My first memory is that of water. I’m probably about six months old and I see this image, heavy on the vignette, looking out from a motel towards the water in Nova Scotia. My mother is in the image as is my sister, all in black & white. I close my eyes and I can hear the waves caressing the beach. With my eyes closed, I can smell the salty air.
And now I’m six years old and I’m looking out on one of the many lakes in Michigan and once again, my mother and my sister are in the picture, though the mood is much different. My father has passed unexpectedly and we are seeking comfort near the water. Looking up, I can see the tears rolling down my mothers cheeks. I know this is a sullen occasion, though, at such a young age, I have no understanding of what has happened nor of the impact it would have on all of our lives.
It’s Memorial Day and I’m living in South Carolina now. I’m still a young guy and we’re at the Aiken State Park looking out over the pond. My mother, sister, two brothers and my brother-in-law are all together eating food and doing what we’ve always done – gathering by the water in times both good and bad. I feel the beads of sweat rolling down my face as I take in the sights of the water and the wooded landscape that surrounds it on this hot and humid day.
Time passes and I’m in my twenties. I’m with my brothers in Quetico Provincial Park launching out on our first “Great Adventure”. We’ll spend the next seven days and nights canoeing from campsite to campsite, a first wilderness adventure for all of us. The water is so clean we will paddle into the middle of a lake, dip our canteens into the water and drink heartily.
It’s 2014 and the people of Flint, Michigan are getting sick. It’s the water. Right out of the faucet, the rust-colored and rancid smelling water is causing many of the majority black population of Flint to suffer hair loss, skin rashes, and other ailments. City officials have made the decision to switch their drinking water from Detroit to the Flint River in order to cut costs with no measures in place to test the water first. The result? Lead poisoning from the caustic Flint river pouring through lead pipes that should’ve been replaced decades ago. It’s now 2024, ten years later, and the lead pipes are finally replaced. Meanwhile, Nestle has had pipes of their own, sucking up water almost for free, which they then turn around and sell to people all across the country. For a $200 annual permit, Nestle` is guzzling water all the way to the (river) bank.
People all across the country gather together in solidarity with the Standing Rock Sioux tribe to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline.
It’s 2016 and law enforcement agencies of all kinds are present and there are rampant reports of excessive use of force. Water canons are blasting people during freezing temperatures. Tear gas and rubber bullets add to the harm, sending many to the hospital. The pipeline route was originally planned to skirt the City of Bismarck’s water supply, a primarily white population center; instead, it is routed by the Sioux Reservation’s water supply and sacred cultural sites. A leak would have a disastrous impact. Since all pipelines leak, the Standing Rock Sioux and their allies and supporters are protesting to protect the groundwater and rivers of that area. The Sioux tribe are literally referred to as ‘Water Protectors’. Despite attempts to stop the pipeline, it will eventually be allowed to pass. And it will leak. Mní wičhóni.
It’s 1870 and Alexander & Baldwin have set up shop to grow sugar cane on Maui, made possible by the Europeans “discovering” the islands in the 1700s. Over time they buy up land which means gaining access to the streams that flow from mauka to makai (mountain to sea) and diverting them for their own benefits. Sugar cane consumes a lot of water, leaving little for native Hawaiian farms that had once been a thriving, self-sustaining community. Unlimited access to water and cheap labor make for a tidy profit for A&B. It’s 2025 and east Maui farmers are still fighting to get access to this precious resource. Ola I ka wai.
I recently had a water crisis of my own. For over twenty years, I’ve paddled in big lakes, coastal environments, swamps, black and white water rivers. I’ve had a love affair with water most of my life and in recent times, I’ve been eyeing Millrace rapids along the Saluda River. A few Sundays ago, I set off downstream in my Wenonah Wilderness canoe. The current picks up and I snap to attention. With the water levels low, I slash through the rock garden feeling both on alert and joyous as I near the end of the rapids. I hit one more rock. Hard. I push off the rock and into the calmer waters. I notice a little blood on my knee, wipe it off and paddle a few more feet, then look down again. More blood. I head towards the river bank, take a closer look at my knee, and see that my trip will take me to the emergency room instead of downstream. A couple of hours and nineteen stitches later, I’m resting at a friend’s.
It’s today, the stitches having been removed a week ago and the wound has healed nicely.
It’s the end of a warm, summer day and I step into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
Water is life.
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