there is a corresponding benefit for that financial risk. And the cottage—well, if I don’t have faith in the project, who will have it for me? Besides, I think to myself, as I push open the blue door of the Health Department, if I can’t use my cottage, I can always run another ad in the
Pennysaver.
*
* AT THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT COUNTER , a white-haired man helps me. He locates the plan of my septic system. If I didn’t already have a copy of the card in my packet of plans, I’d be surprised to learn this official document is a three-by-five index card, with the location of my septic system sketched in soft dark pencil on the back. On the front, the number of bathrooms and bedrooms is indicated, along with some basic information about the system itself. On my card, it says I have three bedrooms. In fact, I have just one, but when we updated the septic, it was certified for three bedrooms. As always, I was thinking of adding on. I explain this to the man, who has introduced himself as Ed Barry. I show him the plans; he sees the single bedroom. “Well, if these plans are correct, and you are telling me the truth—” He pauses to get a good look at me, and I feel as though I have become Ralph Crossen’s “young lady.”
“And I am telling you the truth.”
“Well, then I don’t see a problem. You have a Title V system for three bedrooms. So you can add two.”
I restrain myself so he does not realize how thrilled I am at this news. I am Title V–compliant!
Ever since the Massachusetts legislature passed what is known as the Title V Septic Systems Regulations, the average Health Department official has had tremendous power in the life of the average citizen. Or more specifically, the average citizen who is not connected to a municipal sewer system. That includes almost every homeowner on Cape Cod. If you want to sell your house, it has to be Title V–compliant before the sale will go through. If you want to add on, Title V compliance kicks in before any building plans will be approved. If you are doing nothing except filling up your old septic system (or worse, old cesspool) with waste, you are okay—unless you have it pumped more than four times in a year. Time to upgrade, says the town, which tracks the destination of every pumping truck.
Title V is a good thing for the environment, another regulation I wholeheartedly support in theory. Especially on the Cape, where the water table is high and the land is low, we need to be mindful of where we plant our waste. The problem with Title V is that it costs a lot of money to comply. It isn’t uncommon to spend five or ten thousand dollars for a simple system. Some people can’t afford compliance. I had a neighbor several years ago who lost her home over a costly septic problem. She couldn’t afford the very expensive system required by her low-lying property, and she couldn’t sell her house without it. In a situation like that, the regulation seems intrusive, blatantly unfair. Yet without some regulation, we place our environment, and even our own health, at risk. For the second time today, I find myself contemplating the intersection of what we want and what is good for the land we borrow.
Mr. Barry warms to the idea that I hope to move a cottage, now that I am established as a truth-teller with two bedrooms on the way. He asks me where the cottage is now, how we’ll move it. While we speak, Tom McKean steps out of a back office. Tom and I play in the same community band, a wind and percussion ensemble of fifty pieces, give or take, in any given year. We sit at opposite ends of the group: He plays tuba and I play flute, and we don’t have much more than a nodding acquaintance. But we do nod and smile across the horns and clarinets that sit between us. From his baby face and clear blue eyes—and the two young children I know he has at home—I’d say that Tom is in his mid- to late thirties. That makes him one of the younger members of our musical
Pennysaver.
*
* AT THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT COUNTER , a white-haired man helps me. He locates the plan of my septic system. If I didn’t already have a copy of the card in my packet of plans, I’d be surprised to learn this official document is a three-by-five index card, with the location of my septic system sketched in soft dark pencil on the back. On the front, the number of bathrooms and bedrooms is indicated, along with some basic information about the system itself. On my card, it says I have three bedrooms. In fact, I have just one, but when we updated the septic, it was certified for three bedrooms. As always, I was thinking of adding on. I explain this to the man, who has introduced himself as Ed Barry. I show him the plans; he sees the single bedroom. “Well, if these plans are correct, and you are telling me the truth—” He pauses to get a good look at me, and I feel as though I have become Ralph Crossen’s “young lady.”
“And I am telling you the truth.”
“Well, then I don’t see a problem. You have a Title V system for three bedrooms. So you can add two.”
I restrain myself so he does not realize how thrilled I am at this news. I am Title V–compliant!
Ever since the Massachusetts legislature passed what is known as the Title V Septic Systems Regulations, the average Health Department official has had tremendous power in the life of the average citizen. Or more specifically, the average citizen who is not connected to a municipal sewer system. That includes almost every homeowner on Cape Cod. If you want to sell your house, it has to be Title V–compliant before the sale will go through. If you want to add on, Title V compliance kicks in before any building plans will be approved. If you are doing nothing except filling up your old septic system (or worse, old cesspool) with waste, you are okay—unless you have it pumped more than four times in a year. Time to upgrade, says the town, which tracks the destination of every pumping truck.
Title V is a good thing for the environment, another regulation I wholeheartedly support in theory. Especially on the Cape, where the water table is high and the land is low, we need to be mindful of where we plant our waste. The problem with Title V is that it costs a lot of money to comply. It isn’t uncommon to spend five or ten thousand dollars for a simple system. Some people can’t afford compliance. I had a neighbor several years ago who lost her home over a costly septic problem. She couldn’t afford the very expensive system required by her low-lying property, and she couldn’t sell her house without it. In a situation like that, the regulation seems intrusive, blatantly unfair. Yet without some regulation, we place our environment, and even our own health, at risk. For the second time today, I find myself contemplating the intersection of what we want and what is good for the land we borrow.
Mr. Barry warms to the idea that I hope to move a cottage, now that I am established as a truth-teller with two bedrooms on the way. He asks me where the cottage is now, how we’ll move it. While we speak, Tom McKean steps out of a back office. Tom and I play in the same community band, a wind and percussion ensemble of fifty pieces, give or take, in any given year. We sit at opposite ends of the group: He plays tuba and I play flute, and we don’t have much more than a nodding acquaintance. But we do nod and smile across the horns and clarinets that sit between us. From his baby face and clear blue eyes—and the two young children I know he has at home—I’d say that Tom is in his mid- to late thirties. That makes him one of the younger members of our musical
Similar Books
