On a quick round trip to Salem yesterday I noticed the drain water running along the edges of farm land. It took me back to springtime on the eastern edge of the state where rain is scarce enough that any water in canals and ditches comes from a reservoir. I started wondering why I have a feel-good memory of the water coming into the irrigation system in the spring. Words that might hold a key are movement and life source. The road my sisters and I walked from the bus stop to our home went along one of the arteries off the main canal. Only a generation earlier, hard-working dreamers were turning land only fit for jack rabbits into family farms. Maybe change is another descriptor for why the water coming in is still something I remember.