Greener Acres by Doug Fine, The Carbon-Neutral Cowboy

Three years, three goats, and one veggie-oil-powered pickup truck later, he's the author of Farewell My Subaru: An Epic Adventure in Local Living (Villard, 2008) and an expert on the ideas—and idiosyncrasies—of going green in the digital age. Now, he pens "Greener Acres," a monthly column for New Mexico Magazine.

Catch up on his August column and his previous once-a-month chat sessions with us from the Funky Butte Ranch below.

Come Rain or Come Shine (August 2011)

Monsoon season proves we're still at the mercy of Mother Nature.

“Everything’s better when wet.”—Steve Miller

Whether it’s tears, sneezes, or honest opinions about an in-law, a body always feels better after it lets go. The Chinese call this Ch’i, or flow. We feel better, too, when the planet Earth releases its pent-up tension. By this time of year here in the Land of Enchantment, everything and everyone is so ready for moisture that we all resemble those morose wildebeest in the old nature documentaries that the narrator inevitably describes as “aching pathetically for the cooling monsoon rains.”

Come late summer, we need precipitation so badly that we willingly forget any side-effects that come with our monsoon downpours: flash floods, hail damage to our trucks, and lightning that strikes inches away during the afternoon goat milking. I tremble when I think of all those poor planets, right here in our own solar system, that have no water at all. Boy, would that harsh my tomato harvest.

Indeed, here on the Funky Butte Ranch in the southwestern corner of our state, the unabashed anticipation extends to my thirsty garden crops, which by now are stretching their leaves as though in worship toward the sky, in a gesture amazingly similar to my own extended palm when that first drop hits the ground. We can’t wait.

Added to the mix in recent years has been climate change, whose unpredictable effects give us almost no monsoon one year, and Biblical floods the next. I can’t even in good faith describe one of those storms that wipes out the Funky Butte Ranch’s dirt driveway as a “hundred-year event” anymore—we’ve had three in the last decade. It’s confusing to my kids, who read in books that rain comes in April, as opposed to August and September as they experience it … but only sometimes.

Yes, the New Monsoon Normal is such now that it’s a mid-monsoon ritual for my old-timer neighbors, essentially meteorological historians, to push their sweat-stained hats back by the brim, scratch their heads, and say, “Nope. Never happened like this that I recall.”

We don’t even know what an average year is anymore.

I try to put this all in perspective: Geologists tell us that the whole summer monsoon phenomenon is only 700 to 800 years old, and that its switch from a winter rainy season to our current, tenuous summer model might be one of the reasons that, centuries ago, our Mogollón predecessors left the Land of Enchantment for Neo-Rugged Individualists like me to enjoy today.

So this is really just a chapter in the larger story of all life on Earth. You just have to live in New Mexico through one parched summer to realize how most humans have always lived—that is, totally at the mercy of nature.

But none of this can stem the anticipation I feel now. Because I’m panting as I type. Even the hummingbirds seem a little listless. You could use my skin as sandpaper.

At this point, I’m not concerned with my place in geologic history. I just want that heavenly, daily allegro symphony of thunder cellos coursing below the soft violin-and-piccolo tap of a 45-minute downpour on my roof—the melody that sends my ducks into ecstatic quacking fits, and allows me to drastically reduce the drip irrigation time for my apples.

For now, though, I’m like the wildebeest low on Ch’i, staring up pathetically at the sky during the afternoon goat milking at a situation completely out of my control. Every morning I wonder if there is perhaps some kind of dance I could perform, with or without my ducks, to make the blessed cooling rains come and reconstitute my life again.

Chat Archive:

Catch up on the March 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about the slippery issue of converting his vehicle to vegetable oil power.

Catch up on the April 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about his battle with plastics.

Catch up on the May 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about organic gardening and the joys of goat poop.

Catch up on the July 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about eating local and why living green is worth sticking to.

Catch up on the August 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about why going green is just old-fashioned common sense.

Catch up on the September 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about accidental nudity and a handy sign to prevent enountering it on the Funky Butte Ranch.

Catch up on the October 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about the life lessons he's learned from his goats.

Catch up on the November 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about abundance in all its forms.

Catch up on the December 2010 live chat, in which Doug talks about his New Year's resolutions.

Catch up on the January 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about getting in shape for sustainability.

Catch up on the February 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about adapting to climate change.

Catch up on the March 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about seasonal juniper allergies.

Catch up on the April 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks with guest panelist Dr. Robert Stencel about human light pollution.

Catch up on the May 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about the Universal Craziness Constant.

Catch up on the June 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about summer solstice.

Catch up on the July 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about being Mr. Fix It.

Catch up on the August 2011 live chat, in which Doug talks about monsoon season.