inside the building, in tanks stacked ceiling-high, the mosaic’s real-life counterpart peers through glass, hiding behind plastic sea grass. aside from the size difference (these salamanders are just three inches long as adults), the striking patterns of the mosaic aren’t far off. their translucent skin is spotted sometimes with yellow and opal; other times with orange, or purple, or magenta. in the right light, their tiny hearts beat through luminous skin. pink gills protrude from their necks like an old-fashioned ruff. looking at their gills through a microscope, one can see red blood cells absorbing dissolved oxygen. close observation is crucial, each scientist knows, for when the tank water’s chemical balance is just slightly off — too much or too little calcium or dissolved carbon dioxide or heat — the salamander may expand, balloon-like, or develop other strange health problems. in response, an irrigation system sends well-fresh spring water to each tank, drip by drip.

“i find them very fascinating animals,” said dee ann chamberlain, an environmental scientist with the city of austin and the steward of this captive population. “they’re small. they’re beautiful when you see them up close.” 

years ago, chamberlain spent 12 hours watching a female salamander lay her eggs, which are stored in her abdomen. that day, the salamander lay each egg with great care, choosing each location separately before placing her eggs in the safety of the plastic plants, netting, and filter media. once laid, the eggs take three to four weeks to mature. looking closely, one can see the white orb morph into a white squiggle, then into something that resembled the tiniest salamander — just half a centimeter in length at hatching. when i visited the captive breeding facility, i saw salamanders so slim they could have been a splinter, and so short they could easily be squashed. 

this pampered population exists as a backup, ready to sire offspring that would be released if the wild population were to die off — a wild population that exists just a few hundred meters but also a world away from the captive species — where water emanates, myth-like, from deep within the earth. but, some say, even if that population were to be released, it may not be enough to save the species. 

***

the barton springs salamander is endemic to the cool, isothermal waters of barton springs pool — a three-acre, one-eighth-mile swimming-hole and terminus of the vast edwards aquifer of central texas — one of the largest artesian aquifers in the world. barton springs natural haven for austinites — home to ancient religious rituals, ardent scientific inquiry, and polar plunges alike — and is lauded as the city’s ‘crowned jewel.’ the barton springs salamander was discovered in the late 1980’s by david hillis, a professor at the university of texas at austin. soon after describing the species, hillis’ team discovered that the species was most likely critically endangered from the effects of development, poor water quality, and the aggressive cleaning methods used on barton springs pool. if added to the endangered species list, the barton springs salamander would receive special protections from the government to help species recovery.

the barton spring salamander was filed for the official endangered species listing in 1990. seven years later, after many legal battles, political faux pas, and scientific surveys, the salamander joined the endangered species list. developers and politicians feared the endangered species listing of a creature whose habitat happened to be in the heart of austin would stifle development. austin did craft a stricter watershed protection ordinance, but instead of hindering economic growth, austin became an even bigger boomtown. in austin’s southwest suburbs, construction rumbles over the aquifer’s fragile recharge zone. and the wild population of salamanders, sensitive to the slightest change in their habitat, continues to stare extinction in the face. 

in 1998 — one year after the barton springs salamander (or eurycea sosorum) got its endangered species listing — the captive breeding program began. the captive facility of barton springs salamanders (and the endangered austin blind salamander) exists as a backup population, in an effort by the city of austin to conserve the species. “in case there’s an issue with wild populations, you can put them back — noah’s ark,” said andy glusenkamp, the director of conservation and research at san antonio zoo and a member of the barton springs salamander scientific advisory committee. the population’s technical name is a “captive assurance colony,” which means that it must represent 85% to 95% of the wild genetics. this effort requires meticulous tracking of which salamander breeds, and when. dante fenolio, vice president of the center of conservation and research at san antonio zoo said it took him ten years just to figure out how to breed one species on command. “the answers to these things,” fenolio said, “they’re not intuitive. and they’re not easy.”

one of the reasons the questions are so hard to answer is that there’s a significant knowledge gap when it comes to salamanders. “salamanders overall are not well studied,” said chamberlain. “we’ve had to learn a lot in order to maintain them.” and after decades of close observation, chamberlain remains in awe of these creatures. “salamanders have amazing abilities,” chamberlain added. “they can regenerate more organs than any other vertebrate on the planet.” talking to chamberlain, it seems that the body of unanswered questions about salamanders are as boundless as the edwards aquifer itself.

but perhaps the most salient question is, what would happen if the wild population disappeared? “despite decades of preparation,” wrote a journalist for austin monthly in 2018, “there’s just too many variables.” herpetologists have devised countless doomsday scenarios — each worse than the next. the oil pipelines that stretch across the area’s recharge zone could crack. a pathogen could infect the water table. a sewage line could bust. a drought could de-water the aquifer. the city of austin does have development regulations, but that doesn’t stop construction in the suburbs. local protections can’t halt the threats of climate change leading to bigger droughts, and the omnipresent threat of a chemical spill that could wipe out the species faster than biologists could save them. “to date,” glustenkamp said, “there’s no way to remove any of those threats once they appear.”

even if the aquifer were to become restored, the question remains, in the words of fenolio: “how do you put a salamander back into an aquifer?” fenolio knows of no successful reintroductions of salamanders to a groundwater system — nor of any attempts to reintroduce the species. chamberlain believes that it might take years of releasing salamanders and monitoring the population’s response before reintroduction is successful. glusenkamp is not so optimistic. “it’s very difficult to put a three-inch salamander back in the springs without it washing out,” he said. “do i think that we’re gonna be able to t-shirt cannon salamanders back to their habitat and we’re gonna restore species after extinction events? no.”

if the wild salamanders were to be wiped out, the captive salamanders would not be alone on the metaphorical ark. they would join the ranks of other species with the distinct red class listing of “extinct in the wild,” or ew — from the sky-blue spix’s macaw to the regal south china tiger to the acid-yellow panamanian golden frog — species that don’t exist in the wild anymore, but instead live a captive half-life. this is the “very core of one of the key and critical problems with conservation biology,” fenolio said. “what do you call it when you have a species in captivity… their habitat is gone in the wild, (and) you can’t put them back anywhere? is it conservation anymore, or is it curation?”

this beckons the question: should we reintroduce the species, if it goes extinct? if the aquifer remains polluted, should humans step in and try to salvage it? fenolio suggested that one may be able to inject medical-grade de-activated carbon into the water which tends to bond and sequester contaminants, but that may not be effective, and may do more harm than good. in that case, does one play god and find a new home for the species, risking the introduction of a new pathogen, or of another australian cane toad catastrophe? do we leave the salamanders in captivity for perhaps hundreds of years until a “a “biblical flood,” as glusenkamp puts it, refills the aquifer with clean water? this brings to mind john mcphee’s remark in his book, “the control of nature” (and echoed by elizabeth kolbert in “under a white sky”) on how the rerouting of the mississippi in the eisenhower era “will come to mind more or less in echo of any struggle against natural forces — heroic or venal, rash or well-advised — when human beings conscript themselves to fight against the earth.” would injecting de-activated carbon, and t-shirt-cannoning captive raised species into this fragile environment be a trespass over our role as humans, “to surround the base of mount olympus demanding and expecting the surrender of gods?” or is it our unique duty to do just that?

“i think everybody involved in this would agree, (reintroduction) is the last tool you want to use,” glustenkamp said. “absolutely the last tool. and it’s incumbent on all of us to do everything we can to avoid using that tool, by taking other actions.” thankfully, there are many who continue to steward the aquifer and its inhabitants. documentary filmmakers educate the public about the beauty and fragility of barton springs. the lawyers at the save our springs alliance hold local governments and developers accountable to clean water regulations. and the scientists at the city of austin who work to monitor wild populations and restore degraded habitat — those who grapple necessary truth that one day the wild salamanders may be gone — who cradle their black-spotted heads and watch oxygen diffuse through their gills — may be the species’ fiercest advocates. “last time i checked, two-inch long blind salamanders made of jelly aren’t very good boxers,” glustenkamp said. but austin’s scientists have their gloves on, ready to go to the mat on this one. 

it was a windy, bright afternoon in march when i visited the smith elementary in south austin. the first thing that struck me was its size. upwards of twenty beds — some wooden, some cinder-block, some stone-cobbled, surrounded a large shade structure and a picnic table. invasive bermuda grass gained a firm grasp on many beds, and many shrubs were brown from february’s freeze. “i’ve got lots of weeding to do out here, obviously,” studebaker said, scrutinizing her domain. i, on the other hand, was enchanted. mustang grape vines with brown, gnarled stems surrounded the fenced-off garden. bumblebees buzzed lazily between dandelions. pear and apple blossoms yawned open in the warm air. studebaker told me that last fall, pumpkins plants from discarded halloween seeds overran the garden’s compost pile. when i visited, the grapevine was beginning to green, and so were many of the seemingly-dead plants. studebaker would pull back brown stems, and with a “wait wait wait is it green?” or a “okay, look at this!” point out barely-visible green popping from the plant base. i felt like i’d stepped into frances hodgson burnett’s secret garden: “it seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place.” 

***

the smith elementary school garden is one of hundreds of gardens that a nonprofit group called the green corn project has implemented in austin over the 23 years of the nonprofit’s existence. “i always like to say that green corn was urban gardening before it was cool,” said brooke leterelle, green corn’s program coordinator. thinking back on the hundred of beds raised by the organization, she added, “that’s a lot of good-feelin’ stuff –– a lot of food. it’s a lot of happiness.” green corn’s garden clients come from all stages of life — from senior citizens to parents to preschoolers. but what their clients all have in common is that they have difficulty accessing fresh, healthy food. “we’re growing food in a food desert, basically,” added leterelle. 

a food desert is a place where people don’t have access to fresh produce –– whether it be in a low-income city neighborhood surrounded by fast-food stands, or a rural town without stocked grocery stores. this may lead many to suffer from life-threatening diseases such as obesity, hypertension, and diabetes. studies have shown that food deserts disproportionately affect low-income and minority populations. according to a study at the university of texas at austin, access to reliable transportation plays a big role — in auto-centric austin, families without access cars are especially vulnerable. green corn sought to shift that paradigm. “it’s harder to change larger systems,” said leterelle, but “green corn dives right in there… the repercussions are multiplied with a successful garden, because it makes you feel good, the healthiest food that you eat is the stuff that you grow and you’re not paying money for it.” 

the green corn volunteers directly target their clients, setting up booths at other nonprofits like the central texas food bank and coats for kids. there, green corn volunteers are able to explain their mission and potential clients have the opportunity to fill out a garden request form. then, each spring and fall, volunteers set out to about 50-60 sites per season for “dig-ins,” where they amend existing gardens and create new ones –– turning “grass to garden,” as letterele puts it.

“i think the hardest part about gardening is the starting part,” she said. “i like that we come in and take that off their plate.”

the benefits to their clients have been astounding. some have been with green corn for years, and are now gardening experts, feeding their family and neighbors. letterele has become a close friend of many clients, and through building a community, she is able to lift up those around her. letterele told me of one mother she worked with a few days ago who didn’t know what a seed looked like. a few hours later, she was pressing lettuce seeds into the earth, and telling letterle all about it. “it’s that simple education –– those simple things that just click once you have a little bit of information… it makes people happy to have their hands in the dirt and to watch something grow. you get to care for something.”

perhaps the most compounded benefit of green corn comes with school gardens. “those gardens that reach multiple people –– the wonderful impact of them is just magnified,” said letterele. green corn has helped install over a dozen school gardens in the austin area. studebaker serves a dual role as both a green corn volunteer and an after-school teacher at smith, a role she acquired after green corn became involved with the school. in the after-school program, she teaches students about everything from seasonal plantings to monarch migrations to the ethics of reduce, reuse, and recycle. they collect bugs, cook healthy food, and examine wildlife scat (hopefully not while cooking). “it gives them a chance to learn more about the outdoors and wildlife and the various little beings that we all share the planet with,” said studebaker.

“we’re in a place where we’re wanting to do some growing and expanding,” said studebaker, “getting more involved with helping create local food systems in low income communities.” green corn is looking to pair with the training kitchen, a community-hub in south austin, and work with them to create an even bigger demo-garden in which to train their volunteers. they hope to expand their client-base even further, reaching even more low-income homes and schools. letterele also aims to check in more regularly on their clients. “starting out… is one thing, but confidently gardening is another. we want to be there to make sure that our gardeners are confident… solving problems before they even have them.” 

**

when the green corn project was first starting out in the late ’90s, one of the founders happened upon an article about a creek indian celebration called the green corn festival, held once a year when the first green shoots of corn appear in spring. it is a way of thanking mother nature for last season’s harvest, and of celebrating the sight of new growth in spring. “as gardeners,” said letterele, “we’re supporting life and little ecosystems. so i think it’s a very well-rounded name for us.” but studebaker wasn’t so sure. “we need to at least be growing some corn somewhere!” she exclaimed. “how can we be called this and we never plant corn?” 

that march afternoon, studebaker and i decided to do just that. we got two packets of corn seeds and went to work. the wind had died down, and i could feel the cloudless heat pressing on my neck. i filled my left hand with shriveled yellow corn seeds, and with my right, i created a line-like crevasse in the earth. i pressed each seed six inches apart, then sprinkled them with a nutrient-rich compost mixture. a mocking bird warbled away, watching us as we worked. studebaker mentioned that after years spent in the same garden, animals began to recognize her. they’d keep her company as she reaped and sowed. i felt compelled, suddenly, to give thanks for this afternoon in nature’s fine blush of spring. i looked down at the corn kernel, golden-yellow and ripe with the promise of life, and pressed it into the earth.

“locals baffled by mysterious zig zag lines formed on eerie frozen lake in iceland,” read the uk express. 

“speculation started and there was no shortage of alternative explanations from alien activity and unknown monsters in the lake to conspiracy theories,” commented park official einar ae saemundsen for the irish news. 

locals had reason to be baffled. the crack appeared in a section of the lake that was normally solid in winter. its shape was a long zig-zag that looked much too uniform to appear naturally. but according to geophysicists, there was a logical explanation: finger rafting. 

“a surprising pattern, much like the meshed teeth of a zipper, is frequently seen when floating ice sheets collide,” commented yale geophysics professor john wettlaufer in an article for the yale news. in these rare circumstances, the edges of the ice can become enmeshed, as the edges push alternatively over and under each other, forming “fingers.” 

fifteen years ago, no one would have expected a crack of any size or shape to appear on the lake. “every winter you could guarantee a frost,” said ingunn Ósk Árnadóttir, a ranger at thingvellir national park, which occupies the northern boundary of lake thingvallavatn. “it was even used as transportation. people walked over between farms. it doesn’t happen anymore.” 

with warming temperatures, the ice covering the lake has thinned and narrowed, and the ice is not the only part of the lake in danger of inexorable change. beneath the surface of thingvallavatn, climate change is also taking its toll. for a lake with such a rich and fabled past, thingvallavatn’s future is of special significance for many.

***

thingvallavatn “is already quite famous,” Árnadóttir said. “this place is really loved among the nation.” 

merely walking on its banks gives one a sense of its majesty. at 84 square kilometers (nearly 21,000 acres), it is the largest natural lake in iceland. it is exceptionally cold compared to other icelandic lakes. the temperature in its fissures hovers around 2 degrees celsius (about 35 degrees fahrenheit), while at the end of the summer the surface hovers between 10 and 14 degrees celsius (50 to 57 degrees fahrenheit). 

young, porous igneous rock comprises the lake’s catchment area, where the water drains into the lake. this makes the incoming water exceptionally fertile and the lake’s species exceptionally diverse. in fact, the lake’s unique geological history has made it host to a number of species found nowhere else in the world. 

at the end of the last ice age, the lake became isolated from other bodies of water. over the next 10,000 years, the lake’s three fish species (brown trout, arctic charr, and the three-spine stickleback) evolved to fill unique niches in the lake’s many fissures and habitats. the arctic char, for example, evolved into four distinct varieties, each with its own ecological niche: a small benthivore (which eats prey that live on the bottom of the lake), a large benthivore, a planktivore (which eats varieties of plankton), and a piscivore (a species that eats other fish). these species, according to Árnadóttir, are found nowhere else in the world.

***

the northern boundary of thingvallavatn is found within thingvellir national park, an area that holds its own mystique. thingvellir’s cliffs, ravines, and waterfalls give the park an otherworldly beauty. it was even cast as a filming location for the television series “game of thrones.” but thingvellir also has a history perhaps more intriguing than fiction. thingvellir was the site of iceland’s annual parliament, or alping, from 930 a.d. to 1798 a.d. at the alping, chieftains would gather from all over iceland to exchange news and write law. leaders would come from the farthest reaches of iceland, sometimes traveling for weeks through valleys and over glacial tongues, to reach thingvellir. 

it wasn’t just political leaders that would gather at the alping. thingvellir was, and still is, considered iceland’s cultural center. during the two weeks of the assembly, a vibrant, market would appear, complete with thousands of merchants, sword-sharpeners, entertainers, and ale-makers. “thingvellir was a meeting place for everyone in iceland, laying the foundation for the language and literature that have been a prominent part of people’s lives right up to the present day,” it says on thingvellir’s website. 

indeed, thingvellir remained a meeting-place long after the alping ended. national celebrations are still held on the grounds, such as the presentation of iceland’s first constitution in 1874, the millennium of the alping in 1930, and the millennium of iceland’s christianity in 2000. therefore, it may come as no surprise that a location of such gravity to icelanders also became the area’s first national park. 

“few icelanders visit thingvellir for the first time without admiring the beauty of the landscape and being reminded of some of the major events that are interwoven into the history of this important place,” wrote university professor guðmundur davíðsson in 1913 as part of a thingvellir’s national park campaign. “these two factors, the historical factors and natural beauty, must stir the feelings of anyone standing in this sacred and legendary place.” 

lake thingvallavatn was integral to thingvellir’s identity as iceland’s gathering site. the location of the alping was chosen for its accessibility and its abundance of freshwater provided by lake thingvallavatn and its tributaries. the assembly gathered on the banks of the Öxará river, a tributary of thingvallavatn. ruins from old assembly sites show how the locations of parliament bent with the will of the river, as a flood or change of course would force the assembly to change location. drekkingarhylur, or the drowning pool, located in thingvallavatn’s tributary, was the retribution site for some women convicted of incest or other moral offenses. the waters of thingvallavatn, then, were privy to every aspect of life at the assembly, from historic gatherings of parliament, to drunken merriment at the market, and to the misery of punishment. indeed “Þingvallavatn,” (thingvallavatn in english), translates to “the lake of the fields of parliament.”

***

but the waters of thingvallavatn are rapidly changing. with increasing year-round temperatures, the amounts of algae and nutrients in the water has increased. this algae deteriorates the visibility of the crystal-clear water, and may have an adverse effect on the lake’s vulnerable ecosystem. 

“a disturbance that affected arctic char could eliminate several ecosystem processes,” a paper for ecology and society reports. “where one taxon (a group of biologically similar species, like arctic char) controls an ecosystem process, species change and ecosystem change go hand in hand.” precisely what makes the lake so unique, then, is also what makes it so fragile. 

the lake is also in danger due to the diminishment of its water source, the langjökull glacier. at the end of the last ice age, when the arctic char began to evolve, langjökull touched the edge of lake thingvallavatn. now, however, the tip of langjökull has retreated hundreds of miles from the banks of thingvallavatn. 

with the thingvallavatn’s source so far from its destination, the water must undertake a journey even longer and stranger than the chieftains of the alping. experts say it takes 20 to 30 years for the water to travel from the edge of the glacier to the lake. the water travels underground, reaching a depth of eight miles (deep enough to skim the surface of the molten mantle, before making its way into thingvallavatn). 

but langjökull may soon cease to send water to thingvallavatn. langjökull’s “ice brother,” okjökull, was the first of iceland’s glaciers to be lost to climate change in 2014. when it disappeared, it was renamed ok, as its suffix jokull, which means “glacier” in icelandic, was no longer relevant. langjökull, as iceland’s second-largest glacier, is considerably more voluminous than ok, but may not have a life much longer than its brother. 

glaciologists predict the glacier to disappear in 50 to 100 years. although the lake is also fed by rainfall, langjökull’s retreat may have significant consequences — not for the lake’s ecosystem, but for the body of water itself. as Árnadóttir said, “as [the glacier] retreats, it’s obvious that the lake itself will retreat as well.” 

in the meantime, iceland locals may continue to be baffled, as mysterious cracks continue to form over thin ice. 

***

in 1981, carol anne sayle and her husband larry butler began farming in milam county, an austin suburb. they sold produce to whole foods, a local grocery store, and opened a small farm stand in front of wiggy’s liquor store in clarksville, texas. sayle and butler were not only ahead of their time as urban farmers, but also as early voices in austin’s locavore movement, encouraging austin residents to see the benefits of eating locally.

“when we first started selling in front of the liquor store, we had to explain what ‘organic’ meant,” sayle said with a smile.

although milam county farm thrived, it was a long drive to austin to sell their produce. in 1992, sayle found a five acre piece of fertile land in the boggy creek watershed, and their urban farm was born.

“we found this property, and we thought ‘ooh!… this would be a farm’,” sayle said. “we could make it a farm, and we could live in the farmhouse, and just step right out the door and go to work! this is great!”

***

nearly two decades later, but just around the corner from boggy creek farms, a former restaurant owner named dorsey barger had a similar vision. faced with an empty, two-acre farm in the heart of east austin, she saw an opportunity to sow and harvest. her vision became reality. hundreds of chickens provide fresh eggs to the farm. baby bunnies abound, and a pet goose named gustavo quacks amicably at passers-by.

the farm, named hausbar, is an ideal model for many who dream of sustainable food systems. barger has a rainwater collection bin that has 30,000 gallons of storage capacity, which they use to irrigate their crops. according to their website, they are currently expanding their solar panel capacity, so that 90% of their electrical needs will be powered by the sun. and, perhaps most delightfully, barger uses donkeys instead of lawn mowers to mow and fertilize the pasture.

to top it off, barger is often credited with spearheading austin’s locavore movement. “people often say to us that we…. really started the locavore movement in austin,” barger said. “i do think that we did; we were there at the beginning, of what became, i think now, a true locavore movement.”

but before barger opened the farm in 2009, things looked much different.

“it was pretty much two acres of trash with three crack houses on it,” barger said. “we figured if we just cleaned the place up enough… it would be something pretty amazing here.” after purchasing the property, barger embarked on a seemingly impossible task.

“in our quest to be sustainable we wanted everything to be improved by our being here, so we dug the 51 beds of vegetables that you see out there, with pitchforks and shovels, instead of tillers and trucks,” barger said with an expression that she still could not believe what she accomplished.

***

both barger and sayle started their respective farms for one principal reason — they believed in the importance of locally grown food.

“the reason we wanted to do it was to give people good, clean food,” sayle said. “if you don’t have fresh food, it’s worthless… (our) arugula is sparky and fierce.. but in the store, it was just, ‘bleh!, this is arugula?’ it’s flavor, see. there’s no flavor there, and there’s flavor here, and that flavor tells you that it’s fresh.”

the minute a vegetable or fruit is picked off the plant, the flavor starts to fade away. and flavor, sayle explained, is a direct indicator of nutrition. the c, e, a, and some b vitamins deteriorate over the days, or even weeks, it takes to pick, package, and ship produce all over the world.

“in california or in chile or china or wherever that vegetable in the store came from, it was probably once wonderful,” sayle said. “but when you go through refrigeration — almost freezing, for weeks on end — it all goes away.”

according to barger, local produce is vital not just for the health of austinites, but for the health of the planet and the local economy.

“there’s so much pollution that goes on in bringing that organic produce from california, to texas, let’s say, that it’s not enough just to eat organically,” barger said. “not only is it it not enough for pollution reasons, but it’s also not enough because it doesn’t make any sense to depend on somebody else for your food, and so we need to be supporting local farmers.”

when one buys produce from a grocery store, a very small percentage of revenue goes to the farmer, barger explained. the rest of the profit the packager, the middlemen, and the processor. but when a customer buys produce from a farm, most of the revenue goes directly to the farmer. that farmer will have much more money to spend in the same economy.

“by spending locally we are actually supporting everyone who lives in our area,” barger said.

***

in the midst of a global pandemic and a plummeting economy, it is vital now, more than ever, to invest both in local businesses and in our own well-being. visiting your local farm can have that dual benefit. and on a cool october morning, nothing is more pleasant than to wake up early, drive across town, and walk among rows of dew-flecked kale. nothing is more uplifting than to gather with friends, neighbors, and strangers, all distanced during the pandemic, but united by their love of carol ann’s flowers. that, i believe, is well-worth the mask.