HOW TO

An old bridge crosses the San Miguel River, one of the lifelines of the West End.

Yet the rise and fall of mining, plus boom-and-bust cycles for skilled labor tested this area’s “frontier spirit.” The West End, colonized by European settlers, unknowingly continued a legacy devoted to water and abundance that the U.S. military had attempted to quash in the generations of Colorado Natives preceding the region’s settlement.

THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE WATER

In seasonal Ute travels, bands “returned to the same springs, creeks and rivers to ensure that we had enough water for people and horses …” noted the exhibits at the Ute Indian Museum in Montrose.

The naturally functioning San Miguel River (and her sister river, the dammed-yet-still-wildish Dolores River) have hosted humanity for over 10,000 years — memories and traces still found in ancient buildings, structures and art. Petroglyphs and pictographs of pre-colonization life in the West End’s fertile yet harsh environment remind visitors and locals alike: life out here can be beautiful.

Water is precious in the Southwest: West End settlers had labored for its use — even while the Southern Ute had to fight for their rights only recently to receive an allotment that treaties granted over a century before had promised. With the federally-ratified Brunot Agreement of 1874, Ute bands didn’t just lose their water, land and mineral rights in the San Juans; they also “forcibly relinquished [about four million acres of] land to the U.S. government,” and were relocated to arid lands far from their ancestral homelands, according to the Southern Ute Indian Tribe.

In writing of water in his 1986 classic novel, “Cadillac Desert,” Marc Reisner notes: “It was one of those details that dwell in a special kind of obscurity reserved for the perfectly obvious.”

APPLES AND THE FUTURE

The obvious steps to the future lie nestled within nuanced complexities of “The American West and Its Disappearing Water” — many of which tie back to the 19th century doctrine of Manifest Destiny, “the ultimate commodification of land as property, possession and conquest,” according to Diné (Navajo) Park Ranger and archeologist Adesbah Foguth of @Native_Power_Rangers on Instagram.

These complexities created the communities that brought many of our foremothers to this land. If, in 2020, our society struggled, collectively, to reconcile its identity and reevaluate its values, 2021 challenges us: how will we show up for the things we believe in?

The West End’s Apple Core Project promotes fruit tree preservation through mapping, identifying, grafting, planting and documenting heritage apples, and reorients the region toward the abundance of yore.

In their work reviving legacy apple cultivars, founders Jen Nelson and Mel Eggers both echo the desire to “create healthier food systems (and) wholesome communities.”

Nelson spoke of her desire to personally reestablish sovereign food systems, honor the hard work of our predecessors and incorporate a workplay balance into daily life. Eggers nodded, and partner Bodie Johannsen remarked: “this is about figuring out a plan to just make it all happen.”

All three spoke of leaning into the spaces we intentionally create, looking to a modern-day visualization of community that lets us continue to work the land in a way that’s healthy, systemically, at the same time as looking forward to how we share it with others.

As children scampered behind them, the three apple farmers looked wistfully to the jagged horizon: “this is about honoring the land.”

Maybe it’s the revitalization of a collective community consciousness for wellness and prosperity that sparks joy within residents new and old. Honoring the past, however we understand it, is important to us all.

Whether there’s something in the water, the sand or the sun, the West End’s allure is undeniable. The biggest challenge to those who are drawn to it? Learn to honor the past. Elevate the area’s abundance. Invest in the community, and make your time count.

The people, as much as the land, don’t forget.

"...Ute bands didn’t just lose their water, land and mineral

rights in the San Juans; they also “forcibly relinquished (about four million acres of) land to the US government,” and were relocated to arid

lands far from their

ancestral homelands..."

For more information on Native American food sovereignty, watch “Gather.” https://gather.film/

DANI REYES-ACOSTA saunters between the mountains and the desert. As a freelance brand strategist, educator and mountain athlete, she thinks we can all have a say in how we build community with others on this planet. Find her on Instagram as @NotLostJustDiscovering.