During the dry season, heading up the hill to check on our water supply becomes part of the daily routine — and a good excuse for the dogs to have a proper run around. What might otherwise feel like a chore turns into a small ritual, with muddy paws, wagging tails, and a moment to take in the landscape.
Our water doesn’t come from a mains connection. Instead, it rises quietly from a spring further up the land — the same spring that once supplied the old Poor House that stood here long before our time. There’s a certain weight to that history. You can’t help but imagine the people who relied on it back then, drawing water each day without the convenience we take for granted now.
Of course, it wasn’t always the crystal-clear supply we enjoy today.
In those days, the water travelled downhill through cast iron pipes. By all accounts, the first draw in the morning was something of a surprise — running the colour of Irn-Bru thanks to the iron leaching into the water overnight. Perfectly usable, but perhaps not the most appetising way to start the day.
Things changed in the 1980s when the old pipes were replaced with modern plastic ones. Along with that came a proper water purification
system — simple, effective, and reassuringly chemical-free. The water passes through a series of filters before being exposed to ultraviolet light, which deals with any harmful microorganisms without altering the taste. The Environmental Health Department monitor and take samples to ensure the water quality is up to standard.
And you really can taste the difference. There’s something clean and almost sweet about spring water that hasn’t been treated with chemicals — a freshness that feels fitting for something drawn straight from the land.
Still, even with modern improvements, a system like this needs looking after — especially after weeks of dry weather. Springs can slow to a trickle, debris can build up, and what usually runs effortlessly can suddenly need a bit of attention.
The walk up the hill becomes part of that responsibility.
It’s not a difficult climb, but it does make you pause and notice things you might otherwise overlook — the dryness of the soil underfoot, the stillness in the air, the way the landscape holds onto (or lets go of) moisture. By the time you reach the source, there’s always a small sense of anticipation.
Will it still be flowing as it should?
Thankfully, this time, it was. Not as strong as after a good spell of rain, but steady enough to reassure us that the supply is holding. A small relief, but an important one.
Moments like that remind you how connected everything is — weather, land, history, and the quiet systems that support everyday life. Turning on a tap might feel ordinary, but when you’ve walked up a hill to check the source yourself, it takes on a different meaning.
It’s not just water.
It’s continuity, care, and a small link between past and present — still flowing, even after all these years.
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