Living In Las Cruces- Spring/Summer 2008

FEATURE

By Kelly Jameson
Photography by Ken Stinnett

For Celia Cruz, the Rio Grande is a place her family has gathered for generations. It is where she picnicked as a little girl, where she hunted Easter eggs and where she would later bring her children on warm, sunny afternoons. Its gentle rhythm was the backdrop for many conversations she had with her father while they fished from the Mesilla Dam. Today, the river is a stranger; a shell of a person once so swift and mighty that it held proudly the name by which she is known across the border, the Rio Bravo, or "brave river".

"It's definitely changed a lot," Cruz says, glancing out at a puddled river, its bottom exposed now that the crops have been harvested. It is December, and this is what the river typically looks like during winter in Las Cruces. "I can only imagine what people think about it as they drive along the interstate. The sign might say 'Rio Grande', but it's not that grand right now."

From its beginning in southern Colorado to where it empties in the Gulf of Mexico, the Rio not-so-Grande carries with it an uncertain life that has only recently been brought to the attention of those who use it, and those who abuse it. Designated an American Heritage River in 1997, the history of the Rio here in the Mesilla Valley dates back centuries, but much of its known history wasn't recorded until it was put on the map as the international boundary between the United States and Mexico in 1848. That was just about the time Las Cruces was starting to blossom as a fertile farming community.

The water rights in the river are shared between a series of agreements administered jointly by the United States and Mexico. Our share of the water is rationed mainly for farming, adding to the reality that the Rio Grande is over-appropriated, that is, there are more users for the water than there is water in the river. Because of both drought and overuse, the section of the Rio from El Paso downstream through Ojinaga, Chihuahua, Mexico was recently tagged "The Forgotten River" by those wishing to bring attention to the river's deteriorated condition. In fact, in the summer of 2001, a 300-foot sandbar formed at the mouth of the river, marking the first time in recorded history that the Rio Grande failed to empty into the Gulf of Mexico.

Nearly 10 years ago, a local environmental awareness group threatened to sue a federal agency, citing a violation of federal laws that threatened the future of the river, specifically, the National Environmental Policy Act and the Endangered Species Act. The Southwest Environmental Center (SWEC), an agency based in Las Cruces, came to the river's defense and as a result the International Boundary and Water Commission has "somewhat" been in compliance with the laws, according to the agency's director, Kevin Bixby.

"The threat remains pretty much the same as it has been since 1916," says Bixby, referring to the year when Elephant Butte Dam was completed some 70 miles upstream from his share of the Rio Grande. "The health of the river continues to decline gradually, as more habitat is lost and opportunities to restore the river are missed."

SWEC can cite several preservation efforts it has spearheaded, including the development of the Picacho Wetlands, which now provide year-round aquatic habitat along the river near Mesilla. "We were instrumental in getting the new Mesilla Valley Bosque State Park established," notes Bixby, "and we are now working on another wetland restoration project on our own land about half a mile upstream from the park." In addition to their own projects, Bixby says the center also tries to help other landowners, both private and public, with bosque protection and restoration.

One of the most visible projects SWEC has launched is the annual Raft the Rio event, which, according to Bixby, "began in 1997 as a fun way to reconnect the people with the river." Every summer, hundreds of Las Crucens make their way towards the river in pursuit of rafting down the river in a homemade, recycled raft, bringing awareness to the community that the river which has sustained life for millions of years is still very much a resident of this valley. "My cousin and I rafted down the river a few summers ago," recalls Gayle Lyle, 42. "We kinda did it on a whim and made the raft the night before out of two old doors I had. We fastened them to some recycled plastic water bottles and made a shade out of some scrap PVC piping and old canvas." After floating from La Llorona Park to Mesilla, Lyle and her co-pilot didn't come out winners, but "we did make it down the river, and pretty much all in one piece!"

"Raft the Rio has grown every year," adds Bixby. "I suspect it will continue to grow, perhaps turning into a genuine river festival."

Until then, festivals will be relegated to those families who turn out each Sunday to burn burgers, toss Frisbees, or take an occasional stroll down the walking paths that run along side our slice of a river that stretches for nearly 2,000 miles.

For Cruz, no longer able to fish with her father since signs were posted warning trespassers to stay at least 50 yards from the river, the puddles of water before her are a constant reminder of what she doesn't want to see on a permanent basis. "It'll be nice to see it again this summer when it actually looks like a river again."