CUARTELES — Water from the Acequia del Llano gushed underneath a sluice when mayordomo Don Bustos twisted the gate open to clear sand and other debris that had accumulated in the ditch overnight.
“This is the lifeblood of Northern New Mexico,” Bustos, 63, said of the centuries-old acequia and others like it as the sound of running water filled the early morning air in this sleepy village near Santa Cruz last week.
“This is the way we’ve always lived,” he said, standing at a comfortable distance.
This year, however, a pandemic has unleashed a new way of living, and even the annual spring ritual of cleaning acequias in some of the most rural communities of the state has been affected.
The time-honored tradition usually involves shovel-to-shovel contact and face-to-face interaction among neighbors, adjoining landowners or what are known as peones — people hired to do the digging for them.
At the end of a hard day’s work, everyone usually gets together to celebrate with a cold beer or a bite to eat.
But in a new era of social distancing and government orders to stay home and avoid gatherings of groups larger than five — part of a desperate attempt to contain a contagious killer disease that has already claimed tens of thousands of lives across the world — mayordomos like Bustos have made big changes to a tradition that is deeply woven into Northern New Mexico culture.
“The COVID-19 pandemic has changed our normal routines, but it has not changed the fundamental need in our communities to keep the waters flowing in our acequias,” the New Mexico Acequia Association wrote in a newsletter to its members.
Paula Garcia, the association’s executive director, said there are about 750 acequias statewide in 22 counties. The vast majority are in Northern New Mexico, with close to 80 percent in Rio Arriba, Taos, Mora, San Miguel, Santa Fe, Sandoval and Guadalupe counties, she wrote in an email.
“For centuries, our acequias have provided water for our gardens, orchards, and pastures through the hard work of the parciantes [acequia members] that keep them flowing. Now, our ancient acequias are taking on a new relevance because it is urgent that we grow our own food locally,” she wrote. “While we will experience grief from this pandemic, it is also the time for us to build local food systems that can be more resilient, sustainable, and socially just.”
‘This whole pandemic thing’
The association issued a series of recommendations for cleaning acequias based on a public health order from the state as the country continues to wrestle with a worsening spread of the virus. They range from canceling acequia cleanings altogether to restricting “individuals over a certain age” from participating in the cleanup. Other recommendations include separating work crews into groups no bigger than five or requiring each acequia member to clear only the section of ditch that runs through their property, which the association said is a “traditional practice.”
Acequia managers, or mayordomos, have each responded to the public health crisis in different ways.
Johnny C. Martinez, who has led the Acequia del Distrito for about 12 years, said 70 to 75 people usually come out for the annual clearing of the nearly nine-mile ditch, which he said is the longest in Chimayó. The group effort was called off this year, and Martinez assembled a small team of workers primarily to take out tree branches, leaves and anything else that could block the flow of water.
“We don’t want to get nobody sick,” he said.
Martinez said some acequia members were disappointed with the cancellation.
“A lot of people got hurt because we had to cancel it,” he said. “A lot of people called me [and asked], ‘Well, what can I do to go help?’ [I told them], ‘You can’t do nothing. We already took care of it.’ ”
Kenny Salazar, chairman of the Santa Cruz Irrigation District, said he receives a lot of calls from acequia leaders asking for advice.
“I tell everybody just to follow the governor’s guidelines and keep your distance when you’re cleaning the ditch,” he said, adding he also advises them not to get together afterward to drink beer or let the viejitos, or elderly, participate in the cleanup.
At 72, an age deemed vulnerable for infection, Salazar said he had always gone out to help clean the ditch or organize meals and cleanup days. This year was different.
“Some old guys aren’t heeding the warning, and they’re going anyways,” he said. “You can tell them, and they don’t care. They don’t care about that. They want the water for their chile.”
Others are being more vigilant.
Salazar, a former associate director of the state’s acequia association, said he lives in La Mesilla and saw workers there digging some 200 yards apart.
“I think this is just a blip in the tradition,” he said. “I think next year, hopefully, things will return back to normal once they get this virus vaccine and get it all cleared up and straightened out just like other viruses.”
Edward Romero, who has been the mayordomo of the Acequia de las Jollas in Nambé for some 35 years, said acequia members had planned to do a group cleaning so everyone could get a firsthand look at problems with the ditch.
“But we had to kind of change because of this whole pandemic thing,” he said, adding three laborers were hired to do the work instead.
“It’s pretty tough on three people,” he added.
‘The coronavirus fear’
Charlie Esquibel, who oversees two acequias in the Cuarteles area, said his ditch-cleaning days went on as scheduled, but changes were made. He said he had nearly two-dozen people show up to work on each ditch, and he grouped them into crews of five “because of the coronavirus fear.”
“It was not the same, of course,” he said. “Everybody, they recognized that it wasn’t the same.”
In the past, he said, everyone tackled the backbreaking work as a team. He described the effort as a community-building exercise that brought people closer together — not just physically but socially.
“It’s a hard working day, but it’s a fun day because we see each other on the road all the time, but on this day we’re side by side with the pala [shovel],” he said.
In Mora, Harold Trujillo, mayordomo of the Acequia de la Águila and president of the Acequia de la Isla, said four day laborers who live in the area were hired to clean each acequia. The workers, who kept their distance from each other, just cleared major obstacles that had fallen or formed in the ditch over the winter, he said.
“Traditionally, we have people coming from all over, and that’s exactly what we wanted to avoid,” he said. “We have [landowners] that come from Albuquerque, from Taos, from Española, to clean the acequia that day. We figured, you know, if all of us come together, that would’ve been a problem.”
Trujillo said the traditional acequia cleaning day brings together people “from all walks of life” and creates camaraderie.
“There’s a lot of good memories from getting back together,” he said.
Members’ inability to join forces this year because of the coronavirus created a void, Trujillo said.
“Sometimes I take pictures, and it’s nice to see 20 people to 25 people working on the acequia, cleaning things. We didn’t see that this year. It was a very basic task. No fanfare, right?” he said. “I think it’s sad in a way, and I think it’s sad in a different way because we don’t know how much harder it’s going to get.”
Farmers brace for uncertainty
Trujillo said he’s concerned about New Mexico’s acequia infrastructure as the state government likely shifts funding priorities.
“There are other things, too, that we have to worry about in terms of the budget and how the state might need to adjust the budget and how that may impact capital outlay projects that were approved for acequias,” he said. “They may not be able to do their projects because the budgets may need to be adjusted.”
Bustos, a certified organic farmer who is the Acequia del Llano mayordomo in Cuarteles, worries about the future, too. He sells lettuce to Santa Fe Public Schools, which has shuttered its classrooms and switched to online learning for the rest of the academic year.
“If it’s impacting me, it’s impacting all the rest of the growers, too, that participate in a local food system,” said Bustos, who grows everything from asparagus and tomatoes to corn and green chile.
“We have 5,000 strawberry plants that are already starting to blossom,” he said, “so I don’t know where we’re going to sell our strawberries.”
Despite the uncertainty, Bustos makes sure the water in the acequia keeps flowing, as do other farmers across Northern New Mexico.
“I walked up to the river a couple of days ago, and there was one guy by himself in La Puebla all contento,” he said, describing the man’s happy demeanor. “He was all contento digging out his [section of the ditch]. I go, ‘Hey, that’s the way it should be.’ We’re all just doing our part to get the community acequias running so everybody has access to healthy water.”
As they say in these parts, el agua es vida. Water is life.
