Discovering A Healthy Respect for Water
This post may contain affiliate links where I earn a small commission when you make a purchase using the links at no additional cost to you.
Lake Seneca, NY
Our expedition along the waterfront of Lake Seneca elicited apprehensive excitement as Drew and I adjusted to our new life on the road. It also was accompanied by rain. Lots and lots of rain.
I think that when most of us dream of how life will be as a traveling nomad, we envision picnics, spontaneous hikes, roasting marshmallows before bed, and serendipitous encounters with wildlife as if tapping into our own inner Snow White. We tend not to dwell on the very real possibilities of prolonged, unfavorable weather events. The reason for this is obvious, because it is much more pleasant to daydream about a world of Disney-esque fairytales when reality actually reflects the fables collected in The Brothers Grimm more closely. It was after pulling into our first official campground, our third night on the road which had been superseded by two blissful nights spent hopping between free Harvest Hosts locations, that the heavens opened up.
Think of the heaviest rain that you have ever experienced. A quick run to your car from your front door can leave you soaked through your shirt. Perhaps you were smart enough to have an umbrella handy, but an abrupt, upward gust of wind lifted it till inverted, and you, as a consequence, completely unprotected by the downpour. Usually, when it would rain like this as a little kid, my mom would take my hand.
“Just wait a minute,” she would say as I peered out from under the roof of our back porch, impatient in my desire to continue playing on our swing set, “It can never rain like this for very long.”
For most of my adult life, I knew this to be true. After all, how much water could a single rain cloud actually hold before running out of ammunition? But that was the rule, and this day at Seneca Lake was surely the exception. It rained like this, unrelenting, for days. Pools of water formed outside of our doorstep. Our awning drooped under the weight of collected droplets until one side inevitably would buckle, spilling its contents atop anyone unfortunate enough to be stationed under its corner. We didn’t see much of that campground, sheltered inside, enjoying our 300 square feet of dry refuge as we waited for the storm to pass. We also packed up in that same downpour, three days later I might add, marking the first time we ever moved in the rain, and headed to a nearby Boondockers Welcome spot at a local farm where we would stay a few extra days.
It was a full week of attempting to laugh to keep from crying, feeling more like prisoners in our tiny home than the image of carefree travelers that we had anticipated. Drew joked that we were being baptized into our new way of life. I smiled back at him, allowing him to have this idea which seemed to lighten his perspective, all while thinking, “shouldn’t baptisms be voluntary?”. Then, after receiving almost 5 inches of rain in 24 hours, we woke up to sunshine. I know it is cliché, but you never truly appreciate what you have until it’s gone, and I had never appreciated the sun as much as I had that day. We laid beside our drying beach towels, allowing our belongings and our weary souls to absorb the UV rays, and then quickly deciding to seize the opportunity by visiting the nearby Seneca Mills Falls.
If you are unfamiliar with the Finger Lakes, you should know that this area is known for its abundance of captivating waterfalls. From Ithaca Falls to Taughannock, each cascade of water creates a dazzling display for the viewer - from a distance. On this particular day, the rain that had accumulated over the last week meant that Seneca Falls was roaring like I had never seen. Our ears steered us the final stretch down a dirt path of the Keuka Outlet Trail, guided by the sound of crashing water until we eventually stood next to its mouth, looking down at the powerhouse of water being carried below my feet. It was a humid day as the sun worked to dry up the saturated ground, and so I welcomed the cooling mist of the falls, closing my eyes and enjoying every moment of tranquility.
The amount of water rushing down the falls was directly dependent on the rain that Seneca Falls had recently received. I took this picture right next to a sign that stated “NO SWIMMING”.
A jarring yelp from the base of the falls snapped me back to attention, catching sight of a trio of individuals, running towards the unrelenting current with… are those pool noodles? One of the three, being a man which I estimated to be in his mid-30’s, -not to say his age mattered much, simply to express that he was most definitely old enough to know better-grabbed his floatie and neared the end of solid ground. I watched as he stepped into the water, and then began to kick his way into the center of the river, only a few yards downstream of the monstrous wall of fresh water. His friends laughed and pointed, cameras capturing the stunt with their iphones, while Drew and I watched, eyes and mouth open in shock. My gaze bounced between the imprudent swimmer and a fallen tree that spanned the majority of the river’s surface, save a few feet off the farside of the river bank. He kicked his feet, trying to clear the tree, but making little progress against the tireless force of the flowing water. I all but peaked through my fingers as he approached the trunk, picking up speed in the most horrifying of ways, and held my breath as I watched the water push him under the trunk, disappearing beneath the water’s surface.
In reality, this man was probably only under the water for less than ten seconds before his head resurfaced like a bobbing apple, but it felt far, far longer for me. I was clutching my nonexistent pearls, assessing if Charlie’s leash was long enough to throw to him in rescue if I were to run down the hill to aid him. Alas, he climbed atop the tree, shrugged the incident off to his friends, a bit of fear still in his eyes I suggest, and since his pool noodle had been lost beneath the tangle of branches, much like his body almost was, he was threw a fresh one which he used to continue on his float. What a wonderful, relaxing day at the falls.
After my heartrate had equalized, I turned back the way I had come, making note of the “NO SWIMMING” signs which were posted along the way. It may be hard to imagine how dangerous of a situation this man had just put himself in, but from the moment I saw him step foot into that water, a part of me, the part of me riddled with crippling anxiety, feared that I was actually about to witness a man drown. It is a moment I don’t think I will ever forget, my hippocampus chanting the mantra to me, “now, remember, trying to win a battle with a waterfall is a bad idea.”
I could not, and still cannot stop myself from asking, when did we lose a healthy respect for water?
The fallen tree branch which was almost the mystery man’s demise is shown above, on a day which preceded much less rain then what we had seen, still raised far above the water’s surface.
Water is...
It is perhaps overstated to describe how important water is, but considering how we often take it for granted, it seems to bear repeating. Water is essential. Water comprises 60% of the human body, which is actually on the lower side when considering this value averages around 70% in all animal species. It is vitally important to the retention of life at every scale including single-celled prokaryotic bacteria which are regarded as the simplest form of life that we know of. It fills the cell walls which act as building blocks for all organic matter, giving them structure, and allowing for the transportation of molecules that must be used for in the creation of energy and tissue building, or disposed of through appropriate channels in the cell membrane. It dominates our planet, found everywhere that there is life and thus explaining why the search for life on other planets is typically charged with first locating extraterrestrial liquid water.
Water is everywhere, covering 71% of the earth’s surface and thereby creating habitat which houses an estimated 20% of the life on earth. The earth holds 350 trillion gallons of water, yet only 1.2% of this is drinkable water, a number which threatens steady decline if we continue contaminating our water bodies with pollutants that prove extremely difficult to remove.
Water is also powerful, its high heat capacity allowing it to significantly moderate the temperature of the Finger Lakes Region with respect to the surrounding area which experiences hotter summers and colder winters. We actually get the value of a calorie from water’s specific heat value, taking 4,184 Joules to raise the temperature of 1 kilogram of water by 1 degree Celsius. Not only does this gift the nearby vintners with an ideal microclimate for growing grapes used in winemaking, but also increases the biodiversity of wildlife in the area, much of which would otherwise not survive seasons of extreme temperatures.
Yet water is also destructive, clearly evidenced by the carved rock face which follows the path of established waterfalls. It is the enemy to all man made structures, seeping into wood which then harbors mold and mildew if it doesn’t rot away all together. Water has played a leading role in many of the world’s deadliest natural disasters with only two feet of rushing water powerful enough to carry most motorized vehicles. In 2018 the Sundra Strait Tsunami created a 30 meter swell of water which destroyed nearly 3,000 homes and claimed 426 human lives. I say this, of course, as my family and friends back in Philadelphia need little reminder, still mopping up the pools that hurricane Ida unloaded onto them.
Just like the sun, air, and the primitive inner workings of our brains, we need water to survive, yet we have little control over it.
One of the more pleasant side-effects from the surplus of rain was the vibrant colors produced on the rolling pastures of where we were staying for the next few days.
A Healthy Respect for Water
A typical American home, if one is fortunate, has a near endless supply of clean drinking water. You can shower in sauna-like conditions, allowing the water to steam beside you as you step out of the stream to lather. These luxuries are ones that most of us have never had to live without, and so it is difficult for us to imagine an existence where these types of amenities are not available to us. Even after living in the RV, when finding a source of potable water, conserving our supply, and then properly disposing of it, is on the daily task list, I recognize that I still don’t have to think too much about where this water actually came from and what had to happen to clean it. In this effect, our first world civilization has done an excellent job at creating the illusion that we have conquered the force of water. Through that, in all the ways that our society has progressed to provide us longer, healthier, more comfortable lives, it has damaged our ability to value the fundamentals of what makes life possible.
I think of the comfort I used to have in thunderstorms, listening to them as I lay in bed, grateful for the relief it would bring after a scorching summer day. Now, the sound of heavy rain atop the roof of my RV alerts my senses. I am suddenly wrapped in thoughts about that hairline crack near the front corner of our dinette slideout. Is it taking on water, do you think? I lay awake at night with my eyes wide open, hearing a “plink” that sounded the slightest bit different from the rest. Is that water leaking in through the air conditioner? Every unidentified noise brings me paranoia that I left our electrical bin open, a concern I developed after accidentally letting the inverter get wet. It still works, but I doubt it can handle another bath like the one it got on that most unfortunate day.
I chose to embark on this life of travel because I wanted to remind myself of what truly matters. At the moment, I believed this would mean an abundance of time to spend in strengthening my marriage, and although this has certainly occurred, I have also spent an uncomfortable amount of time thinking about the uncontrollable forces of nature. I realize that me saying so has done little to convince any of you to try RV life, but if my commentary helps at all, I must say that I am grateful for it. Recognizing the ungovernable nature of nature is what makes me appreciate the statistical improbability that our world even what it is in the first place, that there is enough water here, in the right state of matter, within the narrowly appropriate temperature range, that it can support the network of life that just happens to also contain you, and contain me.
It is also this thought which possessed me to wake up in the middle of the night while in Vermont and attempt to climb a mountain, but I’ll save that story for next week.
The clouds always eventually clear, and fortunate for us, we were greeted with a beautiful rainbow when they did, a promise of better days to come.
Thank you for joining us at Discovery Detour, where the destination is always unknown.
