Water Is Life
Pepper Scott
I came from a place where water was never something we had to think much about.
My small town sits beside the ocean, with a coastline that stretches out toward the horizon. A big river runs through town too, carrying fresh water so clean and clear that you can scoop it up and drink straight from it. And then there is the rain.
Oh, the rain.
We have so much of it that rain has become a legitimate subject for poetry, music, literature, and probably a few complaints from people who forgot their umbrellas. Water is simply part of the landscape, part of the rhythm of life.
Then I joined Terry for a life in the high desert.
The word desert pretty much explains the difference.
There is a large river running through this area too, but here, people worry about that river getting dry. The air is dry. The land is dry. The reservoir is precious. Water is not something taken for granted. It is something people think about, talk about, conserve, and sometimes quietly worry about.
Living here has taught me a lot about water.
Terry, the Apache Kid, understood the situation very well. His concern about water was always front and center. He knew that in a desert, every drop has a story.
And every drop matters.
We are always at risk of drought. In recent years, that has become less of a possibility and more of a fact we have learned to live with. This year has been especially dry. We did not get any substantial snowstorms, and the rain has been almost nonexistent.
Our Sister Sue, who lives in another state, has apparently taken personal responsibility for correcting this situation. She has been doing her rain dance more often for us.
So far, Mother Nature has not responded to the invitation.
Everyone is praying. Everyone is watching the sky. Everyone would happily welcome a long, slow, soaking rain that lasts long enough to make the earth sigh.
Today, while going through some old pictures, I found this one of Terry wearing a T-shirt I gave him years ago.
Water Is Life.
He used to wear that shirt when he was praying for rain.
Terry had a way of making his point without needing a long speech. He told me the shirt was a reminder for anyone who saw it to appreciate this precious gift from Mother Nature.
He was, of course, right.
Looking at this picture now, I smile at the sight of him sitting there in his rain-prayer uniform, looking as though he had already submitted his request and was simply waiting for the weather department to get its act together.
I think he would approve of Sister Sue's continued rain dancing.
And honestly, at this point, I am willing to try almost anything.
Living here has changed the way I see water. I no longer turn on a faucet without thinking about where that water came from, how far it traveled, and how precious it really is. The desert has a way of teaching you gratitude.
Back home, water was everywhere.
Here, we learn to notice it.
Maybe that is the gift hidden inside living with scarcity. It teaches us not to overlook the ordinary miracles.
A glass of clean water.
A full reservoir.
Snow on the mountains.
Clouds gathering over the desert.
And, if we are very lucky, rain.
So keep dancing, Sister Sue.
We are counting on you.
