WSJ - Rain barrels are back.
August 1, 2001
Barrels Are Back to Save Rain
For Parched Lawns, Gardens
By RICK BROOKS
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
BROOKSVILLE, Fla. -- Robin Larsen wanted to turn a recently planted carpet
of sod in her back yard into a playground for her two-year-old son, but her
timing wasn't good. In the midst of a three-year drought, local officials have
restricted watering to one day a week -- a death sentence for all but the
hardiest lawns.
Undeterred, the 37-year-old Mrs. Larsen parked her husband's Ford pickup
next to the Hernando County Extension Service office here and heaved into the
back a used plastic barrel smelling of apples. The 56-gallon barrel, with a
spigot punched in the side, would be going under a corner of her roof to catch
rain.
"I just want to get it home before it stops raining," she said as the morning sun
beat through scattered clouds. Despite recent rains, it would take heavier than
usual rain for the rest of the summer to restore normal groundwater levels,
according to officials at the water-management agency for southwest Florida.
With 18 states suffering this summer from severe drought -- meaning that less
than 65% of normal rainfall has fallen for six months among other factors --
homeowners panicked by the sight of dying grass and parched vegetable
gardens are sparking the comeback of the old-fashioned rain barrel. Decades
after irrigation systems and indoor plumbing made rain barrels obsolete on
farms, suburban gardeners short of water are clamoring for them.
In Olympia, Wash., city officials in May sold their entire supply of 278 rain
barrels in four hours, at $20 each. About 150 people signed up to buy
rinsed-out plastic pickle barrels at the next city-sponsored sale in September.
Several Florida counties are teaching how to make rain barrels out of an old
plastic drum, adding a spigot and a screen on top. Mrs. Larsen couldn't get a
spot in two earlier workshops. The counties also sell ready-made rain barrels to
overflow crowds. In Plant City, Fla., TR Drum & Freight buys used plastic
storage barrels and resells them as planters, feeders for livestock and now, as
rain barrels. Sales are up, to 500 recycled Greek olive and pepper barrels a
month, from 100 about six months ago.
And after word spread in Tacoma, Wash., that Dan Borba had figured out how
to water his patch of leeks and broccoli in a neighborhood garden with a barrel
stuck under a broken downspout, he was flooded with orders. Now he makes
about 20 rain barrels a week from used pickle containers, clearing a $15 profit
on each $45 barrel, and he has taken on his father, his brother-in-law and three
friends as part-time assistants. The only problem: Mr. Borba's supplier of
pickle barrels has run out and won't have any more this summer.
"I'm desperately searching around," Mr. Borba says. "I don't know if I'm in
over my head or not."
Until the 1940s, the rain barrel was a common sight at farms and homes
throughout rural America. Rainwater often was softer than pipe-supplied
water, and wooden feed-barrels scattered beneath the steep roof of a barn
could catch hundreds of gallons of water during a brief shower. But with
modern plumbing, the rain barrel became unnecessary. Today, what many city
folks know about rain barrels comes from reruns of "Petticoat Junction" and
an old children's song that asks a playmate to "shout down my rain barrel; slide
down my cellar door."
Then came some of the driest weather on record. Facing possible ruin this
summer, Oregon farmers have trespassed on a federal irrigation project four
times to divert water to their fields. Washington State officials shut off the tap
to five fountains at the Capitol in Olympia. And as Florida's Lake Okeechobee,
the backup water supply to most of south Florida, bottomed out in May at its
lowest recorded level ever, Gov. Jeb Bush said he was praying for rain and
hoped other state residents would, too.
But the weather has done wonders for rain barrels. Jim Cox, a 46-year-old
international-trade expert in Rockport, Mass., says his tomatoes and peppers
respond better to rainwater than to the cold water from a hose, which can
shock plants in hot weather. Mr. Cox connects two trash cans he bought at a
discount store by running a hose attached to the spigot at the bottom of one
barrel to a similar spigot on the second barrel, which lies slightly downhill.
"When one fills, it fills the second," Mr. Cox says triumphantly, calculating that
each 66-gallon rainwater harvest is enough to keep his garden soaked for one
rainless week.
While parts of Plant City still look dry despite the arrival of Florida's summer
rainy season, Carol Benthal's garden is producing its usual load of cucumbers,
squash and tomatoes. She credits two barrels placed under the eaves of her
house and six extras used to catch any overflow. One inch of rain rolling off a
1,000-square-foot roof amounts to about 625 gallons, more than enough to fill
her two barrels even if most of the rain doesn't flow into the right downspout.
"If it wasn't for this, I wouldn't have anything," she says.
Water cops suspect that some new rain-barrel disciples are cheating by filling
drums with water from their hoses on the days when watering is allowed.
Short of catching offenders in the act, they can't do much about that. Says
Frank McDowell III, Hernando County's code-enforcement chief: "We would
hope they wouldn't."
Some gardeners say they had to ditch their rain barrels after the standing water
spawned swarms of mosquitoes. (Topping the barrel with screen or adding a
few drops of vegetable oil usually licks the problem.) The barrels also can
freeze and crack in winter, or topple over. Filled with 350 pounds of water, a
falling rain barrel can squash green thumbs and most anything else in its way.
Since modern rain barrels tend to be made of plastic in colors like electric blue,
they rankle the sort of neighbor who prefers yards swathed in green. After
Chris Skeens, 39, put five rain barrels in her yard in Olympia, her neighbor put
up a six-foot fence between their houses. Nicole Honeycutt, a 68-year-old
retired department-store employee living in Weeki Wachee, Fla., says the barrel
she plopped next to her front door in a trim subdivision has prompted stares.
"They look at me like a strange bird," she says.
Write to Rick Brooks at rick.brooks@wsj.com
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