I sat as my son and father-in-law watered the ground, planting oleander. The soil was hard and rocky, packed tight and baked by the desert sun. The water accumulates on the surface, refusing to be absorbed into the unaccommodating ground. From where it lands on the place to be dug up, or spills over the lip of an already prepared hole, the water begins to meander in little rivulets among the rocks and dust, pushing through and around the dry yellow grass, cleared months ago, its remains a fine debris strewn along the back incline of the yard.