The names in this story have been changed. Not because they’re in witness protection—just because they deserve their peace and privacy. (And let’s be honest, fake names are more fun.)

Who wants to think about what happens after you flush the toilet?

Literally no one. And if you live in the city with a proper sewer hookup, you don’t have to.

But if you’re like me, and the 1.2 million Ontarians managing their own waste systems—it’s probably worth knowing where that wastewater goes.

A few years ago, it became very important to my clients, Julia and Alex. They were looking for a quiet country getaway. A break from the noise of city life. We toured everything from rustic bunkies to modern builds, until we finally found the one:
Private acreage. A charming pond. Wooded trails. It had the works.

They did everything right:
Financing – check
Insurance – check
Home inspection – check

Cue the rainbows and Pinterest boards. 

They were arranging furniture in their heads, planning hikes, imagining long weekends with friends…
Until we hit a snag: the septic system.

Now, septic inspections are probably the least glamorous part of buying a rural property. But weirdly, they’re also one of the most fascinating. It’s a pretty simple setup:
A big underground tank, split into two chambers.
Waste flows into the first chamber.
Solids settle.
Liquids move into the second and eventually out into a leaching bed in the yard.

To keep things flowing smoothly (pun absolutely intended), it’s recommended you pump and inspect your tank every three to five years.

This particular system wasn’t old. It hadn’t failed. There were no tree roots clogging the leeching bed.
It just… wasn’t there.

We couldn’t find the septic system.
Like, at all.

The local health unit had no records on file. We traced pipes through the basement to where the tank should have been… and came up empty. We checked the obvious spots. Then the weird spots. Still nothing. It was as if the wastewater just exited the house and vanished into the ether.

We asked the sellers. They shrugged. They’d never had it pumped and didn’t know where it was. Which… is kind of unusual, and also not ideal.

At this point, we brought in a second inspector. His website boldly claimed he had never not found a septic. (Yes, a double negative. But we were desperate.)

He spent the day poking around with his magic stick and came up just as clueless as we were.

Morale was tanking. Julia and Alex were starting to panic—one empty shovel of dirt at a time. Their dream property was slipping away, and so was our faith in modern plumbing.

So we brought in the big flushers. 

We rented a mini excavator and dug up a huge section of the side yard. And finally. FINALLY. There it was. Six feet underground, much, much deeper than normal, but intact and exactly where it should have been all along.

The inspector came back, gave it the all-clear, and Julia and Alex were able to move forward with confidence. No more second-guessing. No more mystery pipes. And absolutely nothing was going to crap out on them—I really love a good pun.

These days, they spend their weekends hiking their land, entertaining guests, and enjoying peaceful mornings by the pond.

And flushing, without giving it a second thought.