After our time with Sharman, we went South and back toward the border for a quick ecology survey on the El Coronado Ranch. This ranch, owned by the Austin family, has been working toward a goal of sediment deposit in their arroyos through the construction of trincheras, or small rock dams. Our project was to measure the height of these dams, the amount of sediment deposited behind them, and any hydrophilic vegetation that has grown in the channel. This project was our way to thank the Austins for letting us stay on their ranches in Mexico, though this time too felt beneficial to us as well. Their ranches may be some of the most beautiful parts of New Mexico and Mexico, and the work they are doing on these ranches is admirable. Our hope is that our survey will turn into a way they can help educate and encourage the public toward similar work.
We said goodbye to New Mexico and headed west to Arizona. We spent one brief night at the remote desert camp of No Mas Muertes, a humanitarian aid organization dedicated to the efforts of providing water, food and emergency medical care to migrants crossing over the Mexican border. We visited the border station at Sasabe, AZ and spoke briefly with the Customs agents at the border about the challenges of their job. We also visited the grave of a man found dead on his journey to a job in the US. We also got the opportunity to speak with two Whitman alums about their role within the organization.
We are now in southern California. For the next two nights we'll be staying outside of Joshua Tree and looking at the possibility of wind turbines on public land here. After this, it's on to the Tejon Ranch for one final writing workshop, then back up to Walla Walla to complete final projects and reinsert ourselves into society.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Lichty Center
Our time in Mexico with Paul was both relaxing and stressful - our first real test of the semester and a paper due the day before kept us on our toes, but we also visited the beautiful Los Ojos Ranch and got to enjoy a hotspring on the property. We reveled in the Obama victory from across the border and enjoyed balmy temperatures before heading back up North.
Our next stop was the Lichty Center, a Nature Conservancy Owned cabin on a farm in southwestern New Mexico outside the town of Cliff. The cabin is set in a grove of maple trees next to several irrigation ditches, one well disguised as a wide stream. Sand hill cranes greeted us each morning, arriving in our field to snack on grain before heading along their way. We helped the TNC in a service project digging dirt, sand and weeds out of their irrigation ditch so it can more easily water their fields. During this project, we got to take a break and wander down toward an arm of the Gila River, an eventual tributary to the Colorado, and the only river in New Mexico that is not dammed. During our time at the center, we also got to participate in a writing workshop with author Sharman Apt Russel, best known for works Anatomy of a Rose, Hunger, and Standing in the Light: My Life as a Pantheist. From Sharman, we learned the skill of integrating science into our writing. We also wrote a piece addressing what nature writers would be doing in fifty years. Here is mine:
Our next stop was the Lichty Center, a Nature Conservancy Owned cabin on a farm in southwestern New Mexico outside the town of Cliff. The cabin is set in a grove of maple trees next to several irrigation ditches, one well disguised as a wide stream. Sand hill cranes greeted us each morning, arriving in our field to snack on grain before heading along their way. We helped the TNC in a service project digging dirt, sand and weeds out of their irrigation ditch so it can more easily water their fields. During this project, we got to take a break and wander down toward an arm of the Gila River, an eventual tributary to the Colorado, and the only river in New Mexico that is not dammed. During our time at the center, we also got to participate in a writing workshop with author Sharman Apt Russel, best known for works Anatomy of a Rose, Hunger, and Standing in the Light: My Life as a Pantheist. From Sharman, we learned the skill of integrating science into our writing. We also wrote a piece addressing what nature writers would be doing in fifty years. Here is mine:
Every day for eight days we rose before dawn, ate a quick breakfast of hardboiled eggs and coconut cookies, and crawled sleepily into the Land Rover. Starting the morning before the sun, we would watch dawn cast its’ light on the Rift Valley Escarpment, turning soft grey and dull tan to the brilliant green of baobab trees and rich red-brown of African soil. Each morning we would drive an hour and a half along the narrow two lane road between Mto Wa Mbu and Mswakini Juu to interview Maasai villagers about land use, agriculture and problem animals. And each morning along the road we’d see clusters of Maasai, clad red, purple and orange in brightly colored woven shukas waiting along the side of the road. They carried, sat on, and leaned against large blue and yellow five gallon containers they would carry to and from their bomas on the tops of their heads to wait for the government trucks carrying hundreds of gallons of water.
We traveled on foot between the communities of the Kwakuchinja Corridor, interviewing the patriarch of each boma and interacting briefly with their families. Sometimes they’d offer us spicy homemade chai, grey-brown in a dirty tin cup. I remember watching one young boy play a game to entertain himself while the rest of his family was preoccupied with us wazungus. He sat down in the dirt outside the door and licked his palm. I cringed, thinking about the cleanliness of my own palms, washed only several hours earlier, but coated already in grime. I looked again and watched as he placed his moistened palm in the dirt. Picking his palm up, he gazed admiringly at the miniature mud flat he’d created. I expected him to smear his hands together, or at the very least, rub the mud on his face. Instead, he again licked his palm, covering his tongue in a green-brown muck which didn’t appear to phase his taste buds. He continued licking, pressing, admiring and licking again throughout our conversation with his family. Every few minutes he’d spit out a mouthful of the mess. I remember thinking, “This family lives 25 miles off the highway. Who knows the next time they’ll see water? This boy will have the remnants of that dirt in his mouth and on his hands for days.” A few days later we came upon a little boy who was very sick, vomiting over the shoulder of his tired looking mother and I wondered if this was the fate of the dirt eating boy.
Traveling in
Water availability is an issue of world-wide concern. It’s not just rural Africans that lack ready access to clean water, but the disenfranchised everywhere who feel the effects of environmental justice. I saw this again on a visit to the Navajo Indian Reservation in the Four Corners Area. We stayed at the Dooda’ Desert Rock camp, a small plywood shack with a wood burning stove, no electricity and no water. Many Navajo on the reservation get their water from coin operated dispensing systems that fail nearly as often as they function. These dispensers are placed in major towns and communities, typically miles away from the homes of those who require their use, and often involve hours of waiting in line in the blistering heat of summer or the raging ice storms of winter. Electric and water pipelines are not built to reach isolated family habitations on a landscape where neighbors can be twenty miles, not twenty feet, away from each other. This, in our own country.
After my time with the Maasai, and after two months in the water warring West, I have learned that most people don’t live the way we live. We’re living outside our means, glorying in the half an hour shower and irrigating fields at high noon in the desert where, in other parts of the world, people have limited access to any clean water. I wonder if this is what it takes for people to see the face of water shortages and lack of infrastructure worldwide. These things I’ve seen are burned into my memory – a little boy gets sick from bacteria living in the dirt, his mother’s shame at not being able to properly welcome her visitors, the shabby lean-to in which Elouise lives. In the next fifty years, our world must become increasingly compassionate to these issues if we are to accomplish our 2015, 2020 and 2050 environmental goals. We are not a world of separate nations, but a world together, inextricably linked by the one thing that sets us apart from the rest of life on earth: our humanity. Fifty years from now, I hope our nature writers will be writing of the things they write of today, I hope these things still exist. Only this time, I hope it is with a status quo of common good, of common access to our shared resources, and of common understanding.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
New Mexico to Mexico
Our time with Bill DeBuys was relaxing. The place he calls home is a beautiful little spot along a river in Northern New Mexico with a large field, several beautiful adobe homes and a dog which made it easy for us feel at home as well. After leaving him, we drove an hour or so Southwest and had a free afternoon in Santa Fe. The town is a funny mix of Native Americans selling silver on the street, yuppy twenty-somethings (a little too much like us Westies) wandering around and admiring trendy coffee shops, and regular Santa Feans just trying to buy some pens at the Barnes and Noble.
This entire trip I've been lusting after a turquoise ring worn by one of my fellow Westies, an intensely beautiful blue stone set in a plain silver setting. And after a few weeks in the turquoise country of the Southwest, I was becoming increasingly discouraged by the tourist prices - $50 and $60 for a small, plain ring. But we'd heard rumors that throughout Santa Fe there are places where turquoise jewelry comes cheap - either because the Native Americans had been forced to pawn it off to pay for electricity or water, or because it had been hunted out of graves and other archaeological sites. Neither of these made me feel great, but I wanted to see what was available, so Ben and I headed out to find some of the cheap stuff.
The very first shop we went into - Native Feather Jewelry - was run by two large Italian men who spoke rapidly back and forth in a broken mix of Italian and English. It seemed like a strange collision of cultures to have these large, polo shirt wearing, mob-like men polishing small pieces of silver jewelry with rags and admiring brightly colored turquoise and red stones in large, gaudy necklaces. Ben and I shopped around a bit, he was looking for a bear-shaped necklace pendant and I had immediately zeroed in on the rings.
After only a few minutes, Ben and I had both found pieces we were interested in. Upon asking the price, I learned that the ring I wanted was affordable, the only problem was that it didn't fit. "It's no problem," I was assured, "Take it across the street to Bear, and he'll resize it for you. Just three, maybe four dollars. You'll find him by his sign - 'Open when I can, Close when I want. Don't joke with him. I'm serious. And don't wear your sunglasses." I was sold. It was a beautiful, imperfect green-blue turquoise with mottled brown spots and I loved it. Ben was still looking around, so I went to the counter and paid for my purchase. Immediately, the man who helped me began berating Ben for his lack of chivalry - "Aren't you going to buy this for her? What, are you guys not married yet?" to which I jokingly responded that he wasn't trained yet, and that no, we were not married.
Ben was deciding between two pieces, both a little spendier than he'd like, but upon telling the proprietor this, he was admonished with the words, "I give you good deal on this, man. You go somewhere else to buy, I kill you." I, meanwhile, was helping the other man pick out a necklace for his wife as a reconciliation gift for apparent adultury. Ben decided he'd better buy one of the pieces so we could leave. After he'd paid and endured a little more sarcasm for his ungentlemanly ways, we left in a hurry, and went to the central plaza to meet the rest of the Westies for lunch. On our way, we passed rows of Native American sellers who had set their pieces out on blankets on the sidewalk. I stumbled across one interesting man who was completing his fourth master's degree and selling jewelry to pay tuition.
That afternoon, we decided to head down to a different part of town, stopping by to look for Bear on the way. We weren't sure if we'd find him in a jewelers store, or if we'd find him on the sidewalk, so we wandered for a bit, keeping our eyes out for anyone who might fit the description. After meandering through one small mall, we turned a corner and ran into a small, worn desktop with a closed window over it. A small sign reading "Open when I can, close when I want" told us we were in the right place. Additional signs "50% deposit before work" and one that said something along the lines of "I'm a biker. To all you solicitors, proprietors, and other beggars leave me alone. If you bother me, I'll make you sorry unless you're blind and can't read this." Unfortunately his shop was not open.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully - we tried to blend in at the local bookstore, then got delicious organic frozen yogurt at a small shop along a small street. I returned to Bear's shop once more before we left, again to find the lights off and the door locked. Though the ring I bought is too small, it is the most beautiful piece of jewelery I've seen and I hope eventually I'll find someone who can fit it for me.
From Santa Fe, we drove a little South of town and set up camp at the Camel Tracks National Guard Training Site. Over the course of our stay here we would be buzzed by lowflying Blackhawks and Apaches and occasionally run into a military convoy. We spent the next few days doing ecology fieldwork in Bandelier National Monument near the Valles Caldera with Phil's college roommate. Though I can't say ecology is my favorite (or anywhere near it) subject, I really enjoyed the time to hike around the monument - first up and over Scooter Peak, a small mountain on the edge of the Caldera, then through Frijoles Canyon - filled with cliff dwellings, cave art and a small stream that would eventually lead us to the Rio Grande. We then did a day of fieldwork near our campsite on the mesa in the burning heat.
After these days, we moved down to Southern New Mexico to the Chihuahua Desert less than 50 miles from the Mexican border. Here we spend several days looking for the extremely rare Pinocereus Gregii - or night-blooming cereus - the subject of Paul's research at UNM. Though we only found 3 individuals after days of looking, we found several stashes of waterbottles and clothing from border crossers and ran into several horny toads. It seemed a little surreal to be in a place so controversial, something that we were consistently reminded of as helicopters flew overhead and a border blimp rose a few miles away.
We then headed down to Mexico. We've spent the last few days on the San Bernadino Ranch which butts up directly to the US border. Our first night here we walked down to the barbed wire fence that serves to delineate our country from our neighbor. In one place there was even a gate, easily hopped over even if it was chained shut. The ranch is a recovering wetland, a private conservation project entirely supported by the Austin family. We did a morning of fieldwork looking at different marsh plants and their frequency along the edges of the cienega, then wrote a quick paper and headed off to another ranch to spend the night at a hotspring.
The night of the election was spent "in one of the forgotten corner's of the world, huddled around a radio" and though it was strange to be so far away from home and not even in our own country, we were grateful that Obama recognized us and we can't wait for January.
Only two weeks remain in this grand adventure, a fact that most of us are still refusing to acknowledge. Next it's back to New Mexico for a little more writing.
This entire trip I've been lusting after a turquoise ring worn by one of my fellow Westies, an intensely beautiful blue stone set in a plain silver setting. And after a few weeks in the turquoise country of the Southwest, I was becoming increasingly discouraged by the tourist prices - $50 and $60 for a small, plain ring. But we'd heard rumors that throughout Santa Fe there are places where turquoise jewelry comes cheap - either because the Native Americans had been forced to pawn it off to pay for electricity or water, or because it had been hunted out of graves and other archaeological sites. Neither of these made me feel great, but I wanted to see what was available, so Ben and I headed out to find some of the cheap stuff.
The very first shop we went into - Native Feather Jewelry - was run by two large Italian men who spoke rapidly back and forth in a broken mix of Italian and English. It seemed like a strange collision of cultures to have these large, polo shirt wearing, mob-like men polishing small pieces of silver jewelry with rags and admiring brightly colored turquoise and red stones in large, gaudy necklaces. Ben and I shopped around a bit, he was looking for a bear-shaped necklace pendant and I had immediately zeroed in on the rings.
After only a few minutes, Ben and I had both found pieces we were interested in. Upon asking the price, I learned that the ring I wanted was affordable, the only problem was that it didn't fit. "It's no problem," I was assured, "Take it across the street to Bear, and he'll resize it for you. Just three, maybe four dollars. You'll find him by his sign - 'Open when I can, Close when I want. Don't joke with him. I'm serious. And don't wear your sunglasses." I was sold. It was a beautiful, imperfect green-blue turquoise with mottled brown spots and I loved it. Ben was still looking around, so I went to the counter and paid for my purchase. Immediately, the man who helped me began berating Ben for his lack of chivalry - "Aren't you going to buy this for her? What, are you guys not married yet?" to which I jokingly responded that he wasn't trained yet, and that no, we were not married.
Ben was deciding between two pieces, both a little spendier than he'd like, but upon telling the proprietor this, he was admonished with the words, "I give you good deal on this, man. You go somewhere else to buy, I kill you." I, meanwhile, was helping the other man pick out a necklace for his wife as a reconciliation gift for apparent adultury. Ben decided he'd better buy one of the pieces so we could leave. After he'd paid and endured a little more sarcasm for his ungentlemanly ways, we left in a hurry, and went to the central plaza to meet the rest of the Westies for lunch. On our way, we passed rows of Native American sellers who had set their pieces out on blankets on the sidewalk. I stumbled across one interesting man who was completing his fourth master's degree and selling jewelry to pay tuition.
That afternoon, we decided to head down to a different part of town, stopping by to look for Bear on the way. We weren't sure if we'd find him in a jewelers store, or if we'd find him on the sidewalk, so we wandered for a bit, keeping our eyes out for anyone who might fit the description. After meandering through one small mall, we turned a corner and ran into a small, worn desktop with a closed window over it. A small sign reading "Open when I can, close when I want" told us we were in the right place. Additional signs "50% deposit before work" and one that said something along the lines of "I'm a biker. To all you solicitors, proprietors, and other beggars leave me alone. If you bother me, I'll make you sorry unless you're blind and can't read this." Unfortunately his shop was not open.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully - we tried to blend in at the local bookstore, then got delicious organic frozen yogurt at a small shop along a small street. I returned to Bear's shop once more before we left, again to find the lights off and the door locked. Though the ring I bought is too small, it is the most beautiful piece of jewelery I've seen and I hope eventually I'll find someone who can fit it for me.
From Santa Fe, we drove a little South of town and set up camp at the Camel Tracks National Guard Training Site. Over the course of our stay here we would be buzzed by lowflying Blackhawks and Apaches and occasionally run into a military convoy. We spent the next few days doing ecology fieldwork in Bandelier National Monument near the Valles Caldera with Phil's college roommate. Though I can't say ecology is my favorite (or anywhere near it) subject, I really enjoyed the time to hike around the monument - first up and over Scooter Peak, a small mountain on the edge of the Caldera, then through Frijoles Canyon - filled with cliff dwellings, cave art and a small stream that would eventually lead us to the Rio Grande. We then did a day of fieldwork near our campsite on the mesa in the burning heat.
After these days, we moved down to Southern New Mexico to the Chihuahua Desert less than 50 miles from the Mexican border. Here we spend several days looking for the extremely rare Pinocereus Gregii - or night-blooming cereus - the subject of Paul's research at UNM. Though we only found 3 individuals after days of looking, we found several stashes of waterbottles and clothing from border crossers and ran into several horny toads. It seemed a little surreal to be in a place so controversial, something that we were consistently reminded of as helicopters flew overhead and a border blimp rose a few miles away.
We then headed down to Mexico. We've spent the last few days on the San Bernadino Ranch which butts up directly to the US border. Our first night here we walked down to the barbed wire fence that serves to delineate our country from our neighbor. In one place there was even a gate, easily hopped over even if it was chained shut. The ranch is a recovering wetland, a private conservation project entirely supported by the Austin family. We did a morning of fieldwork looking at different marsh plants and their frequency along the edges of the cienega, then wrote a quick paper and headed off to another ranch to spend the night at a hotspring.
The night of the election was spent "in one of the forgotten corner's of the world, huddled around a radio" and though it was strange to be so far away from home and not even in our own country, we were grateful that Obama recognized us and we can't wait for January.
Only two weeks remain in this grand adventure, a fact that most of us are still refusing to acknowledge. Next it's back to New Mexico for a little more writing.
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