Spring is officially here! And with the exception of a few straggling chilly days and snowflakes, it feels as though the energy of spring is bursting forth into all of our projects.

Cheers to another sold out performance!

First off, thank you to all of you who joined us in Santa Fe for the tenth annual Nuestra Musica concert. It was a smashing success! The program sold out, and all of the acts were splendid. The show opened with a segment of a documentary about the musical group Los Reyes de Albuquerque (which can be viewed in its entirety here), which was followed by a very special performance by Los Hermanos Martínez. The last two songs of their performance, Lorenzo and Roberto Martínez Jr. were joined by their father, the renowned musico, Roberto Sr., who has been on the forefront of traditional Mexican and New Mexican folk music for the last forty years.

Renowned musician and ethnomusicologist, Cipriano Vigil.

Other musical acts who played were Frank McCulloch y sus amigos, La Familia Vigil (led by the amazing folk musician and ethnomusicologist, Cipriano Vigil), Los Garrapatas, and Trio Jalapeño, featuring the one and only, spicy hot, Antonia Apodaca on accordion and vocals. It was a wonderful evening filled with traditional Hispanic folk music, stories, and good cheer. Click here to view the complete photo album from the evening’s festivities.

We’ve had lots of happenings this month. Jack went to Petroglyph National Monument to deliver a chautauqua on his late best friend and environmental activist, Edward Abbey, and later in the month delivered his Thinking Like a Watershed lecture at the Farmington Public Library (in NM) in honor of Earth Day. Then Jack and I went to interview the Teec Nos Pos chapter president of the Navajo Nation, our dear friend and colleague, Roy Kady, about the traditional way of life and the modern world, and the frequent challenges of melding the two in beauty. What a great thinker!

Jack interviewing the Teec Nos Pos Chapter President of the Navajo Nation, Roy Kady.

In other news, I have been plugging away on the farm. I took a soil sample, ordered seeds (all organic, non-GMO, of course!), and have started attending the La Plata County Backyard Food Production course, which will focus on everything from planning a garden, to irrigation and seed saving techniques, and eventually lead up to harvesting and food storage. It has already been extremely engaging and informative, and I can hardly wait to get some seeds in the ground!

Farmer Celestia at the farm.

I’ve also been reading voraciously. My two current favorite books are The Backyard Homestead, a tutorial on producing your own food on a quarter acre, edited by Carleen Madigan, and a recently released book by iconoclast, Wendell Berry, entitled Bringing it to the Table, a compilation of essays addressing a staggering array of food and farming issues such agribusiness and it’s role in dismantling the family farm, sustainable agriculture and how (and why) to support it, and a comparison of organic and locally-grown food. These two books offer a great combination of hands-on instruction to grow one’s own food, and cognitive stimulation to better understand the history and importance of the family farm, both of which I hope to employ while addressing food and farming issues for the Thinking Like a Watershed project. If you find yourself at a library or bookstore, I highly recommend taking a gander at both of them.

That’s all for now, but please drop by our Facebook and Twitter pages to see what we’re up to, and please feel free to share any cultural events and/or farming stories and pictures. Happy gardening, and as always, thank you for reading.

Stewart Udall, a family friend and conservationist, passed away on March 20th. He was 90 years old.

On a sad note, Stewart Udall, a longtime family friend and tireless environmental conservationist, passed away on March 20^th of natural causes. He was 90 years old. If you’d like to know more about his life, here is an article from the N.Y.Times.

In more positive news, we’re still plugging away on our book and radio project. I conducted two more interviews to round out the foodshed portion of the Thinking As a Watershed project. The first was with a rancher named Dave James, who, along with his wife, Kay, runs the beef contingent of James Ranch. The ranch is comprised of several autonomous businesses run by various family members; they ranch grass-finished cattle for beef, dairy cows for cheese, pigs for pork, chickens for eggs, blue spruce and other saplings, and a substantial organic garden. Together they support a sustainable family-owned and operated business network, about which I asked the patriarch to elaborate.

Dave James has been ranching in the Animas Valley for almost 50 years.

I also conducted a very special interview with a blogging, farming, mother named Sara Buscaglia. She writes a blog called Farmama, which highlights the daily happenings on the farm that she shares with her husband and four children. We talked about producing one’s own food, the abuse of genetically modified seeds, and what it’s like to live on a farm. I even got to meet their goats, chickens and bees (though the bees were still mostly hanging out in their hive due to chilly weather).

Jack has been conducting interviews throughout New Mexico including one with Scott Momaday wherein they discussed the relationship of indigenous culture to homeland. Jack has also been busy delivering lectures around the state about Thinking As a Watershed. Check out our events calendar to see a list of our upcoming events.

Sara Buscaglia lives on a farm with her husband, four children, goats, chickens, bees, and lots of organic fruits and vegetables.

One of my favorites, which will happen on April 17^th in Santa Fe, is the Nuestra Musica Hispanic folk music concert. This year we are celebrating the “viejitos” of musical genre for the 10-year anniversary of the event. La Familia Vigil and the Trio Jalapeño will perform, along with three other talented acts. It is one of the most beloved community events that New Mexico has to offer, so come on by! You can purchase tickets by visiting the Lensic Performing Arts Center website or box office. Hope to see you there!

Last but not least, I have been working on Lore of the Land’s social media. You can now follow us on Twitter and Facebook. I’m really enjoying the social interaction that these sites provide, and am learning to tailor the content to our readers. If you have any ideas, issues you’d like me to address, or interesting posts you’d like me to share, please email me.

Hope spring finds you in good health, and as always, thank you for reading.

Farmers at the NM Organic Farming conference, February, 2010

It’s been a few months since last I writ, but there’s much to tell! I’ve been holed up at my computer, getting some ideas on the page for the Thinking Like a Watershed project, and reading lots of material about food and its role in creating a sustainable future.

Since the Confluence writing conference in October I’ve shifted a gear, realizing the great relationship between foodshed and watershed. As such, that will be my focus for the chapter I’m writing for the book. And to jumpstart my foodshed writing mojo, I’ve started a blog called “Culture Cookery.” Check it out at culturecookery.wordpress.com. I’ve only made a few posts so far, but it will be a platform for my ruminations on American food culture and some ideas about fixing it, tutorials on how to make your own foods from scratch (such as yogurt, granola, polenta and other things we usually, but unnecessarily, buy at the grocery store), and reviews of dining establishments that take sustainability as seriously as I do.

I’ve also made a few small steps toward starting my own farm in the valley of Durango. I met with Darrin Parmenter, the county director extension agent for La Plata County, and got an earful about the first steps to take as a new farmer. In the next few weeks we’ll get a soil test, and start planning our crop. It’s taken a while for this idea to take root (so to speak) but by golly, I think we’re going to plant some seeds this year!

I attended day one of the New Mexico Organic Farming Conference in Albuquerque, NM, and was amazed at how much there is to know about planting seeds and getting them to grow (not to mention selling them to turn a profit). The shocker of the day was genetically modified foods and how they are dominating the agribusiness industry, and putting organic farming and traditional foods at high risk. The Center for Food Safety presented some horrifying information about how much control the larger GMO corporations (such as Monsanto) have over commercial seed production and sales, and what they are doing to spite the organic food movement. For more information about genetically engineered foods visit CFS’s website: http://www.centerforfoodsafety.org/geneticall7.cfm

Jack showing us how to use ProTools

Earlier in the month, Jack hosted a tutorial on ProTools and sound recording where Sonia Dickey (a fellow LoL scholar), Stacia Spragg (a glorious photographer), and I learned about sound editing and techniques for getting a good recording. One can never have too many tools in one’s kit when trying to save the world!

Jack has also been bouncing around the southwest gathering interviews and wild sound for the TLAW project. He’s interviewed a multitude of thinkers and doers all over New Mexico, and has just begun the production aspect for our upcoming radio series.

Jack and I were fortunate enough to meet up in Phoenix, Arizona, for a two-day work and play spree. I spend some time with our brilliant website builder, Matt Clower, and equally as adept graphic designer, Jeff Del Nero, to get up to speed on our website. So I take responsibility for any mistakes on the site from this moment forth (hopefully you won’t find any, but if you do, please contact me).

Political scientists and partners, Vincent and Elinor Ostrom, in Phoenix, AZ.

During our trip, Jack interviewed 2009 Nobel Memorial Prize-winning author and economist, Elinor Ostrom, who won the prestigious award in Economic Sciences for her analysis of economic governance, particularly the commons. We had an excellent interview, and were fortunate enough to meet her equally impressive life partner, Vincent Ostrom, who has also made invaluable contributions to the field of political science. Dad and I were amazed at the duo, and got some wonderful information, which will undoubtedly be included in our project. One of the concepts addressed was “polycentrism,” meaning the organization around several political, social, financial, or other centers. Wikipedia defines the term polycentrism within an intercultural context as “understanding attitude and openness towards other cultures, opinions and ways of life: when intercultural actions and correlations are interpreted not only with the background of own cultural experiences, but when the independence of other cultures is recognized and appreciated and when cultural values are relativized and seen in the whole context.” Essentially, it is the opposite of ethnocentrism. Interesting thought for the day.

So as we ponder that, we’ll keep busy on our project, and keep you posted with events, of which there are many in the coming months. Don’t forget to check out our calendar!

Wishing you a wonderful end of the winter season, and as always, thank you for reading.

Chile Número 10
¿Cómo vas, mi Chimayoso, How goes it, friend from Chimayó,
cómo has pasado tu tiempo? how have you spent your time?
De la universidad vengo I have come from the university
a formarte un argumento. to propose to you an argument.

Chile Chimayoso
Bien, y a ti, ¿cómo te va? Well, for you, how goes it?
Y ahora te preguntaré, And now I will ask you,
por tu gracia y por tu merced, by your grace and by your mercy,
dígame, ¿quién es usted? tell me, who are you?

Chile Número 10
Por mi gracia y por mi nombre, By my grace and by my name,
yo soy el Chile “Number Ten.” I am Chile Number Ten.
En el futuro no hay más, In the future there is nothing more
que me vean que me ven. may they know me as the see me.
En las tiendas más hermosas In the finest stores
allí me hallará usted. There you will find me.
Y al mundo he venido And to the world I have come
y es muy claro y evidente, and it is clear and evident,
de mi probete he brotado from my test tube I have come
a conquistar a tu gente. to defeat your people.

Chile Chimayoso
Verdad, soy el Chimayoso, True, I am the Chimayó Chile,
y a Dios le pido la paz, and I ask peace of God,
Número Diez, ¡qué recio vas! Chile Number Ten, you are so speedy!
Y también yo te diré, I will also tell you,
que los del laboratorio that many in the laboratory
se suelen quedar a pie. will end up on foot.

Chile Número 10
Yo soy el Chile “Number Ten,” I am Chile Number Ten,
en taquitos soy sabroso. on taquitos I am so delicious.
En wraps y con carnes fritas In wraps and with fried meats
y en sopaipillas generoso. and on sopaipillas so generous.
Con frijoles victorioso, Victorious with beans,
y en puntos bien arreglados, and in meals so well presented,

bien parezco ahí en las mesas I look so good on the table
con los huevos estrellados. with fried eggs.

Chile Chimayoso
Soy el mismo Chimayoso I am also the Chile from Chimayó,
y te pondré mis paradas, here to slow you down,
chiquito pero picoso little but piquant
mantengo a mis manadas I maintain all my people
con tortillas enchiladas, tortillas smothered in chile,
con frijoles de bolita! with bolita beans!
‘Ora te daré noticias. Now I will give you notice.
¡Qué Chile Número Diez! Oh you Number Ten Chile!
Por comprarte cada año In order to buy you
ya no alcanza pa’ camisas. no money is left for shirts.

Chile Número 10
Yo soy el Chile “Number Ten” I am the Number Ten Chile
y de todos conocido, known so well to all,
en cocinas industriales in kitchens of industry
de todos soy preferido. I am preferred by all.
Vengo de laboratorios, I come from laboratories,
de las universidades. from the universities.
Con satisfación completa With complete satisfaction
en las salsas comerciales in commercial salsas
en los botes enlatados, in cans and jars,
doy gusto verde o colorado. I deliver both green or red.

Chile Chimayoso
Soy el Chile Chimayoso, I am also the Chile from Chimayó,
llevo mis cuentas cabales. I keep careful accounts.
Qué bien mantengo a mi gente, How well I maintain my people,
mateándose en sus huertas. caring for plants in their gardens.
Cuando los veas formales And when you see them all ready
y con determinación, and with determination,
me venden en buen precio they can sell me at a handsome prices
pa’ comprarse pantalón. so they can afford good pants.

Chile Número 10
Siempre soy el “Number Ten” I am also Chile Number Ten
distinguido de la ciencia, scientific and distinguished,
en países orientales in the eastern countries
he sido incumbrado. I have been exhalted.
En libras y kilos me pesan, In pounds and kilos I’m measured,
en toneladas me han comprado. by the ton I am purchased.

Chile Chimayoso
También, soy el Chimayoso I am also from Chimayó
y aquí te hago la guerra. and here I take you on in battle.
¡Qué bien mantengo a mi gente How well I maintain my people
con solo labrar la tierra! for cultivating the land!
Número Diez presumido, And you, haughty Number Ten,
qué sepa el mundo entero, may the whole world know,
tu semilla no se guarda. your seeds cannot be saved.
Sacrificas a mi gente, You sacrifice my people,
tu semilla no se halla your seed cannot be found
sólo si andas con dinero. if not bought with money.

Chile Número 10
Yo soy el Chile “Number Ten,” I am Chile Number Ten,
Chimayoso ya te digo. friend from Chimayó I tell you.
Despierta si estás dormido, Wake up if you are asleep,
esto te noticiaré, of this will I advise you,
todos los capitalistas all the capitalists
están preferiéndome. are preferring me.

Chile Chimayoso
También soy el Chimayoso I am also the one from Chimayó
y en esto no pongas duda, and have no doubt of this,
con sólo agua y sol nazco I am born of water and sun
y a Diosito le pido paz. and only seek peace from God.
¡No vivas tan orgulloso! Do not live with such pride!
Tú que sin padre ni madre You lacking father or mother
de nuestro mundo saldrás. from our world will take leave.

Chile Número 10
Verdad, soy el “Number Ten,” True, I am Number Ten,
pero me dio un dolor. but I am hurting.
Ya me voy enfermando, I am growing sick,
¡que me traigan el Doctor, bring the Doctor to me,
que sea mi defensor! so he can be my defender!
Y si él lo determina And if he decides
llevarme de emergencia, to take me in emergency
a la universidad to the university,
y me dé una medicina. to give me some medicine.

Chile Chimayoso
Yo nací en Teotihuacán I was born in Teotihuacán
y soy de origen divino, and am of divine origin,
en mesas de los dioses, at the tables of the gods,
en casorios y velorios. at weddings and wakes.
Ahora sabrán señores, Now you will realize, people,

de mi hacen el caribe from me is made caribe
y en caldillos pa’ los reyes. and fine soups fit for kings.

Chile Número 10
Ya doblemos la cuestión, Let us double the stakes,
no quiero pelear contigo. I do not want to fight with you.
Quiero que seas mi amigo, I want you to be my friend,
pariente te digo también. cousin I call you as well.
Somos del mismo corazón We come from the same heart
aunque en probete naci. though I am born from a test tube.

Chile Chimayoso
Dios me crió para picar God raised me to spice up
a mis tres hermanitas, my three sisters,
maíz, frijol y calabacita corn, beans, and squash
con todas para saborear. with all to savor.
De mi hacen tamalitos, From me they make tamales,
en tortillas soy el rey, on tortillas I am the king,
campeón de los calditos, champion of stews,
también de los posolitos. and also of delicious posoles.

Chile Número 10
Aunque sea el “Number Ten,” Even though I am Number Ten,
Chimayoso te digo, friend from Chimayó I tell you,
bor vía de la amistad, by way of friendship,
no quiero pelear contigo. I wish not to fight you.

Chile Chimayoso
Yo renací en chinampas, I was reborn in the floating gardens,
de la Madre Colorada, of the Red Earth Mother,
hijo también de Tláloc, son also of Tlaloc,
Señor de agua y lluvia. Lord of water and rain.
También soy el ahijado I am also the godson
de Señora Chicomecóatl, of Lady Chicomecóatl,
madre del mantenimiento. mother of nourishment.
Soy el más aprevenido, I am the most prepared,
eso es claro y evidente. as is clear and evident.
Vete ya de estas tierras, Go now from these lands,
ya no eres de mi gente. you are no longer of my people.

Chile Número 10
Aúnque sea el “Number Ten,” Even though I am Number Ten,
Chimayoso ya te digo, friend of Chimayó I tell you,
no me estés avergozando. do not embarrass me.
Soy hijo de pocas madres I am the son of few mothers
y a mi padre no conozco and I never knew my father,
también mis hijos son vanos. and my children are sterile.
Necesito tu amistad, I need your friendship,
quiero que seas mi amigo. I want you for my friend.

Chile Chimayoso
Verdad yo soy Chimayoso, True I am from Chimayó,
amigo recién llegado, listen up you newcomer,
los que se creen del estribo many who think they’re in the stirrup
siempre los dejo a pie. I have left them behind walking.
También esto te diré, I will also tell you this,
¡tú que te empinas pa’l norte, even though you head north,
chile de hule, relajoso! you lazy rubber chile!

Chile Número 10
Yo soy Chile del futuro, I am the Chile of the future,
soy el mero “Number Ten.” the venerable Number Ten.
Te hablo con toda verdad, I speak to you in all truth,
ya doblemos la cuestión, let us double the bets,
seré tu mejor amigo I will be your best ally
por vía de la amistad. by way of friendship.

Chile Chimayoso
¿Sabes qué, soy Chimayoso? You know what? I am from Chimayó.
Con esto ya me despido, And with this I take my leave,
ya mi trabajo es puro My work is pure
porque desciendo de Dios. because I descend from God.
No como tú, enfermizo, Not like you, oh sickly one,
nacido del laboratorio. born in the laboratory.
Nunca, nunca permito I will never, never permit
que a mi gente hagas daño. that you injure my people.
A carga cerrada entrego, I contend and close this contest,
y todos queden entendidos, and may all understand,
¡que ya el Chimayoso ganó! that the Chimayoso has triumphed!

Chile Número 10
No, no me doy por vencido, No, I still won’t give up,
¿quién dice que has ganado? who says that you have won?

Chile Chimayoso
Es el pueblo que en su juicio The people in their wisdom
de mi sabor han apreciado. have appreciated my taste.

Chile Chimayoso

También, soy el Chimayoso I am also from Chimayó,
y aquí te hago la guerra. here I take you on in battle.
¡Qué bien mantengo a mi gente How well I maintain my people
con solo labrar la tierra! for cultivating the land!
Número Diez presumido, And you, haughty Number Ten,
qué sepa el mundo entero, may the whole world know,
tu semilla no se guarda. your seeds cannot be saved.
Sacrificas a mi gente, You sacrifice my people,
tu semilla no se halla your seed cannot be found
sólo si andas con dinero… if not bought with money…

Chile Número 10

Aúnque sea el “Number Ten,” Even though I am Number Ten,
Chimayoso ya te digo, friend of Chimayó I tell you,
no me estés avergozando. do not embarrass me.
Soy hijo de pocas madres I am the son of few mothers
y a mi padre no conozco and I never knew my father,
también mis hijos son vanos. and my children are sterile.
Necesito tu amistad, I need your friendship,
quiero que seas mi amigo. I want you for my friend…

Chile Número 10

No, no me doy por vencido, No, I still won’t give up,
¿quién dice que has ganado? who says that you have won?

Chile Chimayoso

Es el pueblo que en su juicio The people in their wisdom
de mi sabor han apreciado. have appreciated my taste.

The idea of personified chiles debating each other seems cartoonish at first, until you realize the gravity of their poetic arguments.  At stake in these (agri)cultural wars is seed sovereignty, a millennial genetic legacy, and the food security of the planet.  The grand prize in the contest is public opinion, the sympathy of the people.

In celebration of the New Mexico visit of Vandana Shiva, the great advocate of traditional agriculture and the future of food, Estevan Arellano, Cipriano Vigil, and Enrique Lamadrid have composed, recited, and sung traditional poetry to honor her and the agricultural heritage of Nuevo México, manifest and symbolized in our beloved Chiles.

In one corner of the slam ring is El Chimayoso, the famous chile of Chimayó, New Mexico, thin-skinned, short, and sun-stressed, who offers the best flavors of the land from which he is born.  His opponent, “El Number Ten” as we have named him, is a novelty of agricultural science, born in a laboratory, supported by the 2008 New Mexico Legislature, the motherless child of so-called “genetic engineering.”

“Number Ten’s” predecessor, Chile Number Nine was of more honorable stock.  He was developed through selective breeding and the tireless work of horticulturalist Fabián García, who introduced him in 1921.  The staple of the chile revolution of the twentieth century, Chile Number Nine gave birth to all the modern varieties such as Big Jim.  But as connoisseurs can attest, complexity and flavor were sacrificed to achieve size, uniformity, and dependability.

A stepchild of the Second Green Revolution, “Number Ten” is unnaturally resistant to herbicides (aka. Roundup Ready, TM). With insecticidal toxins grafted into his leaves and fruit, he is ready for mass production in fields and factories.  He comes on like a rock star, but his children are sterile (vanos in Spanish), and he dispossesses the people who will mortgage their farms to pay for his seed and chemicals.  In the end he doesn’t even taste good.  He falls ill, panics, and tries to make friends, then is vanquished and banished for good in El Trovo de los Chiles.

In this ancient tradition of the Controversia trovada with roots in the mountains of the Alpujarras in Andalucía and the irrigated gardens of Murcia and Nuevo México, the fortunes of the people are debated with humor and satire in an improvised poetic duel.  The Corrido or narrative ballad form of Greater Mexico is more directly combative.  Cipriano Vigil takes off the gloves and charges that “genetic engineering” is surely the devil’s work:

El chile y sus semillas The chile and its seeds

pertenecen a nuestro estado, belongs to our state,

si las perdemos del todo if we lose them completely

seguro nos mandan al diablo. we’ll be sent to hell.

Sure enough, traditional agriculture and its stewards are under attack across the planet.  Thousands of crop varieties cultivated over many centuries are in danger.  Genetic research in itself is not the problem.  The draconian marketing strategies of multi-national companies and the global monopolies they seek are the Frankenstein’s monster that would destroy the agricultural legacy of humanity and endanger the food supply of the world.  Monoculture – the reliance on fewer and fewer crop varieties, and the dependence on hybrids and “genetically engineered” seeds are the goals of both Green Revolutions.  But it is the Second which actively punishes the ancient practice of seed saving and prosecutes farmers whose crops are wind contaminated by company patented gene pollen.  Greater crop yields are promised and achieved, but at such great social, biological, and environmental cost.

Vandana Shiva tells us that one of the most cynical strategies of the Second Green Revolutions is to desensitize people by targeting their most culturally iconic plants, such as Eggplants in India and Chiles in New Mexico.  If people accept the “genetic engineering” of their signature cultural crops, then they will not notice or complain when the Big Four move in – corn, soybeans, cotton, and canola.

Join us, and the people of the world in celebrating and defending the agricultural legacy of the planet.  ¡Que viva el Chile Chimayoso! ¡Que viva la biodiversidad!  ¡Que viva la agricultura tradicional!  ¡Que viva la comida nativa! ¡Y al infierno con los vanos!

Eat our way to a better planet…

Calling for bold action on the climate change frontier! Jack and Celestia gathered with other Moabians to celebrate 350.org's climate change initiative.

Jack and I recently attended the Confluence Literary Festival in Moab, Utah. We were greeted by golden cottonwoods and crisp blue skies, a stark contrast to the red sandy rock formations of Moab. The theme of this year’s gathering was “Eating the West,” and Jack had been invited as a last-minute keynote speaker and moderator of two panel discussions; climate change and food, and foodshed and watershed thinking. I had the opportunity to sit on and contribute to both panels, and serve as a logistician and chauffer. We enjoyed spending time and sharing ideas with the event’s other headliners, Deborah Madison (Who wrote What We Eat When We Eat Alone, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, and many other titles), David Mas Masumoto (Wisdom of the Last Farmer, and Epitaph for a Peach), and Ann Vileisis (author of Kitchen Literacy: How We Lost knowledge of Where Food Comes From and Why We Need to Get it Back, and other books), all of whom are extremely talented writers, and appreciators of food…Dad and I were in good company.

Jack Loeffler explains the concept of "thinking like a watershed" using John Wesley Powell's geological survey map.

As part of a host of events, Jack and I went to the Moab farmers’ market so he could sign books with the other participating authors. By some fluke, it happened to be 350.org’s day of international climate action, and shortly after we arrived a woman with a bullhorn asked all of the market patrons to head to the southern end of the park to partake in the festivities. We were happy to participate with the millions of other people (spanned across 181 countries) who came together for one of the most widespread days of environmental action in our history. Over 5,200 events were held around the world, where like-minded folks gathered to call for strong action and bold leadership on the climate crisis. To do our part, we, and a few hundred other market-goers, assembled ourselves in the shape of “350 MOAB,” to show our support for the event, and a photographer (from high atop a movable platform) took our photo. Hope it does some good.

Afterwards, all the featured authors and panel speakers headed to the library for the panel discussions. And even though we didn’t write the treatise on how to save the world in the allotted 2-hour panel session, we addressed some important issues: why have people of color and/or of low-income status have been marginalized in America’s food revolution, how do we fix that; why hasn’t there been more (or any) focus/discussion about food in the healthcare debate; (and my personal favorite that I’ve been wondering for quite some time) how do we get the general public to care and make good food/water choices? Interesting food for thought, so to speak.

That evening, at Star Hall on Center St. was the “Readings and Ramblings” event where the guest speakers read selected works from their writing. From generations of family running a farm, to the unmistakably sweet taste of a peach, the history of food in America, and delicious notes from various farmers’ markets, the readings were a joy to listen to. And instead of reading, Jack played selected vignettes from his archive, illustrating the importance of people in connection to place.

The underlying theme that emerged from the weekend was that food is an important tie that binds us to our place. How wonderful it would be if we could be more conscious about our food choices…have a huge impact on carbon emissions just by making some decisions about how, and what, we eat. How if we got better acquainted with what grows right in our own neighborhood, perhaps even our own garden, we would not only strengthen our connection with our earth, but we would put less of a strain on Her by eating what is grown close to home. That’s homework that I would happily and heartily take on.

Until next time, thank you for reading.

John Wesley Powell - geological survey map

By Jack Loeffler

Several years ago, my friend author William deBuys was writing his fine book, Seeing Things Whole: The Essential John Wesley Powell. He had selected several illustrations for the book including a map of the drainage areas of the arid West rendered by John Wesley Powell. This map appears in the Eleventh Annual Report of the United States Geographical Survey, 1889-90. Powell had wandered throughout the American West during the late 19th century, and recognizing that aridity was the West’s primary characteristic, had organized this map of the West watershed by watershed. When Bill showed me this map, a wave of clarity re-arranged my mental coordinates, and it became obvious to me that watershed thinking is key to human survival in the 21st century. The map is a work of art in its deepest sense. I commandeered Powell’s map for the cover of my own book, Survival Along the Continental Divide: An Anthology of Interviews.  Thanks to another friend, Craig Newbill, Director of the New Mexico Humanities Council, that map is now a beautiful poster published by the Council.
Powell’s map is part of my daily consciousness.  Powell had an evolved mind and is regarded by Bill deBuys, as well as writer, tree farmer, and environmental thinker Gary Snyder, and myself, to have been the original bioregional thinker. In 1985, I recorded Snyder as he articulated what remains to me the best definition of bioregionalism: “Bioregionalism goes beyond simple geography or biology by its cultural concern, its human concern. It is to know not only the plants and animals of a place, but also the cultural information of how people live there-the ones who know how to do it.  Knowing the deeper, mythic, spiritual, archetypal implications of a fir, or a coyote, or a bluejay might be to know from both inside and outside what the total implications of a place are. So it becomes a study not only of place, but a study of psyche in place. That’s what makes it so interesting. In a way, it seems to me, that it’s the first truly concrete step that has been taken since Kropotkin in stating how we decentralize ourselves after the 20th century.”
If we look at Powell’s map bearing in mind Gary Snyder’s definition of bioregionalism, it becomes abundantly clear that there is no better way for society to organize itself than within the context of home watershed. Powell recognized that watershed boundaries make a lot more sense than our current ephemeral geo-political boundaries. Watershed boundaries are natural boundaries that cradle bio-geographical drainage systems that are inhabited by many species of biota including the human species.
Human consciousness finds deep meaning in homeland, be that meaning scientific, mythic, or eminently practical-or all of the above. Human spiritual relationship to homeland may be rooted in the territorial imperative, but that root may blossom with a consciousness so profound that it can barely be articulated. It’s as though homeland, heartland and mind-land become a single entity, that a single span of human consciousness, or lifetime, is part of a whole, a whole that includes the mosaic of watersheds and seas that surround our planet, that indeed we are part of the consciousness of the planet.
Every morning at sunrise, I face east, and while watching the grasses sway in the breeze, speak four words: Sun, Earth, Life, Consciousness.  I am grateful for the span of consciousness that is my lifetime on this planet Earth warmed by the Sun.  My four-word mantra carries me through each day, and I frequently gaze west out over that portion of the Río Grande watershed, my home watershed, to a distant peak, Mount Taylor, that is the sacred mountain to the south for the Navajo Indians; or to the northwest to the peak of the Jemez Mountain, an enormous volcano whose eastern aspect is sacred to the Tewa Indians who live in pueblos that line the banks of the Río Grande. To the North, I look into the looming reaches of the Sangre de Cristos, those Southern Rockies that form the northeastern rim of the Río Grande Watershed, and the eastern horizon of the Tewa World. All of this is visible from where I live, from where I look out over ten thousand square miles of arid, beautiful landscape that is both named and nameless, whose presence is sculpted by the passage of great epochs, and rumblings from deep within the Earth that have resulted in a mighty rift second in size only to an even greater rift in Africa. Some may regard this as a hostile environment, but to me, it is my greatest friend and has taught me about life. To smell the aridity while headed into the wind listening to the thin, wintry whistle of a Townsend Solitaire is as good as it gets.
This northern Río Grande Watershed was rendered in green by Powell, its shape vaguely resembling the profile of a seahorse as seen from the left-a seahorse dancing westward about to hop over the Continental Divide to join its sibling, the Colorado River Watershed. These two great watersheds are but modest in their yields of water. However, they contain the American Southwest, and are themselves comprised of myriad smaller watersheds, each unique with its own story, its own history, its own character.
The landscape of the American Southwest and northwestern Mexico is the most arid patch of the North American Continent.  This is desert country broken by mountain ranges. The higher plateaus are frequently regarded as piñon-juniper grassland by virtue of the scattering of a few more drops of moisture than are presently received by neighboring lowland deserts. The sense of space is vast. Biota exist relative to the amount of water. Biodiversity abounds. As does cultural diversity. Aridity defines the way we biota comport ourselves. We do not belong to the verdant east. We belong to the arid West. Some of us are exotic, even within our respective species, having blown in from without and somehow affixed ourselves to this land, and have selected to re-establish our sense of indigeneity. Others of us boast ancestors whose footprints were trod into this soil, then erased by the winds of antiquity.
While thinking like a mountain implies a sense of inertia, thinking like a watershed evokes a sense of constant movement, fluidity, change. The mountain contains the headwaters of the watershed and cradles biotic communities, those “sky islands” perched precariously at the top defying the possibility of extinction. Below the piedmont, the watershed fans out, expands, the water joining the main stem, thence to flow into the seas that interact with the atmosphere and begin the cyclic process anew. The interactive factors seem infinite, the metaphor too complex to be understood by a single, or even collective mind. Still, to dance about within the metaphor is comforting. Human consciousness has yet to evolve sufficiently to perceive the raw truth. It never will, because consciousness evolves as the universe evolves. Consciousness is a miraculously growing dimension that responds to the ever-changing environment of the universe. Part of the trick is to differentiate between metaphor and reality, and to recognize that complete understanding is beyond the purview of the human mind.
Speaking of metaphors, how about “sky islands?”  The Madrean Archipelago of the American Southwest is comprised of a series of mountain ranges in Arizona and New Mexico whose peaks contain biotic communities that are separated by seas of desert. These biotic communities have migrated up mountains over a period of millennia that separates our present point in the Holocene epoch from the Pleistocene that ended over 10,000 years ago. Selected species have evolved within these communities whose characteristics are distinct from their cousins in other sky island environments by virtue of the contiguous biotic community of yore having been sundered by the need to seek a cooler environment in which to flourish as the warming trends of the Holocene made the lower elevations uninhabitable for species accustomed to the climate of the Pleistocene.  The time span has resulted in some species seeking genetic expression unique to their tiny mountaintop habitats. Their foothold is precarious. If warming trends continue, their respective biotic communities will falter by virtue of inability to migrate up into thin air.
Metaphorically, the human species is poised atop the pinnacle of a dilemma of our own making. We may not go extinct, but the environment that we’ve “cooked up” is burning away myriad species at a rate that parallels spasms of extinction of species that have occurred only five times throughout the previous 540 million years.
Earth’s wondrous mosaic of watersheds is constantly shifting, endlessly changing.  Our species, the human species has come to predominate, even if temporarily. Our longevity within this mosaic will be determined by our degree of wisdom and our future practices. Our wisdom must meld many components including that which may be learned only by swimming heartily within the flow of Nature. Much of wisdom comes from observation and practice, from aesthetics, from trial and error, from lingering along the edges of existence rather than from a centrist position. To be able to extrapolate well involves a rarified level of consciousness. One must encompass and digest a mighty array of factors, realize that oneself is but a single tiny factor within that mighty array, then plan and react accordingly. An appropriate metaphor for that state of mind is to think like a watershed-and then proceed from the grassroots in behalf of the greatest good for the watershed within the greater mosaic of watersheds-our planet Earth.

I first arrived in North Beach in the autumn of 1958 after having been discharged from the U.S. Army where I had served as an army bandsman. Most of my military time had been spent in the Mojave Desert at Camp Irwin, and part of my time at the Nevada Proving Grounds at Desert Rock. I was a young jazz musician ever more steeped in the prime-time jazz that emanated from that era. Part of my Army gig was to play stirring refrains from “The Stars and Stripes Forever” while peers of Dr. Strangelove fired off atomic bombs seven miles from where we bandsmen stood in the pre-dawn desert. One day, back at Camp Irwin, which is located about 35 miles from Barstow, Danny the barber and dealer fell by the barracks and said, “You’ve got to read this! Now!” He handed me the tiny pocketbook entitled Howl And Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg. I devoured the book and ruminated deeply about life in the milieu into which I had been born to which I was commanded to contribute music to celebrate the detonation of atomic bombs. And thus I came to realize that I wasn’t the one who was insane.
Footloose at last, I wandered up and down the West Coast from the Lighthouse at Hermosa Beach to the Co-Existence Bagel Shop in North Beach. I played my horn for modest coin of the realm, slept for three weeks in a discarded but roomy wooden fish box in Chinatown, read in the City Lights Bookstore, watched sunset from the Golden Gate, ate my daily five course Italian meal for $1.25 that included a half-carafe of wine, visited galleries, one of which displayed the strange collage, “Tribute to Caryl Chessman” that I believe was crafted by Bruce Conner who would later produce a film that showed one atomic bomb explosion after the other.
Part of the time, I hung out in Big Sur and spent one wonderful evening in the presence of Henry Miller as we all drank wine at Nepenthe. In Sausalito’s Gate Five, I befriended the Greek artist, Jean Varda, who many years later died as he exited an airplane in Mexico City. It is said that his final words were, “Ah. Instant metaphysics.”
During that period of the late 1950s, I hitch-hiked across America, and passed through New Mexico, to me the most beautiful state-of-mind on Earth. I knew it was my homeland at last discovered, yet it would be five years before I would begin the rest of my life there.

Throughout the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s, artists, writers, and skilled artisans moved to New Mexico to fashion their own hand-crafted lifestyles. By the 1950s, the talented novelist William Eastlake had settled on his ranch near Cuba, New Mexico where he wrote his celebrated New Mexico trilogy. Malcolm Brown finely honed his eccentricities in Taos. John DePuy painted his landscapes in Taos while Georgia O’Keeffe painted her masterpieces in and around Abiquiu. Max Finstein penned poetry. Liz Walker wove god’s-eyes after the fashion of the Huichol Indians. Edward Abbey wrote his first novels and briefly earned his keep as a bartender at the Taos Inn where it has been told that of an evening, Lady Brett, the great friend of D.H. Lawrence visited the bar and requested a grasshopper. To which Ed Abbey responded, “Who the hell would drink a grasshopper? I quit!”-much to the dismay of myriad customers who imbibed freely and at little cost thanks to the deft hand of Brother Abbey.
And thus it was that in 1962, a loose-knit coterie of Bay Area post-beatniks, many of whom had read Indian Tales by Jaime de Angulo, Howl by Allen Ginsberg, Riprap by Gary Snyder, The Way of Zen by Alan Watts, Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, the I Ching, The Doors to Perception by Aldous Huxley, The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, and other soul-shaping literature of the era, and who had experienced the exquisite spiritual opening to the flow of Nature by ingesting peyote, and the fascinating alteration of mental processes wrought by smoking marijuana, began to wander into the land of clear light. We too brought with us our hand-crafted lifestyles and knew well how to live simply.
Some played and sang folk music; some made sandals; others were jewelry makers; yet others earned their keep washing potshards at the Laboratory of Anthropology, or spent months in solitude on top of mountains and high mesas as fire lookouts. Rick and Sue Mallory moved to Mancos, Colorado and settled into family life raising their children. Alan and Joan Lober opened the Morningbird, a shop that specialized in Indian arts and crafts, and employed their friends. John and Marie Kimmey founded the Santa Fe Community School, an alternative school that catered to the off-spring of counter-culturalists. Jimmy Hopper ran a tiny restaurant in El Rito before heading into the Gila Wilderness to become a fire lookout atop Mogollon Baldy. Randy Allen sang songs, played the guitar and became a jeweler. Yvonne Bond pursued radical politics all the way to the island of Cuba. Recluse Jon Sanford printed a poster that advised, “Search for Truth and Honesty in American Politics.” Peter Ashwandan became widely recognized as the illustrator of John Muir’s classic, How to Fix a VW for the Complete Idiot. Chris and Cynthia West bought acreage at the top of the Pilar Hill, a pilgrim station that looks out over the magnificent landscape riven by the Río Grande Gorge. Tahiti Gervais practiced the craft of blacksmithy. Dick Brown, a native New Mexican guided many of us through the multi-cultural labyrinth that continues to prevail and evolve. Peter VanDresser had lived in New Mexico for many years and through his wisdom, became the godfather of the alternative energy movement. Max Finstein was a friend to us all.
What bound everyone was an abiding love for the flow of Nature, and the intimation that our purpose as humans is to attain the highest level of consciousness possible. And frequently on a Saturday night, a tipi would be pitched on someone’s property, and the peyote ritual would be consumated through the night till dawn, sometimes attended by Little Joe Gomez, Tellus Goodmorning, and other Indians from the Taos Pueblo and beyond.
Gradually everyone became affixed to the New Mexican landscape, endlessly enchanted, ever nurtured by the spirit of place.

The 1960s was indeed a time of flowering of consciousness. The war in Vietnam spawned national outrage. The Civil Rights Movement burst through the dike of cultural repression and spread across America. Three voices of hope-those of Jack Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Bobby Kennedy-were silenced by assassins. Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert were fired from Harvard University for their experiments with LSD, a psychotropic pharmaceutical that would rearrange the mental coordinates of tens of thousands or more of America’s youth. Tim coined the dictum, “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” Richard transformed into Baba Ram Dass and forwarded his own message in Be Here Now. Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, and the Beatles greatly enhanced the listen-ability of popular music. Carlos Castaneda published his doctoral dissertation, The Teachings of Don Juan, and though he failed to receive his Ph.D., he inspired a generation of young Americans to look beyond the narrow boundaries of the mono-cultural frame of reference and into a fifth dimension where shamans dance and ply their skills. An undercurrent of anarchism spread across the land. Thousands rejected the image of the man in the grey flannel suit, the drear of investing one’s lifetime at the corporate behest, the pursuit of wealth for its own sake, of having a job instead of a life. Thus, the Hippie movement was launched, directly descended from the Beat scene, itself born from the bohemian counter-cultural lineage that invigorated Greenwich Village, North Beach, Venice, the Parisian salon of Gertrude Stein, and the New Mexico high country consciousness-compound founded by Mabel Dodge Luhan.
One of the more celebrated city-sites of Hippie-ness occurred in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco. They blossomed around the United States and beyond. One of the most profound multi-faceted experiments in hippie counter-culture occurred in rural northen New Mexico where habitat is illuminated by sun, moon and blossoming stars rather than city lights. It was here that hippie communes sought foothold in the beautifully harsh environments of high desert country where for millennia, humans of myriad cultural persuasions had already tested their mettle, some flourishing, many more withering, all contributing to a human continuum shaped at least as much by habitat as by ideal.
The notion of “commune” began to evolve in medieval Europe a thousand or more years ago when people of similar persuasions and practices constructed walled communities in order to physically defend themselves against the forces of feudal lords and other bandits, and to defend their rights as human beings to practice lifestyles that were commensurate with their collective natures. Over the centuries even to the present, many types of communes have dotted the landscapes of Europe, Asia and the Americas.
The anarchists of nineteenth century Europe reacted against totalitarian governments that they rejected sometimes to the death. The short-lived Paris Commune of 1871 was the first organized uprising of the proletariat against capitalism. The participants in this social experiment became known as “communards.” Anarchism took many forms, but Peter Kropotkin’s anarchist communism resonates to this day with many communards who shared time and space in the hippie commune phase of New Mexico’s history. Kropotkin defined anarchist society as follows:

“The anarchists conceive a society in which all its members are regulated, not by laws, not by authorities, whether self-imposed or elected, but by mutual agreements between the members of that society, and by a sum of social customs and habits-not petrified by law, routine or superstition, but concordance with the ever-growing requirements of a free life, stimulated by the progress of science, invention and the steady growth of higher ideals. No ruling authorities, then. No government of man by man; no crystallization and immobility, but a continual evolution– such as we see in Nature.”

It is doubtful that more than a handful of New Mexico’s hippies ever read these words, and many counter-culturalists would not agree with everything that Kropotkin said. For example one morning, Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky were having breakfast with us in Santa Fe. Allen read Kropotkin’s definition that has long been pinned to my studio wall. He took umbrage at Kropotkin’s support of science, which led us to a lengthy discussion about the practice of science versus the mis-application of science. Personally, I strongly support scientific research, but rue many of the ways it is applied within the realm of a military-corporate-industrial-political complex committed to acquisition of power for its own sake, and to turning habitat into money in order to gain and retain that power.
Be all of that as it may, northern New Mexico of the mid-1960s was alive with an energy that was palpable, alluring, and ripe for social experimentation. Men and women of great personal energy were lured to the high desert. Some had enough money to buy large tracts of land to be held in common. Others had the vision to found communes on these commons, communes of different flavors but with a common denominator founded in self direction, mutual aid and love of the Earth. Another denominator common to many communards was the use of pot, hash, peyote, mescaline, LSD, psychedelic mushrooms and other substances, some of which had their genesis in laboratories operated by high-minded biochemists. Some of the better known of the more than two dozen New Mexico communes included New Buffalo, Morning Star, Lama, the Hog Farm, and the Reality Construction Company. Taos County became the communal proving ground where at one point the hippie population of the county came in at over fifteen per cent!
In her worthy publication, Scrapbook of a Taos Hippie published by Cincos Puntos Press, Iris Keltz provides an excellent portrait of the great hippie commune experiment of the late 1960s and early ’70s. She relies on her own recollections (and it’s NOT TRUE that if you remember the ’60s, you weren’t there!!), excerpts from oral histories that she conducted with tribal members of the counter-cultural revolution, and articles that appeared in both the Taos News and the Fountain of Light. This book is generously illustrated with photographs including some by the hippie photo-documentarian, Lisa Law.
Max Finstein turned into one of the great communard visionaries of the 1960s and ’70s. He was associated with the Beat Generation as a poet, and had been a jazz alto sax player. He loved to smoke pot and drink wine, philosophize and talk far into the night. In the early 1960s, he split with his then wife, left New Mexico and hit the road with his daughter Rachel. He met a new lady and returned to New Mexico in 1966. He hooked up with Rick Klein, a youngster from Pennsylvania who had happened into a sum of money that he was willing to spend to purchase land on which to found a commune. A one hundred-three-acre piece of land with water rights was found near Arroyo Hondo north of Taos. It was situated both near the Río Grande and a hot springs, and it was for sale for $55,000. Rick popped for the land and shortly thereafter, there was a gathering of hippies who put up a tipi, and held a peyote meeting. And thus New Buffalo was born.
Rick had this to say about the genesis of New Buffalo.

“I was going to be a literature professor and then I took LSD, and saw that there’s more to it than just this. There’s being with your friends. Culture was very exciting at that time. I had an inheritance, and I bought land in New Mexico and got involved in New Buffalo. The first thing we did was have a peyote meeting, and Max (Finstein) was the roadman. Ultimately I got very involved with Little Joe Gomez from the Taos Pueblo and his brother John, and all those old men up there. The last one just passed away last year. Frank Zamora. He was a hundred years old. Frank had this incredible psychedelic style. They were all exceptional people.”
There was no such thing as a hippie type cookie cutter that stamped out hippie after hippie from a specific hippie gene pool. Hippies emerged as individuals from every conceivable background.
Un-dam the stream of consciousness.
Everyone came from the American melting pot and had reacted to the post-Victorian lock on open sexuality that seemed like an affront to a natural biological imperative, who wanted to escape concrete canyon walls where wind blows cold and dank with smoggy humidified fumes emitted
as ghastly emanations from that aspect of the Gaseous Vertebrate
aligned with military Mammon-might reeking of corporate cigar breath
spewing forth over innocent new-born, frightening mind-blight
of the politically correct…
yaarghh!!
Turn to sunlight, dark night star blossoms, mountain-rimmed spirit-land
sweet acrid smoke mix of juniper-piñon-marijuana
wafting up my nose to settle my mind into a clear look into the known
perchance to be forgotten, to slide into
cool-hip ever present
Be Here Now-ness of
Turned On-Tuned In-Dropped Out into fanciful magic land
LOVE LOVE LOVE
That’s the thing that there’s just too little of-
Sweet Jesus! Blessed Bodhisattva mind Krishna flute song
Hanuman happiness Sufi dervish dance
tornado of tipi consciousness
spun-out along a rainbow brain-blow trail
of delight comes at dawn after staring into Morningbird firelight
all night all night all night all night long
singing peyote songs to beat of water drum, dance of feathers fanning
Road man, drummer, cedar man
Earthmother calling calling calling calling
Sacred water, tipi consciousness At One With All

Begin mud dance straw dance sun dance
Make adobes not bombs in sunlight look to mountain rim for God-dance
Clouds
work work work work
play play play play
Naked
Rosy-nippled double-breasted thrashers
Flirting with dawn crowing cocks in flowing bird dance of desire
Making babies, new flesh forms cradles of unblemished consciousness
To scatter at play in the fields of the Lord
Be rid almost of clichés, almost…

There was great work involved in building structures of adobe, gathering vigas to support roofs, gathering firewood, ever more firewood, endless gathering of firewood for cooking, heating against breath-frosting winter coldness, life-threatening winter coldness. Four hole defecation zone, communal shit-holes, no more mind-barriers to plug up biological flow of Nature’s manure. Don’t eat yellow snow. Don’t wash diapers in the hot spring.
Where does the food come from? Some hunting, gardening, learning the seasons, the cycles, hitting on strangers for bread in town, some checks from home, food stamps, can’t seem to get fully out of tentacles-reach of economic kraken that stretches into every corner of human patina-planet overlay pulsing away, fiscal metastasis creeping into soil, sucking away in return for consciousness, or so we hope…
Ever more of us dismaying indigenees-Indians, Chicanos, especially Chicanos now at home determined to defend turf, mores, many taking great umbrage at naked mud-dancers throwing away econo-tenets to which everyone else aspires to perfect; relegated since 1846 to shadow culture; forced to reject subsistence existence to attempt to survive the riptides of the American Way Of Life. Burn out the chingados, beat the mierde out of them. Launch a Chicano Revolt to rid the land of the hippies and the Feds. History repeats itself-remember 1680-Popé was the first great North American revolutionary. Now there was Tijerina-get the Feds off the land grants. Don the brown beret. Defend a lingering way of life whose soul-lore was diminished in World War Two at Bataan. ¡Tierra o muerte!
It wasn’t all bad with the Chicanos. Rick Klein recalls a time when hippies maintained some of the responsibilities normally held by Hispanos.

“Obviously it was very threatening because of the press, and words like sex and drugs, and stuff like that. The Hispanos were feeling marginalized and losing their traditions. Nobody wanted to be the mayor domo of the ditch (acequia), and for years the mayor domo of the ditch in Arroyo Hondo was from New Buffalo. They (the Hispanos) had to have some respect for us. We were working hard. People would come to my house and say, ‘This is just like my grandfather’s.’”
There was a flowering of consciousness that required extreme hippie-ness to regenerate, propagate, linger within long enough to endure before the short-lived age of Aquarius wafted into what was to become. The communes, each with its own distinct collective character, blossomed and contended as best the communards could, most, like adobe, melting back into the cultural soil of the land of clear light. By virtue of their lifestyle which included practices deemed illegal by the law of the land, they became and remained outlaws and practitioners of Walt Whitman’s now famous apothegm, “Resist much. Obey Little.”
There were hard-working men and women who poured their souls into the experiment. Others who were previously deeply damaged by circumstances from without and within were nurtured back to sanity. Some died. Others achieved extraordinary spiritual heights. There were attempts at alternative education. John Kimmey and others brought their talents and skills to bear on educating the young into a new world consciousness. Many of the children of the great experiment look back in wonder, some with rejection, some with truly expanded consciousness, no-one unaffected.
Max Finstein left New Buffalo and traveled all the way to Israel to experience life on a kibbutz where his sphere of reference was expanded yet again within a collective new Israeli point of view that required success if death were to be avoided. A more militant Max returned to New Mexico and helped establish the Reality Construction Company whose members included Chicano activists and angry Afro-Americans.
Steve and Barbara Durkee had traveled from upper New York State to found Lama, a commune that has undergone many permutations yet continues to endure. Originally founded as a patriarchal sub-culture, Lama became a spiritual center that involved many well-known and celebrated passers-through who left their mark in mysterious ways. Baba Ram Dass spent many a night on New Mexican soil charming seeds of individual consciousness into self-recognition. Stewart Brand contributed his energy to the genesis of Lama, and thereafter published the Whole Earth Catalog for which he received the National Book Award in 1972. Durkee went on to found Dar al Islam, a Muslim community situated on the other side of the Río Chama from Abiquiu.
David Pratt wended eastward from a commune in central California known as Morningstar West, and with Michael Duncan, who owned part of a mesa-top north of Taos, founded Morningstar East, a commune that was populated in large measure by your tired, your poor, your wasted who yearned to be whole and free. Morningstar East and the Reality Construction Company were neighboring communes between which peace and love were tempered with animosity and conflict. There were hard times as well as good times.
Wavy Gravy and the Hog Farmers founded yet another commune south of Peñasco known as the Hog Farm. They were a peripatetic lot who scooted about the nation in their bus (of several incarnations) preserving the peace at hippie gatherings and Be-ins that included the great event that put Woodstock on the map.
Tom Law introduced Yogi Bhajan to New Mexico and New Mexico to Yogi Bhajan who founded a Sikh community near Española that endures to this day.
Hippie culture was not restricted to the communes. Some hippies were more loner than communalist and preferred to camp out in solitude, smoke a joint and relax into the flow of Nature without necessarily being motivated to make a statement. Some few would occasionally wander into a desert hinterland, fast for a few days, and then of a dawn ingest peyote buttons after having carefully picked off as much lophophoran as possible to make for a smoother ride through the stomach. As the day unfolded, reality would be revealed in exquisite living glory, the face of rocks dancing, the molecules of existence rearranging themselves in such a way that the pilgrim was included in the beauty and wonder and glory of the Spirit of Nature, forever imbued with a sense of spiritual purpose, never again to be restricted to the linear thinking that excludes so much of the great mystery.
While many of the communes withered with the passage of the seasons, and hippies ripened into middle and late age, many found themselves ready to take their knowledge and understanding into the greater culture and to become counter-culture activists. John Nichol’s superb New Mexico trilogy conveys with great insight the inter-cultural struggles, both the light and the dark, that characterize human presence in the mythic landscape of northern New Mexico. By the early 1970s, environmental consciousness was flickering into public awareness. Many became inspired by reading Desert Solitaire, a great classic penned by Edward Abbey who melded anarchist thought with environmentalism and thus became the god-father of the radical environmental movement.
In part, hippie consciousness expanded and conjoined with intellect, and a new wave of counter-culturalists entered the fray armed with university training in biology, geography, ecology, environmental law and other disciplines required if humanity is to forestall our own folly. Hippie consciousness also entered the marketplace where organic produce, meat and poultry provide physical sustenance unburdened with additives, pesticides and preservatives. Clothing styles have become more free, exotic and comfortable. Hair comes and goes at the whim of the mind inside the head. Music has imploded and exploded carrying every message to every quarter.
There is a growing tendency to perceive from within a sphere of reference filled with clusters of associated notions, experiences, understandings, learnings, through which the active mind may extrapolate future probabilities and possibilities. In pre-hippie days, this form of “ecolate thinking” (a term coined by Garrett Hardin) was not particularly prevalent.
Poet and philosopher Gary Snyder has participated in the counter-culture movement his entire adult life. He has been a founder of the bio-regional movement that has evolved in large measure from the hippie movement of the 1960s and ’70s. One July day in 1985 as we sat in the shade of the pine forest that surrounds his home, I asked Gary to provide his sense of bioregional practice.

“Bioregionalism goes beyond simple geography or biology because of its cultural and spiritual concerns. Human concerns. We hope to know not only the flora and fauna of a place, but also the cultural information-how the long-time inhabitants lived there, the ones who know how to do it. The deeper mythic, spiritual, and archetypal implications of a fir tree, a coyote, a blue-jay might reach in unpredictable directions. It becomes a study not only of place, but a study of psyche in place. It is not a study that one can do with books though-you must learn with your working body, in a place, on the land, with an ear for the elder teachers.”
Today, cultural boundaries have been breeched and hippie-ness is revealed to have cast its hue everywhere. New Mexico remains a many-faceted counter-cultural proving ground fraught with dangerous edges for the close-minded. But for those with eyes to see, it remains the land of clear light.
By Jack Loeffler
© 2008

I asked him about the main troubles facing the rivers in the Four Corners region and was met with succinct and powerful answers, namely that listening to our elders, Hispano, Anglo, Native American, and otherwise is going to be crucial to cultural preservation, and in turn, human survival.

I’m now preparing for an interview with Jim Dyer, a local permaculturalist who is active in the local, regional and national agricultural movement. He directs the Southwest Marketing Network, an effort to increase marketing expertise and opportunities for Four Corners farmers and ranchers. He is also actively involved in promoting Farm to School programs. Oh how I look forward to picking his brain.

That’s all for now, but one last thought for the day: water = life. Without it there is no chance of survival. How can we start living more sustainably within our watersheds?

May you have a productive and joyful week, and, as always, thank you for reading.