It’s easy to take potable water for granted

It’s a strange bit of chemistry when you think about it. Although, I suppose the same could accurately be said for just about anything. But as the days get longer and we finally are given permission to return an hour of sunlight to the correct side of the workday, I find myself thinking of spring and the conversion of the white stuff to the wet stuff, even given our entirely bizarre weather this winter.

It has always struck me as remarkable that the liquid our cells demand is the same stuff we drive on when our lakes freeze over — we pump it from the ground to fill our toilets and the same stuff somehow floats in the sky and blocks out the sun. Its ubiquity and its ability to exist all around us in multiple states paradoxically led me to never give it much thought, until I left Alaska.

There was a time in my life when I lived in a pleasant and colorful town about 100 km north of Mexico City. It had a lovely colonial heart and stood at the foot of a pine-covered national forest that protected us from the air pollution of the capital and also gave this Alaskan a retreat that helped to counterbalance the head-spinning crowd of 20 million people to the south. It was in this town that I first really started thinking about water.

It’s the seemingly simple things when removed that often induce the greatest revelations, I think. Instead of turning on a tap for a drink as I had since I was a youth, I first had to wander down the street and buy a 20-liter carboy of drinking water and shuttle it back to our apartment. I would always try to keep a few spare ones around, as the carboys were skilled at becoming empty when you were searching for a drink in the dead of night. It all really wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but those trips with 44 pounds of water on my shoulder did give me some time to think. Where was the water in our tap coming from? Why was it not safe to drink?

As I later learned, we received our water from the city, which publicly stated that the H2O left its treatment plant entirely fit for human consumption. Due to the results of some tests inadvertently performed by forgetful friends who accidentally consumed some of the tap water when they came to visit, I can confirm that our water was absolutely not fit for consumption.

So what happened to it? To gain a little understanding, I cracked open the cistern that was located near our front step and craned my head to peer within the concrete box-like structure. Inside, the water looked clear and refreshing, but the presence of a matchbox car, some clumps of dog hair and a sampling of local sand led me to believe that the delivery system was not as water-tight as it could be. From the cistern, a small pump delivered water to a tank on our roof, which then allowed gravity to do its thing and deliver it to our showers and toilets. The pump was my natural enemy from the start. It was supposed to turn on whenever the roof tank got low, but squarely refused to honor this agreement whenever I was in the shower. In its misplaced eagerness it would sometimes forget to turn itself off and water could be heard splashing across our roof. There were times when it would pretend to be working hard, but through machinations unseen would manage to fill the air with an intense drone and fill the tank with nothing. I do not miss that pump.

While the water situation in my apartment was shoddy at best, the situation to the south in the heaving capital of Mexico City was dire, which is at least partially ironic as the capital was built originally on an island in Lake Texcoco. The lake was drained in the 17th century and the city dug wells to secure a water supply. According to some scientists, the pumping of groundwater to support the megacity has depleted the aquifer to such an extent that earthquakes are now much more devastating, and in some cases the aggressive pumping may in fact trigger the temblors. Additionally, due to an aging and leaky infrastructure it is estimated that more than 40 percent of the water pumped to residents is lost and those leaks present a fine route for contamination if there happens to be a drippy sewer pipe nearby. The situation is not sustainable and the country is now pumping money into finding a solution to ensure ample water to its citizens — a herculean task of massive importance to be sure.

It all comes down to the chemistry of three little atoms and our ability to ensure that when we turn on the tap that that thread of water contains no harmful chemicals or pathogenic microorganisms. I certainly am grateful that I no longer get my potable water from a plastic jug and am happy that the natural bounty of Alaska includes ample fresh water. While my city water might not be as achingly cold or fine tasting as the well water I grew up on, I am proud that we have collectively decided to put our money where our mouth is and forge a water and wastewater system that keeps me out of the hospital. And, of course, we have that iconic water tower that in an ironic bit of poetry sits empty in the center of town to remind us to not take the drinkable wet stuff for granted.

Pete LaFrance grew up in Palmer and has moved back to the area after a number of years living abroad.