Roots got into the line. We get them out.
The island's trees are part of its postcard, the old ficus on Flora Avenue is literally a designated heritage tree, and nobody's suggesting they go anywhere. But those same beautiful root systems have spent decades exploring under the Village, and the original clay sewer lines beneath the island's historic homes offer them exactly what they're hunting, moisture escaping at century old joints. When a root finds one, the invasion is silent, patient, and eventually total. The first you'll hear of it is a drain that stops draining.
The clearing that follows buys peace, but by itself, only a lease on it. Roots regrow through the same entrance, reliably, and on an island where every service visit crosses a bridge, the repeat visit habit gets old fast. The permanent answer starts with the camera finding the exact entry point, the joint, the crack, the seam, and continues with actually closing it. In Coronado's older lines, that's sometimes one joint and sometimes a conversation about a section, and the footage makes the honest case either way. Nothing gets proposed that the evidence doesn't support.
Everything lands in plain English, the findings, the options, the tradeoffs, and the decision stays yours, made at island pace, no pressure attached. The work is performed by or under a licensed contractor when you're ready. The heritage trees stay. The roots just lose their favorite restaurant.
"They cut the roots, then showed me the cracked joint letting them in. Finally a plumber who explained the why."
