I, the Renaico River
I come from Pemehue, in the foothills of the Andes Mountain range. It is there that melted ice and rain flow down from the folds of these mountains and coalesce in my body, which moves alongside trees, caves, flowers, and the stones and pebbles of my banks. The araucaria, cypress, and coigüe trees come to meet me, even when they’re tired and weak, since their roots are barely able to keep their soil moist and filter the sediment that I bring. Many native trees have disappeared, as has the community’s ability to keep the ground fertile. Mountain vizcachas, pumas, condors and pudus drink my water, even as their populations have dropped due to a lack of seeds, mushrooms, and other organisms to eat. The same goes for our human collaborators: many of them have had to leave, though some have stayed, drinking the same water that their ancestors once did.
My currents flow through large plantations of pine and eucalyptus, whose roots are very thirsty. This is where I drastically lose strength, as the soil becomes less moist and turns into a hard, red clay. This transformation affects the movement and nutrition of the more sensitive fish swimming alongside me, like catfish, silversides, and perch.
At that point, what’s left of me branches off into multiple streams and falls in the valleys, which give life to vegetables that are eventually eaten by people far to the north of me. Before I join the Vergara River, I’m still able to offer refreshment to the inhabitants of Renaico in the summers, even though I’m exhausted and faint.
