On Palate Press: Water footprints and Waiheke (and chickens, again)

My Palate Press piece for this month (which I really wish was entitled something involving “water” to make the subject more clear) is a bit about Waiheke Island, just off the coast of Auckland, and a bit about water footprints in the wine industry. The relationship between the two is that Waiheke — shockingly, for a North American accustomed to consistent public amenities like central heating and easy wi-fi (both unlikely propositions in New Zealand) — has no public water supply. In good years, residents and businesses and wineries meet their individual needs either by collecting and filtering rainwater (most folk) or with a “water bore” into the under-island aquifer (large and/or resource-full folk). In bad years, all of the above buy water from private companies with private water bores, and do laundry less often.

Waiheke is a good reminder, though, that whether water comes out of a tap or off the cistern parked next to your car, it’s always coming from the same two places: the sky, or underground (which isn’t to say that the two aren’t connected, but only that it’s helpful to think of the two compartments). Tap water is a bit like packaged boneless skinless chicken breasts from the grocery store. Someone else has done all of the hard work for us. Both distance us from the hows and wheres of the stuff we use. Butchering chickens is a pain*. It makes endless sense to divide labor, specialize, and let someone else with better equipment and skills and economy of do it for you. And bake your bread, change your car’s oil, and collect and filter your water. Still, all of these things make it easier to abuse the system. We don’t pay as much attention to our dinner’s living conditions when it didn’t live with us before it appeared on the table, nor to how it died if we didn’t kill it. I’d never really thought about water that way before wandering around on Waiheke; I try to conserve it, but I don’t usually think so graphically about what my convenient kitchen faucet implies. I’d never wish drought on anyone (and California and its people have my sympathy). But maybe it’s no bad thing to look for a drinking fountain in a place with no public water and find none, and remember that I should be just as conscientious about my water as I am about my free-range, local, organic Sunday supper.

More about my Waiheke visit, and about water, is on Palate Press.

*As I know from recent experience. The Great Chicken Experiment is, regrettably, over. The first two hand-me-down hens lived happily with us until the neighbor’s rooster discovered them and decided that they were his, after which they lived happily with the neighbor until she decided she was done with poultry and she invited me to dispatch the lot of them (after which they lived in my freezer and my stockpot). Save the (charming, darling) several month-old chicks, who we adopted. Unfortunately, having been raised entirely outside in our mostly fenceless environs, they’d learned to be very freely free-range. A trip through someone’s spinach was more than anyone was willing to tolerate (save, maybe, the chickens) and we handed them on to someone else. We miss them, though my garden does not.

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