We all know that last names like Miller, Smith, and Baker mirror the occupations of our ancestors. But what of Waters, Waterman, Drinkwater, Westwater, Waterhouse, Waterford, Waterfield, and Van de Water, to single out just a few? Do these folks hail from a long line of champion swimmers? Were their forerunners handy with a divining rod? Or, in keeping with our occupational theme, were these distant relatives water laborers of some sort?
In searching for an answer, I discovered an evolutionary theory that suggests humanity’s driving need for water — coupled with a gradually desiccating landscape — was a selective force behind our emergence as bipedal primates. In short, our early hominid ancestors, who could walk the farthest or run the fastest, found water, chased down prey, and scavenged carcasses, all to their offspring’s evolutionary advantage. The same skill set also enabled our kinfolk to chase the rain, knowing that sprouting grass and the hungry herbivores it lured were the hunter’s perfect killing ground.
Whatever the merits of this evolutionary hypothesis, there’s no doubt that water and humans are inseparably tied. Indeed, with our very survival dependent upon fresh water supplies, could it be that the value of this long and close relationship is codified in surnames?
