Water & Climate Stories

Water touches our lives in so many ways and draws us into its mystical power, and now climate is affecting us like never before. Have there been touch points in your life that have been stirred by a deeply profound and emotional experience of water or climate change? Are you grateful for the use of water in your life every single day? How have you or your community been personally affected by our changing climate and what are you doing to mitigate those effects? We’d love to hear and share all of your stories.

W is for Water or War

In a not-so-distant future water may become an issue of war. Even now conflicts regarding water use are rife. An example close to home for me is the main spring situated at the very heart of the village in San Roque, Bulusan, in the Province of Sorsogon, Philippines, which is a common aquifer. Our small community of 2,852 gets its water supply from this same spring. The village catchment system is a reservoir with big pipes that feed our homes and businesses.

Three lot owners who also use the water are immediately in the mouth of this water source. The owners are an older couple who had purchased the contiguous lots from the original owner; the stingless bee farm east of the first lot owner where I work; and another older lady, whose property is further away from the water source. The death of one partner in the older couple made the case worse as the documents he left behind were problematic. Before his death, however, the bee farm was able to purchase part of the spring, so we were free to get water from the source. It is the older lady lot owner who was left without access to the water source. In the southern part of her property though is an ancient tree and under its roots spring water flows out, but only in small volumes. Outflow from the catchment systems in the main spring goes into a creek that becomes a river to irrigate rice paddies downstream.

The challenge for us in figuring out access to abundant clean spring water is how to maximize use of the water that goes into the property. The widow laid a couple of pipes from the source to fill a large swimming pool. The second older lady had to make do with the small volume of her spring water to also fill a large swimming pool, and a fishpond. The bee farm built its own catchment box at the source that ran into a huge concrete reservoir in the uppermost part of the property.  We use this water for our kitchens, function halls and rooms. Part of the large volume of unused water that flows out into the nearby creek is diverted into the farm lots. This we use partly to make a small pool with rocks and pebbles along its outlet for the bees to perch on while gathering water for their hives and partly to run into the ornamental fishponds of tilapia, gourami, and koi… essentially starting from the small pond down to a bigger pond and into a much bigger, final pond.

One line of the water pipes from the reservoir goes into smaller fishponds inside a wide-open function hall that helps create a cooler ventilation. The smaller ponds, also with little rocks and stones, are created for tilapia and koi. We installed a concrete and stone divider-wall with water cascading from its top into the small ponds. The wall has accumulated moss which feed a kind of freshwater mollusk (the French escargot or snail) which we cook and eat — it’s a local home recipe of old.

How I wish we could give some of our water to those who have need of it. But since we cannot, or if ever we had the capacity it would entail a lot of trouble perhaps, our utmost responsibility is to make most use of it and not waste it. W is for Waste-no-Water.

Zosimo Gamba

Tales from Bulusan Lake: Philippines

When I was in grade school a provincial yellow bus called CAL Transit plied our village roads. It had about six to eight rows of wooden slat seats with wooden backrests. You get on the bus and step into your choice of the row with vacant seats. I always chose the single seater to the left of the bus driver. On his right was a two-seater.

From the main highway, the road to the Bulusan Volcano Natural Park was uphill. The bus would snake through what seemed like a tunnel of trees, their huge branches holding hands and embracing over our heads and their sturdy trunks covered with gnarled vines. Then the bus stops to breathe at the end of the road which is on a promontory. Here a wide expanse of the earth appears and leaves you breathless. Being seated at the driver’s left, I was the first to savor it as the bus slightly swerved to the right before going full stop. It was a massive wall of dense forest in different hues of green and some yellow and brown, mirrored in a shimmering calm wide lake. That was my first memory of the lake. 

A couple of years later I would come on weekends with a group of youngsters like me to collect soda caps with freebies under their corks thrown away by bus loads of Japanese and Chinese tourists who frequented the natural park. Much later, during dark evenings my uncle had us in tow to go fishing. Oh how abundant they were—the Nilotica or Nile tilapia. Without replacing the bait, I could tackle three to four tilapia straight in a row!

There was this floating house on the lake during our Boy Scouts camping when I was in 6th grade. It was a bamboo raft built with a roofed cubicle for shade when it rained. It was moored a few meters away from the short wooden wharf below the lake’s log cabin. It could be pulled out into the inner lake by a boat.

I may have been the smallest in our troop but the seven-meter distance from the wharf to the bamboo raft was such a huge hurdle to swim that it was not just challenging for me, but for my  Scout Master as well. Later our Master would recall that he almost drowned during our maneuver as my hands were like octopus tentacles on his head all throughout the ordeal.

I was profuse with sorrow when he passed. I was working in the local municipal tourism office where the lake was our flagship tourism product. It has become very interesting for me to note that this Bulusan Lake, nestled in a forest some 400 meters above sea level, has no visible inlet and outlet. At the lake’s rim on the eastern side, however, regurgitating sounds can be heard up and down the loose boulders and rocks. A few kilometers below are creeks and streams that form into Bayogin falls and fill much of the Bulusan River.

I have come to dearly love the lake. Once upon a time in this lake someone almost gave his life to save another—mine.

Zosimo Gamba

Tainted Water

Last fall, I found myself in the kitchen of a small home in the Oneida Nation of the Thames First Nation listening to a middle-aged Iroquois woman weep. She was crying out of fear for her eight grandchildren. But this wasn’t a fear any grandmother should have. It wasn’t of her grandchildren crossing the road without looking or if they were getting picked on at school. She was crying because she was scared that her grandchildren might drink her tap water.

I was in Jennifer George’s kitchen that day working on a story I was helping write in partnership with Ryerson University, the Toronto Star and Concordia University’s Institute for Investigative Journalism. This was one story in the dozens that were published as part of the Star’s Tainted Water series that looked at the quality of Canada’s drinking water.

Up to that point, I had spent most of my time reviewing data about boil water advisories in First Nations communities in Ontario. Looking at spreadsheet after spreadsheet I began to clearly understand just how severely the federal government has failed to provide First Nations people in this country with potable water. On paper, the picture was grim. But it didn’t come close to how grim it felt standing in Jennifer’s kitchen as she wept.

Jennifer lives on the border of her First Nations community. When you look out her front window, you can see Southwold, a small, non-indigenous township south of London, Ont. More specifically, you can see a farmhouse. That farmhouse, just a few hundred feet from Jennifer's front door, enjoys clean, drinkable water while she’s left to rely on large jugs of store bought water.

Standing there in Jennifer’s kitchen, is a moment I will remember forever. It’s the only time I’ve ever been in the midst of inequality so stark I still struggle to talk about it. 

When I saw Ottawa’s announcement last week that they will miss their deadline to lift all boil water advisories by 2021, I thought of Jennifer and her grandchildren. And while Oneida doesn’t currently have an advisory, Jennifer and her family are emblematic of the many First Nations families and communities across this country that still cannot drink their tap water.
Benjamin Hargreaves

Read Jennifer’s story

Read more from the Tainted Water series 

Control

I wrote this some time ago, at the start of a life-long journey to explore the interconnectedness of humans and nature. I adopt the deep ecological view that there is intrinsic value in nature despite its usefulness to humans to control and exploit. ‘Control’ is a concrete poem, giving the visual appearance of a wave, as inspired by Alan Watts’ philosophy: “You and I are all as much continuous with the physical universe as a wave is continuous with the ocean.”  Neither humans nor nature exist independently of each other. Thus, to ensure human longevity, it is imperative to nurture nature.

Always we salute a human able to survive the havoc of illness inflicted by one’s own body. Following this rule of victory then, should we not celebrate the resilience of a planet able not only to withstand, but also recover constantly from problems inflicted upon it by the parts within?  We trust our organs and we trust life to know how to work. We expect our organs to stand against the hardships of sickness and its imposed damage. So too, I presume, the Earth trusted her organs; trusted the humans, the animals, the natural environment, to know how to work together to remain healthy. As the white blood cells defend against foreign substances and infection, so too do the tidal waves try to wash away, and the blasts of wind try to blow away, the illness that burns within and upon Earth. We tremble at the Earth’s self-cleansing methods yet we do not tremble at the hit of the axe on the tree trunk nor the slabbing of the concrete. We do not tremble enough when we hear that the other humans down South do not have the same water to drink that we enjoy abundantly. We do not tremble enough at the stories of the companies we gave unfounded power to, steal Earth’s resources, package them neatly and sell them back to us… the fruits of our own home.

My relationship with water continues to evolve. I remember feeling fearful of water, as the ocean, in its grandeur and enveloping power. When I was in my teens, I lost a friend when I lived on a Caribbean island during a ruthless hurricane that triggered landslides. Under the power of the water, part of a mountain came crashing down and swept away a lovely family of 5, with their home and art studio… may they Rest in Peace. I was convinced that water was unpredictable and ravaging, and if we cannot control it, we must fear it. But what the community taught me in the aftermath of that hurricane is that they always respected the water in all its forms because it gave them as much life as it took from them. That is an unwavering belief in the balance of life and an understanding that you must respect nature as it nurtures you. As I grew older, learnt more and travelled more, I realized my fear was misplaced. I will never forget what the water took away that day, but every day I can also see it giving back. I always stand in awe of water in all its forms. When you contemplate the ways in which water provides and sustains life, you understand that instead of trying to control it, we must work with it. Some facts to ponder: up to 60% of the adult human body is water; water covers about 71% of the earth's surface; and more than 3.5 billion people depend on the ocean for their primary source of food. So, water is in us, feeds us and surrounds us. If we do not protect our water, we do not protect our future. This is why I advocate that we respect water, share water and stop wasting it.
Maxime Matthew

Aquamour: The Story

July 1982, a young Italian girl dives for the 8th time from a rock of the Enfola beach in the crystal clear water of Elba, the protected island of the Tuscan archipelago. To catch her breath she decides to lie on the surface. Enchanted, she lets herself get carried by this sea with which she has the sense of oneness. This feeling will stay with her for ever.

At the same time, a few miles away from there, on the Corsican beach of Propriano, a young Breton clings to the wishbone of his Dufour windsurf and manages, for the first time after 40 unsuccessful attempts, to move a few meters with the only help of the wind.

The thrill of the ride will stay with him for ever. 

That same day of July ‘82, when the young Italian girl returns from the beach to the family home, there is no more tap water. The water reserve has been used up by the thousands of tourists. Four years spent in the very deserted Kuwait have accustomed her to cope with this constraint. But this is the first time she has to fetch the precious resource at the fountain of the neighbouring village.

It's time for our young Breton to go back home to continue his holidays at the Val André, a Breton seaside resort on the bay of Saint-Brieuc, where his family meets every summer. A preserved coast where he will be able to pursue his dream of becoming a windsurfer. Let's hope that a new Amoco Cadiz - which, four years after having triggered one of the greatest ecological disaster, continues to leave its damaging mark on the Breton coast - will never occur again to devastate the precious water!

Much later, in the mid-2000s, after having crossed different life experiences, they met in Paris. Barbara and Stephane would finally drift to the same beach after she had experienced a tsunami named divorce and he, the loss of his father. They cling to one another as one clings to a life buoy. Yet during all these years and storms, the feelings and thrills they experienced with water in their youth remain intact.

Their passion for water and its regenerative power strengthen their bonds and bring them closer together.

Together they visit the Greek island of Santorini. They discover a unique blue water but also the sad effects of the human footprint. Many plastic wastes disfigure the beach and the quiet sea. With no hesitation, they collect all of them under the curious eye of the tourists and then go for a swim with the nice feeling of having restored -though in a short-lived way- the beauty of the sea. An episode that, unfortunately, would repeat again on other shores, other rivers ... but which would awake in them a need to act!

More recently in Paris, another trigger was when they went to watch the documentary ‘Demain le film’ (which means ‘tomorrow, the film’ ) directed by Cyril Dion.

The film portraits a series of responsible and sustainable initiatives run by regular citizens all over the world, in the fields of agriculture, economy, education, society etc… 

At the end of the film there was a spontaneous standing ovation in the cinema (and yet the film director was not there), people applauded for 10 minutes with no break and had a positive and engaging feeling as if they were and could be part of this movement. It gave them hope that each and everyone of us can contribute positively to the change.

This is when the Aquamour project was born: to love water is to love life, taking care of it is vital, let's move! 

Stéphane & Barbara decided to go around the world in search of encouraging stories and images on water to call for action, restore hope and love.

‘Now is time to do something positive for the planet and for the children!’

What is Aquamour?

Some responsible people act around the planet and yet they are not very visible.

We wish to highlight these people in different parts of the world, to show through concrete and sustainable initiatives, that every citizen of the world can have a positive impact for the preservation of water. 

We aim to raise awareness of this vital issue among the general public, and in particular the young people, by showing the beauty and benefits of water as well as by highlighting the actions in favor of its preservation.

We started our round the world trip for the protection of water in all its forms, on June 2019, we have posted photos and videos of interviews, on Instagram and Facebook with the name of:  Aquamour20  

We had to come back from our trip earlier, in April 2020, due to the pandemic, and we are now working on a long film to share the water stories, and also on a water photo exhibition.

3 main focuses: Ecology, Health and Art. Whether they are researchers, small fishermen, volunteers committed to its preservation, advocate of the benefits of water on body and mind, artists or others, whatever their scope of their actions, their message or their creations, these  ‘aqua-heroes' will show us the way to save water from human madness. 

We are looking forward to sharing all these stories with you! Here is our trailer:

Sending many Water Blessings to all of you.
With Love, Barbara & Stéphane

Water: Master of Transmutation

Water is a master of transmutation. It is both the wild, and the peace.

I’m beginning to consider being soft, a great strength. And I didn’t used to think this way. As an actor I’ve learned to work hard and develop a resilient ‘thick skin’ in response to criticism and rejection; and have found pride in the prairie grit and determination that has largely gotten me through.  But amidst it all, there’s always been this nagging voice of ‘should’ … one that comes in dark quiet moments and sleepless nights.  It’s a desire and a sense that I should be something—or somewhere—that I’m not. Maybe it’s part of why I became an actor in the first place: this voice becoming a gentle revealer of the metamorphosis I was seeking. To become something I wasn’t, but could be. To wade around in the mind and heart of a completely new person, a completely new way of being; and by proxy revealing a fresh way to see the world.

Like water, I’ve been feeling into these borders, these perimeters and boundaries to find the edge of my container. It’s become a learned skill and rewarding, expansive work.

As an awkward tween with jungle-gym bruises and a windswept bowl cut, I’d swim in northern Saskatchewan lakes and feel FREE. Container-less. My twiggy body didn’t feel safe in dance, gym class or change rooms, but it felt at home in the Hanging Heart lakes of Waskesiu. My grandparents cultivated a respect for Mother Earth, for our rivers and lakes… and shared it with us like a prayer.  I bowed to nature; I listened to my grandma descant with the loons, announcing her presence in a high confident warble. I cast fishing lines into the lake’s reedy depths. I understood the cycle of life, and simultaneously grappled with the part I played in it. Somehow this love of lakes became a love of oceans, and eventually—ocean animals.

Before I wanted to be an actor, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Funny, considering—as a person growing up in the middle of Canada’s prairies—I’m not sure which was the more unlikely career path. My childhood was spent either curled in a warm corner reading about dolphins, or exuberantly performing self-adapted plays and filming videos in the basement.  In my adult life I have sought out humpback whales, chased sea turtles, ran straight and fearless into the briny sea. And simultaneously, onto one of the largest stages in the country. I chose acting, but my love of water has prevailed and always kept me safe.

So why? What is the lesson, and what is the draw?

When I was 23 I got a tattoo that crests over my right hipbone. Now a cultural icon – The Great Wave off Kanagawa is a daily reminder of the immense power that nature inherently wields. This giant wave looms over the tiny, man-made yellow boats like a gargantuan sea-monster. It holds for me a message – an ocean can be glass, it can be still. But it can also be a great wave and a tsunami. 

Nayyirah Waheed wrote:
you do not have to be a fire
for
every mountain blocking you.
you could be water
and
soft river your way to freedom
too.
--options

If you look closely at the Great Wave… far off in the distance, beyond the water and at the very center of the print, is Mount Fuji. Standing sentient, reminding us of something to reach for, to preserve & fight for, and even to believe in.  You can storm your way there, or you can be the soft river. The important thing is to keep going. For the love of our natural world, our waterways and ancient teachers… we have to keep going. 

And, I would add – in moments of civil injustice, fear and racism – you could be the tsunami, too.

Water can do that.
Jonelle Gunderson

Six Mile Lake

Among my earliest memories are my family's annual trips to Herbie's. 

My parents, newcomers to Canada in the late 1960s, quickly embraced the tradition of heading up north in the summer months. Through a friend of a friend of a friend, my dad met a man named Herb King, a man whose family lived for generations on Georgian Bay's Six Mile Lake.

We'd load into the car and head up the 400, en route to "the cottage", which in hindsight, wasn't a cottage at all, but a shack consisting of just the basics: running water, a fridge and a small two burner stove; no bathroom, and no central heat or cooling; loads of mosquitoes and black flies competing for our city flesh and blood! The only thing that mattered to us though, was the 15 paces to the lakefront that marked our journey from the front door (which had no locks) to the water's edge.

My dad revered Herbie, who welcomed our family with open arms every year, and the feeling was definitely mutual. For two, three, and sometimes four weeks at a stretch, his small fishing boat was ours to use. My dad would take turns waking me, my sister, and brother up before the crack of dawn to head out fishing. Herbie was always awake, surveying the water and assessing the current, the slant of the sun, the movement of clouds, and recommending our best route.

I can still hear the sound of the Evinrude 5½ Horse Power outboard engine revving, and the smell of the water in the morning… the colours of green, blue, brownish black and the sensations of warm-cold to the touch, as we trolled along. And there was always a sip of coffee from my dad's thermos to cut the morning chill. Sometimes the water was choppy, those were the exciting mornings… waving to other boaters as they passed. And my dad giving thanks after returning to the dock, transferring a kiss on his hand to the water. 

When the sun took its place high in the sky, we'd shed our boat clothes for swimsuits, and run down to the rock in front of the cottage, and jump into the lake. This is where we learned to swim, challenging each other to walk through the muck and weeds without freaking out. We'd do underwater challenges and contests, eyes open and staring at each other; shouting "look at my dive mom!" as we belly flopped from tree stumps and ancient rocks jutting from the lake for hours and hours, day after day.

Sometimes in the evening, Herbie would take our family out for a boat ride around the lake, telling us stories about his life on Georgian Bay. From the marina for an ice cream cone, to rating the expansive cottages and properties along the way, my favourite was when we'd approach Little Go Home Bay. The name alone would make me swoon - then, as it does now - evoking feelings of a past and a lake that is home to all. 

After our few weeks, we'd pack up the car, golden brown from days of sun and fun, and head back to Toronto. "Come back soon Joe", Herbie would say to my dad. 

One day, my dad got a call from the 705 area code. Herbie had passed. One of his family members had called my dad with the news, knowing that Joe and his wife and kids would want to know. "I know how much you guys love Six Mile Lake", he said to my dad. That was the first time in my memory that our whole family sat down and cried together. Herbie, who welcomed our family to his small piece of Ontario's beautiful north, and allowed us to carve lifelong memories, was gone. I'll never forget him, and Six Mile Lake will always be a dear part of my life.
Patricia Garcia

For My Love of Water

As a child who grew up on a small island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, how could I not love water?

When I started school in Portugal at the age of five, most days my father would ask, "Do you want to go to school or come fishing with Daddy?" Before he could finish the question,  I would reply “fishing!"

Dad would tell Mom, "I'm going fishing and I will take her to school."  After packing all his gear, we went on our journey to the ocean which normally took us about half an hour depending on how many neighbours we stopped to talk to along the way. Upon arrival at our destination, we had to climb down a massive volcanic cliff with indented holes made by the local fisherman for feet and hands - for safe climbing up and down.  The first few times that we went fishing, Dad would teach me that I was to sit in the water between the little rocks filled with ocean water and I was never to move from that spot until the tide came in. As the water I was sitting in started to get higher and reach my waist, I had to move up higher on the rocks behind me, and not come down till the tide went out again - and wait till Dad came for me once again. I would have my lunch that Mom packed for me (to eat at school), and I would put any leftovers and trash back in the paper bag and secure it in the old tackle box that Daddy kept just for me.

Can you imagine my privilege, sitting on the ocean floor playing with baby red, yellow or white seahorses; red, pink, green and yellow fish; red or black crabs and other things that washed up and ended on my lap. When Dad returned with his fish catch we would climb up again, take some time to rest, and in most cases watch the sunset. 

I wish I could snap my fingers and bestow these wonderful and magical memories upon every human being. If you are a nature/water lover, there's nothing more mystical than to be immersed in pure nature. The gifts that you receive are life changing to the core of your soul. It is an honour to be able to merge your whole being into the calm that is to interact with nature at it's best. For me, water in particular is the most soothing and calming experiences I have had with nature.

I implore you to find your niche in nature and immerse yourself in it and calm your body, mind, and spirit. You will see your life so much more clearly and that will help you to get through life in peace. It will help to bring balance to your life and with what makes you the person you are or can be. It will align you in your daily life and no one can take that from you. Never more than the last six plus months have we heard so much about mental health. The world is fearful and full of anxiety about what's next and for good reason, but if you look to nature you can see ahead a little more clearly.    

Humans and animals should never have to experience living surrounded by concrete, cement, asphalt, metal or plastic. Instead, it should be dirt, sand, grass, trees, water, sky, rain, sun, stars, and moon.
Mary Almeida

More stories to come…