How the Cayuga Lake Watershed Affects my Life

Carrie Laben, Ithaca NY

The tale of my love for the Cayuga Lake Watershed actually begins in another watershed, not so long ago and not so far away in the grand scheme of things, but long ago and far away enough. I grew up on a small farm, and always felt especially drawn to the streams that cut across our property, intensely curious as to where and how they ended up, what became of the tiny fish and the twigs that I floated downstream. Alas, my knowledge ended at our property line - or when I was feeling particularly bold, a little beyond it. I had never heard the word watershed back then, and Lake Erie (which I now realize was the ultimate destination of my little streams) might as well have been on the far side of the moon. I knew only that my ignorance on the subject was unacceptably deep.

When I came to Ithaca, I was an eager student. I learned from Cornell, to be sure, but I also learned from the community and the land - how to navigate on my own, lead my life, interpret a bus schedule, rent an apartment, explore a neighborhood. I learned the word watershed and for the first time, thanks to the trail system and public parks, I was able to see the system as a whole, from a rivulet on the hill to the majesty of the lake below. I learned to make connections.

Living in and knowing the Cayuga Lake Watershed helps me feel connected in both time and space. When I cross a bridge in the middle of downtown, with the sounds of construction ringing in my ears and the cars rumbling past, I can look into the creek and see fish leaping up the spring meltwaters. I know, or can imagine, where those fish have been, where they are going, and the life cycle they will complete once they get there. I have seen the herons that feed on them rise awkwardly across the trees and fly away, looking suspiciously like pterodactyls as their legs trail out behind them. I've watched children fish for them, taking so much joy in being knee-deep among the frogs and crayfish and new wading boots that it is hardly worth mentioning that they don't catch anything.

When I lean down along the South Hill Recreation Way and pick up a rock, perhaps it is imprinted with the shell of a creature that lived in equatorial ocean in the Devonian age, and was covered in silt and darkness until the icy fingers of the glaciers carved out lakes and centuries of running water through the gorges polished it loose again. When I look up at the thunderous falls, I am seeing more evidence of those glaciers, seeing the layers of the earth exposed so that anyone can view the epic history that in other, flatter places is hidden and readable only by geologists with specialized tools.

This sense of connection is what I rely on to put the many little stresses of daily life into perspective. When the snow is piled to my knees, I can picture the beauty of the waterfalls after the first thaw of spring. The irksomeness of a job or the irritation of a head cold fade into the background when measured against the time scale that the Devonian shell has seen. Any sort of stress can be eased by simply taking the time to watch and listen to the running water.

And yet, the same sense of connectedness reminds me that my choices must be mindful, because they do have impact. The water that we have here today is the water that life in our valley will be relying on in centuries long after I am gone. And each little impact I make, like the little impacts of a rivulet running downhill, can contribute to a great gorge, a mighty waterfall. I must choose where I direct that impact. I know, too, that each of my neighbors has their own impact as well, and that if I get to know them, communicate with them, I can help us all. Though the property lines are much closer together here than in my childhood home, what is beyond them need not be an insoluble mystery.

In every aspect of life, I find that it is helpful to take a broad view of the cycles in which I am immersed and the path which has led to the place where I am. Learning to understand the watershed system has helped me achieve that view. "Learning" the watershed has meant learning to see details and overall outlines, learning to be patient and quiet when knowledge emerges like an eft from under a rock, and learning that there is
always more to learn.

In sum, the Cayuga Lake Watershed has affected my life by being the best teacher that a student could ever hope find.