I think of myself as fairly aware of the amazing gift of freshwater, and how Inexpensive it is. That also makes it easy to waste. Your essay took me back in time to our family’s cabin in North Central Minnesota. Until 1961 we pumped water from the well that was heavily laden with iron, and I loved the taste of that. We also tossed our wash water into the hill by the yard, and brushed our teeth with a basin on a little shelf outside of the back door. I loved spitting into the ground cover at the edge of the yard! How free that felt!And though I would not admit to this today, knowing what I do about toxicity, we would hike up the hill a ways and bury the contents of our “Biffy”, a chemical toilet that to my recollection contained creosote.
What great memories! May they bring you back to a closer connection to the anonymous urbanized water that flows from your pipes now, and perhaps help you find a small ritual that will honor your connection to that daily gift of fresh water. (And BTW, I hope your burial site for the "Buffy" waste was not near your well!)
Mil gracias, Marlena! The more I pursue this year of spiritual thinking, the more I realize how at this point in my life, I am happiest and most centered in a slower, more deeply connected daily routine.
We're in the same situation here in Tucson. Our trees and shrubs are on a drip system we turn on twice a week, and nearly all are drought resistant. We are replacing the fruit trees that take so much water. Though we had a great wet spring this year, all the grass is now dry and brown.
Karen, I sympathize with how hard it can be to maintain a planted landscape in Tucson! My parents lived in the Old Ft Lowell district near the Rillito for 26 years, and I remember the wet years and the dry years there, and how wise I realized they were to landscape their yard with the plants that were there before the horse farm was turned into houses. They had native mesquites and palo verdes for shade, and wildflowers of all sort, plus native grasses and cacti. It was a wonderfully wild yard with birds all year round and delights everywhere, and best of all, it didn't require any water once the plants were established. Stay cool and enjoy the desert even in fore-summer and drought!
Clearly I have a weakness for primroses. White with light and moisture in the midst of drought. Reminds me of W. H. Auden's poem "Streams" with its line:
Thousands have lived without love, not one without water
Our old farmhouse in the Arkansas Ozarks where we lived the last decade of the last century (interesting to consider that fact!) had an old shallow hand dug well. This was my first experience of water that was not pumped from municipal lines.
The water seeped in slowly to fill the small tank so we learned exactly how many showers, loads of laundry, dish washes we could use before we had to wait patiently for water to seep back.
And it was the sweetest water I've ever tasted.
We were on a deep community well at the lakehouse which because of bacteria etc always tasted of salt or bleach. That's when large glass containers of water brought in weekly were used for consumption.
Now we are in NC and back on a municipal water system. We still conserve and are careful with our use.
And still miss that sweet taste from that little shallow well!
Kathleen, "The sweet taste from that little shallow well"--what an evocative memory from your Ozarks cabin! Your poetic sense comes through clearly there. I think when we have that kind of intimate connection with the water we use, as you did with your seeping well, we are less likely to ever return to taking the fresh water that sustains our lives for granted. Thank you for sharing that sensory memory and your journey with water since then. Many blessings back to you!
What a simple, practical way to practice reciprocity- to return, with gratitude, a bit of the life-nurturing water the earth provides so freely. These moments of connection are as precious as water during a drought. Thank you! 💚💦
Thank you for reading and appreciating this kind of long post, Julie! I feel especially grateful for this community of readers and thinkers, and the support and inspiration we so freely share.
Water has always been an issue in the Southwest, one that some people will readily fight over. I grew up in Yuma County, Arizona, where less than three inches a year is the norm. The Colorado River there disappeared even in the 1960s after Morelos Dam on the Baja side, and the situation has worsened as Las Vegas and California get their share and snowpack in the Rockies disappears.
Still, every now and then we did actually get rain, and then the desert bloomed!
The desert is a presence in that part of the U.S. and it is easy to marvel that anything lives there at all. Sidewinders and lizards leave their characteristic marks in the sand, which also show signs of kangaroo rat activity. Where there is water, such as in the rocky tanks, or tanajas, life can get exuberant. Water is certainly something for which to be grateful!
What an evocative description of the hot desert around Yuma, David! That whole ecosystem has always seemed like such a magical place to me, going dormant for so many years, the perennial plants "hiding" underground and the annuals waiting out the hardest times as seeds, and then bursting into bloom with the rains do come.
It's a different world here in the high desert around Santa Fe (I'm at 6,800 feet elevation, about 6,700 feet above your old homeland at Yuma!), where the "normal" precipitation is 10-12 inches a year. We have rarely seen normal for the past two decades, but this spring ranks as one of the worst in our ongoing drought. We're "only" in severe drought because the winter precipitation was good until late January, and then the tap just turned off and the temperatures rose. So it goes....
The desert around Yuma has its own stark beauty. Quite a few years ago I was invited on a short trip down the Camino del Diablo, which parallels the US-Mexican border. The area is partly in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge and the Barry Goldwater Bombing Range. We had to get permission for all the entities and sign papers absolving the government for anything that happened to us. We ran into a Geology class from ASU, but after that, about a third of the way to our final turning point, we saw no humans at all. We finished our short trip by reaching the edge of the Lechuguilla Desert within sight of the Tinajas Altas Mountains, but time restraints forced us to return down the Camino to Ajo.
The whole area has a definite spirit of place about it. The silence is almost deafening at night and most of the land was extremely dry. Yet we came across spots where some random shower had caused the desert to bloom like a botanical garden, with brittlebush putting out profuse yellow flowers and ocotillo showing green leaves and occasional red tassels of bloom. Elephant trees were also showing signs of life.
From our one camp near the Tule Mountains the night sky glittered with so many stars I had difficulty finding the constellations, but with some difficulty I finally located a blur that was Halley's Comet on its last return - a poor shade of the 1910 visit!
Those evening primroses are even more lovely cradled in dry grasses. How every precious they are, and the life-giving water. I am so grateful that going into our third year of moderate drought after an almost snowless winter, we have had many more days of rain this spring, and I have never seen my garden look so beautiful. xo
I celebrate with you the rains you have gotten this spring, and the way they are sustaining the wild and domestic landscapes you live in and love! This is not the driest spring we've seen here, but more than twenty years of drier than normal years are taking toll on even the toughest plants. Many of the grasses have gone dormant, and even the piñon pines and junipers are beginning to "self-prune" whole limbs, letting them die in an attempt to save at least part of the whole tree. If our summer rains come on schedule in late June, that will help, but in the meantime, we are going into our hottest and driest time. Still, this landscape astonishes me with its resilience. Enjoy your rains and your beautiful garden! xo
Water is precious and easy to take for granted. She is miraculous and a wonder. Your essay is a deep dive into caring for water and appreciating all she is. Thank you!
Thank you for reading and for your words! I think as soon as we began treating water as a "resource" instead of a living force, we lost our connection with the sacredness and blessings inherent in water. And we are the poorer for that loss.
Little bluestem, penstemons, and columbine. I have these in my garden as well, and it makes me smile that you also have them in yours. We have had a lot of water here this spring, enough to lift us from a drought. That water came with strong storms that caused considerable damage to several communities. I’m so grateful for the rain and saddened by the damage. I have pondered hooking up an “illegal” grey water system to my washer to use as extra gardening water. We use plant friendly laundry soap. Thanks for reminding us about the tiny fraction of fresh water we all depend on.
I am glad you got rain finally, and very sorry that it came with tornadoes and wind and damage. I think a gray water system is a good idea, even though it's technically legal. Sending water through a sewage treatment system when it's not actually necessary is a waste of energy and water. And how lovely that we have some of the same plants in our respective gardens--a connection over the miles. :)
I think of myself as fairly aware of the amazing gift of freshwater, and how Inexpensive it is. That also makes it easy to waste. Your essay took me back in time to our family’s cabin in North Central Minnesota. Until 1961 we pumped water from the well that was heavily laden with iron, and I loved the taste of that. We also tossed our wash water into the hill by the yard, and brushed our teeth with a basin on a little shelf outside of the back door. I loved spitting into the ground cover at the edge of the yard! How free that felt!And though I would not admit to this today, knowing what I do about toxicity, we would hike up the hill a ways and bury the contents of our “Biffy”, a chemical toilet that to my recollection contained creosote.
What great memories! May they bring you back to a closer connection to the anonymous urbanized water that flows from your pipes now, and perhaps help you find a small ritual that will honor your connection to that daily gift of fresh water. (And BTW, I hope your burial site for the "Buffy" waste was not near your well!)
It wasn’t!! Dad made sure of that!
Good for him, and a good lesson for you all!
Susan, another meaningful and deeply inspiring post.
Mil gracias, Marlena! The more I pursue this year of spiritual thinking, the more I realize how at this point in my life, I am happiest and most centered in a slower, more deeply connected daily routine.
We're in the same situation here in Tucson. Our trees and shrubs are on a drip system we turn on twice a week, and nearly all are drought resistant. We are replacing the fruit trees that take so much water. Though we had a great wet spring this year, all the grass is now dry and brown.
Water is gold here in the Southwest.
Karen, I sympathize with how hard it can be to maintain a planted landscape in Tucson! My parents lived in the Old Ft Lowell district near the Rillito for 26 years, and I remember the wet years and the dry years there, and how wise I realized they were to landscape their yard with the plants that were there before the horse farm was turned into houses. They had native mesquites and palo verdes for shade, and wildflowers of all sort, plus native grasses and cacti. It was a wonderfully wild yard with birds all year round and delights everywhere, and best of all, it didn't require any water once the plants were established. Stay cool and enjoy the desert even in fore-summer and drought!
Clearly I have a weakness for primroses. White with light and moisture in the midst of drought. Reminds me of W. H. Auden's poem "Streams" with its line:
Thousands have lived without love, not one without water
That is a particularly poignant Auden line, Jill. Thanks for reminding us of it!
Our old farmhouse in the Arkansas Ozarks where we lived the last decade of the last century (interesting to consider that fact!) had an old shallow hand dug well. This was my first experience of water that was not pumped from municipal lines.
The water seeped in slowly to fill the small tank so we learned exactly how many showers, loads of laundry, dish washes we could use before we had to wait patiently for water to seep back.
And it was the sweetest water I've ever tasted.
We were on a deep community well at the lakehouse which because of bacteria etc always tasted of salt or bleach. That's when large glass containers of water brought in weekly were used for consumption.
Now we are in NC and back on a municipal water system. We still conserve and are careful with our use.
And still miss that sweet taste from that little shallow well!
Many blessing to you, my friend
Kathleen
Kathleen, "The sweet taste from that little shallow well"--what an evocative memory from your Ozarks cabin! Your poetic sense comes through clearly there. I think when we have that kind of intimate connection with the water we use, as you did with your seeping well, we are less likely to ever return to taking the fresh water that sustains our lives for granted. Thank you for sharing that sensory memory and your journey with water since then. Many blessings back to you!
What a simple, practical way to practice reciprocity- to return, with gratitude, a bit of the life-nurturing water the earth provides so freely. These moments of connection are as precious as water during a drought. Thank you! 💚💦
Thank you for reading and appreciating this kind of long post, Julie! I feel especially grateful for this community of readers and thinkers, and the support and inspiration we so freely share.
Me too! 🥰
Water has always been an issue in the Southwest, one that some people will readily fight over. I grew up in Yuma County, Arizona, where less than three inches a year is the norm. The Colorado River there disappeared even in the 1960s after Morelos Dam on the Baja side, and the situation has worsened as Las Vegas and California get their share and snowpack in the Rockies disappears.
Still, every now and then we did actually get rain, and then the desert bloomed!
The desert is a presence in that part of the U.S. and it is easy to marvel that anything lives there at all. Sidewinders and lizards leave their characteristic marks in the sand, which also show signs of kangaroo rat activity. Where there is water, such as in the rocky tanks, or tanajas, life can get exuberant. Water is certainly something for which to be grateful!
What an evocative description of the hot desert around Yuma, David! That whole ecosystem has always seemed like such a magical place to me, going dormant for so many years, the perennial plants "hiding" underground and the annuals waiting out the hardest times as seeds, and then bursting into bloom with the rains do come.
It's a different world here in the high desert around Santa Fe (I'm at 6,800 feet elevation, about 6,700 feet above your old homeland at Yuma!), where the "normal" precipitation is 10-12 inches a year. We have rarely seen normal for the past two decades, but this spring ranks as one of the worst in our ongoing drought. We're "only" in severe drought because the winter precipitation was good until late January, and then the tap just turned off and the temperatures rose. So it goes....
The desert around Yuma has its own stark beauty. Quite a few years ago I was invited on a short trip down the Camino del Diablo, which parallels the US-Mexican border. The area is partly in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge and the Barry Goldwater Bombing Range. We had to get permission for all the entities and sign papers absolving the government for anything that happened to us. We ran into a Geology class from ASU, but after that, about a third of the way to our final turning point, we saw no humans at all. We finished our short trip by reaching the edge of the Lechuguilla Desert within sight of the Tinajas Altas Mountains, but time restraints forced us to return down the Camino to Ajo.
The whole area has a definite spirit of place about it. The silence is almost deafening at night and most of the land was extremely dry. Yet we came across spots where some random shower had caused the desert to bloom like a botanical garden, with brittlebush putting out profuse yellow flowers and ocotillo showing green leaves and occasional red tassels of bloom. Elephant trees were also showing signs of life.
From our one camp near the Tule Mountains the night sky glittered with so many stars I had difficulty finding the constellations, but with some difficulty I finally located a blur that was Halley's Comet on its last return - a poor shade of the 1910 visit!
What a great memory and a wondrous expedition on the Camino del Diablo!
Those evening primroses are even more lovely cradled in dry grasses. How every precious they are, and the life-giving water. I am so grateful that going into our third year of moderate drought after an almost snowless winter, we have had many more days of rain this spring, and I have never seen my garden look so beautiful. xo
I celebrate with you the rains you have gotten this spring, and the way they are sustaining the wild and domestic landscapes you live in and love! This is not the driest spring we've seen here, but more than twenty years of drier than normal years are taking toll on even the toughest plants. Many of the grasses have gone dormant, and even the piñon pines and junipers are beginning to "self-prune" whole limbs, letting them die in an attempt to save at least part of the whole tree. If our summer rains come on schedule in late June, that will help, but in the meantime, we are going into our hottest and driest time. Still, this landscape astonishes me with its resilience. Enjoy your rains and your beautiful garden! xo
Water is precious and easy to take for granted. She is miraculous and a wonder. Your essay is a deep dive into caring for water and appreciating all she is. Thank you!
Thank you for reading and for your words! I think as soon as we began treating water as a "resource" instead of a living force, we lost our connection with the sacredness and blessings inherent in water. And we are the poorer for that loss.
Little bluestem, penstemons, and columbine. I have these in my garden as well, and it makes me smile that you also have them in yours. We have had a lot of water here this spring, enough to lift us from a drought. That water came with strong storms that caused considerable damage to several communities. I’m so grateful for the rain and saddened by the damage. I have pondered hooking up an “illegal” grey water system to my washer to use as extra gardening water. We use plant friendly laundry soap. Thanks for reminding us about the tiny fraction of fresh water we all depend on.
I am glad you got rain finally, and very sorry that it came with tornadoes and wind and damage. I think a gray water system is a good idea, even though it's technically legal. Sending water through a sewage treatment system when it's not actually necessary is a waste of energy and water. And how lovely that we have some of the same plants in our respective gardens--a connection over the miles. :)
I agree about the grey water. Now, I’m pondering that option again. Yes to connection.