Desert Roots
Nurturing a relationship with water and food in the backyard.
There’s a wanted poster in the desert for your lawn. The reward: $2 per square foot.
This is a big deal in a state where Ellen Meloy wrote, “In Utah, God wants you to have a lawn.”
That is the deal offered to residents of Washington County, Utah’s hottest and driest region, that depends on a singular water source––the Virgin River Basin. The river is a Colorado River tributary, and it is thinning rapidly due to climate change-induced aridification and over-allocation. St. George is the fastest growing metro area in the entire country with a population expected to double by 2060. By swapping a lawn with xeriscaping and native drought-tolerant plants, like yucca, sagebrush, succulents, and wildflowers, residents can cut their outdoor water use from 37 gallons to nine annually. Read more in my latest story for Reasons to be Cheerful.
I admit, this is the most unsexy and uncharacteristic topic I have ever written about. My investigations of water in the West typically gravitate toward remote communities or wild habitats; the types of landscapes I consider home. A domestic issue like lawns is seemingly out of my wheelhouse––I have not lived in an abode with grass since my childhood.
My favorite part of reporting is immersing myself in the story. I considered driving to St. George for a home and garden tour, but I could not convince myself that was worth burning any fossil fuel for. I am already familiar with the sprawl and heat from working an odd job out of S.G. a few years ago. Each time my work was complete, I would wash off the city in the Virgin River before disspearing back into the canyons. My connection to the river, and the six native fish it supports, is what committed me to learning about residential water conservation. A surprising twist followed…
This spring, my boyfriend Aaron decided to start a small vegetable garden. I was a reluctant participant at first, fearing it would chain us to domesticity at the trailer, and threaten our time in the backcountry. I also cringed at the thought of taking water from our precious backyard river.
While writing about turf buyback I was consulting Washington County’s Water Efficient Landscape website on a daily basis. It granted a solution for both scenarios––installing a soaker hose with a timer. Knowing that, I went all in and ordered some wildflower seeds for other exposed areas of dirt. We completed the irrigation installation this morning, along with transplanting tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers now that the overnight freeze risk is finally gone. Now we can go backpacking while we wait for the Salad Garden and Salsa Farm to grow!
Growing vegetables uses more water than drought tolerant native plants. However, the garden resolves another dillemma––eating subpar produce shipped with fossil fuels from far away to this food desert. This region of Utah is also much cooler and less arid than St. George.
Navigating the balance of irrigation with conservation in the desert is deepening my relationship with water. Everything we eat requires watering. But doing so myself in this little 1/10th of an acre yard has helped me comprehend what is actually requires. I was chatting with my sister, a biology professor at Penn State, about gardening and asked what watering system she uses. Her response was, “Rain!” It is a reminder of how challenging it is to sustain the basic elements of life beyond the hundredth meridian.
Riparian plants that are native to the desert, like willows, grow shallow loose- holding roots. They are happy at home along the riverside, but ready to move on when the next flash flood uproots them and sends them downstream to take hold somewhere new. This has been a metaphor for the last 7 years of my life, albeit with more floating than rooting. Since this is not our trailer, the roots Aaron and I are putting down here are ephemeral but no less important to this season of growth.
Five years ago today Outlandish: Fuel Your Epic was released into the wild. The book is a collection of essays paired with recipes from an era when I lived out of my 2002 Jeep Wrangler––the epitome of floating through life as I mentioned. I was filthy, flat broke, and dangerously adventurous.
To fuel myself, I foraged out of dumpsters, pulled and cooked weeds off ski slopes, and sourced ingredients from gas stations. I am more than a little excited to recreate some of the meals with produce from the garden this summer, and create new recipes to share here!
In Outlandish I wrote, “Living this way was not the point, it’s how I would get to the point.” So what was the point? Certainly it’s not a destination, although I see it looking at the veggies growing in the yard framed by the sandstone walls in the distance. I believe it is continued growth, adaptation, and self-care. All of which are required to stay on one’s path.
Thank you for reading and subscribing, esspecially those of you who have paid. The support keeps me focused, and writing, on the point. 🧡