Under the Sun
Water, water everywhere,
flowing beyond our reachRivulets of water coursed through the eroded washes that cut into the bluffs along the familiar trail. It was the first time I had hiked the normally arid terrain during a hard rain and it was fascinating to watch as the tumble of low, gray clouds distilled to the high desert a share of water.
Drying off back at the house, I could hear my share trickling through the gutters and collecting in the cylindrical, concrete catchment tank that squats in the corner of the front lot.
Water used to be on the periphery of my consciousness. I would think about it before a hike, measuring its considerable weight in my backpack against the amount I'd need. Thrift being a rule of the family, I knew that I shouldn't waste it, yet when it was inconvenient or bothersome to shut off the tap, I'd leave it running.
Buying a house in a rural area of the Big Island where county water isn't available changed my habits and outlook. I have become acutely aware that inside that tank -- an undisguised white-gray presence behind a scant stand of green and brown hapu'u -- is the total of my water supply. When I hear the pump kick in, I know where the flow is coming from and that it is limited.
Like others in the village, I've become ambivalent about rain. If a week goes by without it -- a rare and glorious occasion in the area -- underlying is a worry that if the skies stay clear for long, I might run out of water. When it rains for weeks, I complain about the constant wetness and when it doesn't, I fret about a possible drought.
So on a recent night in Honolulu, when thunder signaled a rainstorm, I stood outside, watching with unease as water, unable to penetrate concrete and asphalt, ran uncaptured down driveways and streets. I realized that the flow would eventually make it to the sea, but hydrology experts' warnings that water tables beneath the islands are rapidly thinning resonated through my mind.
Water has long been a point of human conflict. Disputes like the one between Maui residents and Alexander & Baldwin, outlined in an article in the Star-Bulletin Sunday, have become common. A battle between Windward Oahu farmers and Leeward agricultural and real estate development interests over water has continued for years in the wake of a Hawaii Supreme Court ruling that protects streams, domestic use and traditional rights. In Klamath, Ore., drought-weary farmers and endangered fish are pitted against each other in a fight over the release of water from a dam.
On a wider scale, spreading water shortages threaten to reduce the world food supply by more than 10 percent, according to the Worldwatch Institute, a public policy research group. "Water tables are dropping steadily in several major food-producing regions as groundwater is pumped faster than nature replenishes it. Already, many countries do not have enough water to meet domestic demands for food, creating a source of potential political instability."
Meaning wars? That was the discussion on a public radio broadcast the other day, with dire predictions of clashes escalating from local to regional to global conflicts. I can see it happening. Worldwide problems are tough to solve, not because there isn't a way, but because collective will among governments is elusive.
It is left, then, to the individual, and maybe that's how it should be. If I can conserve the water in my tank, I take care of myself, and if I take care of myself, I can help someone else. If we are all careful to use water as sparingly as its value demands, we can bank more for the future. If urban residents can capture the rain flowing from the eaves of their houses and use that for plants and lawns and washing the car, they won't need to tap into the municipal supply as often. Maybe just having a catchment tank in the yard will bring the point home.
I can't imagine that someday I may have to defend mine against water-raiders.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin for 25 years.
She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.