Water, Water, Everywhere--the Cistern

“Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink. . .” The lament of Coleridge’s Mariner is shared by Crucians. St. Croix lacks fresh water resources save rainwater. Most residents in St. Croix have cisterns to meet water use needs.

A cistern is an underground tank for storing water. Unless one lives in Christiansted or Fredericksted, where city water is available, a cistern serves as the only means of obtaining water for the home.

In the Virgin Islands water conservation has been elevated to an art form. Gutters catch rainfall and divert this fresh water into the cistern for storage.

Typically located under the house in what would be a basement, stateside lies the cistern. Our cistern is a double tank. One tank for usage and one tank for overflow. If a cistern runs dry, which ours did shortly after moving in, one can order water from a water trucking company. A water delivery of 3600 gallons arrived in something akin to a fuel truck. This amount filled up one tank probably three-quarters.

Grey-water systems utilize recycled water from showers, sinks and laundry to water plants and yard. Diverted sewage flows into a septic system—usually the spot in one’s lawn that is the most verdant.

A local plumber told me that septic systems are a foreign concept among the Continentals he has met (i.e. stateside Americans). He said one client even told him that “we don’t have septic systems in the states.”

Gentle reader---everyone has a septic system of some form or fashion. Sewage has to go somewhere. It does not magically disappear when you flush. The city systems route sewage to a government maintained system. I grew up in a rural area which necessitated a septic system: living proof that septic systems do occur (and widely depending where one lives) in the states.

During hurricane season, one covers the cistern in take to prevent contamination by salt water. After the storm and until the “current” (electric power as the locals say) returns one accesses the cistern water from the interior hatch. Our hatch is in our living room. A native Islander called the post-storm bucket and rope method of getting to water, “camping in the cement cabin.”

I am more appreciated of rain than I have ever been. All my household water depends on rain. A late night storm is the most pleasant and comforting sound.

Better than weather reports, rain frogs announce the coming rain with a cacophony of frog cheers. Probably three times the size of any rain frog I witnessed growing up, the local variety, like my little friend in the photo, sport bulbous toes and sticky skins. Nocturnal by nature, their eyes of burnt sienna glisten in the darkness.

The frog in the photo napped in our birdbath for two days until the rains stopped, the sun appeared, and, overheated, he departed for shadier pastures or ponds as the case may be.