The forest lives forever

"This forest eats itself and lives forever." ~Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

The neighbors had their first rattler encounter of the season yesterday. I've seen lizards darting across the rocks over the last couple of weeks and have reminded the kids to be careful while playing in the yard. If the lizards are active, so are the snakes.

We are just finishing our second full year of living in the mountains east of Albuquerque, and our experience here has completely changed my perception of land, ownership, and responsibility.

Last year was the year of the fire. The winds were fierce and the monsoons were late. As the wind lashed against my windows, first dust, and then smoke, filled my lungs. My sweet little ridge suddenly felt like a tenderbox almost begging for ignition. We had our evacuation plans in place, our important documents and bags packed, and we had decided on a plan for our land after the fire that seemed almost inevitable. The view from our deck went from a beautiful 180 degree panoramic landscape to a constant reminder that massive fires were on the horizon. I mean that literally, on the horizon, we watched the Las Conchas fire burn for the entire month of July, as we scanned the surrounding landscape with a suspicious eye, and called in two fires that we spotted nearby. Finally, the rains came, and slowly our risk of fire subsided. Las Conchas fire was extinguished, and our panoramic view grew lush with green prairie grass and abundant wildflowers.

Los Conchas Fire - July 2011

Mr. Drama watching monsoons roll in - July 2011

Yet, we are constantly reminded of the fragility of our relationship to the land and its inhabitants. Almost every decision we make about our home is dependent on that fragile relationship. We must consider our choices seriously when we are living with real concern about the scarcity of water, wildfire, and wildlife. Whether we can make the trip to work depends on the condition of our unmaintained dirt road. How and where we grow food depends on our water resources and our relationship to bears, rodents, and other hungry critters who share this land with us.

Driving down our lane - Spring 2011

Only once have I journeyed to the furthest corners of the property we purchased two years ago. I decided to walk up our hillside to better understand the land. What I came to understand was that this land in no way belongs to me. It is wild. I had to crawl along on my belly at certain points just to make it through the thicket of briars, cactus, and limbs. As I crawled along at a snails pace, I stopped every three feet or so, searching the next three feet with my eyes and ears for a sign of a rattlesnake. By the time I made it back to the house, I was bleeding, tired, and more than a little shaken. The very idea that I “own” this land is laughable. I signed papers stating that it is mine, but I do not control this land. It has been here forever, and it will continue to be here forever after I am gone. The rattlesnakes and woodrats have a better claim to this land than I do. Even fire would have more claim to this land than I. As I inch along on my belly, fire could consume the whole of the property in less time than it would take me to traverse it. When I assumed ‘ownership’ what I really assumed was responsibility. Responsibility to the land, the minerals, the wildlife, and the plants. How could I ask anything from this land other than it continue to do what it has done for eternity, constantly changing and evolving from an ocean floor to a volcano to a mountain ridge?

Rio Grande Gorge

New Mexico is so very different than the Midwest. In the Midwest, natural and human history is covered over by soil, houses, and lush greenscapes. If you want to know what happened even a decade ago, you will have to know just where to look, and then dig deep. In New Mexico, all that history is brimming at the surface, with an honesty sometimes too shocking to comprehend. Here, the Earth has been laid bare. It is as if the sun and the earth are having a love affair, which we can witness in this fragile landscape. Mountain peaks stretch achingly toward the sky in unlikely ways, while the sun beats down steadily and powerfully on all that lays between itself and the earth. Those who venture to live on the surface must be strong, rugged, and constantly in flux. Anything that fails to meet these criteria is likely to be baked, burned, or blown away. How could we ever possess a piece of this land in any way that mattered? We are constantly reminded that we exist in an infinitesimal moment in the history of this place.  To be a speck in this landscape is humbling and awe-inspiring.