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[NOTICE - This Road Not Maintained by New Mexico State Highway Department]
[Could this be restored to its original ecology of cottonwood/willow bosque and gallery forest?]
[SUN]
[Dead willow, killed incidentally with herbicide "friendly fire"]
[Rio Puerco Watershed: this area could be a State]
[Landslide]
[Fenceline showing effects of grazing, on the right, where thickets of sagebrush dominate]
On the weekend of May 2 the "Tres Alianzas" (Sky Island Alliance - SIA, New Mexico Wilderness Alliance - NMWA, Upper Gila Watershed Association - UGWA) convened on the Rio San Francisco in Catron County, New Mexico, to discuss and implement permaculture restoration projects. Break-out sessions included Road Improvement, Induced Meandering, Acequias and Terracing, Firesafing, Forensic Ecology, and Philosophy of Human/Nature Interactions.
The San Francisco flows through the hill country of west-central New Mexico. All along the Mogollon Rim, where the Blue, Pueblo, Gila and San Francisco cut deep canyons amid vast grassy meadows, juniper, oak, and pinon grade to parks of stately ponderosa, pillars of the revolving cosmos.
# In this case, an oak (Quercus spp), alligator juniper and pinon pine (Pinus edulus) compete under changing conditions - locked in a slow dance - what we see here is a single frame of a vast motion picture of ecological succession. Can we, from this single frame, determine the past and the trajectory of future succession?
It seems the juniper, because of grazing and, somewhat consequently, lack of natural fire, grew up under and around the old oak. But now, just at the height of its glory, a usurper, the pinon, has broken through the juniper to overreach the triumvirate.
How can we influence this succession to firesafe a Southwest woodland. Clearing brush to rush succession -- but what to cut? SW forests are actually carbon-limited: e.g. not enough ground cover, downed trees provide habitat, erosion control, and direct nutrient infusion. It is foolish to try to "speed" succession by salvage logging, when that dead and downed timber is exactly what the forest needs to recover.
# In this case a packrat midden is also aiding succession, but not in the direction we would like: a thicket of woody perennials and wildflowers has grown up. Packrats, beavers, ants, and humans: Gardeners. A life of wandering and dispersing seed (wildcrafting).
All species are gardeners in that they tend to produce better habitat for other species; some produce better habitat for themselves, e.g. "keystone" predators and builders. Some degrade habitat for themselves and others, e.g. parasites. Humans are sometimes selfish enough to create habitat only for themselves, at the expense of others. So: are we also a weed, doomed to succession by other, more mature, species? Agents of disturbance. CF: People move like predators. Science News. Davide Castelvecchi. March 22, 2008; Vol. 173, No.12, p.190.
#In this case, a natural log jam has noticeably raised the floodplain of this small ephemeral creek, a tributary of the Pueblo River. Similar structures can also be built to slow erosion and create ephemeral pools and irrigate fields. These beneficial effects are lost to watersheds that experience "salvage logging".
# In this case second growth overshadows the downed logs of old growth, although there remain a few old growth juniper and oak.
The fallen timber all has rootballs, and Craig suggested we are looking at the aftermath of an old (50+ years ago) stand-replacement wildfire. Type change: the dominant pinon and juniper used to be understory to ponderosa. Without the ponderosa a new, drier ecotype predominates.
These notes end with more questions than answers, more reflection than action. Out of all the things we can do to help nature heal, which is the longest lever? We have only a limited amount of muscle and money to bring to the task. And nature will heal by itself. But between the extremes of doing nothing and doing everything lies efficiency, a laser drawing out the path of life. I think now, for me, is a time of reflection. Walking with tools in the hand yet not using them. Such constant motion there now must need be a time of stillness.
Grassland is definitely not the work of a doting professor, but the keen wit of a hard-hitting journalist, which Richard Manning is. Reading Manning can still be difficult, though. Not because he writes poorly - the euphony is verse poetry at times. And not because he writes badly - the precision and economy of prose is exemplary. But because he is so smart it hurts, and so honest you want to crawl under a blanket and hide.
They say we should love that which is better than us, for we tend to become what we love, and by that logic I would want to edit this unwieldy tome. Grasslands feels as if it were written in pieces, which perhaps such a vast and encompassing interest as an entire biome must be. There is literally the feeling of your mind being tugged in many different directions;"broadening". Yet the entire work is cohesive, inevitable; massive yet solid. You feel it in your forehead. He wants to download everything, and it is delightful and excruciating to wonder at which droplets out of the entire firehose of creation, heaven and hell and the human psyche, he lets fall to the page, perfect and complete and confusing.
The work is relatively short - if he had taken more liberty with tangents, as Barry Lopez in Arctic Dreams, the read could easily have topped 1000 pages. This is, afterall, the story of an entire ecotype, 1/6 of the world. Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass falls easily within its radius, but so too does history and interview, travelogue and diary, speculative science and definitive natural history.
When I saw Richard Manning speak last summer I listened breathless as his shaking rustled the crumpled notes he'd scribbled "some contrairian thoughts on". His son had just left to a second tour in Iraq, and I wish him all of the best in his travels, and the forests around his home were all on fire, and I wish these natural places the undisturbed recovery that only nature, in her wisdom, can provide. That was Manning's point then -- that perhaps we shouldn't believe in the perfectability of humans anymore, of the good inherent in our work. Perhaps our every action is a mistake, and the idea of a sustainable agriculture, and hence civilization, is an illusion.