Wayne Nash shares his thoughts on some drilling-related subjects.

A formation most well drillers won't encounter -- a Murray riding lawn mower.
It was an interesting week drilling; you never know what kind of formation you're going to drill next. I rigged up on a house well for a regular customer. The location was behind his shop where power and water lines were available. When I put my surface bit in the ground, I drilled about two feet and the bit locked up! I picked up and eased down into it again. Same result. Locked up tighter'n Joe's hatband! I couldn't even free it. I rocked the kelly back and forth a few times and it just got tighter. I finally made up my mind to pull it loose and see what happened.

It took all the rig would do, but I managed to pull up an old Murray riding lawn mower! Talk about a crater! The customer was standing right there and said, "Oh yeah, I forgot. I buried that mower there a few years ago." Took us an hour to get the bit out of it and move the rig up a few feet.

I wonder if Chuck Mills can make me a bit to cut Murray lawn mowers ....

Countless hours of working and studying go into passing the MGWC exam and earning the representative green jacket.

Further Thoughts on a Well Driller's Wife

I've figured out that drillers' wives deserve a special place in heaven. I know mine does.

Some time back, there was a controversy about the NGWA certified Master Ground Water Contractors wearing our trademark Green Jackets. Seems some of the new masters wanted a badge of office that was a little less outrageous. Most of us who have been masters for a while are comfortable with the green jackets as a symbol and don't want to change it. My wife was with me at a meeting where this was discussed. After we left, they had gotten her dander up such that she wrote a letter about it. I don't think she ever sent it, but I recently found it and since it's pretty interesting, I thought I'd include it. Here 'tis:

As the wife of Master Ground Water Contractor Wayne Nash, I've been watching the argument over the green jackets. At first, I thought it was just silly. After all, the green jackets have been an established standard for many years. Lately, I've come to think it is more important.

Years ago, when I first started going to conventions with Wayne, he would occasionally disappear for a couple hours to take a test. I asked what the tests were about. He said, "Certification." After a number of tests and sitting in lobbies waiting for hours, I asked, "Aren't you certified already?" He said, "Yes, but there's more I can do." When the results eventually came in the mail, the look on Wayne's face and his feeling of accomplishment were great.

After 35-plus years of experience, studying and testing, Wayne finally took the Masters exam in Myrtle Beach. The results finally came, and Wayne had passed on the first try. I am proud of his experience, knowledge and best of all, his green jacket.

Now some new guy wants to come along and change it because he doesn't like the color. Maybe he could get certified as a Mary Kay lady -- then he could get a pink Cadillac. The green jacket means more than he understands, and he should leave it alone.

-- Lottie Nash, Master's wife

Take a tip from this well driller's wife: Kill two birds with one stone -- wash the truck and pre-soak filthy work clothes into a laundering condition.
Considering the things she has to put up with -- namely, me -- I appreciated that. Reminds me of a story from a few years ago.

As my wife for 17 years, Lottie, a.k.a. bin-Lottie, on the occasional off day, can be my own personal terrorist. She-s got me pretty well trained by now -- I scratch at the door when I need to go out! She's a good cook, handles emergencies well and can even deal with the sort of dirty clothes a driller brings home.

Once, she asked me if I wanted her to wash my truck; I should have suspected something. I had had a bad week -- lost circulation, a leaking swivel, a transfer case rebuild and assorted other things that made my clothes look like something a forensic pathologist could spend a career on. I said, "Sure," thinking that she finally figured out that if she wanted the truck clean, SHE would have to wash it. What she did was spread out all my clothes in the bed of the truck and run it through an automated car wash. Got the truck fairly clean, and bonus, she got the clothes clean enough to go in the washing machine. Talk about making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

Years ago, before she had me sufficiently domesticated, I occasionally strayed from the standards that She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Disobeyed had set. One time, my buddy called me on a Friday and asked me if I wanted to go to an equipment auction. "When is it?" I asked. "Tomorrow," he replied. "If we leave right after work, we can be there tonight." Off we went.

This was before cell phones, and somehow I forgot to call home. We went to the auction, bought a bunch of "treasures" and fooled around. It was suppertime Sunday before I got home. I walked in and asked what was for supper. I soon found out it was hot tongue and cold shoulder --bin-Lottie had gone into terrorist mode for no reason at all! I got a two-hour lecture that included finger wagging and that chicken-neck thing that women do. I couldn't say much -- I didn-t get the chance. Finally, she asked me, "How would you like it if you didn't see me for two or three days?" Not thinking, or not having learned my lesson well enough, I said, "Fine."

I didn't see her on Monday. I didn't see her on Tuesday. On Wednesday, the swelling went down in my left eye enough so I could see her a little bit....