Inga knelt at the front of the stage and flipped the switch on a slide projector. A large square of light appeared on the wall behind her.
She pulled a device from her skirt pocket and punched a button. “This,” she said melodramatically, “is the evil cedar tree.”
A scrubby Ashe juniper-commonly called a cedar in Texas-appeared on the screen. Inga playfully gave the tree a thumbs-down sign and hissed loudly. The audience chuckled, and many members joined in with a chorus of boos.
Marlin shook his head and smiled. Yesterday, he’d figured Inga would offend the audience-either by not being very tactful or simply by being an outsider. But now she had them in the palm of her hand. Clever gal.
“Now we all know what a pain in the, uh, derriere these things can be. They choke out all the hardwood trees, ruin your pastures, and hog all the water. I’ve read that an average-sized cedar uses about thirty-five gallons of water a day. And that seems to be the biggest complaint around here.”
For the next ten minutes, Inga went on to discuss the water shortage in Blanco County, and the continuously low level of the aquifer. Marlin thought she was doing a great job; she obviously had a knack for keeping the interest of large groups, and her looks certainly didn’t hurt.
As Inga continued, Marlin glanced around and saw a mixed crowd of people he knew: rural residents and city dwellers, schoolteachers and day laborers, Realtors and ranchers, young and old alike. Everyone appeared to be listening intently.
“… so I understand the need for brush-clearing,” Inga was saying. “I mean, protecting the aquifer just seems like a smart move. But I wanted to talk to you about the impact the brush removal is having on the wildlife in the area.”
She turned toward the screen as she punched a button. A rather unattractive black bird appeared on the screen.
“Can anyone tell me what this is?” she asked the audience.
Someone shouted that it was a crow. Someone else said a raven.
“Not quite.” She flipped to the next photo. The same bird, but photographed from behind. Now you could see a faint ruby-colored half-band on the back of its neck. “Does that help?”
In the front row, a young girl-probably a student, Marlin guessed-said, “Red-necked sapsucker?”
“Exactly right!” Inga said. “Take a good look, because it may be the only time you’ll ever see one. These birds used to be found throughout the Southwest, but now they are found mostly in Central Texas, especially in Blanco County, and they are extremely rare. Nobody knows exactly how many are left, but the latest studies show there could be as few as just a couple hundred. Even more of a problem, the last dozen or so sightings have all been females. For whatever reason, the male population seems to be dwindling more rapidly than the females. Right now, biologists are hoping to locate and trap a male so they can try to breed the birds in captivity. So far, no luck. See, the females don’t need a male in order to lay eggs. But they do need a male to lay a fertilized egg-that is, one that can hatch a young bird. The women in the audience might say that’s all the males are good for.”
Once again, the audience chuckled.
“But here’s the biggest problem the red-necked sapsucker is facing: Unlike most birds, they are extremely picky when it comes to the materials they use for building nests. In fact, they chiefly use the long, stringy bark from cedar trees. It’s one of those unfortunate cases when nothing else will do. They have to have cedar bark or they can’t make nests, they can’t produce offspring, and the species will gradually fade away. In other words, without plenty of cedar trees around, the red-necked sapsucker will become extinct-it’s that simple.”
Marlin thought: Here’s where the audience either sides with her or against her.
“My question is,” Inga said, “is it worth it? Is the water situation serious enough to justify wiping out an entire species? I’d like to make this a group discussion, so would anyone care to comment?”
Heads turned and looked at neighbors, and a woman holding a toddler meekly raised her hand. “What are we supposed to do for water? I mean, if we don’t clear the brush.”
“Well, I’d like to suggest a combination of two things: conservation and rainwater collection. Now, by ‘conservation,’ I don’t mean anything drastic. Just take shorter showers. Cut the water off when you’re brushing your teeth or shaving. Water your lawn by hand instead of with a sprinkler. Stuff like that. It’s amazing how fast the gallons you save can add up.
“And secondly, harvesting rainwater. Some residents in this county already have elaborate systems that provide all the household water they need. I saw one home over off Miller Creek Loop that had two enormous cisterns that probably hold ten thousand gallons each. That’ll last a pretty long time between rainshowers.”
A middle-aged man held up his hand and remarked that that kind of system was very expensive.
Inga nodded her head slowly. “Yeah, you’re right, they can be pricey. Most systems pay for themselves in the long run, though. And you don’t necessarily have to do anything that elaborate. You could simply attach a hundred-gallon barrel to your rain gutter and use it to water your garden. You don’t need a pump, a filter, anything like that.”
An elderly woman-Marlin recognized her as a retired biology teacher from the high school-stood up. “What are this bird’s chances if we quit cutting cedar? Won’t it die out anyway? If they’re already having a rough go of it with plenty of cedars still around, it sounds like they’ll be in pretty bad shape regardless of what we do.”
Inga nodded. “The only answer is, nobody knows for sure. Sometimes, it’s easy to pinpoint the reason why a species becomes endangered. It’s usually something like hunting pressure or habitat destruction. But here, the red-necked sapsucker is almost extinct and that’s regardless of the brush-clearing. But what we do know for sure is, if all the cedar is cleared, they will definitely vanish. And in my opinion-”
She was interrupted by a muttered comment from another person in the crowd. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please stand up and join the discussion.”
A large dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit stood up. “I don’t see what the problem is,” he said, waving his hands emphatically. “I mean, one little bird? Fuhget about it. How important is dat? We gonna hold up progress for dat?”
Marlin couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he had seen him around town. A new guy, only in Johnson City for a couple of years. The guy had a thick accent, something like Robert De Niro’s in his gangster pictures.
“I appreciate your comment, sir.” Inga said. She cocked her head and gave him a momentary stare. “I believe we’ve met before. May I have your name?”
The man looked around warily, then said, “Salvatore Mameli.”
Now Marlin remembered. He had caught a Vinnie Mameli-no doubt this guy’s son-four-wheeling in the park a few months back. Had given him and his friend, T.J. Gibbs, a citation.
“Thank you, Mr. Mameli. I understand your attitude, but it’s not really a matter of progress. We’re not holding up something as important as a housing development or a shopping center.”
Marlin wasn’t sure if anybody caught Inga’s sarcasm in that last remark. She seemed to have her hackles up a little now.
“Ya don’t think it’s holding up progress, huh?” Mameli said. “Let me ask ya somethin’. Without water, how’s the county gonna grow? How we gonna build homes for our families, hospitals, new schools for our kids, things like dat? Gotta have water for all dese things. Don’t tell me you think dis bird, dis sapsucker, is more important than our kids’ futures?”
The crowd waited silently for Inga’s reply, some people nodding their heads in agreement with Mameli. She gave a patient smile and said, “No, of course I don’t think that. I just believe there’s a sensible answer that will allow us to do both-to live comfortably and save the sapsucker.”