Eleven days or so ago, I asked for guidance in the form of a single Point of Focus for us all to hold on to as we navigate these extraordinary times. As you may recall, for that Point of Focus ‘pick’ I consulted the Ocean Oracle, by Susan Marte, and the card I chose was Stingray: Flow. My contribution tonight is simply a photograph. A photograph to help us maintain the flow.
Of course, it is a photo of my beloved Tohickon Creek. I visited her a couple of times over the past two days and she brought me enormous comfort and inspiration. I wanted to share the energy of that sacred place with all of you.
Many or maybe all of you have your sacred places, too, which bring you comfort and peace. At least I hope you do. I want to think everyone has at least one place they can go to connect directly with Mother Earth and drink in her magic.
I’m sharing this photo in particular, though, because it just seemed to capture the essence of our Point of Focus: Flow. And sometimes it’s helpful to have a mnemonic to which we can refer easily and often.
Innocence and Youth
The other photo I thought I’d share with you as we begin a new week is this action shot of a fawn scampering across the road in front of me as we took a walk last night.
What I didn’t manage to capture was the moment I discovered this little fawn standing right beside us, in the bushes right beside the road. The baby couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away from us. We locked eyes and I grabbed Karl’s arm to stop him mid-stride.
We were both astonished when the fawn started gingerly walking toward us! It was tough to maintain an air of nonchalance while frantically trying to grab my phone out of my pocket and set it to ‘camera.’
Not unsurprisingly, the baby quickly realized approaching us might not be its best choice, and it scampered down the edge of the field then crossed before us – which is the length of time it took me to get my act together enough to catch an image.
<<sigh>>
But hey. Karl and I both felt a thrill as s/he initially moved toward us so confidently. Perhaps it was just innocence and youth. Perhaps it was just going with the flow. As we begin this week, let’s all make a point of going with the flow. Until given another Point of Focus!
I took a ride late this afternoon to enjoy a little bit of alone time with my beloved Tohickon Creek. But I’ll be honest: it wasn’t enough. I’m going to have to go back – and soon. My mesa rode shotgun, though. And I’m pleased to report, as can be seen, she was considerate of others.
Even though it’s easy for me to maintain complete isolation when I go to the creek (primarily because I won’t stop or sit along her banks if there are any human beings in sight), I find I’ve not been to the Tohickon anywhere near as often as usual. I realize it’s not because I’m wary of visiting the creek. It’s because I so rarely get in my car and drive anywhere anymore.
Yes, I can walk there from our house, and I do – occasionally. But my more routine visits were always spontaneous stops on my way to, but more often than not on my way home from, client appointments, errands, and various other excursions.
As a result of the pandemic, I barely drive anywhere anymore.
Refreshment
This was the temperature display at a bank along Route 611 this evening. While I grant that this outdoor thermometer tends to routinely lean toward the high side, I can vouch that my car’s thermometer indicated 90 degrees at that same moment. And as you can see, it was nearly 6:00 p.m. when I took this photo. Earlier in the day, it had been even hotter.
Imagine, then, my gratitude when a mere mile and a half away, I pulled off the road and alongside my favorite place in the world. How could I feel anything other than magically refreshed, allowing myself to drink in the serenity of this place?
Tohickon – Cool Respite – Photo: L. Weikel
Reflection
I’m finding myself contemplative on this eve of our country’s birth. I am marveling at how different this 4th of July weekend feels, for so many reasons, obviously.
Because of the pandemic, we’re not going to be traveling to Connecticut, where we’ve celebrated for decades. That’s a big break from tradition, and I feel wistful recalling the homemade blueberry muffins and Motherpeace readings, to name a few of my favorite memories. (Not to mention Jarts, croquet, lobsters, Wimbledon, and a myriad other treasured experiences.)
On a larger scale – from the personal to the national – it feels like this Independence Day is being viewed through a completely new pair of glasses. Suddenly, we’re seeing who we are as a country with an incredible new clarity that’s both deeply uncomfortable and also truly liberating.
The fact that we’re even discussing our historic oppression and mistreatment of our fellow Americans (including those who called this land home for thousands of years before white people ever stepped onto these shores) is heartening and exciting.
This is our history. It is important to tell the truth, even if it’s ugly and painful. Because that’s where our true freedom rests. In honesty. In gratitude. In forgiveness.
This expression is often used when something has happened and it can’t be taken back.
In the past when I’ve heard this expression, I’ve often imagined the water slurping over the top of the dam, a slosh of water sort of escaping the confines of the dam that’s holding the majority of the water back.
But when I look at the photo of the dam at Lake Nockamixon, which you could argue is ‘holding back’ my favorite local body of water, the Tohickon Creek, you can see that the water is not slurping over the barrier.
No, it’s cascading. It’s rushing headlong, determined on its course.
Reality and Metaphor
It’s fascinating to me how Spirit brings us messages much more frequently than we realize. Sometimes we find ourselves looking for messages everywhere we turn, searching our surroundings for signs that might give us a clue as to how we should decide to respond to a situation or what kind of choice we should make when facing a dilemma.
And sometimes there it is: right in front of our face.
Yes, the eagle flying high overhead could easily be suggesting that we should rise above a situation and look at it from a higher perspective. Try to see the question or issue from more angles than might be obvious to us from our particular vantage point.
But perhaps the message isn’t the eagle flying high above our head.
Maybe the message is in the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, getting darker and darker each moment as we try to focus on the beauty of the lake or the sound of the rushing water rejoining and feeding the Tohickon.
There’s definitely darkness on the horizon – that is quite obvious.
But there’s sunshine in the distance as well.
I only just realized this evening that the answer was staring me in the face:
It’s literally water over the dam. It’s a rush of water, dashing itself on the rocks below.
The thing is, it’s reality: it’s not just a metaphor. It’s water over the dam. It’s done. It’s over. And nothing will get that water back into the lake.
Funnily enough, it seems that Turkey just keeps on giving. Indeed, it showed up in my cards again today, and I feel compelled to share something very cool from yesterday: a tree owl.
Today I chose Skunk/Turkey (meaning Skunk was the card I chose – from the deck, face down – in case there’s any confusion on that score) and Turkey was on the bottom of the deck. So, while Skunk was essentially the primary card for me to pay attention to today, Turkey was still playing a role somehow.
Yet again, as I did yesterday, I could recount for you a number of experiences or situations I encountered today that could qualify as ‘gifts.’ But instead, I want to show you something really cool that I discovered yesterday, on the day I picked Turkey squared.
Weisel Hostel
Our tour of the campus of the Fraternity of Rosicrucians yesterday took us basically across the street from the Weisel Hostel, where I’ve held probably half a dozen Listening Retreats, an entire 18 month Merkabah Medicine Program, and a couple Aspiration-Setting retreats over the past six years or so.
Sadly, the Weisel Hostel is no longer, technically, a hostel. Toward the end of 2018, Hostelling International decided to discontinue its relationship with Bucks County at the Weisel premises. As a result of that decision (and perhaps other factors, who knows?), the Weisel hasn’t been available for any retreats there for over a year.
Personally, this has been a great loss. My beloved Tohickon Creek begins up in that area, and a huge draw for me, and my participants once they got to experience it, was the fact that the creek flowed right beside the hostel. You could hear her voice singing at night when we had all the windows open.
Naturally, I couldn’t be ‘in the neighborhood’ of the Weisel without stopping by and saying hello to all the Spirits of the Land, the creek, and the path that led to the fire pit where we had many sacred fires through the years. So Karl and I did just that: paid a visit to the Weisel.
Major Changes
There were a lot of changes to the premises that I’m not going to enumerate now. The creek itself seemed to be flowing unnaturally (perhaps a better description would be that it was barely trickling). We walked the path that we’d trod so many times in the dark, leading us to the fire pit, and were aghast at what we found. In all the years we held retreats there, I never saw so much of the bottom of the pond exposed. Most of the water was gone. But there was also a lot of devastation of the creek bed.
Devastated dam – Photo: L. Weikel
A huge ash had snapped 25 or so feet above the ground, and the massive (and extremely heavy and dense) part of the trunk that had snapped off was slammed into the grass near the fire pit. Karl and I just stood at the edge of the pond where so many water birds, beaver, deer, and foxes had been spotted, where so many precious and sacred moments had been shared with amazing people, and felt grief.
Snapped tree – Photo: L. Weikel
Tree Owl
And that’s when I did a double-take. I saw what looked like an alabaster or crystalline owl nestled in a tree. I took it as a gift; a small sign, to me, that our presence at the hostel all those years had been felt.
I’m calling it a tree owl, but really it’s ‘just’ a weird patch in the bark of a tree. (Right?) It’s one of the trees that bore witness to all of the sacred fires we held at the Weisel through the years.
Perhaps the Tree Owl is telling me to take heart and have hope. Perhaps it’s serving as a ghostly sentinel, keeping watch until we return. Perhaps the gift in finding the Tree Owl is that it’s a sign that there are better days ahead for the Weisel House* and perhaps, just maybe, a day will come when we can resume our work there, too.
That, indeed, would be a most precious gift.
Tree Owl up close – Photo: L. Weikel
*I’m shifting the name from Weisel Hostel to Weisel House.
Yes, I know. I can just imagine your reaction to the title to this post. “Good grief, how can this chick talk so much about a stupid creek?”
But here I sit, at the end of a day that started out as dark and wild as the day before it, at the end of yet another long week of astonishing ugliness and corruption being exposed to our wondering eyes, at the end of a week that brought sadness at a sudden loss of a person of great courage and integrity. Here I sit on my couch, the reassuring snore of Sheila percolating from under her favorite wolf blanket, asking myself what of this day merits my attention and reflection.
View upstream of the Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel
What Brought Me Joy
And I have to answer: what I feel most compelled to share with you today is the bounty of joy reaped from fifteen minutes I spent beside the Tohickon Creek, on my way home from running some mid-afternoon errands.
Most of the day was overcast and chilly. Taking the ‘long way’ home yet again, as I did last week when I encountered the dazed young deer, I managed to make it to the covered bridge without incident. I proceeded alongside the magnificent wall of black rock rising up a steep hill to my left, emerald moss strategically highlighting the wall’s nooks and crannies. As I crested the slight rise of the single lane road and rounded the blind spot where the rock wall refused to yield and demanded the road meet its terms, sunshine suddenly spilled forth from above.
View downstream of the Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel
The moment was magical and quite unexpected. It was as if the clouds surrendered, bowing to the warmth of the sun, when actually it was more a function of the wind’s insistence that they part. It didn’t matter to me what caused it. All I knew was that everything around me transformed in an instant. The brilliant oranges, yellows, reds, and spring-like greens on the trees were not only illuminated but doubled in their presentation, as it seemed all of it – everything – was reflected on the surface of the Tohickon.
Capturing the Moment to Share With You
Even as I try to describe this moment of “Ah!” my heart quickens a bit.
Suddenly surrounded by this palette of autumn flavors, I was filled with awe. Breathless with the wonder of it all, I pulled off the road at my favorite spot. All I could do was thank All That Is for giving me this moment.
Knowing and appreciating how truly lucky I am to have the opportunity to encounter such a moment in the middle of an October afternoon, I once again yearned to bring the beauty and inspiration home to you, my readers. So I jumped out of the car and even hopped onto a couple rocks that took me further into the creek so I could get shots both further up and down stream.
Reflections on the Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel
What delighted me most were the reflections. Oh my goodness, I was surrounded by the most exquisite works of art in the world.
In those moments, I was soothed. The peace and beauty and ‘eternal now’ of those precious moments wrapped themselves around me and whispered, “We’re here. Look, see, feel, listen. Take comfort. Share us.”
Each day that I’ve spent at the creek this week, I’ve been given the pleasure of entertaining and observing more unique visitors.
From ospreys flying directly overhead twice (and squawking to get my attention) to water snakes, American toads to eagles flying upstream, Northern Copperhead snakes to juvenile Red-tailed Hawks, every single day has yielded an incredible gift of special connection with the animal kingdom.
I wasn’t quick enough on the draw to capture a photo of the eagle flying low over the roiling creek a few days ago. But I did manage to persuade the Copperhead to allow me to photograph her from a variety of angles (and not get annoyed).
Different Ones Each Day
It wasn’t as if the same creatures visited each day, either. Yes, there was some overlap – I believe vultures showed up a couple of times – but mostly it was as if each creature was taking a turn at representing their peeps.
For instance, I was quite surprised to meet this handsome little American Toad hanging out at the fire pit today. Sporting a rust-colored overcoat, he was much flashier than his neutral-toned toad cousins (which came in miniature and Big Mama sizes and had visited two days ago).
American Toad – Photo: L. Weikel
I had to laugh when I looked at the photo I took. Sure looks like he’s flashing the “I’m ok!” sign at me. Perhaps he was reassuring me that he intends to avoid that stealthy, obviously well-fed Copperhead. I’d actually wondered aloud whether the snake had already snagged the three toads I’d seen the day before my ‘herpetological close encounter.’
Then just as the sun was setting this evening, a Blue Heron decided to look for dinner just downstream of me.
Blue Heron – Photo: L. Weikel
I took note of the exquisite patience with which it stood absolutely still for minutes at a time as it stared into the Tohickon, and I consciously made a point of trying to exercise that same patience in observing it. I was richly rewarded. Ever so slowly, the tall, sleak bird waded across the stream and then hopped onto a rock jutting into the water.
Blue Heron hopping onto rock – Photo: L. Weikel
It seemed to snack on some smaller fare, perhaps minnows or those very small fish that seem to populate the eddies and quieter parts of the creek that are surrounded by some of the boulders. Still hungry, Blue Heron slowly and carefully picked its way up along the opposite side of the creek from me – either unaware of my presence or deliberately ignoring me. I was doing my best to be as stealthy and unmoving as it was when it was stalking its prey.
Finally, it had had enough. Deciding a more substantial dinner might better be found downstream, it bent its stalk-like legs which then launched it into flight. I was indeed rewarded for my patience, and once again awed by the generosity with which nature surrounded and welcomed me.
Blue Heron heading downstream – Photo: L. Weikel
P.S.: By the way, this is a super site to use if you ever need to identify a snake, frog, lizard, salamander, turtle, or other such creature in Pennsylvania.
If you read my post from last night, you know that I spent many consecutive hours yesterday immersed in a captivating novel that uniquely weaves together the lives of trees and humans. Naturally, given my love affair with nature and Pachamama (a Quechua word for Mother Earth – and more), I’m loving it.
It is no wonder the book, The Overstory, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. It’s an amazing feat of complex storytelling – and I’m saying this while remaining extremely aware of the fact that I’m only half way through it.
What you didn’t know is that I was thwarted in my desired illustration of the post by a 13 hour delay in my photos being ‘sent’ via email from my iPhone and their arrival to my laptop. (I know. Old news. I can’t figure out why sometimes they come through immediately and other times it takes them a day to make the trip.)
But arrive they did, just after noon today. Finally.
Far From Alone
I guess I should be grateful. The delay gave me the opportunity to harvest two posts out of one luscious, Labor Day afternoon spent perched in the middle of Tohickon Creek.
Because while I spent the afternoon in delectable solitude, I was far from alone.
Of course, there was and is the relentless movement of the creek itself. She is alive. Her waters flow around boulders and under tree limbs and through sluices of haphazardly strewn rocks and fallen branches, each maneuver amplifying or quelling her contribution to our conversation.
Her voice has the ability to reassure and center me in a way that keeps me in a swirled state of awe and gratitude. Day after day. No matter how many times I visit her, or at which point in her winding, ox-bowed, seemingly meandering journey to the Delaware River I approach her, she somehow manages to speak directly to my soul. Sometimes I go to her knowing she will wash away my very human concerns, and other times, inexplicably, I resist entering her presence. Perhaps I’m embarrassed; maybe I feel unworthy.
Beyond Her Presence
But beyond the undeniable presence of the Spirit of the Tohickon itself, there’s never been a visit to her shores that I’ve not been greeted by at least one and usually a myriad of other beings.
Yesterday was no exception. Nor was today. Nor, for that matter, was a day last week.
Last Thursday, an osprey made sure I noticed it flying upstream by calling out to me just as it passed overhead. I thought it a bit odd that it called out at that moment, but wrote it off to good luck on my part. The encounter felt a bit more like a determined bid for my attention when the bird did exactly the same thing on its way back downstream, about 20 minutes later.
I’m sure it would be no surprise if I told you that the appearance of Osprey held astonishing significance to me and reinforced a message I’ve been receiving for, well – one could argue at least six months. In fact, I’m almost ashamed to admit that until Osprey showed up last week, I’d actually forgotten the initial onslaught of pointed messages I’d received back in March, although I had noticed and heeded other cameos in recent weeks.
Yesterday’s Companions
So while I descended into the ‘understory’ of The Overstory, I nevertheless maintained a slightly heightened awareness of my peripheral vision. A number of times I sensed creatures around me, riding the currents, slipping around boulders, but didn’t see much other than the occasional little feeder fish or water spiders skimming the surface like speed skaters.
As quickly as that, a head popped out of the water, its red tongue tasting the air. The currents buffeted its slight body and made it waver as it held its head up. I said hello and asked if I could take its photo. It answered in the affirmative, as you can see from above.
I couldn’t zoom in as closely as I would’ve liked, but my sense was that it was a water snake. A youngster, I was pretty sure, as I’ve seen them grown to much (much) larger dimensions than this little guy. I was pleased ‘serpent’ had decided to pop in and say hi.
Last Night
Later, as I sat by the fire and continued my immersion into my book, my peripheral vision again kicked in – despite the competing bids for the attention of my rods and cones. (The firelight flickered and danced, yet I was also focusing the laser-like beam of my phone’s flashlight onto the pages to read into the night.)
Surprised, I trained my phone’s tractor beam to my right. Just outside the stones stacked neatly to create a firepit sat this wonderful toad. We had quite the conversation, as it was not in the least afraid of me, and I felt its presence acutely. I wondered if it was a little chilly, since it seemed determined to explore the spaces between the firepit stones, which must’ve felt warm and toasty.
Fire Buddy – Photo: L. Weikel
Shortly after my little friend made its way wherever, I decided it was time to find my way home as well. It was quite a day of amphibian love yesterday – enhancing my solitude, by letting me know I wasn’t really alone at all.
Tohickon Creek near Cabin #3 (yesterday) – Photo: L. Weikel
Our Voices Matter!
When I first read the great news a few days ago, I immediately thought, “I’m going to have to write about this tonight!” Alas, I ended up writing about other things, some definitely not as important as this.
But here we are, better late than never.
Back in June, I wrote a post about the Tohickon Creek, an utterly lovely waterway that has twisted, turned, flooded, dried to a meager trickle, been dammed, become free-flowing again, and hosted whitewater enthusiasts to fly-fisherpeople, to small children. Through millennia, the Tohickon has provided a place for humans of all stripes to connect to Mother Earth, and at the same time created a habitat for woodpeckers, blue herons, trout, kingfishers, frogs, turkeys, turtles, vultures, water snakes, carp, eagles, groundhogs, hawks, deer, osprey, sunnies, crows, foxes, and bluejays (to name a few). And sometimes, when the humans get lucky, these residents allow themselves to be seen and admired by the humans.
The purpose of my post in June was to ask you to take a stand on behalf of the Tohickon and speak out to prevent the downgrading of its classification.
I know; I write about the Tohickon frequently. But take a look at that list I just made (off the top of my head) of the creatures I’ve been lucky enough to share time with along her banks. It’s extraordinary!
Overflowing Gratitude
As a result of over 900 comments from the public, essential advocacy by non-profit groups, and some pressure by local officials, it appears as though Pennsylvania’s Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) has agreed to reevaluate their classification of this creek.
I love this body of water unabashedly. For me, I guess, it symbolizes everything I love about where we live and how deeply privileged I feel to have the freedom to visit her whenever I want.
Thank you for indulging my love and reading this post. Thank you for taking the time to speak out and submit your comment(s) to the Department of Environmental Protection. Thank you for helping us buy more time for the Tohickon to be studied further and, hopefully, designated an Exceptional Value stream in the eyes of the DEP.
Our Mutual Reward
Thank you for anything and everything you did to help this extraordinary body of water continue its quest to gain crucial environmental protections.
I can only hope that as a result of us taking a stand today, our grandchildren and great grandchildren (and beyond) will still be safely playing in that creek, creating treasured memories, and feeling awe at the sight of even more abundant wildlife!
Tohickon Creek, north of Cabin 3 – Photo: L. Weikel
I’m sad to report that walking was not on my agenda today. The intensity of the heat and humidity was overwhelming – to the point where I’m pretty sure the heat index reached 104 degrees this afternoon.
I’d like to write something intelligible this evening, but that’s rapidly becoming less and less likely.
To add insult to my difficulty keeping my eyes open, I was stung by what I believe was a yellow jacket or a wasp today. I was helping someone carry their stuff from the edge of the Tohickon back to the car, rushing, since we could see the billowing, slate gray clouds rapidly approaching from the west. My arms were full as we climbed the grassy hill, rutted from the downpours of a few days ago, when suddenly the skies opened. Fat, harsh globs of water seemed to slap down onto our heads as we broke into a run.
Sting in a Storm
All of a sudden in the midst of this chaos, a searing pain, feeling a bit like a huge splinter, pierced my calf. I tried to swipe at it, but my arms were full. I was running, but the pain was so intense, I just had to slow a bit to try to get a glimpse of what was hurting me so much. All I could see was something that looked about as big as a quarter latched onto the back of my leg.
I couldn’t get any better of a look than to quickly assess the monster’s size because the bags I was carrying were flailing around and the wind and raindrops were whipping through the trees and into my face. I nevertheless staggered to a stop and tried to knock from the back of my leg whatever it was that was stinging me relentlessly. But I failed – painfully.
I thought I knocked it hard enough to dislodge it the first time, but it was clearly hanging onto me for dear life – by its stinger. Indeed, it felt like it was pumping as much venom into me as possible to make me suffer for whatever transgression I’d inadvertently visited upon it.
After blindly slashing at it with one of the bags I was carrying, I could see nothing was attached to my leg any longer – but the pain; ah, that definitely persisted.
The Clorox Remedy
As soon as I got home, I addressed the sting with my mother’s old ‘remedy’ – Clorox. After patting the back of my calf, which was now swelling and looking as angry as that wasp must have felt, with a Clorox-soaked wadded-up paper towel, the swelling did diminish a bit. But wowza, I have to tell you – five hours later, that hot, searing pain is back.
I’m sure it’ll be fine by tomorrow. The worst part will probably be intense itching. I’m lucky, though, especially when it comes to my body – which I know and appreciate. As my rapid recovery from being hurled onto the macadam when Spartacus and I were accosted by the neighbor’s dogs evidenced, my body is amazingly resilient. Not only that, I guess I should be grateful that I didn’t have an allergic reaction to the sting.
All in all then, I guess, upon reflection and analysis, I had a most fortunate day. Just a bit of extra Zing! added to my step.
Since moving to Tinicum Township in March of 1985, there’s been a ‘place’ in nature, a central geological feature, that has coursed through my life and been the backdrop to some of my most cherished memories: the Tohickon Creek.
I’ve written about the Tohickon in my book, Owl Medicine. I’ve written about the Tohickon in a number of posts here in Ruffled Feathers (and as part of my 1111 Devotion).
My sons grew up playing in this creek, wading in it, skipping stones across it, discovering snakes and tadpoles and watching ducks and trout swim on and in it.
I’ve written more journal entries and sorted out more existential, marital, and familial dilemmas along its banks than anywhere else in the world.
In the course of my somewhat unique work as a shamanic practitioner, I’ve even journeyed to meet the spirit of the Tohickon and enlisted her assistance in some unique and specific circumstances.
I’ve also led Listening Retreats and other, even more in-depth, programs along her banks, encouraging all participants to open themselves to her ways and her wisdom.
Blue Heron on Tohickon – Photo: L. Weikel
A Brief History
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve been under the misimpression that the Tohickon already enjoyed designation as an Exceptional Value (EV) stream under Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) guidelines. Sadly, it does not.
Rather, there has a been a Petition filed with the Environmental Quality Board of the DEP by residents Marion and Neil Kyde on behalf of the Tinicum Conservancy requesting that the creek be upgraded to this designation that has been pending since September 19, 1995.
This pristine waterway, which flows into the Delaware River (which itself has fought hard to come back from near death), is now not only close to having its status upgrade petition denied, but even worse, is in peril of having its current status (as Cold Water Fishes, Migratory Fishes) downgraded.
I’d like to ask everyone reading this to please take action and weigh in on this monumental decision. Here is a link to an amazing organization, Delaware Riverkeeper, with easy links to making your voice and opinion known. There’s also a MUCH better explanation than I’ve just provided of what is at stake.
Our freshwater streams and aquifers must be protected. There is so much to lose – both tangible and intangible – if we don’t stand up for our environment NOW.
