When I stop worrying, I'll be dead
Guest post by Clemson Summer Program student Kacey Necosia -
“When I stop worrying, I’ll be dead.”
“Are you worried about the day you stop learning?”
“No. I’ll be dead.
- Jeff Brown
It’s hailing and the power went out. The drumlin hills concealed in quiet, delicate grasses are now illuminated intermittently, their identities still somewhat shielded. My finger gets guided to the sky, tracing the flight path of the storm, slowing its wingbeats to make the moment last just a little bit longer. Dr. Hagan and Adam stood to my right, shuttering their eyes, hands in their pockets, while minutes before we sat softly in the warmly-lit living room expecting a strawberry moon. We didn’t see it, of course, it was the storm instead, so we planted ourselves, laying expectations down and tucking them beneath the pressed grass, turning to one another in awe of the sheer intensity of the atmosphere above the ranch, watching it breathe just as we were. And in the morning it was sunny. And in the morning we did plot sampling. And in the afternoon I got sick. And in the evening I caught fish at the pond. Today I crushed yarrow between my fingertips and brought it to my nose to help alleviate the cold I picked up. I let it pierce through the congestion. I’d never thought of using a trailside plant as a momentary remedy. Terry said I must be nuts, which in response, I told him I Very Much Am. Though it isn’t that “nuts” to use your resources, especially with compounding knowledge.
The first days in Roundup we visited plots that had been treated in various ways for stand management, such as thinned and burned, thinned and unburned, and unthinned and unburned. Seeing the differences in forage at each site gave us great insight into what stand management technique brings the most ruderals, the forage with high protein, and biodiversity. With the reduction of fuel comes healthy stands, and when speaking with Noah, Dustin, and Jeff from the Montana DNRC, we learned that a healthy stand is hard to achieve on the prairie, and that, in turn, ecological restoration is harder to come by as well. This land, the land covered in Ponderosa pine, is the only land that most owners know. This fact makes it hard for people like Noah to go in and create a healthy stand. People are connected to their trees. And there are expectations those landowners have, whether it be what their land should look like, feel like, and produce, or how organizations like the Montana DNRC are to manage their land. However, despite this tumultuous relationship, community is everything. Out here you can trade your hunting land for an electrician’s time.
While speaking with Terry, LaVonne, and Becca, a CMVS vet, the research we had been doing came to life in a new way, Terry even stopping his side-by-side on a tour of his ranch to ask Ethan what grass he was touching. While vaccinating his cows against Brucella abortus, we gained insight into how much vigilance and commitment goes into running a successful cattle operation, and additionally, how rotational grazing brings elk to their land. And big, healthy suckers too. Which is shocking, because according to many people in Montana, elk do not exist. LaVonne said they follow the cows, that they don’t eat any of that dead stuff, that they know better just like the rest of us. We learned from Noah that burns bring elk too, that they like to roll around in the ash, makes ‘em feel real nice he thinks. Fire is the one thing all living things inherently fear, but when the flames are gone and the ash settles, the only thing left to do is bloom. I wonder if the elk wait in streams knowing the earth will provide for them later. I worry they don’t, and I’ll stop worrying when I’m dead.
