Rain in the Desert

August 22, 2007, 10:30 am; posted by
Filed under Articles, Chloe  | 1 Comment

Best of Chloe, originally published on April 25.

It’s raining, the first raindrops to fall on Las Cruces since October, and all I can think is, Praise God. The rain mesmerizes me as the sun peeks from behind black clouds to turn the beads into the precious jewels they are to us.

Las Cruces has been in a drought for nigh on ten years now. I have walked across the great Rio Grande with my bare toes and heels sinking into the hot sand, reluctantly conquering that once proud and powerful course. I have watched each summer as Elephant Butte, our last resort, grows smaller and smaller while the islands in the middle grow taller and taller.

Is there hope for our scorched land, hope apart from the fickle sky and erratic wind? We could say that we find hope in our farmers, who will pump their wells dry and dig again to sustain crops of cotton and chilé, corn and tomatoes. We can find hope in those surreptitious reserves underground that feed our fading trees and pesky mosquitoes alike. We find hope in Colorado’s rainy weather, snowy weather, and anything else that may produce a runoff into the Rio Grande’s branches and sources. We may even find hope in the news that the ice caps are melting, because that means more water for everyone, and perhaps we’ll finally be allowed to scrub the dust off ourselves when the waters come roaring in from what used to be California and Arizona.

Just as quickly as it began, the rain now stops, and the droplets gleaming on my window are fast in drying, leaving only spots of dust in their stead. And yet the strikingly blue New Mexican sky is still obscured by those black and promising clouds.

The whole of the Mesilla Valley heaves a sigh and leaves the porch chairs set out specially to watch the rain color a brown and yellow landscape green. Not today, the wind sighs, reforming and dispersing the clouds. Not today. And the people turn away, removing hats with brittle hands to wipe away the sweat.

Will we find relief? Or will we dry up and turn to dust to be thrown by the idle winds to the north, where rain falls to the point of people’s loathing and grass is green in the summer? Or will we, perhaps, continue to live as we’ve always lived, skimping here and there with the dishes and the showers, saving water in landscaping and laundry alike? We have persevered thus far, proven that water is not as vital as we were told. Some of us have lived our whole lives covered in dust, wondering in awe at the rain, and some of us have grown thirsty for our old emerald fields of England or Ireland, where even the bark of the trees is green. But all of us have learned to sacrifice our fascination with water to the sun god, all of us have learned to accept — yes, even enjoy — the hot wind and the grit in our teeth.

We are tough like that, tough like dried meat and leather, tough like rock and bone, tough like the dry, dry river bed. Our water lies deep beneath all that, just as the desert’s water conceals itself beneath a cactus’ needles or a camel’s hump.

And we can live for a millennium like this. We already have.


Comments

1 Comment to “Rain in the Desert”

  1. Erin on October 25th, 2007 3:03 am

    :) this is one of my favorite pieces of your writing EVER

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