Water - Its absence and abundance
The spring that supports life in the desert
August 11, 2024
In water’s absence we discover what’s precious
Urban gardening stops being romantic and starts getting real when your city water line busts and you go from having fantastic water pressure to nothing. The days prior had been 100 degrees and the heat was forecasted to continue. Sustained heat is powerful but it can also be depleting and wreak havoc on a garden. One remedy to cool this kind of intensity is water. I, trying to be on top of it, was out prior to sunrise preparing to run a couple of irrigation lines. It was then that I noticed the lines not swelling. And shortly thereafter the tap went dry.
We were without water for an entire day. I felt for the crew who, in the heat, had to tear up the asphalt, move a ton of dirt, and start what I imagine is no small feat – hours of subterranean pipe welding. Once the repair was complete it unfortunately broke again. This time further down the line. Needless to say, it was a long day in the neighborhood.
So what did I do? Well to start, I drained all the rain barrels. And made manual rounds to the rows of flowers and vegetables. Thankfully they were full. I have three, which have the capacity to hold 55 gallons. Yet after this experience I recognized not only their tremendous value but I’m in need of more.
Deep down I know that the void I’d experience in its absence would be far greater than any hardship I experience while in its presence.
Typical of summer monsoons, the rains can be hard, fierce, and fast. Often going hand in hand with thunder and lightning. Rain barrels fill in a matter of minutes, eventually overflowing. Interestingly, wet and warm storms are a regular summer phenomena here, though sadly reducing in frequency. When they roll through there’s an abundance of water. It pours from the sky in heavy saturated sheets only to quickly disappear hours, sometimes even minutes later. What isn’t washed away in storm drains or the arroyos lingers filling the streets, ditches, ponds, and puddles.
As mentioned, the life of a gardener is often painfully real with little bits of romance sprinkled in. This amplifies when water, an essential ingredient to maintaining life, disappears and makes gardening in the desert seem defeating. Why bother, right?
There’s more to it – between the lines and beneath the surface. My father-in-law builds and flies RC airplanes. He’s a machinist, a painter, and an engineer. If he wants a different fuselage, he’ll fabricate one himself. If the engine or landing gear need to be rebuilt, done. He spent three weeks refabricating and painting a WWII model plane only for it to have a rough landing the first flight out. Yes, it’s a bummer because there’s some significant damage which will have to be repaired.
Someone once told him, ”Wreck ‘em. Fly them and wreck ‘em. The wreck is inevitable and don’t let it stop you. There’s always the chance of damage.” It doesn’t stop him, ever. Nor does it curb his enthusiasm and passion for the craft. I’m the same. It’s never a bother if the process itself brings joy and satisfaction. It’s time well spent.
It’s a lifestyle. And though challenging, it has given me, my family, and community so much in return. It’s abundant. With every aggressive storm or pesky bug infestation, I persevere and get a healthy dose of humility. I’ve come to see it as a practice which softens the edge of impatience, sands resistance to a fine grit, and ushers in a kind, neutral alliance with accountability, participation, and surrender. Deep down I know that the void I’d experience in its absence would be far greater than any hardship I experience while in its presence.
Water brings abundance
Water is abundance. Therein lies, embedded in the very fabric of the word, a sense of conviviality surrounded by an impetus to share what is sacred. The word itself feels round and expansive. Abundance: an onomatopoeia for a rhythmic drum beat. A word where movement is inherent. There’s nothing static about abundance. It rolls, expands, contracts, and fills. There’s a reverberation from the center outward. Abundance can exist in the physical and non physical. Be it the stormy weather or a state of being, abundance is never without a sense of fullness and plenty or at least that’s what I imagine.
When I pose the questions: is there going to be enough or do I have enough? I generally feel as though I’m on a razor's edge. Either feeling beyond grateful, full, and in love with my surroundings or by contrast, completely freaking out that there is nothing at all. (Honestly, I struggle with this. Hence why I garden. For me it is real tangible trust-medicine.)
Close to ninety percent of the quarter acre we live on is cultivated in one way or another. The house sits within an evolving and ever changing garden. I’m reliant on the flow of water and engineering new systems as water levels, weather, and temperatures fluctuate. I can say with certainty, raising food and flowers and animals is contingent on having a consistent clean water source. Therefore living softly, mindfully, and taking utmost care are required to maintain the health of its origin. For water is what surrounds, embraces, suspends, cleanses, and holds us.
It’s the spring that supports life in the desert.
When it comes to water, I feel so privileged and blessed. Spare the random day where it’s shut off, I have immediate, almost unquestionable access to it. It’s only when the supply stops that I have to rethink drinking, irrigating, laundry, bathing, etc. It's not something I ever want to take for granted. I think of the times I lived, short-term, in India, Venezuela, and Guatemala. Places where water is not always readily available. It’s made me hyper-aware and sensitive, if not borderline vigilant of my water consumption. Even here in New Mexico or where I grew up in California – water is and always has been in my eyes, truly precious.
Yours, Erin