The worth of water

When the well is dry

This past weekend, I ventured west to upstate NY for a retreat¹. The drive out was beautiful, but as I crossed the Hudson River, everything looked shockingly dry, crusty even. The land was begging for a glass of water and signs indicated a full ban on outdoor burning. I later learned there had been recent wildfires in Hudson Valley, a rather unprecedented occurrence for the area.

The extent of the draught hit home when one of the local attendees took us to the Ashokan Reservoir, which can hold 122.9 billion gallons of water and supplies 40% of New York City’s daily drinking water. It looked like a half-filled bathtub. He said he’d never seen it so low in more than a decade and another attendee mentioned that the NYC mayor had just urged residents to begin decreasing water use in advance of potential restrictions.²

Looking out at the water, I felt awe at the complexity of our modern systems and the depths of our interdependence on the world around us.

Our retreat group taking in the reservoir

Creating this reservoir in the Catskill Mountains required clearing thousands of acres of forest and relocating entire communities. Construction started in 1907 and took almost a decade to complete. Tunnels and pipes that span almost 100 miles were built to move the water entirely via gravity. It’s mind-blowing to imagine all the people who built it and all the processes that keep it running smoothly.

Yet, this is all hidden when someone in New York City turns on their faucet. The water just flows. It’s modern magic.

I first realized how disconnected I was from these intricate systems and finite resources when I started a local food business. As we designed our mobile food truck, I discovered that I needed to account for every bit of water, electricity, and gas we would use. There simply weren’t enough AMPs in our generator for a coffee machine on top of our other appliances. And we had to closely monitor our propane and water use to ensure we never ran out in the middle of a service. I had previously never thought about how much electricity our appliances or habits required. I only ever considered water consumption when our town limited outdoor use. I received these daily benefits without any appreciation for where they came from.

This disconnection only began to fade once I started gardening. As I struggled to keep my plants alive, I learned about permaculture and discovered ways to capture rainwater and harness solar energy. Seeing firsthand how long it took to fill our rain barrel gave me a deeper gratitude for the simple luxury of every shower. Exploring alternative energy sources made me fully appreciate the convenience of our gas and electricity.

I don’t share this to advocate that we should abandon modern utilities or that everyone needs to harvest their own water and produce their own energy. But I do believe something important is lost when people are blind to how these resources are dependent on complex infrastructure and the natural world.

It separates us. It creates a mirage of independence. It hides the fact that the water we drink is sourced somewhere specific, moved via remarkable engineering, and replenished by the earth’s natural water cycle.

Even individuals who live in more rural areas and source water directly through private wells aren’t immune. When we moved back to New England, we looked at a property in one town where there were growing concerns that new housing developments had permanently altered the water table and degraded well production. I have family that lives in a town where residents’ wells are prone to go dry during droughts.

Once you experience this, it’s hard to forget. As Ben Franklin said in Poor Richard’s Almanack: “When the well is dry, we know the worth of water.” Just like when the power goes out with a newborn in the house (or a freezer full of meat), we know the worth of electricity. When we push the edge of our capacities or encounter limits, we begin to understand things more fully.

So maybe there’s a silver lining in how we seem to be more frequently bumping into the fragility of modern utilities and the volatility of Earth’s natural systems.

Maybe it will finally wake us up to how connected and interdependent we are. Maybe it will nudge us back to live more in tune with the rhythms of nature. Maybe it will inspire us to build the next generation of engineering accomplishments. Like so many areas in today’s world, I sense there’s no going back. The only way forward is to integrate all that has come before. To expand into more mature, more complex, and more sustainable systems.

I have no clue what this looks like. But one place to start is to at least marvel at the magic already around us. To appreciate the worth of water before the well goes dry.

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Thank you for reading! Please don’t hesitate to reach out with any ideas, reflections, or questions by adding a comment or replying directly via email.

1. The retreat was the annual gathering for my men’s group, Sons of Now, led by

Alex Olshonsky

. I’ll write more about my experiences in the group sometime as few things have impacted me more than participating in the group and building deep relationships with the other men.

2. Thank you

Steven Schlafman

and

Jonathan Basker

for the tour of your local towns and forests.