Dihydrogen oxide, falling from the
sky, apparently uncontrolled; not even regulated. No U.S. Bureau of Falling
Liquids (yet); not even any maps of limits or boundaries; the bane of the
modern regulatory state. Hard to believe anything this uncontrolled is allowed
to exist!
That thought isn't nearly as funny
as it ought to be. Take a slow look around at what used to be known as
"natural events". See if you can find any that don't have one, or
many, competing government agencies who are charged with ....well, with being
in charge of them. Got a tornado? How about blister beetles? Drunk drivers?
Chairs too low? Trees too tall? Beer too expensive? Tequila too cheap? Cars too
fast? Trucks too slow? Grass too green? Cities not green enough? (There is an
official agency somewhere for any one of these named...)
We are quickly reaching the point
where our species and its absurd notion of governance, intends to supersede the
Laws of Nature as discovered by our very best minds, with "laws" of
our own making. Better ask Newton and Feynman about that, before somebody
decides to try to repeal Gravity: ...."Careful -- don't slip!"
"No, it's okay, the city passed an ordinance against falling."
Back to rain, that stubborn natural
event: other than breathing, the most vital process that exists on the planet
we call Home. A study of the world's history shows that there are two, and only
two, types of rain: 1)Too Much; and 2.)Not Enough. These are
interchangeable. Here on the Mogollon of Arizona we are past masters at
defining and redefining them to answer the question of the hour: "Get any
rain?"
Now, folks from the mostly Too Much
side of the world have trouble grasping what Not Enough means, using animal
health as our standard. Last winter we saw places in Nebraska where whole herds
of cattle were literally up to their shoulders in the wet stuff, with no land
in sight clear to the horizon. For days, without help, these critters had to
continue to stand at the deep end of the pool: no food, no rest, just icewater.
Stockmen of the region were heard to admit that it was "too much".
We in Arizona, seeing those images,
drew a different conclusion after a few furtive glances at fellow stockmen:
"Hell, don't you wish WE could get a rain like that?? It might just about
catch up for the last twenty years of drought. I've got tanks that would drink
that flood like a town drunk at a weddin'!" We are heard to exclaim that
it's probably still "not enough".
And it isn't. We didn't get those
rains. Mostly, since those famous winter floods, we haven't gotten ANY rains
and it's impossible to describe to otherworlders what it's like to see what
"Not Enough" really looks like. Days after weeks after months where a
sun like an arc welder scorches everything in sight; hopeful seedling trees in
dry creekbeds slowly succumb to thirst; so does the wildlife and the livestock.
Our pipeline is a perishable water artery barely sustaining mule deer,
coatimundis, skunks, javelina, coyotes, pumas, bears, a thousand kinds of
birds, all peaceably drinking cheek by jowl with commercial crossbreds and
patient horses.
We anxiously watch the sky and pray
the wells and pumps don't fail. Clouds form; experts in air-conditioned offices
draw pictures and salaries. More clouds form, raising hopes. And the rains
still don't come.
That's what the Not Enough picture
looks like.
Eric Schwennesen is a
commercial beef rancher in the Mogollon Rim country. He grew up in Belgium,
cowboyed in Nevada, and helped Navajos and many African peoples with rangeland
conflicts for over 35 years. He recently published "The Field Journals: Adventures in Pastoralism" about
his experiences.
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