We have become a people that do not care about tomorrow.  As a young man, I certainly fell into that category.  I was young and bulletproof, a belief I suspect is held by many within the teen and 20s crowds.  These days, I think about tomorrow a lot.

 

The mindset changes for me began the day that I became a parent.  When our daughter Tate wrapped her tiny hand around my little finger in the hospital nursery, I became infinitely more concerned about the future, particularly her future.  Our son Dan’s arrival a few years later upped the ante on that future focus.

 

One morning recently while turkey hunting, I walked to where the natural spring emerges in the woods at the farm.  The frenzy of early morning gobbling had ended, and the turkeys were in what I call the “morning lull.”

 

I was prospecting, trying to find a gobbler on the cool spring morning and as a result, I was in no hurry. I decided to sit and watch and listen to the spring bubbling from the ground and flowing down toward what Pop always called the “reed brake.”

 

The calming sounds of the gurgling spring recalled my first experience of hiking the Appalachian Trail and a key takeaway from that experience.

 

On the AT, you filter your own water from the springs, creeks and rivers along the trail.  As such, the availability of a clean water source becomes of the utmost importance, influencing where you stop throughout the day and where you make camp.

 

For me, that reality was a wonderful reminder of the life-giving and life-sustaining properties of water, something that I take for granted all too often.

 

As I sat watching the spring and thinking about the AT, another stark reality about water came to mind.  I had recently read a disturbing article about the declining state of our ground water.

 

According to the New York Times article, “Many of the aquifers that supply 90% of the nation’s water systems, and which have transformed vast stretches of America into some of the world’s most bountiful farmland, are being severely depleted.”

 

The article goes on to say that “these declines are threatening irreversible harm to the American economy and society as a whole.”  As if I needed something else to worry about.

 

I seem to worry a lot these days.  I worry about a daughter and son-in-law serving overseas in the military.  I worry about what the future holds for them, for my son, for, Lord willing, my future grandchildren.  What is the price they will pay for our overconsumption?

 

The Times article points to “huge industrial farms and sprawling cities” as the culprits that are “draining aquifers that could take centuries or millenniums to replenish themselves if they recover at all.”

 

The reality is that what we’re doing isn’t sustainable.  At our rate of consumption, the article points out that soon “there will be parts of the U.S. that run out of drinking water.” Again, as if I need more things to worry about these days.

 

Walking back to the truck that morning, the words of the James McMurtry’s song “Levelland” came to mind:

 

“Grandad grew dryland wheat, stood on his own two feet, his mind got incomplete, and they put him in the home.  Daddy’s cotton grows so high, sucks the water table dry, his rolling sprinklers circle back, bleedin’ it to the bone.  And I won’t be here when there comes the day, it all dries up and blows away, I’d hang around just to see, but they never had much use for me in Levelland…”

 

I’ve always thought of McMurtry as a poet.  Perhaps I should also view him as a prophet.  He wrote Levelland back in 1995.  I guess he saw what many couldn’t see.

 

As a sidenote, if you love music, you owe it to yourself to see McMurtry.  I’ve seen him several times, including my favorite show in May 2016 in downtown Meridian at the Jimmie Rodgers Festival.

 

Much like his author father, Larry McMurtry, the same Larry McMurray that wrote “Lonesome Dove,” James is an accomplished writer.

 

In his songs, he tells it like it is, and sometimes that’s painful to hear, which is often the case with the truth, especially when said truth doesn’t jive with your lifestyle.

 

So, what’s the solution for the future of our water? As an optimist, I tell myself that it’s never too late to change; however, as a realist, I realize that we must make changes.

 

Do we need a lawn that we have to water?  Why?  Couldn’t we plant native grasses and plants that are better suited to our local environment and don’t require additional water?

 

What about our food?  Couldn’t we do a better job of growing vegetables ourselves at a local level rather than depending upon others and, as a result, consume far less water?  My inner Wendell Berry tells me it’s possible.

 

What about the cases of bottled water we so readily place in our shopping carts? Why do you need it?  Couldn’t we get a filter at home and fill a reusable container?

 

I can’t do that. It’s too much trouble.  I’ve said both before.  The reality is that we want convenience in every aspect of our lives, and that may end up being our end.  However, I’m a great believer in the fact that little changes can make a big difference.  My prayer is that this is true.

 

What life are we leaving for the coming generations?  It’s a question that I’ve come to think a lot about now that my children are grown.  What world will they inherit?  What world will the next generation inherit?

 

Until next time, we’ve got work to do.  Here’s to seeing you out there mindfully making a difference in our great outdoors.