Untitled - California State University, Long Beach
Untitled - California State University, Long Beach
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 />
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