Stories (List View)
The Sound of Rain
Location: Đà Lạt, Việt Nam
Date: August 2023
To Me Water is: Home
During a trip to Dalat in August 2023, I was caught in torrential rain pour on a hike in this mountainous tourist town. It was a beautiful site. All day, the sky had ebbed between clear blue and fog. As the clouds thickened, I could feel the mist on my face at the high elevation. Rain came down first in a gentle spray, then in a flood of musical water. Tourists took cover under awning as the mountain turned into a pool. Never before had I witnessed a tropical rain like this one.
Grandpa’s pants
Location: Tongyeong, South Korea
Date: 1959
To Me Water is: Sacred
This is a story from my mother who grew up in a coastal town called Tongyeong in south eastern corner of the Korean Peninsula. Her parents were in Busan, but she and her sister were sent to live with her grandparents in Tongyeong at a very young age. When she was around six, a catastrophic typhoon - named Sarah * category 5 hurricane according to SSHWS, hit the southeastern coast of South Korea. Her grandpa owned a boat and he was worried about the boat being swept away. He donned a pair of rubber rain boots and went out to tie the boat up tightly as the heavy rain and gushing wind arrived. Thankfully, he returned safely - she recalls how his pants, the Korean traditional style pants ( hanbok) that were tied on the bottom completely swelled up, filled with water, and this is one of the vivid images of her grandfather she remembers from her childhood. Along with this story, she also told a story about being defiant in middle school and going out without any rain gear in torrential rain and getting absolutely soaked to the bone. The Korean Peninsula is prone to heavy rains during June and July ( the rainy season) and tropical storms frequent the region, and naturally, my mother’s water stories relate to weather. If I were to write a water story about my mother, I would write about how she would get a bowl of purified water to pray for longevity and good health for everyone on certain occasions.
An Eye-Opening
Location: Hellshire Beach, St. Catherine, Jamaica
Date: Winter 2022
To Me Water is: life
While enjoying a swim at the beach in Jamaica, I realized that time and tides have changed drastically the quiet peaceful swim spot with one fisherman's hut, to a sprawling, chaotic seaside town, bustling with locals, tourists and too many buildings that add their run-off pollution and trash to the land and sea. This sparkling Caribbean Sea of deep turquoise and light aquamarine, is no more. Yes, there is some remnants of the colors of the Caribbean Sea, yet the water looked sad, as sad the eyes of the resident who tries valiantly to clean up the beach of broken bottles, dumps from the faraway Sargasso seaweed, plastics and the remnants and discards of a modern society imposed on a quiet beach. I am moved to create a painting as testament to the drastic change witnessed in barely a generation. This painting I call "witness" is the first of what I hope to be a series to be painted this winter of 2023. It would be my reaction to this change, bought on any an increasing population exacerbated by climate destruction. I thought then how wonderful to bring together a group of artists to tell this story, of the changing shoreline where the sand dunes created by one greedy entrepreneur pushed down the stall of another seaside shack to build her own atop. Yet, this entrepreneur now has no beachfront. The hurricanes came and took all the sands away from in front of her very stable and strongly concrete built restaurant. She has tried to stop the onslaught of the water with concrete blocks and steps. The woman whose stall she pushed down? Moved further down the beach and ended up again being the only person on the beach with a tree on the waterside of her new stall. These stories, and so many more of a receding shoreline and a changing landscape are all awaiting an entrepid group of artists to record in paintings, dances, videos, music and songs and other forms of expression. I think maybe our collective voices san reach the senses of the masses to create a collective shift in consciousness to change our interactions with the water world. And then I saw the exhibition notice for "Water Stories." I am gratified and feeling a spark of hope. Thank you Jinah Kim, for assembling this cast of characters and moving us along this journey. Thank you to the Harvard Radcliffe Institute for facilitating this amazing and necessary exhibition. Image: Witness, work in process, oils on canvas. Lucilda
Family Name
Location: Ha Long Bay, Vietnam
Date: Each generation
To Me Water is: Legacy
For generations, young men in my family have traveled to Ha Long Bay to swim when they are coming of age. As far as I know, this is not a religious ritual, but rather a spiritual connection, one that bids us remember our family name, and the legacy it carries, and our responsibility as stewards of that name, potential future fathers, a direct link in the ever-extending chain of our bloodline. The water of Ha Long Bay is infinitely strong, able to support us and our blood, blood that carries the weight of an entire family legacy, past and future.
The Well in my Courtyard
Location: Guwahati, Assam
Date: Since 1990
To Me Water is: Memory
As a child, rhyming ‘Jack and Jill’, and fetching water seemed to be fascinating, particularly pulling the bucket of water swiftly through the pulley attached on the bamboo stand over the well in our courtyard. Initially the well was on the surface, and over the years we saw dad calling workers to put precast RCC well rings and make it tall, so as to avoid accidents. Some families had access to ‘supply water’ from the Municipality, and a select few had borewells back then. Solidarity and friendships in the neighborhood were built through sharing drinking water, allowing people to make calls or receive calls at homes with landline phone connectivity, or running out into the neighborhood meeting friends under frequent power cuts. Out of these, fetching water was a part of everyday life. The groundwater level would go down during the dry season, pushing many of us to follow our moms to fetch water from the next-door neighbors. Other days, the neighbors would come to fetch water from our well. There were ‘bhaar walas’ speaking Telugu who would also bring drinking water from the community tubewell. They charged Rs 20 for two tins of water. As kids, we never thought or questioned this water scarcity. What began as fun for the kids became a routine in the later years, and these grown-up kids then (including me) closely witnessed how the responsibility of fetching water slowly slid upon the women. In the difficult life of a homemaker, this responsibility further burdened their routine tasks. Wasting water became a big deal. In current times, the groundwater levels had dropped further. Today, most of the people in the neighborhood buy water from the Municipality water tanks. Some continue to drill borewells every ten years. Bottled water has infiltrated our kitchens. In the rapid transformation of urban infrastructure, our well seems to be an antique. We continue to get water from it. Social relationships have changed today, and fetching water from the neighbors now would degrade one’s social status. The water woes brought a troubled life for the women folk. For the children, it was fun, until it was not.
Star Gazing
Location: Molveno, Italy
Date: July 2023
To Me Water is: Powerful
At about 2am, well after everyone else had retired to bed and our campfire had died down to smoldering coals and piles of smoke-sputtering ash, my friends and I slinked away to the shore of a nearby lake carrying in our arms a blanket stolen from the hotel and a bottle of brandy. The only noises that pierced the silence of the night were the crunch of gravel underfoot and the ever-present churning of the lake and a nearby waterfall. When the residence had faded from our sight, we set the blanket down on the cool rocks and laid down side by side, our eyes turned towards the sparkling heavens unmolested by industrial light. For two hours, we spoke in hushed tones of everything from love to video games, trauma to in jokes, beauty to pain, all the while counting shooting stars that flitted across the sky in droves. The water around us lended the scene a certain ethereal tranquility as it doubled each star in a reflection that danced across its placid surface. Gulps of liquor radiated heat from our stomachs, chasing away the growing chill caused by the frigid mountain water. The presence of the lake, with its stable lullaby and mirrored surface, helped turn this simple encounter with nature into a transcendent, nearly spiritual experience of beauty.
Ema & Isa's Story
Location: Tallinn, Estonia
Date: c. 19
To Me Water is: life-giving
My maternal grandparents were fortunate enough to leave Tallinn during the 1944 siege by the Soviets and Nazis in World War II. They took one of the last boats—at that point unknown to one another. My grandmother and her sister left their sick father and mother to escape at the tender ages of 14 and 17, respectively. My grandfather guided his family onto a Red Cross Boat, Moero. It was there on that boat as it floated in the harbor before taking off that he received a sign, a premonition, that he needed to switch boats. He never called it a miracle, but it might have been. He guided his family onto the boat where my 14-year old grandmother was sobbing. As they left the harbor and took to the Baltic Sea, they bore witness to the bombing of Moero—what could have been my grandfather's fate. Upon arrival into Nazi Germany, the only place the boat could anchor, they worked in displaced persons camps for the remainder of the war where they met and fell in love, until they were sponsored to come to the U.S. as refugees. In the U.S. they raised a family, teaching them Estonian as a first language, and valuing their diasporic culture. Upon their deaths, they requested that their ashes be scattered in the Atlantic Ocean, no matter the legality of this act. My mother obeyed their wishes, intermingling their ashes with the salt sea that carried them between geopolitical borders, families, and cultures.
"Look Up"
Location: Concord, MA (Walden Pond)
Date: Spring 2021
To Me Water is: life-giving
It was the first warm day in Massachusetts after an especially isolated winter. My three kids and I were going stir-crazy from wearing masks and being away from people throughout the winter. When our friends asked us to meet them at Walden Pond we automatically said "yes." A big group of families met together and the adults sat together and chatted while the children played in the water. My 6-year-old went off with his 7-year-old friend and 8-year-old sister with a boogie board. I watched from a distance and discussed the implications of Covid and quarantining with my friends. Suddenly, my 8-year-old daughter ran up to me and calmly said, "Luke is drowning. You need to save him." I jumped up and ran as fast as I could to the situation and saw that he and his friend had dirfted to deep waters on the boogie-board. I smiled at both of them and told them to hold on. I swam as fast as I could and pulled them to safety. Later, when I was talking to him, he told me that he had fallen off the boogie board and was drowning. He said he heard a voice that said, "look up" and he did and there was his friend's hand. He put his hand up and she pulled him back onto the boogie board until I got them to safety.
"Ilingas; Ancestral Echoes"
Location: Sphakia, Crete, Greece
Date: September 2022
To Me Water is: life
This is more about re-visiting a place on the island of my birth, Crete. The place was on the south coast in the region of Sphakia which is by the Libyan Sea. My family and I spent the day at Ilingas Beach, which is surrounded by caves. I sat within a large cave and did small watercolors plein air of the water and caves. I learned this past year that my father's ancestors came from a mountain village above Ilingas. When I returned to my studio in the US, I started on this painting inspired by the sea, the caves, family history, and my connection to this ancient place. Margaret Tsirantonakis image: Margaret Tsirantonakis "Ilingas; Ancestral Echoes" 2022 oil on canvas, 30 x 30 inches
Dog Meets Water: Splashes and Serenity at Fresh Pond
Location: fresh pond
Date: 2022
To Me Water is: life
A few times a week, I find myself walking along the path that circles Fresh Pond on the boundary between Cambridge, Belmont, and Watertown. Encountering the water here I can not help but think about the way that this pond, a modest body of water, brings neighborhoods and communities together. The walking trails and woods create a space for numerous species to enjoy and escape the concretized city life we've grown accustom to navigating. The pond in the middle of the loop looks serene at all angles and has a calming, grounding effect as on walks around. For me, it is the dogs leaping into and splashing around the small pond on the backside that demonstrates how universal a love for water is. Water is not only a life source and element to bring us together, but it is a source of great merriment. Being suspended in water as one swims across any distance is the closest we will come to flying and defying gravity. Its a magical feeling to float and glide. Seeing the dogs's unabated excitement to launch themselves into the water gives me pause to not take this precious resource and source of life and joy for granted, but to remember how unbelievable fortunate it we are to have it trickling into our everyday lives.
Ogallala Aquifer vs Cotton Industry on the Llano Estacado
Location: Lubbock, TX
Date: from an unknown point in the past to the present
To Me Water is: Receding
Located in a high desert, the cotton fields around Lubbock, Texas, are the largest contiguous cotton fields in the United States. Cotton, as with other monocultures, uses a remarkable amount of water. This use is in addition to the other industries and residential use, at a time when the amount of water going into the Ogallala aquifer has been decreasing because of the lack of water entering the aquifer. The draining of the Ogallala aquifer has resulted in the groundwater becoming more salty and the playa lakes drying up. These playas play an important role in the ecosystem and without them, and without an healthy aquifer, the Llano Estacado region is in deep trouble.
Baptism
Location: Grapeland, Texas
Date: 2009
To Me Water is: life-giving
When I was a child, I struggled with my sexuality. Growing up in a Christian fundamentalist household, a known fact about the world was that water has a transformative power, especially in the form of full-body immersion baptism. I experienced this rite when I was 11 in the larger town near my family’s small, rural farm. The pastor dunked my body in the water of what was essentially a very deep bathtub. The water was crystal clear, and I was held as I went under and re-emerged. This experience was meant to signify the remission of my sins. Despite this baptism, I felt as though I was still contaminated by sin, as this dunking did not eliminate (what I viewed to be) my sexual deficiency. Because of this feeling, when I was home alone, I would go to a small lake near my family home known to be a habitat for snakes and catfish. The water was brown and murky, and trees hid the water from sunlight. While there, I would pray to be cleansed on the bank. In fits of what I interpreted at the time as religious ecstasy, I would strip to my undergarments and wade into the murky, perhaps dangerous waters. I conducted several solitary full-body immersions of myself in this manner in my early teen years, attempting to scour away with murky, rural water what clear, urban water could not.
Swim Again Soon
Location: Mohawk Pond, Mohawk State Forest, Cornwall, Connecticut, USA
Date: May 2021
To Me Water is: spiritual
Swim Again Soon: Clean Waters, Clean Spirit at Mohawk Pond, Mohawk State Forest, Cornwall, CT, 06753 USA The mermaid within. Sliding through the water, beating bubbles in my wake. Cradled in the water, without back, front, up, down or side, weightless as an astronaut. Cleaving the water, an aquanaut. Limbs ripple like octopus arms, eight-pronged equipoise, balanced in the slipstream. Where floating is melting, a mermaid shape shifts to pause on water clouds. A mermaid falls up to the surface. The world is upside down: hemlocks drape like seaweed, granite becomes coral. Laurel blossoms drift suspended. The wind is a current; the current a wind.
Learning to Swim!
Location: Laurel, Maryland
Date: Sometime in 2008, when I was 4 years old.
To Me Water is: Freedom
When I was four years old, my parents enrolled me in a swim class at my neighborhood pool. I met my longtime childhood swimming teacher, Coach Vanessa, and I learned how to swim. After this, I swam every summer for my neighborhood swim team, and during the school year on a club team. Even though I stopped swimming competitively in high school, to me, water represents freedom because I've always felt extremely comfortable in all bodies of water - pools, lakes, and oceans. I think that water is also incredibly peaceful and provides a serene alternative to the noise of daily life.
Sunshot
Location: 河南省, 中国
Date: Unknown
To Me Water is: Home
As a child, I had a huge book of Chinese myths, which I lovingly leafed through on long afternoons. One such myth is that of Hou Yi. In ancient times, there were 9 suns in the sky, which brought a dreadful drought and scorched all of the farmer's crops. Hou Yi, an archer, shot down all but 1 of the suns, restoring balance to the agrarian economy. Looking back on this story, it seems to reflect ancient anxieties over water scarcity and the whims of the seasons; although China is not as adversely affected by the monsoon seasons, the uncertainties and capricious nature of the seasons and the lack of water are represented in this myth.
Caught In a Typhoon
Location: Hongkong
Date: 2008
To Me Water is: Alive
I grew up visiting my extended family in Hong Kong and China every two years. Typically, we visit during summer break, which is otherwise known as typhoon season (the equivalent of a hurricane). Usually, we would take shelter indoors when there is a typhoon warning and hope for it to deescalate. However, on one particular trip, while we were visiting my grandpa's hometown north of China, which is an hour's flight from Hong Kong, we were caught in a typhoon. With a canceled flight but no way back, we decided to rent out a bus instead. Five hours into the bus ride, we were hit with traffic and pouring rain. We were hoping that the typhoon would de-escalate, but with each passing hour, it only rained harder. By the time we made it back to Hong Kong late at night, all transit systems were closed. The wind was howling in every direction imaginable and on top of that, the rain was beating down our backs. Thankfully, we managed to get a taxi at five times the price to get home. Aside from some broken windows and fallen trees, we were safe. On the other hand, I will never forget the night when water, combined with wind and rain was a powerful force that couldn't be reckoned with.
Lake Erie Mishap
Location: Cleveland, Ohio
Date: 2020
To Me Water is: Home
Growing up, my family spent a lot time on Lake Erie. We loved having picnics on the shores and we used to go swimming in its waters. It was always a place I had considered home, just simply from the fact that I spent time with my family there. However, as of late, cases of the lakes pollution have become so bad that people will rarely go into the water. While we still had picnics, we no longer could safely swim in its water.
The rain
Location: New York
Date: 2002-2022
To Me Water is: important
When it rains, the first thing that comes in mind is Khichuri, which is a seasoned yellow rice, paired with hilsha fry and stir fried eggplant. My mother, an expert at cooking Bengali dishes, always cooks it without any hesitation. When I get the subtle smell of rain at home, it doesn’t take long before I can smell the beautiful aroma of the spices she uses to cook khichuri and the side dishes. Being away from home certainly makes me realize how much I took those days for granted, and how grateful I was to rain for giving me an opportunity to eat some of the most delicious dishes my mom has ever made. This small Bengali tradition is something I hope to pass on to my future generations, as long as I can become even the slightest bit of a decent cook compared to my amazingly talented mother.
Rock Meadow
Location: Belmont, MA
Date: 2023
To Me Water is: life
Every weekend I go to Rock Meadow Conservation Preserve in Belmont with my dog Ember. We follow a trail to the west that crosses a small bridge and stream, continue onward through the forest to the old Metfern cemetery, and then past that to a wide marsh along the edge of a pond. There is a peacefulness to this walk, and joy too – at the start, when Ember dips into the stream, swims a full circle, then clambers out and shakes herself. The huge tree that we stop at, at the center of the cemetery, life in the midst the history of that place. Walking past the marsh near the end, and wondering what we will see- a heron one day, a family of ducks on another, frogs every day. There is a liveness to all of it, growth, change, life—even in the cemetery.
Rural Wetlands in Minnesota
Location: Hibbing, Minnesota
Date: 1930s
To Me Water is: essential
My mother (1922-2016) was the child of Swedish-speaking immigrants from Finland who settled in northern Minnesota to work in the iron mines and (simultaneously) run a small dairy farm. Before immigrating, my mom’s mother (i.e., my maternal grandmother) raised cows on a family farm in Jeppo, Finland, so that was her skill-set. Conditions were basic on the Minnesota homestead. There was no electricity until the middle of World War II. Every life task involved labor, whether cooking meals, washing clothes, making hay, or tending to the cows. Recently, on my mother’s birthday, I re-read her memoir of childhood and adolescence, and water plays a role. She recalled chasing cows in the evening when they needed to be milked. The cows were allowed to graze in the wild. “Once in a while,” my mom wrote, “they would go too far into the woods and you kept following the sound of the bell until you found them.” Sometimes this meant walking for many miles. “Also the woods were wetter then than they are now,” she continued. “You would come upon several places where you had to wade through water.” With this memory, she bears witness to changes in wetlands between the 1930s and the late twentieth century. Photo: a lake shore near my grandmother's birthplace in Finland
Tiny Brook, Big River: My Encounter with the Power of Water
Location: Arlington, MA
Date: 2018
To Me Water is: essential
The brook near us is usually very calm and deep in a steep ditch, but it is connected to our local reservoir and when there is heavy rain the excess water comes gushing down and the brook will overflow its banks onto the road. I learned this the hard way when I rode my bike home from work after a thunderstorm. As I approached the road near the brook, the water was up to my thighs. Looking back, I think I should have waited to cross, but I managed to get through safely. The power of water though was very impressive to me that day and I have not forgotten.
Carrying water in Boston
Location: Boston MA
Date: Summer 2023
To Me Water is: Alive
I am a gardener, and water is a crucial element of gardening. I live in Boston, and rented apartments for more than 20 years before I was able to garden at my own home. I would grow herbs, some vegetables, and flowers on my windowsill, later they moved to several porches, and in the remaining 10 years I was a member of a community garden where my planting took root in the earth. I learned how to care for plants in various ways—in containers and out—watering required a learned understanding of the conditions of each plant and its setting. My relationship to watering changed over time. Initially, I carried water from the sink to the sill, then to the porch. Once I had the community garden I would have to wait until early May for the spigots to be turned on, and I had to plan my day around the commute to the garden and weather patterns. Watering became a question spatial and temporal access. Also, water became communal. I had to call upon others when I was out of town to care for the living plants. I loved the communal qualities of the community garden. We would share starts, maintain the trees and berry bushes that were shared by all, compost, and care for the paths. We would learn from each other, dividing and transplanting beloved elder plantings. We also watered each other’s plots and were invited to harvest from our friend’s gardens as compensation. I now have an ever-expanding garden at my home that provides food for my family, friends, insects, birds, and animals. I decided that if I didn’t belong to the community garden, I would encourage a community to enjoy my garden. This year we put in a water barrel to collect rain from our roof following a year of drought. After installing the barrel, we waited expectantly for the rain to come. When it did, we were amazed that the 60-gallon barrel filled after one rainfall. My understanding of rainfall in the environment of the city expanded. I knew how run off worked, I understood the problems of paving and flooding, but I didn’t know the specifics of my own roof and the abundance that poured from it. Throughout the summer we would capture our 60 gallons, and then divert the remaining rainwater into 10-gallon buckets we had stationed in the yard. One rainstorm could last us for a full week of watering. It had been so dry the previous year that my family would joyfully run out into a storm to capture the runoff, alleviating some of our climate anxieties. We started walking watering cans up the flight of stairs to our second story condo to water the houseplants, our porch garden, and hanging baskets. I was back to carrying water by hand. Watering the garden took 3 times longer than previously, but in that time, I got to know the community that had taken up residence in the plants and trees I tended. I knew that fireflies would light up the yard at dusk but not after night fell, I knew where the rabbits lived and became comfortable with sharing the strawberry harvest. I was astounded by the variety of pollinators that would hover over one flowering plant while another would only attract a particular kind of bee. We were granted a tree from the city, and I learned that it took 20 gallons of water per week to keep the tree healthy throughout its first years as a transplant. I shared all of this with family and neighbors and kept an eye out for more knowledge growing around me. Carrying the water that ran off my roof changed my understanding of living in an urban environment. Some of it could be measured in gallons, but much of it was gleaned from watching the weather and the creatures that were sustained by those gallons of water. The rhythms and cycles of the garden deepen, and the shape of water changed for me.
The Day I Almost Died at a Mountain Pool
Location: Bense, Dominica
Date: July 20, 2018
To Me Water is: lively
The real story starts two days before, at a certain mountain spring buried deep in the jungle near Bense, Dominica. I was there with several fellow high school students on a community service trip. We all decided to jump off an approximately 20-foot cliff into the swirling eddy below. After a moment's hesitation, I leapt off, and the first time it went okay. But the second time I got flipped upside down by the raging water and, disoriented and scrambling for the surface, I was unable to swim to safety. The current started dragging me under as I gasped for one final breath...a strong local man had to save me. Two days later, I went back to the same pool to get redemption. While there, it took me a while to work up the nerve to go up to the same spot that had nearly killed me. Finally, I jumped, and everything went fine. But after I scrambled back up to the top to go again, disaster struck. My foot slipped on the mossy rocks against the lip and I was flipped upside down, clipping my arm against the precipice and careening headfirst down the cliff, mere inches from pointy boulders that would've surely cracked my skull. I hit the water straight vertically, avoiding certain death by less than a foot.
Wanderer above the Lake
Location: Metairie, LA
Date: Late 1980s
To Me Water is: exciting
Growing up in New Orleans, and never having had to deal with truly catastrophic ones myself, hurricanes were always occasions of excitement for me. (Things changed drastically with Katrina, for me, of course.) It was like a city-wide communal camping experience. The sure possibility of losing power and perhaps tap water; hunkering down; eating canned food and staying up all night; relying on flashlights and candles: for a kid, these were exciting realities. My childhood home was by Lake Pontchartrain; as a hurricane would approach the shores of Louisiana, I would put on all of the exotic gear I could find (boots, many layers of poncho and slicker, sun hat) and walk to the levee by the Lake and spy the churning waters, rising and swelling. So close to peril. A sense of the uniqueness of New Orleans, even as a kid. (Image: Friedrich, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, 1818)
Flood at Fenway
Location: Boston, MA
Date: July 2023
To Me Water is: essential
This summer I attended a Red Sox-Mets game at Fenway Park in Boston. The game was proceeding fine (although the Sox were behind) until the 4th inning when the heavens opened up. Rain was pelting down (sideways actually), thunder, lightning--if it was rain-related, it was happening. The game was halted and we sat at Fenway for two hours witnessing an incredible storm. There was no point in leaving just to get soaked, so we sat and watched. The park was drenched, parts of the concourse beneath the seats flooded and turned into water slides for fans, the stairs became waterfalls, pipes in the roof poured water onto empty seats. "Torrential" only begins to describe it. At the same time, it was beautiful, and the camaraderie that developed among the soaking wet Sox and Mets fans, staff, and grounds crew rose above any rivalries. We were all in it together.
What Hurricane Irene took
Location: 117 Spruce st, Princeton, NJ
Date: August 28 2011
To Me Water is: life
Our family had just moved to Princeton NJ in July 2011 and barely got settled when Hurricane Irene came whirling through the east coast. It brought much destruction in the area - heavy rain and stormy winds took a lot of trees down and caused flooding. We had set up a home office in the basement, and we all retired to the bedrooms on the second floor when the power went out. ( power outages were frequent in residential areas because Princeton is an old town with above ground power lines.) the next morning when I went down to pick up some books, the basement was flooded with about a foot of water, and all my notes from ten years of field research were submerged under water because I left the box on the floor not realizing what was coming. A lot of books were damaged, too. Tried salvaging as much as possible but some notes written in ink ran, along with it whatever information I tried to collect so hard ( - was actually grateful for the libraries that insisted the readers only use pencils as those notes were mostly intact. ) later learned about how water table could rise up if the saturation from rain exceeds a certain level, and the sump pump failed to work during the power outage. This was very stressful, to say the least. Despite the first hand experience, we got accustomed to storing things in the basement again and using the space without flood proofing- until it happens, it’s not a problem. Will I ever learn to be prepared to face unexpected consequences of extreme weather events?