Between the Crashing Waves: Sustaining Our World Through Crisis
At Red Hen, water is on our minds...Like Florencia, I want to believe our world is sustainable; I dream of nature, of a revived landscape, of seeing the northern lights.
Water is the lifeblood of the West. I grew up in New England with nearly 50 inches of rain a year, and when I arrived in Los Angeles in my twenties to only 11-13 inches of rain annually, I was shocked at what did not grow here. I tried to grow vegetables, but no. Rainwater was rare. The Colorado River kept us afloat.
Water is divided into blue water, which is clean and drinkable; green water, which is in our soil and often contains algae; grey water, which is lightly contaminated by human contact but safe to reuse in certain processes (think sink stuff, not toilet stuff); black water, which includes highly contaminated bio waste; and salt water.
By 2028, AI will use over 1 trillion liters a year of blue water globally each year. This greedy, water-guzzling monster has a massive presence in our country. The U.S. has over 5000 data centers. The state of Virginia alone has more than 600 of them. The water that is used to cool AI centers is blue water. It is the water we drink. More than 2 billion people do not have access to clean water now, and by 2030, AI will use as much water as 1.3 billion people—as much water as the Netherlands.
China, with 20% of the global population, uses 6-7% of the global freshwater, though much of it is used for growing food. They have situated some of their massive data centers underwater, enabling passive cooling from the ocean and fully avoiding freshwater consumption by those AI pods. They have pivoted to work faster and more cheaply, and I believe their innovation will put them far ahead of the U.S. in AI by 2030 (with far fewer environmental consequences).
In Cape Town, South Africa, during their water shortage, the government restricted people to 50 liters per person per day. That’s 13 gallons a day. That involves two-minute showers. Wow. Lots of people in Los Angeles like a ten-minute shower.
When I first moved here, lush, water-hungry lawns were everywhere, including in the surrounding desert. In 1990, Los Angeles’ water usage was 221.5 billion gallons per year. But since then, many of us—including my own household—have replaced our lawns with drought-resistant landscaping. The city has added half a million residents since then, and we have managed to cut our water usage down from 100 gallons a day to 85. Using approximately 148 billion gallons of water yearly, Los Angeles feels pretty good about our water use, but we could do better.
Part of the reason California has so much water is the Law of the River, signed in 1922, giving California rights to 4.4 million acre-feet of Colorado River water. The principle of Western water law: first in time, first in right. Senior rights holders get their water, then junior. California is insulated from water cuts, but of course, this comes at the expense of Mexico. In drought years, California gets its water, its baseline, and other states like Arizona and Nevada get cut.
If there is a real shortfall, Mexico suffers further cuts.
In the 1960s, saltwater was pumped into the Colorado River. As a result, Mexico got water that was unusable. Thousands of Mexican farmers lost their entire crops.
The Mexicans complained. The Americans ignored them.
The president of Mexico spoke to Congress, and only after he threatened to sue the U.S. in international court did Nixon agree to clean up the water. It took ten years.
During those years, Lake Mead and Lake Powell were in danger of running out of water, so California agreed to shrink its usage to keep the basin intact. (What a sacrifice!) On the other side, the Mexican farmers faced more cuts. Water cuts. Many, many acres of water.
At Red Hen, water is on our minds, especially in the surge of AI. Nearly a decade ago, we published a book by Florencia Ramirez called Eat Less Water, a staff favorite, not only because she attends our yearly benefit and has made tamales for many of our events, but because she expresses gratitude so freely and lives with such grace. Ramirez sheds light on the amount of water used to grow our food and how we can choose to buy and eat foods grown with less water, thus making an ecological difference in our own kitchens.
In New York publishing, no one was interested. They know oil is important. Water? Not so much. However, everyone at Red Hen loved the book, and we loved working with Florencia, an ambassador of good food, of great ideas, of joy.
Like Florencia, I want to believe our world is sustainable; I dream of nature, of a revived landscape, of seeing the northern lights, of understanding sustainable living. So when she approached us with a second book, The Kitchen Activist, we were all in.
Her new book is about further changing the way we operate in the kitchen, from shopping at local markets to using kitchen tools that are kinder on the environment. I like to think of a happy kitchen as having a kind of music, and her book describing a planet-smart way of preparing food makes you feel safe and guided enough to reach that joy. You can see her listening to music, cooking up something fragrant, something planned thoughtfully. I’m inspired by her activism, by her recipes and wisdom. This summer, we will toast her book together.
When I grew up at the Farm, we cooked food in huge pots, recipes that lacked real structure. When I left, I didn’t know how to cook until I came to California, where I learned about lettuce and herbs, rice and avocados, and tortilla soup. I resolved never to make a casserole or meatloaf again.
Now, Florencia reminds me to slow down and lilt into my own tiny lily of a kitchen, to listen to Lila Downs, stay mindful, and sink into cooking with my family. We will work together to keep this world afloat. We will save the press, continue to spread essential stories of hope. One day, I will see the northern lights. I will toast Florencia’s new book; I will toast grace and create a new story. I will toast tortilla soup, tamales, and joy in the kitchen.
As Florencia says, “I can’t name ‘the third thing’ that makes water. But it is infinite and full of possibilities, like the space between the crashing waves.”