What I consider the park?s best singer is filling the woods with the happiest of bird songs. I know, science says that the song has nothing to do with being happy; it is simply a male black-headed grosbeak defending its territory, keeping other males from its mate. But my ear has a difficult time equating such a glorious melody with anything but a creature that sounds delighted to be alive, sharing its joy with all the world with its song.
The air is also filled with the sweet-scented vanilla of ponderosa pines warmed by a sun that is now hidden behind some welcome afternoon clouds. I glance up at a graying cumulus cloud and find myself hoping for rain. Like most everyone else around here these days, the thought of drought is never far from my mind.
In the past couple of weeks, I have heard people say, “If it doesn?t rain soon, the creek will be dry in a week!” “It?s going to be the worst wildfire season yet!” “It?s as dry or drier as it was in 2002!” So many of the conversations I have, and hear, include concerns such as these. It seems as if so many of us are living with an ever-present feeling of worry about the drought, like a heavy coat that we can?t seem to take off. Myself included.
Lately I am growing weary of it, and I am seeking to rid myself of this burdening coat of heaviness about the drought. A little research has me chewing on these facts: 93% of the time, at least 5% of Colorado is experiencing a 3-, 6-, 12-, or 24-month drought; 3-month droughts occur approximately 90 of 100 years in any given location in Colorado; long multi-year droughts have occurred in Colorado?s past as a natural part of long-term weather patterns; since recording weather statistics began in the late 1800s, the years 1982 - 1999 had above average precipitation and were the longest drought-free period; the 1990s were the wettest in SE Colorado history.
A lot to chew on. But it all leads me to another fact: if my response to drought is going to be dominated by a heaviness that is always ready to take a hold on me, then I may as well get used to it. Because the reality is, I live in a semi-arid part of the world where drought is as much a part of the landscape as vanilla-scented ponderosas and the melodious sounds of black-headed grosbeaks. The wetness of the two decades leading up to the present drought was an anomaly in a land that is normally much drier. And, in spite of the many downsides to drought, allowing it to get me down is still a choice, a choice that I make.
Knowing the truth about drought helps me recognize another choice: accept the fact that I live in a place where drought is a normal part of the landscape. Yes, the dryness may be exacerbated by global warming (increased drought length and persistence is consistent with the latest global warming projections) Yes, wildfires are more intense due to global warming (increased drought) and mistaken forest management (fire suppression which has only increased fuel loads in forests). But, this is still where I live, and being down about it is, well, it?s a drag.
I look up to see that graying cloud no longer appears to hold much of a possibility for producing rain. But the grosbeak is still singing away. Maybe there?s a message in that bird?s happy song. After all, right now he lives in the same place that I live, yet his song sounds as if he hasn?t a worry in the world. I think I?ll just sit here and listen for a while.
– Dave Van Manen June 2, 2006
