How Dry We Are

It’s been windy and dry here in southeastern Wyoming. We’re five inches behind in moisture for the season, and we’ve had 14 inches less snow than we usually have by this time. No doubt it’s the lingering effects of the drought, but also indicative of the climate change that even some Republicans now acknowledge.

Last weekend, we motored in my ethanol-powered van to the Snowy Range to cut our family Christmas tree. My feelings of superiority about driving a flex-fuel vehicle has diminished as I read more about how corn ravages the land, and how corporate interests soak up those federal farm subsidies. Still, Iowa- grown and processed corn is not Saudi oil. For now, I’ll continue to buy ethanol from the lone gas station in town that dispenses it. As my bumper sticker says: "Biodiesel: No War Required." I guess I can envision some "Mad Max" scenario wherein WYO declares war on NEB in an effort to secure cornfields to supply power for its SUVs and pick-ups. We grow so very little corn in this cold and windy place, that we would have to seek ethanol supplies beyond our borders or personally refine the 40 million barrels of oil we suck from the ground that goes elsewhere or maybe come up with coal-fired engines or possibly truck-cab-mounted windmills or solar panels.

God only knows what the future holds.

When we arrived at Corner Mountain Trailhead in the Snowies, we were distressed by the lack of snow cover. Snow totals were half of last year’s. On the first weekend of December 2005, my wife and kids and I slogged through knee-high drifts to get to our favorite cutting place. We could have used some snowshoes. This year, we barely broke a sweat as we marched through several inches of powder. Our sledding hill, where snow usually covers the rocks that can crease your sled and/or keister, were bared to the world. A few black-and-blue marks later, we abandoned the sleds and sought out The Perfect Tree.

The Bureau of Land Management requests that tree-seekers cut trees that grow close to others. Thus, we make room for at least one healthy tree to grow to maturity. We usually do just that. But this year, we found a nice 10-foot pine standing next to a mature lodgepole and surrounded by some ground-hugging evergreens. It was just the right tree, and our harvesting helps maintain a healthy forest. Or so goes the logic or forest management in the West. A pruned forest is a happy forest. It’s also one without a lot of dead fall that will stoke a wildland fire when a very dry August rolls around.

Dead fall abounds in this section of the Snowies. I deduced that it’s not an area that allows firewood harvesting, or else a lot of it would be gone. It made for a long trek back to our van, as we sidestepped mature trees felled by wind or lightning or possibly by man. I saw a few prone pines ravaged by bark beetles. Experts say the beetles are having a field day as the climate warms up, makes it easier for the little suckers to survive the winter and somehow weakens the trees’ resistance.

The wind barely blew and temps hovered above freezing. Some of the snow was melting. Clouds gathered, and everyone in WYO prayed that they held snow. By the time I reached the van with the tree, my jacket was off and I was sweating. We ate our picnic tailgate-style, basking in the warmth. We’ve been up here some years when the wind blows so hard it feels like cold needles being driven into your skin. One year Chris’s jeans were soaked after slogging for an hour through high drifts and we had to pull them off and get her in the warm car to avoid frostbite. Another year, our Corgi/Sheltie mix dog got stuck in a snowbank and my son had to pull her out and carry her to the car.

But not this year. We basked in the warmth and admired the tree as I lashed it onto the top of my flex-fuel van. I wondered if the snow would return, when the West wind would bring moisture instead of the grit from a dried-up prairie.