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A review by blazekcurrie
Running Out: In Search of Water on the High Plains by Lucas Bessire
5.0
Running Out by Lucas Bessire turned into a deep and haunting read for me. I thought it was a book about the Ogallala aquifer, but it is about so much more. I, like Bessire, grew up on the High Plains and quenched my thirst with water pumped from this aquifer. I, like Bessire, also trace my inheritance to the deep wells that irrigate commercial crops – a livelihood for my family for generations.
As an anthropologist, Bessire quickly reveals that this book will not only be about the mechanics, science and history of an aquifer; it is a story about depletion and about what one generation does to the next, and hauntingly, it is about what we do when we find we are active agents in this story.
If you did not grow up on the High Plains, you may wonder why any of this should matter much to you. A few quick facts revealed in the book: the Ogallala aquifer supports around one-sixth of the world’s grain produce, accounts for one-third of all irrigation in the United States, and is at great threat of running dry.
I initially expected the author to miss the nuance and complexity of both the people and systems behind production agriculture in the region; however, Bessire surprised me. While I may not agree with him on every point, he embarked on his journey into the depths of the Ogallala with an open mind and earnest approach. He makes that clear throughout the book.
To give you a taste of his writing style, which I found to be an additional and unsuspecting gem of this read, here is just one of many excerpts I underlined, dog-eared, and later reread:
“I realized I was still searching for a deeper kind of sustenance in the aquifer waters, too. Something about their destruction and the resulting absences was bringing me closer to the elements that made up my inheritance.”
I enjoyed having an anthropologist of my generation research and write about the people of the High Plains. It is hard to narrow down to one excerpt, but this one was particularly sharp:
“Depletive industry flourishes along these fault lines that turn us against the future, against each other, and against ourselves. What does it mean, then, if depletion itself may soon be one of the few common experiences that are shared by people on the High Plains?”
I’ll add one final call to action that I felt within my bones.
“We stand at a crossroads. In one direction lies the final eradication of the aquifer waters. In the other is a chance to share some of this ancient life force with the future. We know that practical alternatives to depletion abound. They lie on collective ground. The choice is ours to make. Time to do so is running out. If we fail to act, an emptied aquifer will change our lives for us. Whatever we decide, it will reverberate far beyond this time and place.”
If you give this book a read, you will learn about an aquifer running dry, but you will also learn about the culture and people of the High Plains, and quite possibly, a little about your own guilt. When we venture into our own past and look deep within the well of our ancestors, we may find the depletion of many ancient waters.
As an anthropologist, Bessire quickly reveals that this book will not only be about the mechanics, science and history of an aquifer; it is a story about depletion and about what one generation does to the next, and hauntingly, it is about what we do when we find we are active agents in this story.
If you did not grow up on the High Plains, you may wonder why any of this should matter much to you. A few quick facts revealed in the book: the Ogallala aquifer supports around one-sixth of the world’s grain produce, accounts for one-third of all irrigation in the United States, and is at great threat of running dry.
I initially expected the author to miss the nuance and complexity of both the people and systems behind production agriculture in the region; however, Bessire surprised me. While I may not agree with him on every point, he embarked on his journey into the depths of the Ogallala with an open mind and earnest approach. He makes that clear throughout the book.
To give you a taste of his writing style, which I found to be an additional and unsuspecting gem of this read, here is just one of many excerpts I underlined, dog-eared, and later reread:
“I realized I was still searching for a deeper kind of sustenance in the aquifer waters, too. Something about their destruction and the resulting absences was bringing me closer to the elements that made up my inheritance.”
I enjoyed having an anthropologist of my generation research and write about the people of the High Plains. It is hard to narrow down to one excerpt, but this one was particularly sharp:
“Depletive industry flourishes along these fault lines that turn us against the future, against each other, and against ourselves. What does it mean, then, if depletion itself may soon be one of the few common experiences that are shared by people on the High Plains?”
I’ll add one final call to action that I felt within my bones.
“We stand at a crossroads. In one direction lies the final eradication of the aquifer waters. In the other is a chance to share some of this ancient life force with the future. We know that practical alternatives to depletion abound. They lie on collective ground. The choice is ours to make. Time to do so is running out. If we fail to act, an emptied aquifer will change our lives for us. Whatever we decide, it will reverberate far beyond this time and place.”
If you give this book a read, you will learn about an aquifer running dry, but you will also learn about the culture and people of the High Plains, and quite possibly, a little about your own guilt. When we venture into our own past and look deep within the well of our ancestors, we may find the depletion of many ancient waters.