The long haul

When I was young, bath time was one of my favorite moments of the day. After filling the tub with hot water, I would slowly step in and yip in “Oh!”s and “Ah!”s while reenacting Bugs Bunny getting into a pot of boiling stew. Being in the tub meant I had a new outlet for creativity while I waited for my fingers to get pruny. I could create tsunamis, becoming a ruler of the ocean. I could create new and interesting scents from my L’Oreal Kids shampoo and the various bottles that sat on the bathtub’s edge.

When I grew older, being in the shower provided a place where I could ponder the day’s problems. The steam would keep me warm or soften my vocal cords while I rehearsed for shows. However, these acts often led to long showers. Feeling like Durango had easy access to water via the local rivers, I didn’t think much of it. I wasn’t putting toxic products down the drain except for the spritzes of bleach I used to clean, so what was the harm?

In 2015, the United States Geological Survey estimated that the average person uses 82 gallons of water per day, with showers, toilets and faucets acting as the main source of water usage. I no doubt went above that average, but I brushed it off, because I felt like the environmental impact was negligible. I realize now that I was taking this resource for granted, and it would take purchasing a new home to finally reorient my perception.

The home that my family and I just purchased is also the first home I’ve lived in without municipal plumbing. An underground, 1,700-gallon cistern feeds water into the house, which then feeds into a septic system. Before 2023, the closest water refill station was in Durango, 25 minutes east. A new refill station built by La Plata West Water is now just a few minutes south of us. 

On our Sunday refills, we drive the truck that came with the house, along with a 200-gallon cistern strapped to its bed. The truck drives a bit off kilter, is missing a back seat and has more dents than all my previous vehicles combined. But what it does for my family is more important than my vanity. I am grateful that the truck, feeling like an old but experienced horse, is willing to bring this precious resource to my family. On the drive home, I often slip into memories of visiting the Navajo reservation, Diné Bikéyah. 

My grandfather’s land was in Seba Dalkai, 13 miles north of Dilkon, Ariz. On weekend trips, my mother would take my sisters and I back to Seba, her childhood home. We would visit my aunt, who lived a hundred feet away from my grandfather’s hand-built stone home. There was no electricity, and the house was warmed by a wood burning stove and lit by lanterns. Water was stored in plastic 50-gallon barrels. The Urban Institute estimates that households without running water on the Navajo reservation use an average of 8-10 gallons per day. My aunt’s household was no exception.

I recall several trips to the nearby well, the main source of water. My cousins and I would sit in the bed of the truck, where we would talk, tease and laugh until we arrived. The well, dug by my great grandfather, could be recognized by the water trough that laid open to the sky. Bringing a tube to her mouth, my aunt would begin siphoning water into the plastic drums that we brought with us. This water was not moderated or tested, a danger with a nearby uranium mine. But what other did anyone who lived in this area have? The livestock relied on it. The people relied on it. Ceremony relied on it. The effects, if any, felt distant. The thirst was now, and this water could quench it.

I used to wonder why they didn’t just move. Why live in an area where water, electricity and other utilities are hard to come by? I hadn’t considered that being challenged by the land you live on could generate a sense of respect. I hadn’t considered that land is identity. I also hadn’t realized that off-reservation towns where I resided didn’t always have the infrastructure that made them easy to live in. When a community is valued, the infrastructure is sure to follow. Farmland and cities in the Southwest rely on water being allocated to them. 

In 2023, a newly built IHS medical center in Dilkon, near my grandfather’s land, could not open due to a lack of water. This much-needed $128 million hospital was forced to sit empty.

How long has water been an issue for the Navajo Nation? After being forced to move from their homelands, the Navajo people signed a treaty in 1868 with the United States that guaranteed them a permanent home. However, this treaty did not explicitly mention water rights. In hopes that the treaty’s intentions could help open this empty hospital, the issue was brought to the Supreme Court. However, the conservative court determined in a 5-4 vote that the United States had no obligation to provide water to the Navajo Nation.

This past weekend, the Upper and Lower Basin states did not come to an agreement regarding how to split Colorado River water. If the states cannot come to an agreement, it will be determined on a federal level. If we use the thinking that determined the Supreme Court’s decision with the Navajo Nation, this does not bode well for the Upper Basin. And yet, I feel hopeful – and determined. I feel determined to live the best way I know how, despite any limitations, because what other choice is there?

– Doug Gonzalez