I think it's a cultural thing, and I'm embarrassed to say, there's so much I love about Texas, but what are they going to do about the water?

Everybody knows the Ogallala reservoir is going to run out. It has already run out, leaving some people high and dry, making some farms in western Kansas, for example, virtually useless. Down here, they still keep pulling water from it. Midland, they say, is totally dry. Other towns are dry too, and out in the country, where you're allowed to draw a well, you have to draw new wells every couple of years, because they are using what's left, so quickly, in fact, more recently than ever.

My wife blames the frackers, and it's true, they use millions of gallons, and don't thank anyone, though their money is just as good as mine. There are also tons of water sprinklers around. All the wealthy people want to have very green lawns, and they're willing to pay for it; the city, also, wants to make sure its parks are green. The problem with these sprinklers is, much of it evaporates. In other words, they're pulling millions of gallons out of the ground, and putting it into the air, where it is no doubt causing some instability, a few extra storms, rising seas, whatever. It sure isn't going back into the ground.

I went out tonight for a walk around Tech Terrace park, a wonderful, green park. One night I was walking and the sprinklers shot out from between my legs and almost got me, right as I was walking. I actually like the sprinklers, I like the idea that people in town can share all this wonderful fresh green space, so we don't have to go home and do our own lawns. But I'm convinced that mostly the farming, but in any case the massive spray-irrigation, water put out into this dry air, is causing a lot of evaporation, and destabilizing the entire region. It's not just the cars and trucks that are messing up the air. We're putting a lot more water into it, and that's adding fuel to the fire, so to speak.

There are two different opinions when you ask people about the rapidly depleting aquifer. Nobody doubts for a minute that disaster is around the next corner. Some people have the attitude that, if everyone's grabbing it, I might as well grab mine; I'm not going to stand around, and watch other people take the last few drops. Other people try their best to be conservative, like my wife. She'll say, don't just water the grass, it's useless. If you're going to water the trees, go ahead, but why water grass when it's just going to die? Conserve the water, and only use it when you really need it.

I'm like the guy in the old Jewish rabbi joke who agrees with both sides. First one rabbi has an opinion, and he says, "Yes, I agree!" Then the other has a different opinion, and he again says, "Yes, I agree!". Finally they turn on him and say, "Now Chaim, you can't agree with both of us. You have to agree with one, or the other, but not both!" So he says, "Yes, absolutely, I agree!!"

In Israel they have a kind of drip irrigation. It ensures that you don't lose water to evaporation, and it drips directly onto plants, without giving anything a chance to suck it out into the air. The good thing about drip irrigation is, you can run used water through it. That water will end up going downward, back to the water table, unlike spray irrigation, which must be clean, and with which, so much of it gets sprayed into the air. It might be something for Lubbock to think about. I sense a weakness, though. Everyone here is ruggedly independent. The very culture goes against the idea of getting together, as a culture, and solving the problem collectively, but denying ourselves something we've come to love (sprayed water). It doesn't seem like it's going to happen. Everyone knows we're doomed if it doesn't, but hey, we might be doomed anyway. What's the point of making our lives harder, dryer, just now when we need a break?

So tonight, on my walk, a huge, beautiful and dramatic cloud approached from the south and west, and came more or less right above me, with some heat lightning kind of tailing it to the south, and I could hear some wild thunder rumbling in the distance. Maybe some clues to get inside before it was too late. But instead, I walked my entire course, and it never really rained. Some folks say, it hasn't really rained in maybe seven years, we're due for a good year soon. Some farmers say, it would have to rain for weeks straight to make up for what has been lost. One would think, with all this water in the air, much of which we've put there ourselves, some would come back 'round and wet our whistle. Apparently it's drenching San Antonio pretty good. Leaving us untouched, though. the skies are blue most of the time (tonight, a pretty kind of gray), and when even a little humidity comes through, you can really feel it. Then, when the wind picks up, you can kind of feel that it's carrying stuff. Trouble, maybe, or just change.

My son Noah's rearview mirror photos

There's a lot going on here, actually, when the students are still around, the weather turns to spring, the sports seasons get started, etc. We had a bit of a cold snap early in the week, like Tuesday or Wednesday, but by now spring has arrived pretty completely and I'm beginning to see green in people's lawns that arrives by dint of either careful watering, or just plain spring. Other lawns are entirely, completely full of weeds, or, in some cases, just red dirt and scrubby weeds.

I've gotten into red dirt music more than the red dirt itself, which doesn't seem to want to grow my onions or my flowers. The music is great though. I admit that I never would have even heard it up north; they have no such thing as "Texas only" radio stations, or "all Texas all the time". If I can get myself a discriminating ear I'll learn differences between Texas country and other country; maybe I'll even make some. Stay posted.

As of Apr. 1 I've been here eight months, though I've left town a few times. I've come to like coming back and I heard a story once of a movie star, name forgotten, who got a house in Lubbock because it was so easy to slip in and out unnoticed. As a full city, it has a convenient airport, but it's just minutes from anywhere, and it seems virtually empty as you come through it. I can see how this would appeal to people who get mobbed at busy places and who value their time a lot. I actually linger a little; I like the cotton fields that surround the place; I like tumbleweeds that you get out in the country; I like the wide-open sky that you see outside of town.

I have to say, the tumbleweeds kind of rattle us. Sometimes the wind picks up and the dust swirls around, especially around the edges of the road or around the horizon where you'd like to see where you're going or where you've been but you can't. But the weird thing is, these tumbleweeds come bounding out of nowhere, jump and skip at eerie awkward angles, and fly into your car with a scratchy sound like they might be ripping the paint off the side. The wierdest thing is their bounce; since they often carry cotton around here, they look sometimes like these outsized stick rabbits, an irregular jaunt, out to hop the prairie. It's Russian thistle, they say; came over here with the settlers, and caught on, and now it goes a-skipping across the plain.

More later; I've worn out.

As I write a storm is developing over the south plains and is due to dump some rain on Lubbock. One thing I like about this place is that people really love the rain and mention how much we need it. The whole water cycle is still somewhat of a mystery to me: I'm aware that it will sit in the playas in the parks for a few days, and most of it will evaporate, and presumably some of it will find its way down to the water table. I presume that they're aware roughly of how much we lose to evaporation and how we could get some of that water back down to the aquifer if we wanted to. I assume they know that we want them to, though I don't assume they care enough to actually do it. I'm curious how much they've actually worked on this.

My son has noticed that the ground is full of "stickers" instead of grass, and that you can't really walk on it barefoot. You also can't ride a bike on it. There does seem to be green stuff on its way though; spring is coming. People do grow stuff, and I have confidence that there will be a kind of green color arriving soon. I thought it was a cold winter: a hard wind, a dry cold air with a couple of snows, this is more than we used to get in Illinois half the time. Yet people say it was relatively mild. One can't tell after one winter, what's what. I'd be a fool to plant. But the moon is down to nothing (this is good for planting) and I'm feeling the time is close. So tell me - when's a good time to put onions in the ground?

It's spring break, so I said to my class, what, is everyone going to Padre? Back when I lived on the plains, people used to go to Padre Island for spring break; it was the place to go. No, they said, though one guy said, I might go there by accident, because I live near there, but it's not what you think, because it's not a spring break destination anymore. If people are flooding to the sea at spring break, maybe they're finding some inland cove to hide out in where they can shoot out to the beach days and then still be high and dry when the hurricanes come in. I didn't hear another destination, like Corpus, or Galveston, or whatever. One person said, people come to Lubbock for spring break. Think about it. The weather's nice, and there's lots more to do here than, say, Plainview, or Littlefield. Several said, I don't really want to leave, I like it here, it's better than most.

Texas Independence Day came and went. Across the street are three houses. #2 and #3 had Texas flags for a while though sporadically; on #2 they had an old one, a little worn with time. After Texas Independence Day, house #1 had a brand new Texas flag, but it hangs from only one hole. #2 has lost its flag. As far as I can tell, if anyone lives in #1, they're very old; the gate is still broken and hangs at an angle in front. Somebody stops by days, presumably to take care of the place or whoever is in there. Someone with Texas patriotism? I can't quite figure it out. Hanging from one hole, of all things.

I'm falling asleep as I write. The fresh air of this town, the blowing wind, the approaching storm, makes me tired. More later!