Rio Grande

I have seen the immediate aftermath of wildfires, as well as landscapes that are a few years into their recovery, but I hadn’t ever seen a landscape in mid-term recovery. I went anticipating absolute devastation, but what I saw was something pretty different. It had rained for several days before we visited, and as we walked to the burned area we went through the typical Bosque jungle-like maze of single-track trails, with wet branches hanging in our faces and the smell of wet desert earth everywhere. It was divine. Eventually we arrived at the burned acreage. It was a sharp transition between the lush jungle atmosphere and the burned landscape, there were trees half-burned with one side participating in the the forest and the other in the burn scar. This thing was scabbing up something mighty, though.  While there were skeletons of the mature cottonwoods, mulberry, elm and ash trees that form the Bosque’s canopy, in the newly sunny ground hundreds of herbaceous plants and shrubs were sprouting, including legions of Yerba Mansa, penstemons, and coyote willow. Many of the fire-adapted invasives were returning as well, including tamarisks growing from burned stumps and Russian olives sprouting everywhere. The landscape didn’t look injured in the way I was anticipating: More like it was making the most of an unexpected transition. I have a love-hate relationship with many of the plants that seemed like they would be dominating the new landscape, such as the tamarisks, an “invasive” species that has dramatically changed the Rio Grande. It thrives in disturbed or stressed systems such as the Bosque, and this visit helped facilitate a begrudging respect. Some of the plants, like Yerba Mansa, are beautiful native plants that are much less common elsewhere in the Bosque, and the fire produced a brand new opportunity for them to grow and flourish. As my colleagues did their work I briefly stepped away to do my ceremony.