Forgotten River

I start my day in the streets of downtown El Paso, Texas. I see people grazing the city with life and joy. The workers I find building in the heart of the city, drinking from there bottled water. I see kids across the street playing around a broken hydrant as if the sprinkled mist was just what they needed this hot summer day. I see the beauty of society blindly exhausting valuable resources unaware of an even greater problem. Namely, our need of the water we use to drink, bathe and farm with is becoming a serious concern that nobody seems to care for or acknowledge. We are losing our most essential need for our survival: ensuring the city goes dry and without water and eventually abandoned.

I noticed the severity of the situation when I left the city of El Paso, only to cross into Mexican territory. But before this transition takes place, there was something that captured my heart more than the great frontiers of a whole new country. What I speak of is the Rio Grande, a once majestic-wild river whose days now seem numbered. The once mighty river has now been left to but a trickle in muddy form.

I close my eyes if not more than but for a moment to imagine the river as nature intended it to be. I imagine a blue spectacle in the desert surrounded by cottonwood and willow trees. The river itself entails catfish and silvery minnows swimming harmoniously with the land and showing great grandeur as it once had been. This must be why the first Texans and Mexicans called the river grand. So where has the glory of the river flowed? 

Unfortunately, not into the Gulf of Mexico. As it turns out, a heavy drought has captured our region, since roughly 1978 and has been a major upset to the once mighty river. In 2001, the flow ceased altogether. A sandbar created a barrier of about 100m wide that kept the river from flowing into the sea. This sandbar eventually dissipated and returned for years to come. It has even been noted that one could have driven over the two borders in the beachy sands of the mouth of the river. This natural imbalance, however, was the not the answer that I was looking for. I knew I had to venture far from the end and further into the source to discover why the river was losing its once lively resilience.

Daydreaming, I had almost forgotten were I was in standing. People shoving me as they pass me by. I hear the voices of native Spanish speakers as they tug at my shirt asking kindly for some change. I reached into my pocket, pick out two coins, gave one to her, and for the other, I make a wish and toss it into the river. I begin to question why the two governments cannot compromise in the name of the river. They did attempt it once. It was the year 1944 and a treaty was signed between the U.S. and Mexico. This advocated that Mexico was required to supply a third of the rivers water. The idea seemed simple enough. That is however, when rain was more abundant and the Rio Conchos and other tributaries had enough supply to meet the treaty's quota. 

Days of now conclude that many of the world's greatest rivers are drying out. In the great list of rivers from the Nile to the Rio Conchos comes a great threat to the wellbeing of their survival. Global warming along with recent droughts gripping the area have become possibilities for the abruption. But I feel still there is more. So if the Rio Conchos is drying out then how could it ever be used in adding to the supply of the mighty river? 

It doesnt. The U.S. counteracts and seizes the continuation of the river beyond the El Paso borders. But being as it may, the U.S. exhaustion of the river as it wishes does no difference if the contribution to the Rio Grande for Mexican officials cant keep up because of lack of rain or other. To me, it seems more like a call left for nature not two neighboring countries.

Inbetween the two flags I stand. And all I see is the river. I cant be American, I cant be Mexican, I can only be one with nature. And being either has caused me some terror in my heart. Who gave man control of the river? Descartes once thought of nature to be like that of machine. He believed man was the master and owner of nature. Beyond his claims, I feel a great discrepancy. Francis Bacon put my thoughts firmly in mind, "In order to conquer nature we must obey her laws." I step back and forth contemplating what went wrong. Ancient societies gave special care to the rivers that fed them. These glorious rivers were like gods to these societies. They paid every little detail and respect to the movement and grace of the rivers. The ancient people learned very early on that they could not control the rivers actions. They did however, learn that they could harmonize with the great rivers and unify their relationship to benefit the needs of both. Sadly, once technology came into play, society's confidence in the mastery of nature went out of control. From the extinction of animals in sport to the vastness of emptied forest, came a revolutionary upset to Mother Nature and her colleagues. 

The river cried out as it was slowly dying of thirst. It was a silent cry that could only be heard by paying close attention to the trickle the river makes. Had I lived a century ago, it would be waves that would bring delight to my ears, not the faintness of a sound I could barely make out. They scream loud to me - the silent cries of dying giant. I decide to leave, but as in only to get closer.

In 1915 came a reservoir that changed the life of the river forever. The rivers notorious wild behavior contributed to various conditions that had to be addressed. One dwelled in the center of Albuquerques downtown district as the river caused civil disruptions. Early last century, it was also evident the rivers spectacular, unpredictable behavior also effected the exact location of the U.S. Mexico border from one moment to the next. So the need to control the river became the vessel for the making of the dam. This technological advancement became my regret as I stood there, gazing still at the riverbed. The muggy portrayal of the Rio Grande was an insult to what society had done to Mother Nature. Or was it perhaps, Mother Nature mocking at us back, exhausting our scarce water due to selfish deeds. Whatever the case, the truth was inevitable.

I stand several miles free from the crowd, traffic noise and scuffles to spend time with the dying breed. At one end, I see the setting of the Golden Fleece of a Sun that reflects it shimmer into the desert terrain. Behind, I anticipate the presence of a patrol unit pacing back and forth as they watch overhead whats to my south, the villages of our poor neighbors just over the mountains. 

As I sit on dry, barren desert only to get a closer look, I see the river much closer than before. It calls out to me. The river begs to breathe and to show its splendor. It holds no remorse for man and promises not to fill in rage. The Rio needs to flow home into the Gulf of Mexico were it may complete its equilibrium. The river is dying before me and all it asks is for is a promise not be forgotten as I turn away if only but a moment and see more life in the mosquito ready to drink my blood and in the buzzard overseeing her pain above.