The Acequia Madre flowing next to an adobe house. Photo: Sotheby’s International Reality.
The mother ditch, a narrow waterway running between road and houses, has been defining this neighborhood since 1610 when it was built by residents for irrigation in this semi-arid seven-thousand-foot-high town of Santa Fe. To me its presence is a reminder every day as Pip and I walk along it (and Pip goes swimming in it) of the central influence of women here, beginning with the Spanish speakers who established a matriarchy in this state, continuing through the outlander Anglos like Mary Wheelwright, who founded and funded the Navajo museum, and continuing with many others like Mary Austen, who started The Santa Fe Playhouse a hundred years ago—and it continues, to this day—and the White Sisters whose estate, El Delirio, became the site of a non-profit study center with one of the most impressive exhibits of Pueblo pottery in the basement.
I’m writing about it today to celebrate the way it connects this often disparate community, beginning on Earth Day when neighbors and volunteers turn out to clean the winter’s leaves and rubbish, preparing for the rush of clear water (at least when there has been rain) from the big storage ponds further up the mountain.
Cleaning the ditch requires work, and I often think work is the best way to connect people. Although the ditch’s original purpose, to irrigate the adjacent gardens, is gone now that walls seal off those gardens, its equally important role as community glue continues. Under the command of a majordomo who supervises the cleaning and issues calls for volunteers, it seems to me the ditch will continue to serve its unique purpose for a long time to come—or at least until a catastrophic drought closes down all waterways.
And I attribute the relative lack of violence here—yes, there are scuffles and bloodshed but at this point no mass murder—to the influence of women, especially those who manage to adhere to the Roman Catholic Church as it goes through the worst of all times. Anyone with any scriptural knowledge knows the Second Commandment, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”
Because we had a lot of rain and snow this winter, the many apricot trees in this neighborhood will bear magnificently after several years when drought eliminated this harvest. A lot will be mashed under car tires, but a lot will be offered to neighbors: another bounty, like the bounty provided by the rushing, gleaming Acequia Madre.
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