On my last day in Kansas, I spent a lot of time thinking about water. I hadn’t seen much of it for a while. Aside from the occasional lake, and the gradually filling Arkansas River, the view was dominated by pale yellow and brown. By all accounts, this has been an unusually wet year for the region. While it didn’t suffer the flooding that many other places I passed through endured, it received plenty of rainfall. And while I can’t see the impact of that, I feel it in one particular way–the mosquitoes today were the worst I’ve encountered anywhere on the trip. Even with two coats of bug spray and long sleeves and pants, I still had a swarm hounding me. It’s probably the second heaviest day of insect-killing I’ve ever experienced.
I also thought about water because only today, on my very last day in Kansas, did I hear some alarming things about the water I’ve been drinking. A Kansas Public Radio broadcast raised serious concerns about water quality in the high plains. Before I get to the specifics, though, consider the first two sentences from the accompanying KPR article: “Much of the tap water on the High Plains may not be safe to drink. The High Plains is hardly unique in this regard.” Allow me a moment’s indignation. How on earth have we arrived at a point where the impotability of tap water is commonplace across broad swathes of this country? Much has been made of Flint, Michigan’s shameful circumstances, but it’s hardly alone. What could be a more basic, essential function of government than to make sure people have drinkable water?
What’s so bad about the High Plains water? In Garden City, the tap water contains eight contaminants detected above health guidelines, all of them linked to cancer. An additional 12 contaminants have also been detected, though within an “acceptable” range. The vast majority of these contaminants come from two places: industry and treatment byproducts.
And somehow, that might actually be a lesser concern for water on the high plains, given the stunning decline of America’s largest aquifer, the Ogallala Aquifer, which spans South Dakota to Texas. A staggering 27% of America’s irrigated land rests above it. Perhaps it’s no surprise, then, that it has long been strained, with demand far outpacing supply. It’s dropping up to two feet a year and only regaining around three inches. 94% of the water used is devoted to farming.
The ripple effect of the aquifer’s decline is appalling to consider. Beyond the potentially crippling effect on farming, there’s also been a marked decline in local fish populations. And, the global implications are significant as well, given that the plains are responsible for around 1/6 of the world’s grain production.
The decline is not irreversible, though the broader impacts of climate change will likely further complicate matters. One study indicates that if all farmers would reduce their water usage by 20% it would extend the life of the aquifer for a century. The state has been reluctant to impose restrictions. Tract Streeter, the director of the Kansas Water Office, said, “We think it’s a harsh method. We would like to see groups of irrigators come together and work out a solution.” There has been minimal progress in that realm, as only one group of farmers has agreed upon and implemented a localized approach. On the flipside, the federal government has experienced some success by incentivizing conservation initiatives. Still, there’s a ton to be done. And if it’s not, we may see another dust bowl within our lifetime.
