Sam Smith - Then
there was the day in the 1950s, when the actress Bette Davis came to Wolfe's
Neck to help us find water.
Actually,
she really just came along for the ride as did the Maine novelist Kenneth Roberts, both
neighbors and friends of then famed water dowser, Henry Gross. Still it was fun
for a teenage boy to follow Bette Davis around all day.
One
of the reasons that Gross was famous was that in 1950 he had found three water
sites in Bermuda just using a map and dowsing rod while sitting in
Kennebunkport, 800 miles away. Bermuda had no
wells at the time and Gross' efforts proved successful.
The
most typical way to dowse was with a Y-shaped small branch. Dowsers held the
two tops of the Y horizontal in their hands with the palms pointed up. If they
found water, the rod descended despite the best efforts of the dowser to keep
it level.
Scientist
have never thought much of the technique. Wikipedia describes a "three-day
test of some 30 dowsers [that] involved plastic pipes through which water flow
could be controlled and directed. The pipes were buried 50 centimeters under a
level field, the position of each marked on the surface with a colored strip.
The dowsers had to tell whether water was running through each pipe. All the
dowsers signed a statement agreeing this was a fair test of their abilities and
that they expected a 100 percent success rate, however the results were no
better than chance."
Some
attribute any dowsing success to "a phenomenon known as the ideomotor
effect: people's subconscious minds may influence their bodies
without their consciously deciding to take action. This would make the dowsing
rods a conduit for the diviner's subconscious knowledge or perception."
Martin
Luther had a far less kindly opinion, calling dowsing a violation of the first
commandment.
This
teenager, as best as I can remember, thought along the lines of "Hey,
whatever works," but later, as an anthropology major, I was struck by the
prevalence in cultures around the world of what I came to regard as
proto-science: coming up with right answers without the right explanations.
Henry Gross had made me far more tolerant of shamans in distant lands.
Whether
by chance or by skill, Gross found a number of well sites that we would use for
decades. Some of these were flush to the ground, one of which (minus its top)
may have been the culprit the day my father had to call the local veterinarian,
Russel Pinfold, at a party to tell him a cow had fallen into a well. Dr.
Pinfold, who once described the Stone House as an "architectural
miscarriage," put down his drink long enough to tell my father: "Is
it head up or head down? Because if it's head down I ain't comin' over."
Other
wells extended above ground thanks to a stone and cement cylinder around a hole
several feet high and about five feet in diameter. That width was large enough
to send a young teenager down to finish digging but not so comfortable for
adults, which is how I learned how to make a well.
To
this day I still find drilled wells somewhat strange and a little boring. Besides
there's nothing to lean against or rest your soda can on.
As
for Henry Gross, I have come to accept the wisdom of that great scientist, Albert
Einstein. A friend was surprised to come to his house and find a horseshoe over
the door. The friend asked, "You don't believe in that, do you?"
Replied Einstein, "Of course not, but they tell me it works."