Just last week, I was considering giving up bottled water for the sake of the environment. I dodged a bullet. Or in this case, a bacterium.
I live in Alamosa, which is currently designated a Third World country, thanks to an infiltration of what may be salmonella in the city water supply. Now, I’m required to use bottled water — not just for drinking, but for cooking, washing dishes, and brushing teeth. Alamossans are supposed to use hand sanitizer after washing as well, and officials say it may take two weeks to get our taps back to normal.
People are handling the crisis well, though, as San Luis Valley folks have always done. When you deal with minus-40 degrees in the winter, 80 mph winds in the spring, and tourists in the summer, a little mass poisoning isn’t so bad.
I went to City Market to check on the supply of bottled water, and found tons of it — literally. Stacks of liters by the door, gallons by the eggs, and jumbo containers where the small bottles used to be stocked. Everyone seemed to be cheerful, even the guys unloading the stuff.
“Hey, how about a nice glass of tap water for my buddy,” one man joked.
“There’s enough of this stuff to fill Terrace Reservoir,” another said.
“Aw, the fish in Terrace would die from water this clean,” came the response.
Shoppers helped one another heft cases into carts and shared news about free water giveaways, information on treating salmonella and, yes, more jokes.
Then I stopped at the laundromat. The attendant was recovering from a night of illness after eating homemade soup for dinner. The lady, who just turned 76, believed she had salmonella poisoning but was back at work, vowing to gulp ginger ale until she felt good again.
Of course, not everyone is what author Lisa Alther calls “Pollyannoid.”
My neighbor Mike, a world traveler who really has spent time in the Third World, carped that this was too much like his experiences in Uganda, and he has issues with the city’s slow response to the outbreak, and what are we paying taxes for, anyway?
But then he cheerfully hauled a case of Arrowhead half-liters into my house for me and said he was happy to do it.
Within my home, things were less than sunny. A quick call to my vet confirmed that cats are vulnerable to salmonella, too, so it’s bottled water for the sister kitties. Things got ugly when I didn’t let Lily slurp out of the bathroom faucet as she likes to do.
As for my response to this situation, I guess I’ll stick with the evil plastic bottles indefinitely, trading eco-awareness for personal security. How do we handle the conflict between concerns for health and the Earth? Must we all keep plastic bottles of water around in case of infestations, global-warming-era droughts, and terrorist attacks?
What of the aftermath of this crisis? Will the local landfills have more plastic to digest from all the water bottles? Will the publicity of the outbreak reduce tourism this summer, and harm our ever-fragile economy? Will this deepen an already pervasive distrust of government?
Personally, I believe Alamosa will prevail, and that my neighbors’ strength and optimism will keep me afloat through this water crisis.
And I’ll stay in the San Luis Valley, for its arts culture, its good people, and its breathtaking natural beauty. And I’ll continue to encourage others to come visit and partake of our gifts.
Just don’t drink the water.
Marcia Darnell (ink@amigo.net) lives and writes in the San Luis Valley.
