Life on the Road is not all beer and Skittles you know. It is true enough that we do only work before the paying public but two days a week, but a myriad of other duties await our attention. They range from the esoteric such as mediation while watching old movies and listening to Owls at 4 am. But other such mundane and even inane task lay before us. Such as Hauling Water.

Here at our swell and tony digs we have ! electricity!! a boon beyond words, but we are prepared to make our own with a 55 watt 48” long solar panel. It handily recharges our onboard 12 volt batteries and keeps our lights on and water pump working. But here we are blessed with so much juice we can actually run our Air Conditioner! Saints be praised! especially after 4 shows a day at 85 degrees or higher and 99 and 44/100 percent humidity. Just drying out is a gift from the gods. And sweet lady propane keeps our refrigerator very cold and makes ice for the cocktails shaker at Happy Hour.

Yet we have no water Hook Up. Every single drop of H2O for cooking, washing and our daily toilet, must needs be hauled by hand and lifted and poured into the holding tank by hand. The closest water is a mere 1/10th mile away.

Not that I care mind you– it is at least fresh, not full of Chlorine, mud nor other yucky stuff. But our Vintage and period correct fresh water tank holds but a meager 30 gallons, good for several dishwashings, a few showers, and a toilet flush or two. So off I go and hie me to the water hydrant, thankful it is ready and full of pressure.

I gather it Five (5) gallons at a time, and at least here I can use my little yellow wagon.

Its a simple and meditative thing to haul water– primitive and primeval in nature and yet still a definite chore I can resent a wee bit. I can avoid waxing prosaic. After all I am a carney you know. Do not look to me for answers. Do not look to me for insight to the human condition– I am determined to be an Anti-hero. My Ivory Tower of gypsy life is fundamentally flawed, and has no place in today’s society of bubbling change.

It is brimming with really hard work, for little pay. I swim in the shadow economy of non existent credit rating, cash based and bartered transactions. I am living as a Luddite and refuse to admit that I know what a Luddite is.

Years ago a friend who was a complete Bourgeoisie remarked that I lived a completely “irresponsible punk rock lifestyle”, and was a mockery to my very good liberal arts education and middle-class intellectual upbringing. She would tell me this while seeing me instead of her absentee husband.

She complained repeatedly about my ascetic life. I would try to listen to her while I was attempting to make the bath room sink in my travel trailer stop leaking–while I replaced about 4000 pop rivets in the Airstream, and making endless cold calls to fairs who might or might not book me… while cooking over an open fire because the stove had broken down and I couldn’t find or afford parts to fix it.

I never impressed upon her the need to survive and keep income flowing by methods which were within my means, by example or explanation. She simple opened up another bottle of vodka her husband had provided and told me I didn’t know what I was talking about.

So today I haul my water with which I cook, and clean, and make tea for the green eyed Beauty who sees that its with in the budget to camp here instead of living in motels, and eating crappy fast food.

The water feels very light this way.

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