As we all have seen on television that the state is spending a lot of money trying to get everyone to "slow the flow."
But it's hard to hear that message, and make any meaning of it when the state itself builds new buildings that don't take that saying into account.
Case in point; the new Division of Natural Resources building on Carbonville Road.
It's a great building and I'm glad that the DNR can gather all its divisions into one place; it makes it simpler for everyone. No argument there.
The building was built by the county and is on a lease to own basis to the DNR. But the building was built to the DNR's specifications and the landscaping came with the package.
That landscaping is beautiful, but there is a problem. Look on the east and southeast side of the building and see all the lawn that was planted there. That lawn needs water; a lot of it. We live in a much drier place than Salt Lake, and yet there are those wonderful blades of grass poking up that will take a lot of water year after year after year.
Xeriscaping (a lot of people call it zeroscaping) is something the state and a lot of cities are pushing; and yet here is a state building in which the planners ignored that advice, at least on part of their property.
It seems this year the county is the winner when it comes to finding ways to save water on landscaping. The Carbon County Events Center looks beautiful outside and there is literally no grass around it. It was built with water efficiency in mind.
I am not sure what kind of grass is around the DNR building, but even it it is the water saving kind, it is still less efficient than plants natural to the area.
So why does a building that houses some of the very agencies concerned with water have an expanse of lawn around it when water in our area is so tight? I'm sure someone will blame the architect or the designers. But let's face it, they only do what the client wants.
It seems the state is a "do as I say, but not as I do" entity.
Not much we can do about it now; but I hope everytime those sprinklers come on during a hot July evening people, and officials, think about what could have been.