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Untitled - California State University, Long Beach

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desert—water, stone, and sun—and illustrate how the Laguna Pueblo<br />

way of understanding reciprocal relationships between humans, land,<br />

animals, and water shaped her worldview. She writes: “When I was a<br />

child, the people used to watch the sky for changes in the weather. I<br />

learned to watch for the fat dark rain clouds, and I remember the<br />

excitement and the anticipation as the cool wind arrived smelling of rain”<br />

(SW 5). In this passage, Silko connects her own experience of rain with<br />

the collective experience of rain, gesturing towards the communal nature<br />

of water ethics in the desert. She does not partake in nature writing<br />

conventions describing subjective experience as the isolated self within<br />

nature, but rather describes the collective experience that necessarily<br />

governs indigenous understandings of natural processes. When she was<br />

a girl in Laguna Pueblo, for example, there was a strong imperative to<br />

collectively protect and respect supplies of fresh water: “We children<br />

were seldom scolded or punished for our behavior. But we were never<br />

permitted to frolic with or waste fresh water” (6).<br />

The traditional ethics of water usage in the Laguna community pose<br />

a strong counterpoint to ethics of waste in the booming Sunbelt of the<br />

American Southwest, which Silko also describes in Sacred Water. She<br />

writes, “In Tucson and Phoenix, more young children die from drowning<br />

than from traffic accidents. Backyard swimming pools are numerous;<br />

the clear, still water, the colorful tiles, pool steps and pool ladders are all<br />

designed to be attractive and inviting. A safety gate was left unlatched;<br />

the parents always insist they only looked away for a moment” (54).<br />

Silko sets up an obvious comparison between the water ethic she grew<br />

up with in Laguna and the flagrant waste of water within contemporary<br />

Southwestern cities. Where the adults in her community admonished<br />

children not to waste water, an ethic of waste persists in the exploding<br />

urban areas of Tucson and Phoenix where, even in a place with limited<br />

fresh water, many families must have their own artificial swimming pool.<br />

136 | Ely<br />

The waste created by the self-interested development of the Sunbelt<br />

is markedly less sustainable than collective water conscientiousness.<br />

Traditional Laguna people could survive on annual rainfall, but deep<br />

wells in Tucson continue to suck up water from the aquifer “which has<br />

receded so far that the two hundred year old cottonwood trees along<br />

the Tanque Verde wash are dying” (SW 52). The ostensible reason for<br />

depleting the aquifer is to fill more swimming pools. Furthermore, as<br />

Silko’s story about child drownings suggests, the waste of water in the<br />

desert can bear ironic social repercussions.<br />

Within the Keresan Pueblos of Laguna and Acoma there is an extensive<br />

body of cultural knowledge that reinforces a practice of respecting water<br />

and limiting waste. There are, for example, stories that describe times of<br />

extreme scarcity, as Silko remembers: “All around Laguna and Acoma,<br />

there are sandstone formations which make natural basins and pools that<br />

hold rain water. These rain water pools are cherished even now, because<br />

long ago in times of drought, the survival of the people depended on<br />

the rain water stored in the sandstone pools” (18). Ethical use of water<br />

is possible only when people are collectively aware of the possibility of<br />

not having water. If there is communal sense of false abundance, as is<br />

the case with the swimming pools of Tucson and Phoenix, then waste<br />

becomes the order of the day. Through their stories, traditional Laguna<br />

people understand water as the source of life, something sacred and not<br />

to be wasted. The fundamental, shared awareness of the water’s fluidity<br />

and impermanence in the dry desert inculcates stories like that of the<br />

sandstone pools, and through such narratives Laguna people traditionally<br />

maintain a collective memory of water scarcity that promotes continued<br />

prudence.<br />

Sacred Water also touches upon the elemental understanding of water<br />

within the cosmology of Pueblo peoples. Silko writes, “The old-time<br />

Pueblo people believe that natural springs and fresh-water lakes possess<br />

Ely | 137

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