This is a picture of Comal Springs at Landa Park in New Braunfels, Texas. This is one of the historic Balcones Fault Springs where humans have quenched their thirst for 13,000 years. They flow from the Edwards Aquifer, deep beneath the Balcones Escarpment that represents the Eastern edge of the Texas Hill Country. The pure, crystal-clear water has been naturally filtered through hundreds of feet of limestone and bubbles at Comal Springs, San Marcos Springs, Jacobs Well, Little Arkansas, Sink Springs, and hundreds of other places across the region. I grew up on the Balcones and, like my Appalachian ancestors, fell in love with the rocks, the Cedars, the Live Oaks, and the springs. I have been listening to them my entire life. Walking past this part of Comal Springs, I heard them again, “Help me!”
The springs know that I am an old friend. This one reached out to me in whispers beyond mere words. In a timeless moment, it reminded me of my lifetime by its waters. I learned to swim, caught my first fish, paddled my first canoe, daydreamed, and wandered to their timeless music, splashing, singing, and dancing with joy over the river and creek beds of the escarpment. In that same timeless moment, I saw my Dad and Aunt Vikie sitting by the water, holding a cane pole and spitting on their bait to increase their luck. I tasted the watermelon we chilled in the springs flowing out of the hillside of Little Arkansas. I walked along the banks of the San Marcos River with my childhood friend Richard as we discovered our world during lazy Summer Days. My old friend spoke to me from the dusty, dry rocks at the bottom of that Spring and whispered, “Help me, old friend.”
For millennia, these springs have provided the essentials of life: clean water, cooling compresses for feverish brows, and joyous music for weary souls beaten down by hardship and worry. Fish and four-legged creatures, long-extinct, found life in these waters. Humankind found a welcome respite after thousands of years wandering from the African deserts. Countless tribes have gathered along the banks of these springs, streams, and rivers to celebrate their harvests, welcome their children, and mourn their losses. These waters have taken delight in every word of thanks uttered by the successful fisherman and the laughter of every child as they were bathed by loving hands in their waters. These springs offered abundance from the aquifer below, and rejoiced in the life that flourished above because of their gift. As I stood there, gazing at the parched spring bed, I heard the voice once again, “Help me, old friend. I’m thirsty!”
A combination of drought and over-pumping from the aquifer has dropped the water level within a few feet of the springs. We stole their water before they got it. Fueled by industry, our cities demand more and more of the aquifer’s resources. They are pumping out the lifeblood of my old friends. Global warming holds more water in the warming air and denies the ground its needed moisture. Droughts have been made more severe. We have built massive concrete caps over the recharge zones where the rain should begin its journey back to the groundwater. We deny the springs their future ability to care for us and our world. And yet, the springs still see us as cherished friends. They depend on us to show gratitude and wisdom about our inter-connectedness and beg us, “Help me, old friend. I’m thirsty, and I need your help!”
My heart ached for my old friend, but I had to step away. Sometimes, getting lost in another’s pain is a way to avoid our own pain and our responsibility for theirs. It is too easy to “wail and gnash” our teeth at injustice and, in the process, do nothing to stop it. I felt lost in the dry Spring’s melancholy and needed to move on. It was time to see what lay around the bend of that dry creek bed.
Within a few yards, I heard the music once again.
There was one Spring still flowing from the hillside. It was small, but its voice re-awakened hope in my weary, worried soul. “Help me, old friend. There is life in this old Spring yet. We have not reached the end. You can make a difference.”
The music of the Universe invites us to step out of our lament with the faith that we can make a difference. We must seek out the wellsprings of life that still flow from the hillsides of history. We need to listen to the pleading of those who are being crushed and feel their pain. But we must also listen to the voices of joy, speaking hope for a new day. Let those voices pull you out of your self-pity so that you can claim the future that can be.
“Help me, old friend! I’m thirsty, and I need your help! But don’t give up! Remember the music! Sing along with me. Do what you can. Share my song.”
Together, we can revive these life-giving springs. We must believe that those who come after us will be able to quench their thirst for life once again because we heard the Universe’s cry for help and song of hope!’
Listen well, my friends! The Universe is calling out to you!
Bob