Without a drought, fall'
s a drip
Page 2
By Elliott War nock
Believe it or not, there was a time in
Chapel Hill when autumns used to be
dry. . . very dry. And I don't mean
Prohibition.
The relentless rain of the last weeks
has made me yearn for those times
when the town suffered through its
annual drought. I never thought I'd
miss those days of dust and withered
foliage around town, but in
retrospect, they seem like a blessing
in disguise.
The first drought of my youth was
unforgettable: it coincided with my
f irst year of organized football-Tackle
football practice, complete with
scrimmages, blocking drills and all
too frequent wind sprints, was
dreadful enough for any pudgy
ninth-grader. But add cloudless skies,
zero moisture and dust storms on the
practice field, and you've got a
working model of Dante's Inferno.
By the time I got to high school
football, the coaches rjad learned to
use the late summer-early autumn
droughts to their advantage. One
coach took special delight in running
us around the field for what seemed
like years. Then he would chuckle
demonically as he told us we couldn't
take a water break because of the
water shortage. My teamates and I
would have loved to roast him on a
spit over an open fire.
Things seemed to get progressively
drier in Chapel Hill as the years went
by. Whether it was due to a steady
influx of new residents and students (I
was always told we had a water supply
for only 15,000 people), or if
University Lake was just getting
smaller, all l know is each summer
brought a new set of suggestions from
town officials.
The original suggestions were
innocuous enough: Put a brick in the
tank of the toilet; shower with a
friend. You know the sort I'm talking
about. You might be able to find
some of those little stickers
reminding you how to save water
stuck on bathroom walls, despite the
fingernails and best efforts of dorm
students.
After a while, the suggestions
became more direct and blunt: Never
water your lawn unless it's on fire;
wash your clothes only once a month;
save your dishwater for cooking.
Though they never admitted it, I'm
sure the town hired secret "Water
Police" to monitor the water habits of
the townspeople. One day you'd see
some old man watering his cabbage
garden. The next day he'd be gone
forever, whisked away in the middle
of the night. If you asked his next-
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door neighbors where he went,
they'd be very furtive in denying they
ever knew him.
That all seems years ago. Looking
up at the sky this autumn, all I see are
clouds. Come to think of it, I can't
even see the clouds; all I've seen
these last weeks is a steady scan of
grey.
The rain is fine for relieving the
steady pressure on the town to
slacken the water needs of its
residents, but it's done nothing for
my desires for relaxation and fall
frolicking.
Consider the things I have done in
the past and like to do every autumn:
Drive to the mountains and see the .
fall colors soak into the Carolina hills.
Take my books with me onto the
green spaces of the campus and read
amidst the glorious Chapel Hill fall.
Head for the beach to enjoy the
last warm waters of the coast in late
October.
Go for long, quiet walks in the
brisk afternoons of residential Chapel
Hill.
Grab a plaid blanket, sit in Kenan
Stadium and watch the Tar Heels play
football.
Now consider the last few weeks of
rain. Here's what I'.ve done this
autumn:
Sit in my house and read.
Get wet.
Sit in my house and watch
television.
Chapel Hill's in rainy season
Buy an umbrella.
Sit in my house and do nothing.
As you can see, these will not be the
halcyon days of autumn I'll always
remember from my days at Carolina.
I've been lucky enough to get to
Kenan Stadium to see the Tar Heels
play football, but until the squall line
clears off the Hill, I'll probably spend
the weekdays sitting in my house.
And praying for another drought.
n ro
Elliott Warnock is staff columnist
for Weekender.
mm -T"
113 N. Columbia St.
Between Mayo's &
Police Station
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