It’s Not Easy, Being Green

By Tonya Poole, 3-23-06

A very short ten years ago I couldn't imagine myself living in the desert – a mountain girl in the Pacific Northwest in need of white peaks, towering green trees, water and soft, needle-bedded trails under my feet. But a friend in northern Nevada tempted me into moving to the Reno/Tahoe area, where I spent the next six years falling in love with fire-red sunsets, orographic rainfall patterns, harsh temperature fluctuations, alkaline soils, gritty dust storms, the wide open, unprotected spaces and the itchy cactus underfoot. There's a strange breathing rhythm, an erratically beating heart to the desert. And it pulses and throbs away unnoticed under what non-desert-lovers see only as dead, dry land.

But I feel it. And I found my own heartbeat in the dust, and now I can't imagine living anywhere else. Even here in Colorado I've chosen the state's driest, highest desert near the New Mexico border – a region that sees only seven inches of rain a year (on a good year). We bought five acres of heaven here, as far as I'm concerned, but with one small price.

We have no trees. Our land sits at the far edge of the alluvials of the Blanca Massif, just before the landscape flattens out again into valley. The tree line with all its charming grottos and hammock-friendliness is a good mile or more up the slope. We've got beautiful chamisa, silver thread grasses, prickly pear cactus, even a few sprinklings of indian paintbrush. But nothing more than two feet high, and nothing sturdy enough to provide shelter from the wicked winds that blow across the area. So shortly after we purchased the land, we set off to plan our planting strategy. But trees are a tricky business in the high, dry, sandy soils of the San Luis Valley – especially for us, having moved here to build an eco-home that makes efficient use of resources, water included. Running a irrigated drip to support non-native species isn't what we came here for, nor is it particularly friendly to a region that's already struggling with depleted aquifer levels.

A few months ago we learned that the Colorado State Forest Service was offering valley residents seedling bundles of 50 trees for about $30 – a very nominal price – under the condition that they be used as wind breaks, wildlife habitat or reforestation. It's a deal! But finding the right species has been our next big challenge.

The Forest Service says that the Narrow-leaf Cottonwood, Rocky Mountain Juniper and Golden Willow have all been successful in the valley, though they, too, require a fair amount of water to get themselves started. Additionally, we'd love to plant a few stands of aspens and poplars for wildlife habitat at one edge of the property, but again, we've been held back by questions about water.

Fertilizer tablets will help a seedling's root system develop more rapidly, helping to shorten the time that a stand of seedlings needs the extra nourishment. Grey water systems are another option we've explored and hope to implement down the road, though Alamosa County, last we knew, had a long way to go to accept grey water recycling onto the books. We've looked seriously at the possibility of a buried cistern, but we've been told there are catchment and domestic, in-house well ordinances to look carefully at, and overcome, before moving forward on that. Greening the desert, for lack of a better description, is a sticky proposition. And I'd rather go without than to compromise the integrity of our resources, and our reasons for doing what we're doing.

But recently we've come across another possibility, and, at the risk of jinxing ourselves, we're excited that we may have found our holy grail: polymer. Planting polymers are highly-absorbent materials that can hold up to 500 percent or more of their weight in water. These aid in catching, storing and slowly releasing water during dry periods, and in conditions where rapid evaporation does away with what little water does fall. They're also said to provide better aeration and drainage than compacted soils. What we don't know is the net environmental gain we'd have with polymers, as I understand most are a blend of natural and synthetic materials and there's a consideration for what we're putting in the ground. That's the next step to research, and we've got a lot of homework ahead. Readers with thoughts or knowledge on the issue are invited to chime in.

The desert is a special place. It's the strong and hardy soul - trees included - that can survive here on minimal resources, and you don't come out here to the world's highest, largest desert-alpine valley unless you're ready to be challenged.

All the same, can't I be strong, hardy and challenged on a hammock under a filtered, flickering sun? [End of article]