Cake Doesn’t Work Without Frosting
Abstract: Sense of place is a person’s spiritual attachment or sense of belonging to a specific place, area, or state of mind. The attachment is sometimes unexplainable and is indestructible even through hardship and tragedy. My sense of place is more mental than physical and I find that I can escape from everyday chaos to my place: “This is my vision. Just the thought of it slows my heart to steady beat. As I sit here, grappling with the ideas to write this essay, the deadlines, alarms, and reminders, which constantly reverberate through my brain, finally fade away.” I believe that the most important concern we can have as humans is one, which glorifies sustainability and leaving behind a better future: “This is a place of solace for me; this is a place where I wish to return year after year. When the time comes, I wish to return to Lake Powell with my children and their children to frame new golden memories.”
When I think of Lake Powell, I think of the endless days bathed in sunshine, the expanse of water as blue as the deepest spot in the ocean lapping up on the orange sandstone that crumbles underneath your toes as you walk on shore. I think of the impromptu waterfalls that are formed on the burnt red canyon walls when an inland hurricane invades the lake. When I think of Powell, I think of sporting fuzzy black mustaches and itchy straw sombreros for a Mexican fiesta, and layering on greasy sunscreen, whose smell itches my nose each time the lid is popped open. Perhaps my most prominent memory is of gliding on a water ski on the glassy surface of the lake, weaving in and out of the boat’s wake, weightlessly flying through the canyons.
What I often allow myself to forget, however, are the miles beyond the dam that thirst for a drop of water. The pattern of the cracked dirt on the sprawling dusty desert landscape, the bumbling tangles of tumbleweed, and the brittle fish skeletons are often forgotten, put out of mind. When I monitor the depth finder on the boat, I don’t imagine the ancient ruins and intricate carvings buried beneath thousands of gallons of polluted water, long forgotten and wasted. I don’t allow my ears to imagine sounds of the gurgling and torrent rapids that used to wind between the porous walls that surround me. I close my mind to the possible existence of an ecosystem that used to thrive between the dyed walls that stretch above my head, as daunting skyscrapers that were formed to tame the water.
I, like most visitors to the Glen Canyon Reservoir, have never before investigated the controversy surrounding the dam, which controls where the water washes in the Wild West. Until now. I haven’t ever argued one way or another about the damming of the Colorado River at Page, Arizona. Like so many others, I shut my mind to the possibility of being in the wrong. Ignoring any mention of a carbon footprint, I would help my dad back the speedboat and jet ski into the water, put on my Ray Bans, and sit back, anticipating the sun-soaked, food-filled days that lie ahead.
Environmentalists and members of communities that lie downstream from the Glen Canyon Dam at Lake Powell, argue that the dam should be destroyed, allowing nature to run its course without human involvement. Inspired mainly by a recent drought that has left Lake Powell less than halfway full, river environmentalists urge the dam must be released to replenish sources downstream, especially at Lake Mead. They insist the spongy sandstone that composes the cliff-like walls of Lake Powell are absorbing water and reducing its capacity. Not left out of the conversation is the migration of native fish species from their original habitats beneath the dam to the Grand Canyon. The frigid water flowing from the dam caused several species, specifically the humpback chub, to flee from the area, seeking warmer temperatures down stream. Whitewater rafters, kayakers, and other sportsmen complain that the Glen Canyon Dam and Hoover Dam have made it impossible to float the Colorado River in its entirety.
However, Page residents and government officials take a utilitarian perspective and would say that the humanitarian benefits of the dam far outweigh the environmental downfalls. The dam has created an overwhelmingly popular vacation spot where both American and international travelers flock every summer. These tourists bring business to many different institutions in small town Page, Arizona and have immensely improved the local economy. The ability to control water levels of the river below the dam allows rafting businesses to run the Colorado for nine months as opposed to the seven months it would run naturally. The dam has also paid off its own construction debt through the production of clean, emission-free hydroelectric energy. The dam will provide energy for as long as water continues to flow from Lake Powell to the riverbed.
Lake Powell and other dams have permitted the establishment of desert towns and allowed them to flourish without being built on a pristine shoreline. They have allowed the human race a unique opportunity to inhabit the frontiers untouchable to all other species. Our brilliance has allowed us to create this one wall that holds all of society together. It makes everything work.
The lake holds significant spiritual value to me. Within the hold of the lake’s arms, I have belted country music at the top of my lungs, laughed at epic tubing wipe outs until my ribs ached, cried with broken bones and lost pets, and panicked as waves crashed into flimsy windows. Its familiar landscapes have held me through every emotion in the spectrum, comforting me with the contrast of the warmly streaked walls and refreshingly cool water. This is a place of solace for me; this is a place where I wish to return year after year. When the time comes, I wish to return to Lake Powell with my children and their children to frame new golden memories. However, I must ask myself whether or not this dream I hold so dearly will be achievable in twenty year. Even more importantly, I need to ask myself if it is the smartest dream to hold.
In the seven days during which I float about Last Chance in a monstrous gas-guzzling floating house, how many ancient artifacts am I roaming over without knowing? How many ecosystems do we affect on our innocent vacation? Even though we may clean up our trash and put out our campfires, we are still affecting the nature that we cherish. With every wriggling fish we lure from its home with hot dogs or pieces of slimy cheese, with every soft piece of brown-orange sandstone that crumbles with the imprint of our Chacos, with even the slightest seemingly harmless actions, we have an impact.
It is time for me to evaluate my values. Which do I hold dearest: nature or luxury? Would I trade my weeklong getaway for the health of thousands of ecosystems, especially those that lay downstream from the dam? Is it better to hold the water in, allowing humans their blissful vacations and a thriving economy, or release it to return the park to its natural state? Can we not take our vacation elsewhere, dock our boats on another lake’s shore, and release the dam to create stability once again downstream? With the destruction of the dam, expanses of land that haven’t known the presence of the Colorado River for decades and lay scarred at its absence will be rejuvenated. Trillions of gallons of water would flow uninterrupted through the canyons, flats, slopes, and crevices of the great Colorado River until it reaches the Hoover Dam at Lake Mead.
As I sit here at my desk contemplating my values, I can’t help but imagine the picturesque canyons filled with water. These are the canyons I love. They embrace me, welcoming me home, like the arms of a mother. Whenever I am sheltered between their protective walls, it is impossible for me to comprehend how this paradise could ever be considered bad.
I’m sure the canyons were beautiful before they were filled up like an immense bathtub, but I think I much prefer them drowned in precious blue gold. Taking the water out of Lake Powell would be like stripping a cake of its frosting: although it is still enjoyable, it seems bland. The economic and emotional losses would be too great. If the water is the frosting, the tacky tourists are the sprinkles on the cake. They bring color to the cake, gas-guzzling machines to gas pumps, coolers to the ice machine, customers to boutiques, and laughter to the expanse of the desert, which otherwise only hears the squawks and rattles of desert animals. The sprinkles make everything work. And you can’t put sprinkles on a dry cake. They simply won’t stick. We need the frosting. We need the water.
I cannot keep the canyons out of my mind. The hands of God have roughly etched their edges, as if His vision for the area was of perfect imperfection and He yearned for the distinction of a fingerprint in each canyon’s outline. Near the shore, green weeds sprout energetically from the ground, generously offering miniscule amounts of shade for zippy lizards and slithering snakes. Life thrives on the still fingers of the river, which rest between the shielding arms of deep, cool canyons. And the channel, the channel moves and winds through postcard ravines like a glacial whisper, if that is a thing, softly and delicately, so quietly you must silence the world to hear the velvety gurgling of nonexistent currents rebounding against each other. One must sit for hours on its edge to see it move a single millimeter.
This is my vision. Just the thought of it slows my heart to steady beat. As I sit here, grappling with the ideas to write this essay, the deadlines, alarms, and reminders, which constantly reverberate through my brain, finally fade away. I discover clarity and weightlessness. I feel free. And I am there. Skimming on the top of the water on a single ski, flying like a bird. Pulling myself through the water in a slow breaststroke, my hair flowing behind me like seaweed. And I am drifting away. Floating underneath the stars, my skin barely rupturing the water’s surface.
The night is cool, but the water is warmer, simultaneously supporting me and restraining me. Above me, millions of lights dance together in familiar constellations, which I can never recognize. I trace dozens of Big Dippers before closing my eyes to drift away to the familiar tune of the Paper Kites.
In the morning when I wake / and the sun is coming through/ oh you fill my lungs with sweetness/ and you fill my head with you/ shall I write it in a letter/ shall I try to get it down/ oh you fill my head with pieces of the song I can’t get out.
As the lyrics have drifted out of my mind, my eyes flutter open and I find that it was just a dream. My getaway was only temporary. I had drifted away to my sense of belonging, to my comfort, my relaxation, to my paradise. I had gone to my place.
Works Cited
"Chasing Water." YouTube. Patagonia, 28 Mar. 2012. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNlSRyanQg8>.
"CRSP Glen Canyon Unit Quick Facts - Reclamation, Upper Colorado Region." CRSP Glen Canyon Unit Quick Facts - Reclamation, Upper Colorado Region. U.S. Department of the Interior, n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.usbr.gov/uc/rm/crsp/gc/gcFacts.html>.
Gulliford, Andrew. "Lake Powell's Sandstone Walls Speak after 232 Years." - High Country News. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.hcn.org/wotr/17510/print_view>.
Gulliford, Andrew. "Slobs at Lake Powell Foment a Revolt." - High Country News. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.hcn.org/wotr/slobs-at-lake-powell-foment-a-revolt/print_view>.
"Lake Powell Facts." Lake Powell Facts and Statistics. Arizona Vacation Guide, n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.arizona-leisure.com/lake-powell-facts.html>.
Loomis, Brandom. "50 Years Later, Glen Canyon Dam Still Controversial." USA Today. Gannett, 14 Oct. 2013. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/10/14/glen-canyon-dam-50-years/2981273/>.
Abstract: Sense of place is a person’s spiritual attachment or sense of belonging to a specific place, area, or state of mind. The attachment is sometimes unexplainable and is indestructible even through hardship and tragedy. My sense of place is more mental than physical and I find that I can escape from everyday chaos to my place: “This is my vision. Just the thought of it slows my heart to steady beat. As I sit here, grappling with the ideas to write this essay, the deadlines, alarms, and reminders, which constantly reverberate through my brain, finally fade away.” I believe that the most important concern we can have as humans is one, which glorifies sustainability and leaving behind a better future: “This is a place of solace for me; this is a place where I wish to return year after year. When the time comes, I wish to return to Lake Powell with my children and their children to frame new golden memories.”
When I think of Lake Powell, I think of the endless days bathed in sunshine, the expanse of water as blue as the deepest spot in the ocean lapping up on the orange sandstone that crumbles underneath your toes as you walk on shore. I think of the impromptu waterfalls that are formed on the burnt red canyon walls when an inland hurricane invades the lake. When I think of Powell, I think of sporting fuzzy black mustaches and itchy straw sombreros for a Mexican fiesta, and layering on greasy sunscreen, whose smell itches my nose each time the lid is popped open. Perhaps my most prominent memory is of gliding on a water ski on the glassy surface of the lake, weaving in and out of the boat’s wake, weightlessly flying through the canyons.
What I often allow myself to forget, however, are the miles beyond the dam that thirst for a drop of water. The pattern of the cracked dirt on the sprawling dusty desert landscape, the bumbling tangles of tumbleweed, and the brittle fish skeletons are often forgotten, put out of mind. When I monitor the depth finder on the boat, I don’t imagine the ancient ruins and intricate carvings buried beneath thousands of gallons of polluted water, long forgotten and wasted. I don’t allow my ears to imagine sounds of the gurgling and torrent rapids that used to wind between the porous walls that surround me. I close my mind to the possible existence of an ecosystem that used to thrive between the dyed walls that stretch above my head, as daunting skyscrapers that were formed to tame the water.
I, like most visitors to the Glen Canyon Reservoir, have never before investigated the controversy surrounding the dam, which controls where the water washes in the Wild West. Until now. I haven’t ever argued one way or another about the damming of the Colorado River at Page, Arizona. Like so many others, I shut my mind to the possibility of being in the wrong. Ignoring any mention of a carbon footprint, I would help my dad back the speedboat and jet ski into the water, put on my Ray Bans, and sit back, anticipating the sun-soaked, food-filled days that lie ahead.
Environmentalists and members of communities that lie downstream from the Glen Canyon Dam at Lake Powell, argue that the dam should be destroyed, allowing nature to run its course without human involvement. Inspired mainly by a recent drought that has left Lake Powell less than halfway full, river environmentalists urge the dam must be released to replenish sources downstream, especially at Lake Mead. They insist the spongy sandstone that composes the cliff-like walls of Lake Powell are absorbing water and reducing its capacity. Not left out of the conversation is the migration of native fish species from their original habitats beneath the dam to the Grand Canyon. The frigid water flowing from the dam caused several species, specifically the humpback chub, to flee from the area, seeking warmer temperatures down stream. Whitewater rafters, kayakers, and other sportsmen complain that the Glen Canyon Dam and Hoover Dam have made it impossible to float the Colorado River in its entirety.
However, Page residents and government officials take a utilitarian perspective and would say that the humanitarian benefits of the dam far outweigh the environmental downfalls. The dam has created an overwhelmingly popular vacation spot where both American and international travelers flock every summer. These tourists bring business to many different institutions in small town Page, Arizona and have immensely improved the local economy. The ability to control water levels of the river below the dam allows rafting businesses to run the Colorado for nine months as opposed to the seven months it would run naturally. The dam has also paid off its own construction debt through the production of clean, emission-free hydroelectric energy. The dam will provide energy for as long as water continues to flow from Lake Powell to the riverbed.
Lake Powell and other dams have permitted the establishment of desert towns and allowed them to flourish without being built on a pristine shoreline. They have allowed the human race a unique opportunity to inhabit the frontiers untouchable to all other species. Our brilliance has allowed us to create this one wall that holds all of society together. It makes everything work.
The lake holds significant spiritual value to me. Within the hold of the lake’s arms, I have belted country music at the top of my lungs, laughed at epic tubing wipe outs until my ribs ached, cried with broken bones and lost pets, and panicked as waves crashed into flimsy windows. Its familiar landscapes have held me through every emotion in the spectrum, comforting me with the contrast of the warmly streaked walls and refreshingly cool water. This is a place of solace for me; this is a place where I wish to return year after year. When the time comes, I wish to return to Lake Powell with my children and their children to frame new golden memories. However, I must ask myself whether or not this dream I hold so dearly will be achievable in twenty year. Even more importantly, I need to ask myself if it is the smartest dream to hold.
In the seven days during which I float about Last Chance in a monstrous gas-guzzling floating house, how many ancient artifacts am I roaming over without knowing? How many ecosystems do we affect on our innocent vacation? Even though we may clean up our trash and put out our campfires, we are still affecting the nature that we cherish. With every wriggling fish we lure from its home with hot dogs or pieces of slimy cheese, with every soft piece of brown-orange sandstone that crumbles with the imprint of our Chacos, with even the slightest seemingly harmless actions, we have an impact.
It is time for me to evaluate my values. Which do I hold dearest: nature or luxury? Would I trade my weeklong getaway for the health of thousands of ecosystems, especially those that lay downstream from the dam? Is it better to hold the water in, allowing humans their blissful vacations and a thriving economy, or release it to return the park to its natural state? Can we not take our vacation elsewhere, dock our boats on another lake’s shore, and release the dam to create stability once again downstream? With the destruction of the dam, expanses of land that haven’t known the presence of the Colorado River for decades and lay scarred at its absence will be rejuvenated. Trillions of gallons of water would flow uninterrupted through the canyons, flats, slopes, and crevices of the great Colorado River until it reaches the Hoover Dam at Lake Mead.
As I sit here at my desk contemplating my values, I can’t help but imagine the picturesque canyons filled with water. These are the canyons I love. They embrace me, welcoming me home, like the arms of a mother. Whenever I am sheltered between their protective walls, it is impossible for me to comprehend how this paradise could ever be considered bad.
I’m sure the canyons were beautiful before they were filled up like an immense bathtub, but I think I much prefer them drowned in precious blue gold. Taking the water out of Lake Powell would be like stripping a cake of its frosting: although it is still enjoyable, it seems bland. The economic and emotional losses would be too great. If the water is the frosting, the tacky tourists are the sprinkles on the cake. They bring color to the cake, gas-guzzling machines to gas pumps, coolers to the ice machine, customers to boutiques, and laughter to the expanse of the desert, which otherwise only hears the squawks and rattles of desert animals. The sprinkles make everything work. And you can’t put sprinkles on a dry cake. They simply won’t stick. We need the frosting. We need the water.
I cannot keep the canyons out of my mind. The hands of God have roughly etched their edges, as if His vision for the area was of perfect imperfection and He yearned for the distinction of a fingerprint in each canyon’s outline. Near the shore, green weeds sprout energetically from the ground, generously offering miniscule amounts of shade for zippy lizards and slithering snakes. Life thrives on the still fingers of the river, which rest between the shielding arms of deep, cool canyons. And the channel, the channel moves and winds through postcard ravines like a glacial whisper, if that is a thing, softly and delicately, so quietly you must silence the world to hear the velvety gurgling of nonexistent currents rebounding against each other. One must sit for hours on its edge to see it move a single millimeter.
This is my vision. Just the thought of it slows my heart to steady beat. As I sit here, grappling with the ideas to write this essay, the deadlines, alarms, and reminders, which constantly reverberate through my brain, finally fade away. I discover clarity and weightlessness. I feel free. And I am there. Skimming on the top of the water on a single ski, flying like a bird. Pulling myself through the water in a slow breaststroke, my hair flowing behind me like seaweed. And I am drifting away. Floating underneath the stars, my skin barely rupturing the water’s surface.
The night is cool, but the water is warmer, simultaneously supporting me and restraining me. Above me, millions of lights dance together in familiar constellations, which I can never recognize. I trace dozens of Big Dippers before closing my eyes to drift away to the familiar tune of the Paper Kites.
In the morning when I wake / and the sun is coming through/ oh you fill my lungs with sweetness/ and you fill my head with you/ shall I write it in a letter/ shall I try to get it down/ oh you fill my head with pieces of the song I can’t get out.
As the lyrics have drifted out of my mind, my eyes flutter open and I find that it was just a dream. My getaway was only temporary. I had drifted away to my sense of belonging, to my comfort, my relaxation, to my paradise. I had gone to my place.
Works Cited
"Chasing Water." YouTube. Patagonia, 28 Mar. 2012. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNlSRyanQg8>.
"CRSP Glen Canyon Unit Quick Facts - Reclamation, Upper Colorado Region." CRSP Glen Canyon Unit Quick Facts - Reclamation, Upper Colorado Region. U.S. Department of the Interior, n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.usbr.gov/uc/rm/crsp/gc/gcFacts.html>.
Gulliford, Andrew. "Lake Powell's Sandstone Walls Speak after 232 Years." - High Country News. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <https://www.hcn.org/wotr/17510/print_view>.
Gulliford, Andrew. "Slobs at Lake Powell Foment a Revolt." - High Country News. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.hcn.org/wotr/slobs-at-lake-powell-foment-a-revolt/print_view>.
"Lake Powell Facts." Lake Powell Facts and Statistics. Arizona Vacation Guide, n.d. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.arizona-leisure.com/lake-powell-facts.html>.
Loomis, Brandom. "50 Years Later, Glen Canyon Dam Still Controversial." USA Today. Gannett, 14 Oct. 2013. Web. 12 May 2014. <http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/10/14/glen-canyon-dam-50-years/2981273/>.