My husband and I
watch in disbelief the televised scene on the evening news: an occasional cow
roaming cracked, dusty, desolate terrain, a dusty bowl that until recently held
the blue waters of Laguna Aculeo.
We’d enjoyed going
there to the lakeside home of friends, our country escape from the sizzling heat
of the city. Along the way we saw farmers selling watermelons piled
high in roadside wheelbarrows. Handmade signs advertised fresh, homemade bread.
We spent refreshing afternoons savoring the barbequed fare and relaxing on the
wide lawn where kids romped, followed by a swim in the lake. For decades the
small lake attracted enthusiasts of water sports: skiing, sailing, speed
boating. Growing numbers of vacation homes began to populate its shores, each
surrounded by lush lawns and aquamarine pools.
Now there’s no water for gardens, pools or
boats. No water for watermelon vines.
I read in the
newspaper the politicians’ and experts’ speculations regarding the causes of
this disaster: years of scarce rainfall, over consumption on farms and vacation
home and illegal commercial use of subterranean waters. To me it smacks of lack
of planning originating in the general belief that the earth’s resources are
there for the taking. Aculeo’s dry lakebed is climate change thrust into our
faces.
Now people are
paying attention.
I see glimmers of
hope beyond the dark gloom of drought and careless overconsumption. This week
local supermarkets will no longer hand out plastic bags to shoppers. Other
cities throughout Chile have already adopted the no plastic bag policy. The
newly passed Law of Recycling proposes to regulate the use of plastics and move
Chile towards a circular economy. Perhaps a turning point in attitudes here
have been the shocking newspaper photographs and televised scenes of massive
islands of plastic floating in the ocean
Neighborhoods are
actively looking to create more parks and green areas. Residents of three
residential downtown towers are dismayed by the filth and graffiti of the
elevated pedestrian walkways connecting the towers. The disgusting sight has
motivated students and architects to create a group dedicated to the
restoration of this space using the High Line Park of New York City as a model.
I’ve walked the elevated Highline Park, marveling at the bees and butterflies
visiting the lush gardens there in midtown Manhattan, and would love to see it
replicated in Santiago.
I’ve long known what
research now shows that access to green areas improves the overall quality of
life for residents. I have access to several city parks, though barely within
walking distance. Besides, decades living in a big city plagued by smog,
congestion and noise make me want more than a park. I want a forest. I yearn
for place to practice the Japanese tradition of shinrin yoku, forest bathing, where I can sit below a tree and
inhale its fresh, pungent breath, soak in the silence and allow my body to
acquire a forest rhythm.
Now for a good rain.
