Irrigation Irony

I live in Spokane, Washington, a high-desert city where people have not yet had to come to terms with conservative water use. In the summer, people water their lawns twice a day and let water run freely down the street. Just last week, the city sent flyers in our water bills with handy water-conservation tips. Things you might not ever think of on your own, like using a sprayer nozzle with and "off" valve when your wash your car in your driveway.

I moved here from California two years ago and I don't water my yard. But the two things are unrelated. Yes, in general, I'd have to say that where I lived in Northern California, people were much more aware of water issues than they are in Spokane. (For example, a city ordinance prohibited washing cars in driveways.) Anyway, the other day I heard my neighbor tell someone that I don't water my yard because I'm from California.

Truth be known, my neighbor is from somewhere that is not Spokane — maybe Mars — but I'm originally from this area, and living for a few years in California has nothing to do with my awareness that we do not need to waste water irrigating our lawns. There's a question for you: how did lush, green lawns ever become the norm? We didn’t always have a love affair with Kentucky bluegrass. It wasn’t until the industrial revolution that lawns became the norm. Before that, they were the province of the elite and were found only on estates wealthy enough to maintain groundskeepers. Now we all have to have lawns, and the way I see it, that's a problem of immense proportions.

But getting back to my point, it's ironic that right now I am watering two lawns every day. One belongs to my neighbor (the one who calls me a Californian behind my back) who is out of town for the week. And who, by the way, specifically instructed me to "make sure the water runs out into the street a little." The other belongs to some people I met while living in California and who have purchased a home but haven't moved here yet. They're originally from this area, too, and they believe that grass should be green, even if they're not here to see it. I don't know why these people should trust me to keep their lawns sodden and emerald green in the heat of summer, when to their outward dismay my own is parched and dormant.

I'm doing it though. They can trust me because it will take more than my objection to change the way people use water. Plus, I enjoy watching my neighbor mow twice a week, and I love seeing the Californians' grass get so tall they'll have to hire sheep to graze it. I like thinking about what these people pay every month for water – whatever they pay, it isn't enough yet. But most of all, I find it fascinating that although they have children and I do not, these people exhibit no concern whatsoever about the impact of their deliberations on the future generations they've released into the world.