Well, the kids walked, and when they walked over the ground said to have water beneath it, a few of their rods, as it happened, dipped.īull’s was the first. Then he lined the children up before what he said was an underground vein of water that fed a black pitcher pump, and the old-timer told them to walk.
DOWSING ROD GARDEN STORY HOW TO
He handed the branches around and showed the kids how to hold them-palms skyward, points facing forward like the needle on a compass. When he emerged, he was clutching half a dozen branches he’d cut from the willows. One spring, on Easter Sunday, when Bull was 12 and he and his brother and the cousins were all up in the front yard, his grandfather disappeared into the woods. He felt something, too.īull spent his summers on that farm in upstate New York punching cows, as he puts it, six days out of seven. Bull’s grandfather lived on a farm on the edge of Watertown, New York. Yet some adults retain the feeling, and they may pass along what they’ve learned to those who are open. People are most aware of the other side when they’re young, before they grow up and come to distrust what they can’t measure, he says now. It was as if he had grown wings and flown out of this world. The floor of the mine was unnaturally flat and its walls steeply sloped, but he would pick his way down a few times a week, enter that vast space, and feel small. There was an old strip mine up the road from his home, and he liked to walk there. He was surer of himself when he was alone. She hung up, ignored his advice, and broke her ankle that afternoon in gym. Once, when he was older, he called his high school sweetheart and urged her to stay home from school. He quickly learned not to tell the other kids that sometimes, in these moments, he thought he glimpsed the future. What he knew was that in school his eye was drawn out the window and into the woods, where his world hushed. Sometimes it sent him messages, although at the time he did not know them as such. He sensed that there was something right on the edge of his reality, in rural Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, where he grew up in the 1940s and ’50s.
Leroy Bull was a boy who felt things other children did not.
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