What's Next?

What’s Next?

For the first few weeks of May the local TV weather report hadn’t drawn much attention. That time of year hot, dry weather was the norm in Phoenix so the reports fell on deaf ears. The usual time for the temperature to hit 100 degrees was mid-May but that year it happened in early April, Even after four consecutive years of breaking heat records people still didn’t seem to be concerned. Summer was coming and the monsoon storms would bring rain. There was nothing to worry about.

About two months into summer I noticed a subtle change in the weather reports. The usually smiling, upbeat reporters weren’t smiling so much. Their tone of voice was more serious. They were careful to avoid the word ”hot” and instead said “unseasonably warm”.  The weather forecasts weren’t just secondary news they had become the main story and people were starting to pay attention.

Months went by and it was still hot, still dry and there was no change in the forecast. Phoenix is a desert city, the hottest big city in the country. The people have gotten used to hot and dry. But somehow things felt different. By October, after six months of above average temperatures and no rainfall, the term “Level One Water Restrictions” was in the news. That got peoples’ attention too. No more shrugging their shoulders and saying, “That’s just the way it is here”. No more “It’s Fall, it’ll cool off and we’ll be back to normal”. Now they were asking, “Geez, is this drought ever going to end?”

Drought is a word associated with farmers and withering crops. It still makes some people think of the movie The Grapes of Wrath. But when the local weather reporters started to use that word to describe life in a big urban area it took on a different meaning. People in Phoenix and the entire Valley weren’t farmers they were business people and teachers, store owners and contractors, retired people and children.

Nothing changed and the weather reporters continued their attempts to be upbeat about the forecast but it was clear they were as concerned as their viewers were. I was watching network news one evening and the Phoenix weather was the lead story. It had made the national news. The following day the Phoenix Mayor held a press conference. A representative of the Governor’s office and the head of the city water department stood beside her. The mayor spoke first and tried to assure everyone that the heat was seasonal and the drought would pass. She said the water restrictions were going to be necessary for the foreseeable future. The city’s water supply was strained but not in danger. Her comments were followed by the other two speakers. None of them used the words Climate Change. They didn’t have to because it was obvious to anyone who listened.

When Carol and I had moved to Phoenix from Pennsylvania twenty years earlier we happily embraced a desert lifestyle. We found a house that was the Spanish Contemporary style we’d hoped for. In the yard I cut down two trees and dug out the non-native shrubbery. I even tore out the lawn. Those things weren’t native to the desert and we wanted low-water, Xeriscape plants only. Eventually the yard looked like it belonged there, with fine desert gravel, palo verde trees, cactus and agave everywhere. We were ready for life in the desert.

For the last few years I had been reading more and more about climate change. I knew it was a real thing and when I’d see someone on TV or online who called it a hoax I was furious. There were signs all around the world that something extraordinary was happening to the weather. Phoenix was witnessing it first hand. We were living it.

It was an unseasonably hot day in early November when I was getting the mail from our streetside mailbox. I saw my next door neighbor, Warren, heading my way and waited for him.

“Hey, Warren, long time no see.”

“Yeah, Luke, I’ve been staying close to the air conditioning. Lisa calls it cocooning.”

“I know what you mean. The whole neighborhood seems quiet. Nobody’s going outside in the heat.”

“We went out for groceries this morning and there was hardly any traffic. And there was just a handful of people in the store. Lisa called it spooky.”

“Since Carol and I are both working from home now it’s like we rarely see other people, at least not in the flesh.”

Warren smiled. “Okay, let’s make it a point to meet at the mailbox so you won’t be lonely.”

I just laughed. “See you later.”

When Carol wrapped up her workday she and I poured some wine into plastic cups and went out to the pool for a happy hour swim. A few minutes in Carol said, “You know, hon, the water restrictions didn’t say anything about pools but you know that’s coming sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Damn, when are we gonna get some rain?”

“I saw online that the heat is finally going to break a little but nobody is talking about any rain.”

I wiped the water from my face. “It’s the dry spell that worries me more than the heat. The seasons change and the winter is always cooler but it’s no guarantee we’re going to get any wet weather. That beautiful, cloudless blue sky we came here for isn’t so beautiful anymore.”

“I guess all we can do is wait it out and hope for the best.”

I hesitated for a moment then said, “I’m so damn tired of waiting.”

Over dinner that evening we talked about work related things and family news but the weather was like the elephant in the room. We were both worried. As we were clearing the table I remembered Warren’s comment about meeting at the mailbox. It gave me an idea.

“You know, when I ran into Warren today it occurred to me that we haven’t had any real contact with the neighbors in a long time. Just a wave through the windshield.”

“Funny, I was thinking that same thing. Everyone is staying close to home.”

“Any interest in hosting a little gathering? Not a big crowd just like five or six couples.

Carol’s face brightened. “Yeah, I’d be up for that. Just hors d’oeuvres and drinks though, no big food obligation and clean-up. She paused then added. “I just need to see people again”.

We chose a Saturday evening two weeks down the road and called our friends. We were looking forward to something close to normal again. A few days later a notice from the City dimmed our enthusiasm. The water restrictions had been elevated to Level Two. Level One was a voluntary cut back on water use, simple things like reducing the frequency of watering the lawns and taking shorter showers. Level Two was very different. It involved heavy cuts to water usage by businesses. There was no car washing allowed, no filling of pools and water features, once weekly plant watering and no more watering of lawns. It was the first time the city had ever implemented Level Two. Things were getting scary.

By the time our Saturday gathering arrived and the weather still hadn’t changed, Carol and I were wondering what to expect from our guests. How worried or upset would they be?  It didn’t take long to find out. As each couple arrived we exchanged the usual greetings and pleasantries and then comments on the weather began. We heard:

“I’m so damn sick of this freaking weather. I tried golfing yesterday and the course was like a damn hay field.”

This Level Two stuff really sucks. Who can live like this?”

“Can you believe all this heat? My A/C bills are through the roof!”

“They even closed up the Farmers Market I go to because they haven’t been able to grow anything.”

“Okay, if anyone ever doubted it, this is Climate Change, no question.”

It was all of the kinds of conversations we’d expected until Brad Becker said, “My realtor friend says our property values are already showing signs of tanking. She said the whole country is talking about Phoenix and if this weather doesn’t change soon we won’t be able to sell our homes because nobody will want to live here.”

His words hit me hard. I’d been focusing on the day to day pain the weather brought with it. Now I was thinking about the future. What would come next for everyone who was caught up in all of this?

The holidays came and went. In January the news talked about the upcoming baseball spring training games. Sports reporters didn’t usually talk about the weather but now it was different. Would the fans show up? would the stadiums with real grass be able to keep the field in playable condition? One of the reporters joked about how much everyone would love to see a game called on account of rain.

On March 13^th the desert sun was shining as brightly as usual but was a grim day in Phoenix. It was the one year anniversary of the last day the city had received any measurable rain. Of course it made the national news again. Since it was still uncomfortable being out on the streets the neighbors had taken to keeping in touch with email and they all had plenty to say. I read:

“I talked to my sister in Oklahoma. She’s hoping the rain and floods stop before tornado season starts. She’s scared as hell.”

“My parents are in Fort Lauderdale and they’re pretty worried because the hurricane season is predicted to start early and last into Fall.”

“Lisa and I were planning a trip back to Minnesota to see family but they’re saying we shouldn’t come because of all the rain and storms.”

“We just got back from a weekend in Tucson. It’s just as freaking hot and dry there as it is here.”

“We’re worried about our cabin in Flagstaff. Our insurance company cancelled our homeowner’s policy because of all of last year’s wildfires.”

Those were the comments about what people were going through elsewhere. The same friends were saying things just as unsettling about the Valley:

“Did you see the article in the morning paper. Phoenix is no longer one of the leading cities for people to move to. Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”

“My realtor friend did me a favor and checked on the current value of our house. It’s down thirty-four percent in just a year. I am so pissed.”

“We’ve just about had it with the whole water thing. Even some of our cactus are dead. What do you guys think of those metal plant replicas that they’re selling for peoples’ yards?”

“I have actually devised a way to shower and wash my hair in three minutes.”

That was how the evening went. Like everyone else Carol and I had been worn down by the uncertainty brought by the weather. Waiting for something to change had become almost impossible to deal with. We’d been talking constantly about our options and how much longer we were willing to deal with the heat and drought. Twenty years of our lives were invested in Arizona. Thinking about leaving it was just as hard as thinking about staying.

On Sunday, after our normal morning shower routine was finished I suggested we have a second round of coffee. Despite the temperature our shaded patio was tolerable and we sat down. It didn’t feel like our normal, quiet kind of morning but it was all we had. We sat in silence for a few minutes then I asked her, “So what did you think of all those comments from our friends last night?”

She stared out over our withered backyard. “It was so sad. It’s like nobody knows what to do.”

“Yeah, sad is a good word to describe it. Maybe desperate too.”

She turned and looked at me. “Is that us? I know we’re sad but are we desperate?”

My emotions were so roiled I had to think for a moment before I answered. I took a sip of coffee and said, “Yeah, I guess we’re both. Sad tells you to stay and tough it out. Desperate tells you it’s time to leave.”

I could see tears in her eyes. “This is our home. I don’t want to leave it.”

“Neither do I but who knows how long it’ll be worth anything.?” It’s like stay and dry up or move and wash away.” I stood up and walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her and as we stood there clinging to each other an old saying of my father’s came to mind, “You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t”. That was what we had to face.

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