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Drilling for Water Day 63
It was raining heavily as the limousines arrived for the ground breaking ceremony in Camarillo. Framed by orange and grapefruit groves, our four acres seemed like God's own plot, despite the driving rain. The boys in the choir in red cassocks and white surplices grimly hung onto their soggy prayer books in the downpour. The coloring oozed from the red covers between their fingers. As the polished ceremonial spade cut into the sodden earth, we all sensed the thrill of a new era in the life of the church. It seemed to slice all too easily. The bank would not send out any money for the superstructure of the church.
Our first task was the drilling of a well and prove a plentiful supply of water on the site. This was our foremost and urgent priority. Day after day, the compressed air machine hissed and hammered relentlessly at the hard rock. Each anxious week passed without any news of a find. Then, at last, a telltale dark brown slither of sand appeared on the tempered steel drilling bit and as we watched, cool clear water bubbled and gushed refreshingly forth.
"Drilling for Water in Camarillo."
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