Muleshoe Ranch, a photo essay
This is why I live where I do, a short drive or a long walk from splendid beauty such as this. The Nature Conservancy protects this space. You should too.
We can no longer tell time
We look to digital clocks and can no longer tell time.
We walk through automated doorways and lose the opportunity to open the door for a stranger or a friend.
We speak to our radios and no longer benefit from the happy accident of the in-between station.
The room is illuminated when the thermal signature of our body is recognized against the backdrop of the ambient norm, and we are encouraged to forget that not long ago everyone knew how to start a fire with sticks and stones.
We use GPS to guide us across the nation, or just a few blocks to a gas station we have already visited a hundred times before, yet we could not give those same directions to a friend.
We used to memorize dozens of phone numbers, calculate tips for the wait staff in our head, and estimate the time of day by looking at the sun. Now we use computer applications under the pretense the our brains are free to do more, yet we fall to sleep each night binge watching Netflix series instead.
Because I don’t have to …
For more than a century,
radios have done our bidding at the movement of a hand.
News updates, music, and live events
our attention captured in AM or FM band.
Because I don’t have to rise from my chair.
Now smart speakers listen, processing all that we say.
Every conversation transcribed,
key words sold to the highest bidder.
Our most intimate secrets lost to a market we fail to consider.
Because I don’t have to walk over there.
Every time we replace effort with an automated mover;
Every time we use our voice to replace a louver;
Every time we give in to the temptation to make things easier,
we fail to recall that we are three dimensional, analog creatures.
Because it makes life easier, simpler, faster, better.
It is the rotating of the dial to that special space between 91 and 91.5
that gave us the satisfaction of knowing how to tune in.
It is balls of aluminum foil atop the antennae
that coaxed invisible energy to the audible domain.
It is the voice of the DJ in the context of static
that told us the quality of the skies and pending weather.
Because I don’t care.
While the speaker may have become smarter,
we have surely grown dumber.
Like parrots in a cage,
all we do now is, speak.
The fear of love
How is it that the very thing we seek our entire life,
is the very thing we grow afraid of?
For having finally received it,
we make the mistake of believing
it is ours to own.
A mist over the San Pedro
This nights have been warmer here, in the San Pedro river valley. A temporary trend with much colder nights on the horizon, long-time residents assure me. This morning found my house surrounded by a cool, dense mist. Erie and exciting at the same time. I ventured outside and onto the concrete patio with bare feet and a light hood pulled over top. A half dozen inch worms had found their way inside my house, dozens more outside. They moved ever so slowly toward my front door, zombies in very, very slow motion … contract … expand and move forward … contract … expand. The apocalypse was thwarted by the action of a stiff bristled broom, for now.
The mist grew thicker as the sun grew warmer, moisture drawn out of the grass, London rocket, and the nearby Hot Springs river bottom. A hundred meters was the best visibility for a while, until the same warmth drove it off entirely. Yoga was accompanied by the Mannheim Steamrollers’ Fresh Aire II and then a short run on a trail that crosses half the forty acres to the west.
Some song birds are returning already, or at least making themselves more known. Healthy white tail deer bounded just behind my well house, and fresh javelina tracks remind me that I am never alone.
At home on the farm in Iowa
Each morning I take in the latent aroma of freeze dried coffee and hear the monotone voice of the radio reporter who calls out the price of beans and corn, the auctioneer’s rhythm unmistakable. The soft voices of my grandparents speaking to each other echo in my memory of the early morning kitchen table. The door to the stairway would be open such that it blocked most of the entrance to the kitchen, reducing the clamor of breakfast preparation to a minimum.
No matter how I tried, I never woke early enough to catch either of my grandparents descending the creaking stairs, for Grandpa was there, sitting in his chair at the table, smiling when I came in.
“Well there he is! ‘morning Kai-boy!” he would say.
Grandma would chuckle, turn from the counter where she tended to a pot of oatmeal, and smile. “How did you sleep Kai?”
There was not a single morning, not as a boy, teenager, young adult, or even in my thirties when I tied my business road trips into visits to the farm that I did not feel welcomed, respected, and cherished. Those smells, sounds, and voices are yet here, alive, vibrant. They are welcomed ghosts of more than a decade ago. The rattle of the glass pane at the top of the stairs, the static of the countertop radio, the subtle hiss of water through the pipes from the basement to the main floor, and ultimately, the sound of Grandpa opening the ground level door that brought the smell of fresh cut grass, rain, or sheep inside.
This is why we come back here, to our family farm. This is why this place, more than any other feels like home.
The lull before the storm
A storm is pending.
Clouds build on the horizon, shades of gray darkening as layer upon layer obscure the sun.
The deer have hidden themselves, no longer standing around the watering hole. The birds are quiet too.
The movement of air is so subtle that even the tiny, thin leaves of the mesquite no longer tremble.
Not a sound, but for the fly trapped between the window and shade above my computer and desk.
It is the lull before the storm.
My anticipation is growing.
The barricade of desire
The more we barricade ourselves from others, the more others want to get in.
The more we hide our bodies, the more the unclothed body is appealing.
When will we learn to accept who we are, and recognize that we have constructed our entire civilization on the false pretense of sin?
The San Pedro – A River Challenged, part 2
“Imagine a place where you can choose your journey through life. Where you can experience a lifetime of possibilities all in one place. Where you can make new friends and bring your family together. A place you can raise your glass, work, rest or retire. A place where exceptional is an understatement. It’s where you’ve known you always wanted to be — The Villages at Vigneto.”
This photo essay is part 2 of 2, and begins here.
Small communities as with large cities desire to increase their tax base and total revenue. New jobs are welcomed. And as cities continue to increase in size and density, these last, remaining places that remind us of a time before concrete was the norm are appealing. But unchecked development is not the answer, now more than ever. Behind the door dealings, special favors and regulations ignored never result in lasting, positive change.
Continuous, nearly unobstructed development has been business as usual since the end of World War II. The very definition of progress has gone hand-in-hand with demolition and expansion. We continue to hold the highest mark of success in real estate is manipulation of the environment to suit our needs. This is not sustainable. Building a 70,000 person community where only 5,000 currently exists is enough to give reason for concern, but constructing an Italian styled village complete with water ways, lakes, and fake Roman ruins is selfish, ignorant, and simply does not makes sense. The developer claims the village will have no affect on the water table and surrounding desert. That is impossible. They know it. And they don’t care.
As with Gold Canyon and dozens more, pavement will be poured to make for easy driving. Walls will go up to keep the very wildlife out that we used to welcome. Neatly sculpted trails will invoke a sense of walking in the very wilderness that is fenced out. Open spaces will be designated as a homage to what was destroyed. Street names will again be the last tribute to the very desert we cherished, only this time translated into Italian. Vigneto has been met with national criticism in dozens of articles, reports, and TV coverage, some of which are captured here:
Hot pursuit of permit that ‘isn’t needed’ defines Vigneto development controversy
Tucson News, Jun 1, 2019 – Full article
“First, Vigneto’s developers say they don’t need a federal Clean Water Act permit to develop the site. They say they could and will build the project in a different fashion if they don’t get the permit. Second, they want the permit anyway.”Whistleblower says he was pressured by Trump administration
CNN, July 9, 2019 – Full report
“In the summer of 2017, Arizona developer Mike Ingram’s proposed housing and golf course project in the desert was facing a road block because of a decision by the Department of the Interior. A field supervisor for the US Fish and Wildlife Service had determined that it was “reasonably certain” that threatened and endangered species could be harmed. But that decision suddenly changed following a secret breakfast meeting at a Montana hunting lodge between Ingram — a donor to President Donald Trump and co-owner of the Arizona Diamondbacks — and David Bernhardt, then the Trump administration’s deputy Interior secretary.Following the meeting, which did not appear in Bernhardt’s official calendar and has not been previously reported, the field supervisor says he was pressured to reverse his decision, allowing the project to move ahead. “I felt pressured to reverse my decision … in simplest terms, I was rolled,” Steve Spangle, then a 30-year veteran of the Fish and Wildlife Service, told CNN in an interview. “I made a decision, which was my authority to make in Arizona, and that was overruled by higher-ups in the administration.”
Villages at Vigneto decision targeted by Grijalva
Herald Review, Jul 20, 2019 – Full article
“The backlash to change a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) opinion on the need for an environmental assessment to be completed before moving forward on a massive Benson development has been resounding across the nation.”Housing development near San Pedro River gets green light, again
Arizona Public Media, August 8, 2019 – Full article
Tricia Gerrodette is a longtime advocate for the San Pedro River. “I still find it incredibly hard to believe that a project of this size has never had an official environmental impact statement done on it. And that’s just wrong,” she says. Gerrodette and other project opponents are concerned about how the development will affect the river, including depleting groundwater and damaging prime riparian habitat and endangered species.”Lawsuit challenges federal approval of Benson project near the San Pedro River
Tucson News, Aug 24, 2019 – Full article
“The lawsuit is the latest in a string of suits challenging the Clean Water Act permit for the 28,000-home Villages at Vigneto project. On July 26, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers reinstated the permit for the project that it had approved in 2006 but later suspended.” and “Steve Spangle, former longtime head of the wildlife service’s Arizona office, told the Arizona Daily Star this spring that he was pressured by his supervisors into scaling back how broadly the feds analyzed Vigneto’s environmental impacts.”Court asked to vacate Corps decision on Vigneto permit
Herald Review, Aug 31, 2019 – Full article
“Earthjustice is asking the court to ‘declare the Corps violated the Clean Water Act by granting the 404 Permit without objectively analyzing whether granting a permit was the least environmentally damaging practicable alternative and without adequately mitigating the impacts of the 404 Permit or ensuring that granting a 404 Permit is in the public interest.'”Feds reissue permit for 28,000-home development near San Pedro River
AZ Central, Aug. 8, 2019 – Full article
“The Army Corps of Engineers has given a green light to a developer that plans to build a 28,000-home development near the San Pedro River in southern Arizona, reissuing a permit that was suspended in response to a legal challenge by environmental groups.”Villages at Vigneto will impact the San Pedro River. Not even slick PR can hide that
AZ Central, Sept. 27, 2019 – Full article …
“The San Pedro River is the last free-flowing river in the desert Southwest and one of the nation’s environmental crown jewels. It provides crucial habitat for about 45% of the bird species in North America and is home to a rich variety of native wildlife. Millions of songbirds migrate through this birding mecca every year. The river’s health is critical to the long-term survival and recovery of endangered species, including the yellow-billed cuckoo and the Huachuca water umbel.But the river is in trouble. According to reports by the U.S. Geologic Survey and the Upper San Pedro Partnership, excessive groundwater pumping has depleted the aquifer that feeds the river, creating a groundwater deficit that leaves the San Pedro River with little or no water to spare.”
The battle over Villages at Vigneto is much bigger than you think
AZ Central, Sept. 30, 2019 – Full article
“Because even if the nearby San Pedro is the Southwest’s last free-flowing river, and there has been plenty of study on how groundwater pumping may impact its flow, much of that data is piecemeal and concentrated on the Sierra Vista area. Areas further north are much more of a mystery. And that makes them a case in point, because many rural Arizona communities lack this sort of data.”
The magic of a place like the San Pedro is not in what we do to manipulate the land, but in how we adapt to enjoy what is here, waiting for us to discover. Javelina, deer, fox, hawks, owls, wild turkeys, bobcats, mountain lions, bear, snakes and 350 species of migratory birds remind us that we are the visitor. Take these few remaining places that hold some semblance of a natural world, and you have taken everything.
Learn more about the San Pedro and the annual river mapping.
Counting raindrops in Cascabel
Rain in the desert is a welcomed affair. A light sprinkle, a massive downpour, or a steady flow for hours. It’s the contrast, the incredible change in temperature, aroma, and “electricity” that makes one want to just stand and watch it come down for hours.
This morning I awoke a little past 5 am to the rumble of the sky above me and the shaking of the construct below, an elevated porch on which I sleep in a tent every night. Pent up, potential electrical charge found repeated orgasmic release in the clouds and surely, to the ground as well, out there, beyond the mesquite that surrounds me.
I was thrilled by the abrupt awakening, the storm a distressed lover who yet unsatisfied by dreams moves into the day with the embrace of thunder. While I lay there for fifteen or twenty minutes, the cool splash of droplets that found their way through the window mesh, the storm was clearly, directly overhead. Sleeping outside, four meters above the ground on a metal deck connected to a metal house, I figure it was the safest place for me to be, or really quite stupid. At that moment my physics brain was unable to discern, so I took the safe bet, gathered my things and hurried inside.
This storm is the first I have experienced here, since purchasing this house and property six months ago. I am reminded of the splendor of the Buffalo Peak Ranch in Colorado where the boundary between the outside and inside of the cabin is thin, just enough to keep the water out, but everything else is welcome in.
Doors wide open on either side of my studio space, a pesky, bold grey striped squirrel who has marauded my garage, compost, tools, and engine compartment of my new car decided to venture in. He stopped about three meters to the right of where I sat, looked to his right, then left, spotted me and darted back out the door. I jumped up and pursued him but he disappeared without a trace. He hasn’t been back … yet.
Time to refill my tea and settle into the tasks at hand. Already, it is half past 1 now, the day gladly spent listening to the rain over Cascabel.