with one of the pistols he’d kept in the house.

In those early times I didn’t even know if there were other living people out there in the world, much less what caused the zombie plague. So I did the only sensible thing: I burned the old bastard’s body.

For the first few days after the epidemic hit, television signals were still being broadcast. On the third day, when I saw that they had nuked Atlanta, I knew my parents were gone so after coming to terms with the fact that I was now alone in the world I realized that the compound was mine and I’d better get to work surviving.

I set to work putting the place into some semblance of order that made sense to me. After the first few zombies wandered onto the property and mauled three of my deer I realized I would have to start patrolling the perimeter every day to inspect the fence and ensure my security.

The old bastard who had owned the place before me had been an avid reader so I had quite the library of science fiction, murder mysteries and of course, survival books to read—and all the time in the world to read them.

I learned how to garden, hunt, butcher and preserve meat. The old bastard had even left me a hen house complete with hens and fresh eggs! I lived that way for about four months before I found the old bastard’s secret workshop beneath the pantry in the farm house.

I had seen the radio antenna on the back side of the property while inspecting the fence after the first zombie incursion but I didn’t put two and two together until the fourth month. I was walking around the house reading a book on making soap when I went into the pantry to grab a can of punjabi (a delicious calorie-dense Indian mush) to make a few meals with. I had some rabbit meat I’d snared that I wanted to mix it with. Anyway, since I was reading I absent-mindedly reached for the can and knocked it off the shelf. The hollow sound it made when it hit the floor instantly notified me that there was a space underneath.

I pulled back the rug and found a door, under which, was a ladder leading down into a small room packed with electronic equipment—none of which was on. I recognized the ham-radio equipment instantly. That’s where this story starts.