Living Within Our Means

It is said that infinite growth on a finite planet is a physical impossibility. So too with our watersheds. Each watershed has a carrying capacity, much like our planet. “Water is life,” we are reminded, when we listen to First Nations’ elders. Rarely, however, do we heed the underlying message: without water, life ceases. Evidence of this truth surrounds us, yet escapes our notice.

EVERY COMMUNITY IS IN A WATERSHED

Every community is in a watershed. The watershed is formed and defined by the ridgelines within which rain and snow are captured and streams originate, gather strength, and flow to the sea. When precipitation falls, some flows to streams, some evaporates, and the rest percolates into the soil, where it nourishes our forests and farms and replenishes our aquifers.

Salmon require rivers that run clear, cold and to provide for all species, year-round. Farms need irrigation that sustains crops through dry summers. Humans demand water to drink, cook, bathe and put out fires. Full rivers spread over flood plains and thereby restore dry aquifers. Full aquifers help maintain rivers, lakes and favourite swimming holes. When we divert or pump more water from our watershed then it can replace, crops wither, livestock perish, and our fish and wildlife die. Ultimately, we must make tough decisions for our own survival.

GROWTH CARRIES A PRICE

The Cowichan Valley is on the cusp of hard choices. Growth carries a price. Removing trees and vegetation reduces shade and soil protection, and increases erosion, especially on steep slopes. Surface temperatures rise, and soil dries out. Streams and springs dry up. Clearing land, grading lots, paving roads and erecting buildings creates impervious surfaces. Hard surfaces reduce percolation of rain, and less water reaches our aquifers. Over time, they receive and store less and less water.

Simple lessons we learned as youngsters fade as we glide through life, assuming our mastery of technology will save us. We discovered early not to walk barefoot on asphalt on a hot summer’s day, because macadam is much hotter than grass. We know that urban streets are hotter than rural fields and forests, but fail to grasp that spiking urban temperatures desiccate plants and depopulate the birds and wildlife that inhabit them.

WHEN NATURE SILENTLY DISAPPEARS

As rural byways give way to highways, roads become barriers to wildlife migration. Roadkill becomes prevalent, while fewer children experience the wonder of beholding deer at twilight. Ancient trees are felled, and black bear sows cannot find dens in which to birth their cubs. Windows mirroring the sky attract unsuspecting birds, silently exacting their deadly toll. Cavity nesters search in vain for sites because large old snags are gone. Native bumblebees cannot locate shelter at night because vacant lots are paved over, and woodlots are cleared for condos. When we fail to share the earth with Nature, it silently disappears.

CAPTIVES IN OUR CARS

Growing population means attendant traffic that can dominate our lives. Exhaust fumes erase the delicate fragrance of blossoms. Rumbling trucks and howling motorcycles drown out the whisper of leaves in the breeze. A fifteen-minute grocery store run with one stop sign becomes a half-hour endurance test with multiple stoplights each sprouting more queuing vehicles. We become captives in our cars.

Is this the future we want our children to inherit?

THE CHOICE IS OURS

How much growth is too much? It is a choice we control. As sure as we elect our local governments, we make the decision. If we want to “keep it rural,” the ballot box affords us the path forward.