How To Survive By Melting Snow

When we started planning out renovations for the house, a waterfall feature was not something we discussed. Yet on a Friday morning a few weeks ago, that's exactly what we found in the basement, springing, or should I say, gushing from the bathroom wall, spilling out across a cork floor and brand new carpet, and cascading down the garage steps. 

It was almost like an optical illusion watching water pour out through drywall. But like a Magic Eye that makes you nauseous and dizzy from crossing your eyes, seeing it once is good enough. 

While Daniel ran around to shut the water to the entire house off, I used a push broom to guide the inches-deep water from the soaking bathroom to the garage. If you've ever accidentally spilled a glass of water on carpet, that's what you call "wet." But when gallons of frigid water tsunami over carpet for several minutes, that's what you call "soaking." And guess what cork does when it gets drenched? It puffs up with moisture and starts curling so that you're unable to open the door leading into the garage.

POST-BROOMING, THE CORK IS ALREADY STARTING TO CURL AND LIFT UP. 

There are many pros to living out here in our little forest oasis, like peace, quiet, neighbors too far away to see. And then there are some cons, like having only one local plumber who is immediately booked up on below freezing days because everyone has burst pipes. Jerry told us he could come around in a few days, and to just leave the water off and put a heater in the flooded bathroom to make sure nothing else froze. And then he said, "The good news is that the ground is covered with snow, so that's how you're going to get through the next few days without water." He gave us tips on melting snow for drinking and cooking, and re-filling toilet tanks so we could flush.

When I told people we were moving to a mountain home in Colorado, a lot of people asked me if we'd be homesteading as we built our home. "No way," I said, "We're not cut out for that. Our house is already perfect and ready to be lived in." So when I found myself outside in blowing snow holding a wooden spoon and a giant cooking pot, I thought, Well I certainly didn't see this coming. 

Now, let me tell you something about melting snow – you can pack it into a pot as much as possible, but once it starts melting, it reduces in volume by about half. And considering one person uses around 13 gallons of water per day to flush waste, we were letting that yellow mellow. We were melting all day, but it seemed like we still couldn't keep up. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink; we drank La Croix until it ran out; at one point the poor pup was frantically licking her dry water bowl. 

Anytime the power goes out, I have the chance to reflect on how much I take electricity for granted. But water? That's a whole other thing. At least you can live without electricity. 

Here in Colorado, where below-freezing temperatures are the norm in winter, frozen and burst pipes are common. There are ways to combat them – leaving cabinet doors open so heat can reach the pipes under sinks more easily, letting the hot water drip ever so slightly to force a constant flow of hot water. But as we would find out when Jerry the Plumber was able to finally come by, none of those precautions would have worked since there was a gaping hole somewhere in the installation and wall where we could feel Arctic breezes blowing in and around the pipes. 

NO WORRIES, WE'LL JUST HANG A FRAMED PICTURE OVER IT. 

HEY FROZEN WATER, THAT WAS LIKE REALLY AGGRESSIVE. 

Anytime something shitty happens, Daniel and I try to find the silver lining. "At least it happened while we were home and we were able to get it under control immediately," we said. "Thank god it wasn't the septic tank backing up – that would have been a lot messier." And hell, now we get to add a new bathroom to the renovation. 

NEW BATHROOM, AND BASEMENT, APPARENTLY.