Sunday Stills: The Letter B

Thanks to all of you who have expressed concern over my absence. First, I should say something about where I've been.

It's very difficult to find inspiration for photography when the natural world around me is dying. Most of the photos I've taken lately are documentary and pretty grim. If you've kept up with the news you'll know our area has been surrounded by wildfires, scorched by high temperatures, and dry as a bone. We've received something like 2 inches of rain in the last 12 months. The river is just a pile of rocks. Animals are dying and the vultures don't even bother them.

Barren and Broken

This was taken near our house. One little Parralena blooming by an unfortunate armadillo (not Patches, but he's not been seen in months).

Our well has been dry for five months and most of my time is taken up finding water and hauling it. The garden, our fruit trees, the lawn, and just about everything else we've planted in the last decade is dead. Fortunately, we've been able to keep most of our animals alive, although we lost some older chickens (Stefania, Kitty Hawk, and Sumo) to heat exhaustion. Since we live in a remote place and can no longer grow our own food we're having to make more frequent trips into the city. It's all very exhausting.

Trying to keep positive about the situation, I'm painting pictures of water. Here's a 24" x 48" canvas on which I've just started working in oils.

Brushwork

I also took a three week trip and followed the rain around wherever I could find it. That made me happy.

Beams of light in a rain storm over New Orleans

It's also been a time to focus on the inside of the house. We usually spend so much time outside we sort of neglect the interior. For instance, we've lived without flooring for five years now and sort of just noticed. Everyone thinks the black mastic that once held down the 50's linoleum IS our choice of flooring...

So, I'm getting ready to repaint all the walls and put in flooring. To make room for this work I'm putting things into storage. Some of the first things to go have been my books and shelving. I don't know why this has been so nostalgic, but it's like packing little pieces of myself away. I took this today as the last light illuminated them.

 

Books

Know that I'm thinking of everyone even if time does not presently allow me to visit or post on your blogs. For more images of the Letter B, visit Sunday Stills.

All Our Ducks in a Row

Today, when we woke up all our ducks were in a row!

Farmer Rick and I have much to be thankful for--we've made it through another year together including our better foibles in chicken husbandry and accidental gardening, and our worse drought in history. His love did not waver even when I persisted on having curved walls in the new coop, and admits his carpentry skills improved with my nagging encouragement.

Nor did he admonish me for the outrageous debt we incurred from me having to take rabies shots after being bitten by the fox. Yea, he understands and supports my need to rescue critters, stick fingers into their wild mouths and to nurse them back to health. He loves my cooking--even when I forget that I am cooking and serve dinner a la charra y el carbon.

I have come to enjoy being awakened at 4 a.m. when he begins playing Chopin etudes and Joplin rags, mistaking my back for the piano in his deep slumber, and have begun to see it as a new way to get a jump on my busy day. I look the other way when he consumes all the household pickles, and gleefully cap the toothpaste and shampoo after him, because secretly I think I got the better end of this deal. He assures me we are equally fortunate!

People tell us we were made for each other. Indeed, we are cut from the same recycled cloth, quilted together by the poets, nobility, explorers, and farmers of our ancestry, having since discovered an 8th great-grandmother and 21st great-grandfather in common. When we cross the creek, neither of us can remember what we went there for.

Honey?

Uh hum?

Look, all our ducks are in a row! How cute!

But...we don't have any ducks!

Oh...You're right!



Y'all better go home!

Where's My Kayak?

Today we finally got a big storm. Real rain. As in over 5 inches! Everything just let out a big sigh of relief. The dry creek ran. Cracked soil expanded, trying to confiscate my sandals as I rushed around checking on the animals.

We'd gotten 3/8 of an inch last night, so this new amount is causing some flooding! Not enough to worry about yet, although Phoebe and Finley were not amused standing in their sheep "pond" this morning. Also, rain blew into the new coop from the unfinished overhang creating a small playa lake in the middle of the pine shavings. The chickens were all standing around looking at it while King Avelino tested the water with a foot and complained loudly.

It's temporarily brought the river back up to something worth kayaking--from near 0 to 260 cfs. Our dry well, however, has yet to see any results. There's more rain in the forecast for tonight and the rest of the week, so we can hope!

Back to the Basics

Since the wet wipes method of body hygiene really wasn't cutting it, I detoured Farmer Rick off of coop building this week to construct an outdoor shower. I've seen them in magazines like House Beautiful set in lush gardens and thought it would be nice to have one. But then, that's different than actually needing one!

You can see the dirt where our lawn has bit the dust. The view to the fence is the same from the open side of the shower. Fortunately it's wooded, and we also own the land on the other side of the fence. The shower base is made from a wooden pallet set into a gravel box. A foundation block was placed in each corner to hold the structure.

Except for the plumbing hardware, the shower was almost entirely built with recycled materials. It's enclosed on three sides by heavy canvas curtains that came with the house. They were so heavy they were pulling the circular shower rod down that I replaced them with lighter ones and stored them for 9 years. See...I just knew they'd come in handy someday! (In the background, that's the gazebo that came with the house that we turned into a greenhouse last year).

Here's a curtain rod detail...

a corner detail...

and the plumbing hardware detail.

Here's what it looks like on the inside. I see some dirt has already been tracked inside, but guess what? I don't care, ha ha!

And finally, the neighbor's garden hose that's keeping us watered. I'd like to get a little shelf inside for the shampoo and soap, and will look for some neat driftwood down in the creek for towel hooks. Maybe we can talk landscaping--after a rainy year or a new well, whichever comes first.

Water Canto

Dear Saint Isadore the Farmer
I don't believe we've met, seeing as how I'm not in your flock
but farmers are a family of sorts, so I thought you might
understand our predicament

The neighbor's new, deep well has so much pressure it keeps bursting hoses--theirs and ours. Farmer Rick repaired ours late the other night and connected it to the pumpkin patch--which we located at the furthest reaches of our property as recommended by permacultural practices, with the assumption they need little tending--HA!

Emily Dickinson said water is taught by thirst
yet our parched land can't seem to command the clouds
and our well is bone dry--nothing down there
but echoes of better times

After adjusting all the spray emitters to the new pressure, I got back to the source and discovered a huge loss of water at the repair site. One inquisitive touch sent parts flying and a geyser of water up my nose, drenching me before I could reach the lever to turn it off. Then, it was off to the tool shed to repair it again.

I thought I'd start with you--
kind to animals, patron saint of farmers and rural communities
--because I like the looks a saint with a shovel
and water springing forth

After completing the mend I had to walk back over to the pumpkin patch and reset all the emitters to yet another pressure. By now the 103 degree temperature has rendered the water in the black irrigation hoses to scalding. It's burning my hands and probably not making the plants too happy to have their thirst answered like this. I feel awful about it, but what can I do?

D.H. Lawrence said water is H2O,
hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, but there is also a third thing,
that makes water and nobody knows what that is
(I believe God knows)

Because of the mineral content that clogs the emitters, each one has to first be turned on full blast to clear the holes, then turned down to reach only the plant roots, no more. But the last one scalds my hand and I inadvertently let go, blowing the emitter cap to the heavens or at least into the surrounding grass where I cannot find it. There is now another geyser and I scramble to turn off that lever.

Who made it follow the path
of least resistance, yet strong enough to carve a canyon
there is a lesson in there somewhere for us
if we would stop to ponder

I go in search of our stash of irrigation parts and do not have another. The nearest one is a three hour round trip away. I apologize to the pumpkins for our lack of preparedness. It is now noon, and I have spent the better half of a day spraying myself in the face while my vegetables are wilting.

Loren Eiseley said if there is magic on this planet,
it is contained in water, but I think it is spirit he's talking about
like the angel of the flower contained in each seed
that brings forth the fruit

I spend another half a day getting the parts, and a few extra. Now a pond from the back pressure begins to form in the neighbors yard where the spigot lives, where this kind gift of water originates from, where their daughter is getting married this weekend. We decide a solution is perhaps to turn down the pressure on her side and up the pressure on my side. This means going back to the pumpkin patch and readjusting all the emitters. It is 104 degrees outside, the water much hotter. Both the plants and I groan accepting the only water we have.

Your prayer is for all Creation
--the fields, the plants, living water, fresh air, all creatures,
love for one another--this has been my prayer, too
we both know the worth of water

If there ever was a time Farmer Rick wanted to talk me in to relocating to a cooler climate, like the one he grew up in, this would be it. I'm frustrated and exhausted, and I can't even find the towel to throw it in. I'm hot, thirsty, sweaty and a magnet for west Texas dirt. I'd like to cry but I don't think I'm hydrated enough to make the tears.

So, I'm throwing some dirt in the well
tierra bendita that came from the Santuario de Chimayo a place of miracles
asking for clouds and rain to keep our well replenished
and our souls succulent

The well service calls to say, no, they can't deepen a hand dug well. Just to get the rig out to dig another shallow well is $4,500, but eight others already called before me and there's no guarantee in this alluvial gravel. All the new wells drilled around us are at 800 feet or $15,000 dollars deep.

And if your compassion can be so moved, Saint Isador the Farmer,
for our fields, plants, and creatures, to drive your spade
we'd be very thankful for the water!

When the Well Runs Dry

So many of you have kindly sent condolences over our situation here--thanks. I will never take running water for granted ever again!

This is the Frio River--or what's left of it--and I'm standing on both banks. Farmer Rick and I were mystified last weekend when a commercial river shuttle dropped off two tubers that looked to be in their 70's at our crossing. I hope someone told them it would be a long, hot, rocky walk back to their car toting those inner tubes!

Compare this with last summer's shot of the same river. When a river gets shallow and warm, fish die, algae grows, bacteria breeds.

Here's a rare glimpse into our dry well, which is basically empty save for a couple of gallons in the bottom. Many of you out in blogland may not even know where your water comes from--you just pay the city each month and it miraculously comes out of your tap when you turn it on.

Some of you may have your own well that's just a teeny pipe that encases a hole bore through hundreds of feet of earth like an iron straw sucking at the water table. If your pump went out you could get one of those old-fashioned hand pumps to draw the water up.

We have a shallow well that was hand dug through limestone by a pioneer pick axe in the 1860's, later encased with concrete. Where that ends there is a dark emptiness--a narrow horizontal cavern--where the water usually flows just like the nearby river it undoubtedly feeds. You see, an aquifer is like a large rock sponge. Some of the holes are as small as your pinkie, and some of them are underground lakes you could swim in.

The hole below the cavern is where the water is usually stored when the spring is flowing. The pioneers would have hauled it up with buckets and ropes over a wood beam, wishing well style. Assuming your bucket held a gallon, that's 8 pounds to haul up and carry to wherever you needed it. At some point the submersible pump was invented and that's what you see going down on the left side. It has to be submersed to run. We've turned ours off.

Think about all the ways we Americans use water: flushing toilets, cleaning house, bathing, cooking, household drinking, washing dishes, doing laundry, washing cars, keeping lawns, gardens, animals alive, recreation if you own a pool. How much would you use if you had to pull every bucket up yourself? What would you do if suddenly you had none?

We are bathing with wet wipes. Since I work from home, I wash my hair only when I know I'm going to be seen, about once a week. We drink and cook from bottled water. Fortunately we have a lot of dishes and clothes. I may soon have to drive to another town to use a laundromat and resort to paper plates. That little puddle is managing to keep our animals watered--so far. We can only hope for rain.

I've begun to realize Life, as we've known it, is pretty luxurious compared to what the pioneers must have experienced. I think about all the people today in third world countries who live on about 3 gallons of water--or less--per person per day and that water might even be as skanky as what's in our river right now.

So, the next time you turn on your faucet be conservative with your use, and remember to be thankful!

Send Rain

My area of the Hill Country--often referred to as "God's Country"--is looking and feeling more and more like the devil's playground. We are in our 8th week of 103-106 degree temps. Many living things are--as one of my horticultural friends would say--"taking a hit". We have lost several older shrubs and one of our two apple trees.

The Frio River is running at 2 cubic feet per second, which is basically zippo. Any water left in deep holes is stagnant and breeding bacteria. I think this chart tells the story. You see, even 100 cfs is not very good.


I feel as if we're stuck in the Elmer Kelton novel "The Year it Never Rained" which was set in a fictitious Texas town not far from here. Today the inevitable--our well went dry. There was only a trickle--not enough pressure for our garden's drip irrigation, so we had to turn off the pump to keep it from burning up.

In just one afternoon the effects are already visible. There will be choices, and more losses as we figure out what to do. Not good for farming. I've been running around all day trying to direct the trickle from one sad looking plant to another.

Even the cacti are dying. Having just returned from visiting cliff dwellings, I can now understand why the Pueblo Ancestors (the new politically correct name for Anasazi) had to move on down the road.

Don't Worry: You Just Aren't My Type

This morning we planted four types of cucumbers and some dill.

Pulling weeds in the garden this afternoon, I dislodged this Checkered Garter Snake, Thamnophis marcianus. We love diversity. This is a new addition to our species list. It was eating a small toad or spider when I ran for the camera.

For those of you afraid of snakes, there are a couple of comforting things you should know:

1. Snakes desire only two things in life--eating and mating--and you aren't appropriate for either.
2. You can outrun any snake.

During times of drought, they will come out after a rain to find something to eat. We got a little rain yesterday, which was refreshing. The evening air smelled earthy and complex, like patchouli. The sky is grumbling like it wants to rain again. Let's keep our fingers crossed!

Sunday Stills: Textures

To see some interesting textures I created in metal visit my previous post to see my latest bracelet project!

Raindrops on parched ground. What you see is about all that fell.
Our well is starting to suck air.

Cracked Earth with dead grass. Except for our drip irrigated garden,
much of our once beautiful land looks like this.

Seedpods on dirt. Looks like they have been gnawed by wildlife.

Visit Sunday Stills for more textures!