I need to explain to you something you aren’t going to hear from most septic companies: I have been buried in raw sewage since I was a preteen years old. Looks glamorous, right? Back in the summer of ’98, my family and I thought our mother and father had lost their minds. Instead of signing up for little league like normal kids, we were carving out trenches for our family’s new septic system under the scorching Washington sun. Who knew those blisters would transform into our blueprint.

Here’s the dirty truth most companies refuse to admit: Septic work ain’t just about hardware. It’s about understanding what goes on underground after the backhoe leaves. Most folks start in this business through pumping trucks. We? We launched with implements in our hands and mud up to our knees.

I’m never forget the day our installer, old Gus Petrovich, tossed me a level and barked, “Young man, if you cannot lay pipe straight, you’re gonna drown somebody’s lawn in waste by Tuesday.” He sure wasn’t wrong. We invested three days that July fighting with a stubborn clay bed near Redmond—digging, measuring, cursing, repeat. But here’s the twist: Gus kept bringing us to jobs all over Snohomish County. By 15, I could spot a dying drain field from 50 yards.

That is the DNA of Septic Solutions LLC. While competitors were focused on buying expensive trucks, we were discovering why systems truly fail. Like that nightmare project in ’03 where we watched a “expert” crew install a tank with no regard for soil percolation. Three months later? Yard looked like a marsh. We vowed then: No shortcuts. Ever.

Jump to 2009. My brother Art (you’ll see his name all over our permits) almost bankrupted us insisting on triple-checking every perc test. “Think about the swamp house,” he would growl. We ate ramen for six months. But when the downturn hit? Our systems kept functioning while others collapsed. Overnight, “Nikolin boys” became a thing whispered between contractors.

This is where we stand website different: We build systems like we’re going to have to repair them ourselves. Because guess what? We usually do. Last Thanksgiving, Mrs. Callahan in Woodinville called panicking about a holiday overflow. Art rushed out in his gravy-covered shirt. Turned out her “no-service” system installed in 2015 had a filter no one told her about. We did not just repair it—we showed her grandson how to clean it.

You believe this is standard? Wrong. Nearly all companies want you on a $200/month service plan. We’d rather you understand your system. Like that time we drew drainage diagrams on Dave Miller’s kitchen table in Everett while his children added crayon clouds. Why? Because when Dave’s willow tree roots penetrated his leach field last spring, he noticed the soggy grass before it developed into a disaster.

Our secret sauce? It is not secret at all. You’ll find it in the blisters. In the way Art still picks up the phone at (425) 553-3422 himself. In the Instagram reel where my nephew cringes at a DIYer’s “no-rock drain field masterpiece” (@septic_solutionsllc—subscribe for laughs and real tips). It is in the YouTube video where we compressed a 72-hour install in torrential Kirkland rain (@septicsolutionsllc).

But here’s the actual magic: We’ve turned each mistake into your gain. That mossy disaster in Bothell? Taught us to add root barriers automatically. The “mysterious backup” mystery in Sammamish? Now we install effluent filters on every job. Even our tanks are different—we spec stronger concrete after witnessing how Pacific Northwest winters destroy cheaper models.

Do not just take my word for it. Ask the retired Boeing engineer who challenged us to handle his sloping lot in Duvall. “Impossible,” said three companies. We built him a pressurized system that’s outlasted two of his cars. Or the young family in Monroe whose contractor installed an undersized tank—we redesigned their complete layout during a blizzard without exceeding their budget.

This ain’t corporate fluff. This is 25 years of frostbitten fingers, confusing soil reports, and relentless pride in doing it properly. We have cried over collapsed trenches in January storms. High-fived when our sand-filter system rescued a historic Carnation farmhouse. Even laid to rest our favorite shovel (RIP #3) with Viking funeral honors after it snapped during an brutal granite battle.

So if you find yourself scrolling through septic companies questioning who isn’t going to disappear after the check clears? Remember the boys who still recall their first lesson from Gus: “A good system hides. A superior system works while hiding.” We never just create this business—we grew it from the ground up, one honest hole at a time.

Your turn. Tell me what your system hiding?