An Infinite Supply of Finite Resources 77times the annual runoff available. Groundwater is not regulated—
the state has no way to track remaining reserves.^ When surface water
was rationed, the number of newly drilled wells exploded.^ As one news-
paper headline put it, “The California Drought Isn’t Over, It Just Went
Underground.”
Seizing opportunity from California’s plight, Nebraska agribusiness
leaders launched a campaign to attract California dairy farmers. To the
question “Why move to Nebraska?” the spokeswoman recruiting Cali-
fornia dairy farmers said, “We have ample clean water because we live
above an underground lake called the aquifer.”
Whether water comes from above or below ground, the total amount is
fixed. When aquifers containing fossil water are drained, we lose access
to this resource. When water is polluted with toxins, its ability to pro-
mote life is forfeited. “All the water there will be, is.”^ Though that fact
is irrefutable, we exhibit more faith in our existing laws and infrastruc-
ture than the laws of nature.
In years past, when I returned to the old farmstead, I walked along the
big canal road and looked at the water. I was drawn by its unwavering
volume as it serpentined along the foothills. The canal had occasionally
taken human life, but it had also given life on a grander scale.
As the valley’s population grew, subdivisions filled in what was once
farmland. At some point, homeowners complained of living near such a
large unsecured open channel of water. Fences were installed and access
restricted, but these were not foolproof. Periodically, the big canal still
claimed another life.
One fall, a century after it was built, the big canal was drained for
the last time. Over winter, steel pipe was laid in, welded together, and
backfilled with dirt. On top, an asphalt path for walking, running, and
biking was laid down. The headgates that diverted water to irrigate our
crops were gone. The cement ditches running along the top of our fields
were destroyed during the pipeline’s construction.
Not long ago, my daughters and I walked along the path, directly
on top of what was once the big canal. Pointing toward the spots where
the headgates were opened and water flowed into our ditches, I tried
to recreate what they would never see. These fields, I told them, were