As I said a couple posts back this year’s goal is water independence and I’m beginning the necessary processes on that course.   Among my first stops was a documentary called Gasland, which if you haven’t seen it yet, you might wonder as I did:  What has gas got to do with it?

Far more than I could ever have imagined.

The Natural Gas being sold to us as a “solution” is no more a solution for us than desalination is for the Mongolians.

We’re in extreme drought in East Texas, the entire region, I suspect the whole state.  The creek the neighbors have never seen dry, is now dry.  As is the pond, the ravine, and our “swamplands”.   Drought is fairly common, but this extreme drought very rare–and between the chickens and the garden and our own wasteful practices, I’m feeling the panic of enveloping hypocrisy, irresponsibility, and unsustainability.

Of course I feel a bit better when I see to what degree my own culpability pales in comparison.

This area’s also being explored for Natural Gas and the seismic crew was out here a few years back.  Not on our land though. I wrote a letter to the company saying I couldn’t possibly let them come in unsupervised, because I would be far too concerned for their safety.

You see, handy hubby, and my neighbors, do a lot of target practice.

Perhaps our relative proximity to Waco for this Norwegian company inspired them to take pause?

Of course, it’s not like I’ll have any choice if any corporate or government entity choose to do whatever they wish beneath the surface of our land.  The laws were created precisely in order to allow that possibility.

What they ultimately decide to do–Drill, erect eyesores, then pour in polluters–then wait till the people complain, and eventually organize–then shrug, and leave.  And start it all over again.  It is all perfectly legal. They got the ultimate exemption from our own government.  It’s happening all over the country already, and still until this documentary I thought it the exception, not the norm.  Damn my idealism again.

How do industries and governments and advertisers get away with this sort of cow pie?  It’s swiped on the sides of buses and painted on billboards, and spouted on infomercials and gushing in virally . . . The absolute hoax that Natural Gas will be able to take over when the oil’s all run dry. They call it CLEAN!  They call it EFFICIENT!  They call it POSSIBLE!

I know it’s been said a million times or so already, but I guess it’s going to need to be said a million times more:  How do these people sleep at night?

This is so absurd I can only laugh, because really, it makes me want to, well, I can’t say, ’cause I”m not that kinda girl.   Still, I know very well I’ll never start the rain by complaining.

The various families in Colorado and Utah and Texas sure haven’t.  Their well water has become so polluted from the fracking procedure required in Natural Gas extraction and production that they can light it on fire from the tap.  Their once beautiful waterways were first depleted then polluted into pools of chemical runoff.

So obviously, will I not beat the system.  This has been going on for over a decade already and hasn’t come close to being stopped.  In fact both sides of the fence are still supporting it.  I can’t beat the system.  However, I’m really starting to believe that maybe I can trump the system–and that’s where my rain is coming from now.  Let’s call it Purple Rain.  If imagination were King, not power, what might be possible?

Maybe refreshing drinkable water that comes from my own well, not bottled in New York, and shipped to Texas in plastic. Maybe gray water that quenches my flowerbed and herb garden and my nutritious rows of greens and oranges and reds.  Maybe clean rainwater runoff that cools the tiles from the roof or floors before showering me down after a long hot day.

I have no idea if any of these things are practical, let alone possible, I’m just dreaming.  Maybe you do it it, too.

There’s only one way out of our current pickle.  It requires everyone on board.  Everyone imagining and then expecting purple rain.  Purple rain flows through Ideaville, where everyone has a position and a duty and a purpose.

The only possible first step in that vision is:  We’ve got to stop needing them.   We can’t afford to wait.  Once we stop needing them for who they are, and who they are being, they’ll have to change for us.

We could choose that now, before disaster strikes again.  Or we can choose to remain with our heads in the sand. Only passively praying, patiently pouting, popishly patronizing.  Smirking, or cooing, or hoping for rain.