We live in the deep country and oftimes our experiences run to great and interesting and, sometimes, challenging depths. Good.

The summer lands run all the way to the wandering, jagged, high Andes border with Chile. These snaggle toothed peaks constantly comb the Antarctic airs, hoping to not only withstand but also to coax some precipitation to christen them. Winter winds, laden with moisture, often visit the mountains with snow which usually builds up over many months – May through September – to wait in glistening patience for summer suns to release them from their chilly embrace to then obey gravity. Springs, streams, creeks, rivers are born – both live and subterranean, to flow to the great salty womb which birthed them long ago and faraway. Yay!

One species, the “wise” one, has warmed the old globe, and otherwise screwed around with natural phenomenon, with the result that our snows and rains are lessened, as winters shorten and often behave more like autumn and spring. (Our gauchos tell of regularly riding across the frozen home rivers, and now there hardly ever forms any ice.)

There is a general, prolonged, drought in these climes, for a couple of decades, but over the last two or three winters there has been a “sudden”, drastic lessening of rains and snows, and we are invited to experience the results.

At the winter lands, which lie more to the East in the less wintry desert, we have seen homestead springs dry up by early summer, and creeks – always a bit impoverished – turn into bone dry memories way too early. The Mapuche Indian community which borders us to the East relies on government supplied bottled water for their cooking and drinking. This is all new. Non yay.

Years ago I had a lot of fun and derived great satisfaction from digging little irrigation canals and watering dry patches which then began to sprout grass. A lot of fun! Now the creeks never get anywhere near the little headgates, not even in full winter. Fie.

The good news? Well, uh, errr…………. – Oh, here it is: Contrast. Seems we are all invited to a greater level of appreciation (which is Love btw) via the sometimes not so fun invitation of Contrast. Before, I might go out to my irrigation fields with a shovel and mud boots impulsed by some sort of remnant work ethic along with a happy desire to produce more green, but with a duty bound feeling that it was hard “work”. Now I would call it “play” and would go to it with a dance in my step and a smile upon my heart.

So Gentlemen start your motors – just know that every little explosion in your infernal combustion machines contributes to eco system bother. How, oh how, we have warped our little world, and in such a short and tiny time.

Anyway, thanks for the goldarned Contrast. (Calls for a drink!)