The Desert Smells Like Rain: A naturalist in O’odham Country, by Gary Paul Nabhan, 1982. The best naturalists who write bring a dimension to their work that spans the scientific to the spiritual, and the simple to the complex. Gary Nabhan is one such naturalist.
I heard of this book and its author in the 1980s, perhaps from Ron Kroese, the co-founder of the Land Stewardship Project. I have wanted to read it since that time, and then, out of the blue, was given a copy of it by Randy Clough following a recent trip he had to Arizona. It was a great gift.
I loved this book, and encourage anyone to read it who wants to immerse themselves in writing that describes the wholeness possible in an ecosystem in which humans are a contributing, functioning part of a healthy whole. The story of the Tohono O’odham and the Sonoran Desert in southwest Arizona and northwest Mexico in which they live is a beautiful and powerful one, as told by Nabhan through his conversations, work, and interactions with the land and its people. For a life-long Midwesterner living in a relatively lush climate, the ways of nature in the Sonora are fascinating.
But the full realization is this – the beauty, complexity, and disciplines of nature that sustains all the life of a place are present everywhere, in every place. Everywhere, that is, except where they have been destroyed by humankind and our systems of extraction and exploitation. Nabhan points out the damage that was occurring in the Sonora circa 1981, too. Which leaves me, after reading The Desert Smells Like Rain, wanting to know how things are now. Has increasing Tohono O’odham sovereignty meant restoration of the land? Or has industrial agriculture and other extractive approaches (mining? Water diversion? Luxury condos?) meant further decline in the health of the land and its ability to sustain?
But wholeness, sustainability, and regeneration is possible, which is the core of Nabhan’s book. In fact, human communities can not only not do harm, but be fully a part of a diverse and functioning ecosystem. Here are a couple of excerpts:
“…Not just crops were lost – whole field ecosystems atrophied. Roughly 10,000 acres of crops were grown via Papago (Tohono O’odham) runoff farming in 1913; by 1960, there were only 1,000 acres of floodwater fields in the Tohono O’odham Reservation. Today...less than 100 acres."
“ While the remaining acreage is miniscule, it is all that is left of an ecologically sensitive subsistence strategy that has endured in deserts for centuries. Here, not only a rich heritage of (drought-resistant) crops remain, but also co-evolved micro-organisms and weeds, as well as pests and beneficial insects. Amaranths, for instance, are hosts for insects that control corn-loving pests. Papago fields harbor nitrogen-fixing bacteria which naturally associate with tepary bean roots. A species of solitary bee has been found visiting annual devil’s claw in Papago fields, but despite a thorough search has not been found on wild annual devil’s claw elsewhere. Moreover, there is a mutually beneficial relationship between these plants and their Tohono O’odham stewards; the Tohono O’odham have evolved field management skills that have allowed them to sustain food production for centuries without destroying the desert soils. The plants have evolved the ability to grow quickly, root deeply, disperse heat loads, and provide numerous seeds for those who harvest them. These durable functional relationships between humans and other lifeforms are the products of a slow evolution and cannot be remade in a day. No amount of academic research on water harvesting and drought-hardy crops can replace a time-tried plant/man symbiosis such as that in which the Tohono O’odham have participated.”
Another passage in the essay “Where the Birds Are Our Friends” describes the much greater level of biodiversity in and around a desert oasis around which there is a Tohono O’odham village compared to an uninhabitated oasis now held and protected the by National Park Service. Nabhan talks with a Tohono O’odham farmer about this:
"When I explained to Remedio that we were finding far fewer birds and plants at the uninhabited oasis, he grew introspective. Finally, the farmer had to speak.
'I’ve been thinking over what you say about not so many birds living over there anymore. That’s because those birds, they come where the people are. When the people live and work in a place, and plant their seeds and water their trees, the birds go live with them. They like those places, there is plenty to eat, and that’s when we are friends to them.' ”
The complex interactions of nature and some simple truths add up to a very fine book. I hope in the coming years to immerse myself not only in reading more like it, but in being a part of this life in my place on earth more fully, and as a friend.