Allow me to tell you something you will not hear from nearly all septic companies: I’ve been elbow-deep in raw sewage since I was 12 years old. Seems glamorous, right? Back in the heat of ’98, my siblings and I thought our folks had lost their minds. Instead of enrolling us for little league like typical kids, we were digging trenches for our family’s new septic system under the blistering Washington sun. We had no idea those blisters would transform into our blueprint.

Let me share the harsh truth the majority of companies refuse to admit: Septic work isn’t just about hardware. It’s about understanding what goes on underground after the equipment leaves. The majority of folks enter this business through service vehicles. We? We began with tools in our hands and clay up to our knees.

I’m never forget the day our installer, old Gus Petrovich, handed me a level and said, “Boy, if you are unable to lay pipe straight, you will drown a person’s lawn in waste by Tuesday.” He was not wrong. We spent three days that July wrestling with a stubborn clay bed near Redmond—excavating, measuring, groaning, repeat. But this is the twist: Gus kept taking us to jobs all over Snohomish County. By 15, I could recognize a dying drain field from 50 yards.

That is the DNA of Septic Solutions LLC. While others were occupied with buying expensive trucks, we were learning why systems actually fail. Like that disaster project in ’03 where we observed a “professional” crew install a tank with absolutely no regard for soil percolation. Three months later? Backyard looked like a swamp. We vowed then: No half-measures. Never.

Skip ahead to 2009. My brother Art (you will see his name all over our permits) practically bankrupted us insisting on verifying three times every perc test. “Remember the swamp house,” he used to growl. We ate instant noodles for six months. But when the downturn hit? Our systems kept working while others failed. All at once, “Nikolin boys” turned into a thing shared between contractors.

This is where we stand different: We construct systems like we will have to service them ourselves. Because guess what? We often do. Last Thanksgiving, Mrs. Callahan in Woodinville rang freaking out about a holiday overflow. Art went out in his dinner-soiled shirt. Apparently her “self-maintaining” system installed in 2015 had a filter no one told her about. We did not just repair it—we instructed her grandson how to clean it.

You assume that’s standard? Think again. Most companies push you on a $200/month maintenance plan. We would rather you comprehend your system. Like that time we mapped out drainage diagrams on Dave Miller’s kitchen table in Everett while his children added crayon clouds. Why? Because when Dave’s willow tree roots invaded his leach field last spring, he noticed the waterlogged grass before it developed into a disaster.

Our magic formula? It is not secret at all. It is in the calluses. In the way Art still answers the phone at (425) 553-3422 himself. In the Instagram reel where my nephew groans at a DIYer’s “stone-less drain field masterpiece” (@septic_solutionsllc—check us out for laughs and legit tips). It’s in the YouTube video where we compressed a 72-hour install in relentless Kirkland rain (@septicsolutionsllc).

But here’s the actual magic: web site We have turned each setback into your gain. That green disaster in Bothell? Made us to add root barriers by default. The “ghost flush” mystery in Sammamish? Now we install effluent filters on each job. Even our tanks are unique—we spec heavier concrete after observing how Pacific Northwest winters destroy cheaper models.

Don’t just take my word for it. Ask the former Boeing engineer who dared us to tackle his sloping lot in Duvall. “No way,” said three companies. We created him a pressurized system that has outlasted two of his cars. Or the young family in Monroe whose builder installed an too-small tank—we rebuilt their whole layout during a blizzard without exceeding their budget.

This is not corporate fluff. These are 25 years of frostbitten fingers, confusing soil reports, and relentless pride in doing it correctly. We cried over failed trenches in January rains. High-fived when our sand-filter system preserved a historic Carnation farmhouse. Even buried our favorite shovel (RIP #3) with Viking funeral honors after it broke during an brutal granite battle.

So if you are scrolling through septic companies wondering who isn’t going to evaporate after the check clears? Think about the boys who still know their first lesson from Gus: “A solid system hides. A excellent system works while hiding.” We didn’t just establish this business—we cultivated it from the ground up, one real hole at a time.

Your turn. What’s your system hiding?