The Third Act

As it turned out, on the night of the presidential election I wound up driving south and east on Highway 205, on my way to meet with a couple whose ranch lies on the Oregon/Nevada border. Over the course of the past two years, I have been interviewing people throughout the southeastern corner of the high desert on behalf of the Oregon Desert Land Trust, a nonprofit predicated on the conservation of wild and working lands for people and wildlife.

The aim of the bimonthly “Sharing Common Ground” series is to illustrate all the ways it’s possible to love the same thing differently. As ODLT’s website explains, these interviews profile, “those who know and care deeply about this special place. Some make their living in the high desert, some seek out its rivers and canyons to recreate, still others seek solace in the wide-open spaces. Though perspectives differ, what all have in common is a love of this landscape. ODLT’s goal is to have people’s stories, insights and values resonate with others to increase the appreciation and stewardship of desert communities.”

The operative word here is “love” as in win/win, what’s best for most; not my-way-or-the-highway. What ODLT has accomplished in just seven years is truly impressive. Don’t believe me? Just ask critters, birds, fish and folks on both sides of the fence.

As I drove through the dark on the empty two-lane road, I frantically scrolled between radio stations, my efforts only producing static. Try as I did, I couldn’t get any radio updates on how the history-making night was going. Cell service? Forget about it.

After overnighting in Fields, I continued on to my meeting with the young, fifth-generation ranching couple. Their operation takes in carefully managed lower elevation basin grasslands as well as upper country range and healthy wildlife habitat in the Trout Creek Mountains — including high, cold streams that sustain the endangered Lahontan Cutthroat Trout.

A poet at heart, I wanted to share the poem that came to me about that night’s drive and the meeting that followed.

Static
Presidential Election 2024
by Ellen Waterston

Remote highway in southeastern Oregon, late on a moonless November night. Here and there, my headlights might illuminate a reflective sign: wildlife refuge, wilderness area.

That’s about it. I tune in for news of my country’s fate but only get static. Who’s winning,
I wonder? The road ahead looks empty and dark. But just then, out of the pitch,

a mysterious single, bobbing beam coming at me, too high, too slow for anything
I can name. I tell myself I’m thankful for any emissary of light. Closing in,

it turns out my redeemer’s a solo cowboy at a trot, headlamp secured above his brim,
rifle and lasso strapped to the saddle horn. Maybe looking for strays? Putting venison

in the freezer? Returning home after a visit with a far-flung neighbor? Does he wonder
who’s winning? I tune in for news of our shared country’s fate but only get static.

Driving the next day, I reflect on the dwindling Lahontan Cutthroat Trout; take
pleasure in the golden rabbitbrush, the snow-dusted Pueblos,

the skulking coyote, the Angus grazing in the meadows. I tune in for news
of their habitat’s fate but only get static.

At last I’m there. The sign on the gate says their pit bulls don’t take kindly to liberals.
I knock anyway and go in, only to find lap dogs and common cause with the land

we love in common. There’s no discussion of winners, of losers, only doers
in the race to conserve the grand scheme of all things wild and working.

We turn off the static.

I offer this poem because, win, lose or draw, it strikes me that the critically important job for all of us who have lived more than six decades is as standard bearers of respectful and conciliatory discourse. There will be plenty of winning, losing and drawing to go around; enough fool’s gold to keep us all prospecting for years; more easily made, easily broken piecrust promises unearthed than you can shake a rolling pin at. Boomers are old enough to know common ground is the only high ground if we hope to survive as a democratic, indivisible nation. What the world needs now, is…you know the lyrics. All catchphrases aside, let’s turn off the static and sing.

This article appears in Source Weekly November 28, 2024.