Coastline Pilot

13 July 1007

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

Sea water swirls around my feet as sand pushes up between my toes. 

The incoming tide carries bits of tossed glass, broken shells, lobster carcasses, and wavy tails of spent grass.  Flotsam and jetsam, I think.  Circling the globe.

 

The same waters flow in the North Atlantic Ocean, the Arctic, Baltic, and Andaman Seas, the Indian Ocean, Gulf of Mexico, and St. Lawrence Seaways.  We are connected, we humans, not only by the air we share, but also by the waters that caress our shores, the waters that circulate in our bodies.

 

All drifting, shore to shore, heart beat to heart beat.

 

At home, I ponder the water that pours through the showerhead.  Where did this particular water come from?  Orange County wells?  The Colorado River?  The Owens Valley? How much do I use in one shower?

 

The abundance of water at my tap lets me forget that I live in a desert environment.  It lulls me into a trance of endlessness.  Somewhat like the deep sleep we have carried in our heads about oil supplies.

 

What we discover, slowly, what we awaken to slowly, is that the natural resources of our shared globe are not unlimited.  Something akin to the box of cereal in the cupboard;  when it’s empty, there simply isn’t anymore.

 

Except that replenishing the cereal box can be accomplished by a trip to the grocery store.  Not so simple with oil.  Not so simple with water.

 

Living at the edge of such a large body of water – the Pacific - we are easily deluded into a belief that it is plentiful.  And salt water is, comprising 97% of the earth’s water supply, but straight from the source, unless one is a fish, the water is not consumable.

 

It’s the clean potable water that’s the lynch pin.  The water we drink, the water that nourishes our bodies, the water that we need to be clean.  We switch on our taps and expect potable water to flow.

 

To brush my teeth, I turn on the faucet, wet the brush, turn off the faucet.  When I’m done cleaning my teeth, I turn the faucet back on to rinse the brush.  It’s a small gesture.  I’m not sure how much water it actually saves, but it is a measure that I can personally take to conserve. 

 

I wonder, how many others take like-minded small steps.  I wonder how many small steps it takes to make a great difference.

 

In places where water is not taken for granted, conservation is the norm, not the special occasion.  In years past, when cities, such as Santa Barbara, instituted mandatory conservation programs, we discovered that we could change our water usage patterns.  We could replant our cherished water-hungry gardens with drought tolerant plants.  We could repair leaky faucets, dripping hoses, and sweep our driveways instead of using the hose to clean them.

 

We learned that we could water as needed, not by a pre-programmed clock.  We could explore the uses of grey water, recycled from our own households, to quench the thirst of our gardens.

 

As we careen toward the end of the first decade of the 21st century, we are faced with water issues that no longer can be ignored.  Drought in the western states jeopardizes our free-flowing lifestyles.  Bountiful is being replaced by measured.  At-will usage will likely become regulated.

 

The world cannot increase its supply of fresh water. All we can do is change the way we use it, and the way we manage it.  With increasing population demands and continued man-driven pollution, the need for best-water practices is blatant.

 

Do I need to use the extra-rinse cycle on my washing machine?  Do I need to let the water run to hot before I enter the shower?

 

Small savings. Shifts in our personal behavior. We can educate our youth so that they can assume an informed stewardship of this planet’s future.

 

Tiny steps.  Water droplets.  Each one of them precious.