Skip to main content

Sweetwater

Sweetwater Wetlands Park:  mind you, I am not complaining!  It is water, and water is sweet in the desert, but sweet water it is not!

In plain fact, it is water from the sewage treatment plant for the city of Tucson, reputedly "treated", and released again into the wild, right in the middle of the city, into what we love to call The Santa Cruz River.

Most of the time, it is the only water in the Santa Cruz River where it goes through town, and for that reason, it is beautiful water.  Earth has been put in charge of reclaiming what had been taken into town and soiled.

It is only a few miles from our home, so this morning I drove to Sweetwater Wetlands Park to praise the gods of reclamation, who have called turtles and birds to help us remember what it rather was before grass-fed beef and beef-fed humans dug the earth for minerals, built a railroad, and ran the river dry.

Last week, when Geri and Dean were here for a lovely couple of days, we drove down to Madera Canyon, half way to the Mexican border, not far.  Madera Canyon is a crease in the earth, catching and funneling really sweet water down to the Santa Cruz River before it gets to Tucson, and where earth pulls the water down into her heart before it can come this far.  At Mission Xavier del bac where, three hundred years ago, Father Kino came and claimed he was in Spain, or what ought to be Spain, they built a mission because the river ran by.  The river is still there, but it seldom runs.

The river does run again, in Tucson, and while it is not sparkling blue, it sparkles still because it makes life possible.

 I felt a bit like Father Kino, myself, this morning, because I discovered something that has been there for a long time, but I had not seen it before.  If, like Moses, I could strike a rock and get water out of it, I would, or if, like Father Kino, I could call on the resources Spain stole from "Latin" America, I might whack away at stones in the desert, hoping for streams in the desert, but short of that, I am pleased with such Sweetwater as we have, west of I-10, at Prince.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

That's all we want: fairness! Not more guns and more war! Fairness!

The five police officers who were killed in Dallas are certainly not the officers who killed innocent citizens. There is more than enough tragedy to go around. "What is happening to our country?", Mari asked this morning. I had no answer.  We do have an answer.  We do not want to say it. There are lots of answers, all of them pertinent. We are a racist society, like most human societies. We are a society in the midst of enormous changes-- social, political, economic--and we do not know what to do about it. We are divided unsustainably into absurdly rich, and an enormous number of crumbling middle class families, and poor. We have guns everywhere; military guns, guns just for killing people, cheap guns, heroes carrying guns into churches and supermarkets, idiots who think guns ought to be allowed in bars and schools and ball games and beauty parlors and political rallies. Our political process is almost useless. There are good people in Congress, but there...

On Watching a Formerly Sane Man Descend into Abject Religion

If you read the previous post, you know the apparatus, pictured here, is a torture machine. There are ten of them in our house, purportedly to circulate air to dry out all the problems caused by a water leak. We live in Tucson:  it has not rained in Tucson since the Gadsden Purchase. A mudslide the size of the one in Washington State could course through our neighborhood and it would be bone-dry and stone-hard before it quit moving. I suspect it is the CIA, and probably the Border Patrol! We are, after all, only about a hundred miles from the border. I fully expect a large suburban assault vehicle to pull up to the house, and for lots of people with UPPER CASE LETTERS on their shirts to interrogate us, and I will have to explain that all the drugs I use come from Walgreens and Total Wine. But it won't work.  Our minds are going. We are getting short with each other and, if they promise to turn off the fans, I will confess to having invented the Arab...