The land perked up really quickly over the past couple of weeks. This year's winter was strange but incredibly welcome. How many times can you remember standing snow for weeks at a time? I recall when I first moved here (yes, I'm a transplant - don't hold it against me) my friends and family in New England (yes, I'm from New England - you can hold that against me) would immediately respond with, "Oh the snow, oh the cold!" or some other form of exclamation that I couldn't help but chuckle. Lost in their shivering fear of eternally snow-capped peaks and the towering Rocky Mountains' majesty was an appreciation for the geography of this place and the undeniably lingering presence of our glowing orb of a neighbor, the sun - only one mile closer on a ninety-three-million-mile journey (or one AU for those of scientific parlance) but combined with clear skies and thin air - what a difference maker. So, for as long as I've been here - I've expected to see snow at least once before Halloween and certainly a late spring storm to soak everything through. And then, I also expect to see said snow (and everything that came between) gone within three to four days. This winter was different. Snow actually lingered. Our iris stayed blanketed for close to the same amount of time as they were uncovered. Just like we use cover crops to protect from winter winds, snow and ice blankets the land and keeps our soil exactly where we left it last fall. Now that the hints of spring have tickled the tilth and we watch eagerly as our grazing plans evolve by the day, if not the hour - we wander the land with a soft but watchful eye. There are many books, many trainings, many digital interface guidance systems, and even more experts to tell you (or us) what is happening on the land at any given moment. But where those things might grant us information and even useful knowledge, I would challenge the assumption that any of it is more functional than the understanding that comes from multiple people who walk this space each and every day of their lives. Collectively, there are decades (and now actually approaching centuries - yes multiple) of dedicated eyes on this land, on these pastures, and on the ecology of this place. I can tell you this winter was different, but so can a computer. I can show you how it's different in the land's response to a moisture-laden multi-month blanket, and some digital modeling can certainly do that too. Hopefully, if you've read prior newsletters and continue to read through this one - the story of this place is something you come to cherish as something constantly shifting, rolling through ecological waves and as part of that very fabric of change, something distinctly human.
Author's note: I actually (healthily and skeptically) love technology. |
