As I explain in the book, Comanche is the site of a long-running restoration project aimed at improving the habitat for the struggling Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout. It employs an innovative in-stream restoration methodology developed by Bill Zeedyk which protects eroding stream banks through the use of sticks and rocks - and not much else.

As with the horse farming demonstration I saw in Amish country a few weeks ago, our work in Comanche Creek is an example of how low-tech solutions may, in fact, provide longer lasting resilience and sustainability than high tech ones.

But high tech solutions is all we ever hear about these days - that and “efficiency.”

For example, I read in our newspaper recently that a scientist is proposing to build high tech scrubbers that would cleanse carbon from the atmosphere, thus reducing global warming. To do the job right, this scientist said we would need to build 67 million of these boxcar-sized machines, at a cost of trillions of dollars, and would only require a hundred new nuclear power plants to run them!

As unrealistic as that sounds, I think it represents the general attitude of Americans toward our various dilemmas. If certain politicians think we can drill our way to energy independence, then most citizens think that a fancy, and painless, high tech gizmo will ride to our rescue.

My guess is - it ain’t happening.

Energy efficiency, a preferred alternative of conservationists, won’t do it either. Repeated studies, going as far back as 19^th-century England, show that as energy efficiency increases so does energy consumption. Take my truck, for instance. If someone waved a magic wand and over it and doubled its fuel efficiency from 20 to 40 miles-per-gallon, how would I respond? Most likely, I’d give a little cheer and make that extra trip to Albuquerque that I’ve been wanting to do. The following week I might go again; and over the course of a month, I would probably burn more gasoline than I would have otherwise with my formerly ‘inefficient’ vehicle.

It’s called ‘Jevon’s Paradox’ after a British scientist who studied the phenomena. It illustrates a basic point: changes in technology aren’t very useful if they aren’t coupled with changes in behavior. And until there are actual changes in behavior, there won’t be meaningful progress toward lasting solutions.

That’s why I like low tech solutions. Working in a creek with sticks and stones requires a different relationship with the land. You use your muscles, for one thing. But you also think differently. You begin to pay attention to the nuances of soil, vegetation, and water. It’s a different world when you’re face-to-face with an eroding stream bank than if you viewed it from the seat of a smelly diesel-powered backhoe.

I vote for low tech. It’s not the answer to all our problems, not by a long shot, but it a good place to start.

I know who I’ll vote for, and I’ll dutifully fulfill my democratic obligations on Election Day this fall, but I won’t be doing much more than that – which surprises me. In the past, I’ve eagerly participated in the quadrennial circus to elect a new President. In addition, over the years I’ve volunteered for various congressional campaigns, contributed (very) modest amounts of cash to candidates, and eagerly stood in long lines to cast my vote.

This year I reserved all of the above for a colleague who ran for county commissioner here in Santa Fe. And I did so for two reasons.

First, no one nationally is talking intelligently about issues that matter to me (whether they are talking intelligently about issues that matter to fellow Americans is an open question, I think). Take food and energy policy. Or climate change. Or family farming and ranching. Nothing substantive is being proposed, not by the two presidential candidates or by anyone in Congress (with a few exceptions). Take the new Farm Bill, please. There was a golden opportunity to change course. Instead, we’ll be growing more corn for ethanol.

I can guess why substantive discussions are being avoided: our leaders understand that as a nation, we’re in a jam of serious proportions. The proverbial chickens are coming home to roost after partying hard for sixty years and no one is willing to confront the mess we’ve created.

For example, on Independence Day, I listened to a great deal of chatter on the radio about energy independence. All I could think was: “We’re about twenty-five years too late.” At least the fireworks were pretty!

Second, if I’ve lost faith in our national leaders, I hold out a great deal of hope for local ones. In fact, I think over the ensuing years, the most important political unit will be the county and the most influential political leader the local county commissioner. That’s because commissioners have real power to change things at local scales and because they are responsive (or ought to be) to local communities.

And out West, where I live, counties are large in size, and thus control many resources.

“Relocalization” is much in the air these days, from talk about local food and farms to innovative ideas about local energy production. And given rising energy prices – which promise to go much higher – these discussions will only become more numerous, which is a great thing. I suspect it’s a harbinger of bigger things to come.

The next step is to relocalize democracy. Start over at the grassroots – including, the grass and the roots.

For further ruminations by Courtney, see www.chronicleofconsequences.com.

And just like that, a bunch of conservationists became ranchers.

This was an intriguing turn-of-events for the staff and Board of The Quivira Coalition, a nonprofit whose original mission was to create common ground between ranchers and environmentalists. It was also a surprising twist for me personally. If ten years ago you had told this former Sierra Club activist that I would be in the livestock business, selling local beef to Santa Fe residents, I simply would not have believed you. But here I am—a dues-paying member of the New Mexico Cattlegrowers’ Association.

Maybe it was not such a stretch. After ten years of encouraging ranchers to act more like conservationists, it suddenly seemed logical that we, as a conservation organization, begin to act more like ranchers. It was not just a matter of “walking the talk” either—the harder we looked, the more conservation opportunities we saw running the ranch as a ranch. In fact, when discussing this turn of events in my lectures around the region today, I state simply that The Quivira Coalition is “a conservation organization that manages livestock for land health and prosperity.” Obviously, this is something new under the sun. But what exactly?