Full Cistern, Dry Island, Long Balls

Full Cistern, Dry Island, Long Balls 

-Jamie Leonard 

There is something strange about living through a drought with a full cistern. St. Croix  is unmistakably dry. The hills are brown, the grass crunches underfoot, and brush fires  along the South Shore have become an uncomfortable part of the scenery. On Sunday,  

another fire burned through dry vegetation near the shoreline, followed Monday by a  National Weather Service warning of elevated fire danger across the Virgin Islands. 

And yet, when I check the water at my house, the cistern is full. A few years ago, we  replaced our gutters. At the time it was simply another piece of island home  maintenance — not particularly exciting, and certainly not something I expected to  appreciate during a historic dry spell. In retrospect, it may have been one of  the smarter improvements we made. 

That is one of the peculiarities of drought in the Virgin Islands. It does not necessarily  mean that no rain falls. A tropical shower can dump an impressive amount of water on a  roof in a short period of time. If the roof, gutters and cistern are prepared to catch it, a  household can collect thousands of gallons while the surrounding countryside receives  nowhere near enough sustained moisture to recover. 

Official measurements confirm that what we are seeing is unusual. Henry E. Rohlsen  Airport on St. Croix recorded its driest June on record this year, and across the Virgin  Islands the May-through-July period was the second driest since recordkeeping began  in the early 1950s. The fire risk has followed. V.I. Fire and Emergency Medical Services  instituted a territory-wide burn ban in June because of heightened fire danger and  winds, and firefighters have repeatedly been called to brush fires along the South Shore. 

My own yard has essentially given up pretending. I haven't cut the grass in more than a  month because there is almost nothing to cut. Just a very lush, dense patch where my  sink and washing machine drain. It's a little oasis to a number of things, so I can't bring  myself to cut it. I go through the same routine every year: I look outside at the brown  lawn and think, Oh no, my grass is dead. Then sometime in the fall, when the rain  begins coming more regularly, it suddenly turns green again. Every year this happens,  and every year I am somehow surprised. At this point, I'm ready to be surprised again. 

Sometimes the best measurement of drought isn't found at the airport or on a  government chart. Sometimes it's on a golf course. 

My 8-year-old and I played golf on Sunday. The fairways were so dry that the ball  seemed to roll forever, but she was also having one of those rounds where the work she  has been putting into her alignment was clearly paying off. She was hitting the ball  straighter and more consistently, and the hard, dry fairways rewarded those good shots  with plenty of extra distance. Normally, getting onto a par 4 can take her eight, ten,  sometimes twelve shots. On Sunday she was on in three — a personal best. 

The greens told another story. One was so dry and sandy that, while addressing a putt, I  had a genuine split-second reaction that will make sense to golfers: I worried I might  incur a penalty for grounding my club. Then I remembered that I was standing on the 

green, and that a putting surface probably shouldn't resemble a bunker closely enough  to trigger that thought. It was funny, but it was also a remarkably visible illustration of  what months of inadequate rainfall are doing to St. Croix. Don't take this as a dig against  STX golf courses. I love all 3 of them for their individual characteristics,  and I'll patronize them in all conditions. 

The contradiction between my full cistern and dead lawn makes sense once you think  about how differently they use rain. Grass, pasture and brush need sustained moisture  in the soil. A cistern needs only a hard rain, a clean roof and good gutters. A few heavy  showers can replenish thousands of gallons of household water while doing relatively  little to reverse months of drying vegetation. 

That distinction may be worth remembering as we watch the fires. A full cistern can  create the comforting impression that things aren't particularly dry. Around my house,  at least, our water supply gives no indication that we are experiencing anything unusual.  But drive across the island and the story quickly changes. The hills are brown, the South  Shore burns, lawns have gone dormant and golf balls roll considerably farther than they  have any right to. 

There is a small lesson in that full cistern, too. In the Virgin Islands, preparation  matters. Maintaining roofs, replacing failing gutters, keeping cisterns clean and making  the most of the rain when it does arrive may seem mundane in wetter years. During a  dry year like this one, that infrastructure can make an enormous difference. We cannot make it rain, but we can be ready when it does. In the meantime, I'll keep  looking at my brown lawn, reminding myself that I've seen this movie before and  waiting, once again, to be surprised when St. Croix turns green.