“Green, green, it’s green they say,” the New Christy Minstrels sang in the early 1960’s. It feels wonderful to walk barefoot through a carpet of grass or lie on a blanket outside and have a soft cushion underneath me. It’s restful to look out on an expanse of green. Yet I’m aware that where I live is high desert and left on its own would only be green in the springtime, before turning to olive and even brown as summer progressed. Without extensive watering, the trees here would likely be limited to Ponderosa Pine, Western Red Cedar and other native species. We employ sprinklers to combat the dryness — we couldn’t have lawns or gardens without those — and it’s important that things be hydrated during fire season. Without the Columbia Basin Irrigation Project, our vast orchards couldn’t exist. But I’m troubled that that we haven’t always mindfully managed our water supply, especially with the climate changes that are occurring. The early settlers brought their eastern ideas of horticultural beauty with them here to our inter-mountain area, west of the 100th meridian. I’m not one hundred percent sure it was a good thing.