โ Scribed by Sackman, Douglas Cazaux
No coin nor oath required. For personal study only.
The history of Western water development follows a simple plot: for a spell, the regional characteristic of aridity defied the demands of conventional American settlement, but that defiance was then followed by submission and surrender. A conglomeration of organizations -private companies, ditch cooperatives, water conservancy districts, municipal utilities, the Bureau of Reclamation, and the Corps of Engineers -overpowered the West's constraints of precipitation. By storing spring run-off in reservoirs and releasing stored water in response to demands, engineers made it possible for a substantial population to live in a region that once seemed so unaccommodating. Putting into force the specifications of the vision of a properly vegetated landscape held by the great majority of Americans, an extraordinary investment of capital and hard work turned the West green.
Comprehending and appraising this ostensibly simple plot, however, has proven to be another matter, a recognition that has badgered me as I write a history of the Denver Water Department. And yet there is nothing better for the minds of historians than a bout of exactly such badgering.
In processes of migration and colonization, people traveled heavily laden with cultural baggage. In the rush of activity, they rarely had occasion to look through this baggage and assess its fit to their new circumstances. When it comes to attitudes and assumptions about water, the early twenty-first century is proving to be one of those occasions of "baggage reassessment." With the flow of rivers allocated or over-allocated, and with the great uncertainty of climate change's impact on precipitation, there is good reason, at long last, to look critically at the collection of assumptions that distinguish needs for water from desires for water. Environmental historians can play -and should play -a major role in this reassessment.
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