This show originally aired on July 26, 2007 but is as timely now as it was when drought restrictions were first placed on the community this summer.
November 29, 2007
I just returned from Kinsale, Virginia, where I keep a small sailboat at a marina. The purpose of my trip was to re-plumb my fresh water system. The tank had gotten so funky that the last time I used the small hand pump faucet at the sink, green slime came out. This called for immediate action – so I set to work, removing the 15-gallon polyethylene tank from its home under the V-berth in the bow of the boat. This prompted a closer look at the length of hose for potable water from the aforementioned tank forward to the aforementioned faucet. It only stood to reason that I should replace the hose while I was at it – and so, on an unseasonably mild Tuesday in July, I subjected my body to the necessary contortions required to gain access so that I could route the new hose. This took a couple of hours, but I left for home satisfied that on the next sailing trip, I’d have sweet fresh water, suitable for drinking.
While I was out of town for a couple of days, the Rivanna Water & Sewer Authority invoked a Drought Watch in accordance with its drought management plan that emerged after the 2002 drought. This all got me to thinking more about boats I have known – and the role of fresh water aboard boards, especially those which ply the saltier waters of our commonwealth. Like backpackers and other outdoor adventurers, sailors for the most part live in constant awareness of the amount of remaining fresh water in their very finite tanks and have devised a myriad of ways to conserve water.
Take my friend Mac, who has owned a 45-foot sail boat that he’s been chartering out of the Virgin Islands for the last 15 winters. I first met Mac in the mid-90’s while he was on his annual swing through Charlottesville, reconnecting with old friends, recruiting guests for future trips aboard Stranger, the given name of his boat. A love of the sea, compatible politics, and the desire the answer life’s important questions were a few things that we shared, long before I was able to sail with him on his boat.
When Mac comes to visit, he brings a bottle of wine, cheese and crackers, and a whole boatload of compelling Life Questions. And when Mac doers the dishes, which is his thank offering for the meal you’ve just cooked, he is as parsimonious with water as he would be on his own boat. I remember the first time I came across Mac washing dishes at my kitchen sink – the dishes and pots still frothy with suds where they were carefully stacked to dry. I thought perhaps that Mac was about to rinse them, but Mac fussed at me, shoeing me out of the kitchen, telling me that the soapy dishes were done, having rinsed the operative surfaces – the working sides of the plates and the inside, cooking part of the pots. As I turned to leave the kitchen, he said, “I got all the soap off of what counts! I’m saving water!”
Well, of course, Mac – a creature of habit like the rest of us – had made water conservation a way of life … certainly living on a boat will do that to you. Bringing it ashore is another whole thing … and got me to thinking about how my habits shift and change with the conveniences of life ashore. While my boat carries only 15 gallons of potable water, and I am frugal with its use when living afloat, it is so easy to slide back into practices that tap water makes possible.
The Water Resources Federation says that clothes washing and toilets flushing each claim about 25% of a typical American household … with another 20% being used in showers and baths. Add to that, now, the running water from kitchen and bathroom faucets for another 15%. Leaks account for almost 15% of domestic water use, with washing dishes and cleaning consuming a mere 3%. So what was my friend saving, after all, with his one-sided rinse?
What he was saving was the trouble of having to relearn the habit of conservation. Yes, he was also saving water – and that’s the whole point here, but equally important, I think, is what it takes to cultivate an ongoing consciousness of the finiteness of our water supplies, whether it be from the tap, from a well, or from a tank on a boat. If I could be like the “water efficient household” — described by the Federation as one that uses 52 gallons of water, per person, per day — I would be frugal in the best sense of the word: careful, sparing, and opposing the luxury of unlimited water. While the drought watch is a perfect time to cultivate these conservation habits, it’s worthy goal to retain them when water resources are replenished. I have my friend Mac to thank for reminding me that shipboard practices can and should be brought ashore.
Copyright 2007 Leslie B. Middleton
