Waterworld
Man thinks he rules the earth. Not so. The real power, the crowned ruler in complete control, is water. Everything is reliant upon and affected by the combination of two atoms of hydrogen combined with one of oxygen. How that molecule reacts to the changing temperatures creates the earth’s weather patterns. The forces of ice, rain, and flooding continually shape and reshape the surface of the globe and affect the lives of every living thing. We work full time to protect ourselves from water, but no matter what we do, water wins out in the end.
Throughout history, our dwellings have been attacked by wind, rain, snow, ice, rust, mildew, oxidation, and mold, all being effects involving some kind of moisture. Attempts to protect them with stone, plaster, paint, glass, weather stripping, gutters, various roofing materials, insulation, and French drains all eventually break down, clog up, and need repair. Water is in control. Water is the supreme shaper of our lives. It can be our worst enemy and our best friend, both wielding enormous power. We cannot do without it, but too much will kill us. It’s like a drug. We are water junkies: we rely on it, we crave it, but an overdose is fatal — as is complete withdrawal. Water rules.
We have created complex distribution systems for areas of the planet that are without water. We have dug irrigation ditches and canals, built aqueducts and sophisticated plumbing networks, created water trucks and bottles. Humans are actually water carriers with legs, continually transporting water from one place to another: in our urine and in the condensation of our breath. Without water we become dust. Dust and water form mud and clay. We use clay to shape pots, then remove the water in a kiln to create a vessel to carry water in. We drink the water from the vessel, carry it in our bodies for eventual release where it then travels through pipes to sewage reclamation plants. Water is recycled into the water table, or purified, distilled, resold, rebottled, and repackaged back into our lives.
Water is earth’s lubricant. Three-fourths of the planet live in it. It runs in our veins; it is the carrier of life. Without water there would be no people, animals, or insects; no parks, meadows, forests, or wetlands; no lakes, rivers, or oceans; no rainbows, morning dew, or April showers. There would be no life on earth. This planet would be a desolate chunk of rock: mere space debris. Yet, for some reason, earth has just the right orbit around a particular star, creating the perfect set of circumstances to allow water to exist. Since the beginning, the amount of water in some form or another has remained exactly the same. It cannot be lessened or destroyed. Protected in its atmosphere, Earth is a lush biology experiment, whirling in its orbit, constantly changing temperature with its varying distances from the sun. Its waters continually heat, cool, freeze, thaw, evaporate, condense, rain, flood, erode, and leach. A slight rise in temperature in the oceans can increase the production of plankton, which feed burgeoning schools of fish. Warmer oceans also create larger, more virulent weather systems which unleash water in all forms on the land. Earth is constantly massaged by warm fronts, jostled by cold fronts, and battered by high and low pressure systems. It also experiences the ravages of El Niño: the rage of the child within.
Water, the impetuous child, rules the earth. The one with the loudest voice commands the most attention, and all of our attention is directed toward water: the care of, storage of, lack of, purification of, transportation of, and the protection from water. We create lifeboats in all aspects of our lives. Sink or swim. For most people life is one long act of barely “keeping one’s head above water.” We cry tears of water, we “make water,” we drown our sorrows, and we toast with water of the grape. It has even been reported that water was once walked upon. We baptize with water, soak in healing waters, and sweat in steam baths (sweat being more water). Surfboards, water skis, flippers and snorkels, boats, canoes, rafts, and water parks are all tools we create to play in water. And we protect ourselves as we play in it, for not a single drop can enter our lungs. It can kill us so easily. We have nose plugs, goggles, oxygen tanks, and lifeguards; we use umbrellas, raincoats, and galoshes; we buy tarps, roof jack, caulking, and awnings; we plant grass to contain the topsoil — for without all of these, we would be consumed by water. We have to continually protect ourselves and our possessions from water, at the same time making sure that we get enough to survive.
Consider each rain season, each winter as one big drop: a form of water torture. The next wet season, another big drop. Year after year: drip, drip, drip, on and on. We go crazy worrying about our roofs, weather sealing, hillsides, and foundations. Drip, drip. We feverishly build yet another row of sandbags to stem the rising tide. Here comes another child: El Niño. Drip, drip, drip.
