At Rural Voices Conference, No Crybabies Allowed

Ranchers, conservationists, researchers and many others discuss issues in the changing Western U.S.

There is something about the Rural Voices for Conservation Coalition that is as quirky as the place they meet – Troutdale, Oregon’s Edgefield Resort, the equivalent of an adult theme park. A former county poor house from the Depression – the Real Depression – the Edgefield has several acres of campus boasting a theater, a commercial-scaled garden to serve the resort’s restaurant, and oh yeah, a brewery, a winery and a distillery on-site.  Most of the rooms are dormitory-style with bathrooms down the hallway, no coffee pots, phones or TV, and eclectic artwork covering every surface area imaginable.

Rural Voices earns quirky, in my opinion, because one of the most eloquent Rural Voices, Sustainable Northwest’s Policy Director Maia Enzer, grew up in Manhattan. It’s Enzer who makes me feel better about unraveling Day 2 of RVCC’s annual policy meeting where overwhelmingly diverse people discuss the overwhelming topics of working landscapes (think ranching and forestry), climate change, biomass (fancy word for wood), and public lands management/economic development. I’ve been locked in the Barley Room of the Edgefield all day with ranchers, The Wilderness Society, the Forest Service, university researchers, renewable energy gurus, county commissioners, community-based groups, and conservation funders, to name a few.  We’re expected to give our rural responses to the early version of policy planks to create a 2011 batch of policy strategies.

Enzer looks at my numb-mind expression after the four consecutive sessions and is apologetic, in a direct, East Coaster unapologetic way. “I know, it’s messy and it’s real,” she tells me, tossing a bundle of her auburn, zig-zaggy hair over her shoulder. “This is the sausage-making part of RVCC and it’s kind of gross.” Before I can agree with what feels like a slow western drawl, Enzer continues, “It’s really hard to engage people in democracy. If we didn’t go through this tedious process, people don’t feel like it’s theirs.”

The tedious process is looking at national natural resources policy through rural goggles. RVCC attitude is like that of a friend of mine who for years sported a “No Crybabies” baseball cap. State your problem, for sure, but show up with a solution in hand. No Crybabies.

According to Enzer and associates, the average age of a rural landowner is 57. The next generation is not waiting to take over the ranch, farm, or family-owned forest because razor-thin profit margins have little allure. During my pod of brainstorming (one of four groups), participants expressed hope that mentor programs between older generation and a younger, less experienced generation could be established. They grappled with a White House and Congress that have effectively given up on comprehensive climate change legislation. Environmentalists and Republican county commissioners concurred that cap-and-trade scenarios may have posed an upset for private landowners eager to reap carbon credits, much in the same way that Midwestern farmers were enticed to change production practices to suit an ethanol paradigm.

“We know what happens when something becomes a commodity,” said Marcus Kauffman, a private bioenergy consultant from Western Oregon. “You lose control of that commodity,” Kauffman said. “No economic benefits make it to the bottom of the ladder,” he postulated, indicating that sophisticated ecosystem commodity traders would win while landowners would be marginalized. The group tangled with the idea of a carbon tax rather than cumbersome carbon credit schemes.

Nearly everyone in the Barley Room mentioned the Recession, positioning themselves for cutbacks that DC-insiders described as a predicted “brutalization of federal budgets.” Nearly everyone, that is, with the notable exception of Lynn Jungwirth, executive director of the Watershed Research and Training Center in Hayfork, Calif. By the end of the day, in the dimly lit room, Jungwirth had heard the dire financial predictions one too many times. Jungwirth most likely has a “No Crybabies” tattoo on her Northern Californian ass.  “So the U.S. Forest Service has a budget of $5.4 billion … even if they take a 10 percent hit, that’s still a lot of cash and they’ve got to spend it somewhere,” Jungwirth said, almost under her breath, as she led the discussion about public lands management and economic development.

A Forest Service employee reminded the group that $5 billion represented the eraser crumbs of an accountant working on the Department of Defense budget. “So, if we could just turn trees into bombs…” Jungwirth quipped with her trademark spontaneous wit.

Now in its 10th year, Rural Voices for Conservation Coalition has established a reputation for quirky, consensus-based policy successes. Behind the scenes, the coalition has been instrumental in finding ways for the Bureau of Land Management and the Forest Service to favor local contractors, getting the federal government to fund grant programs to shore up forest products infrastructure and forest restoration work, and to help fund groups that are willing to engage community and interest groups in finding mutually beneficial solutions to public lands management issues.

Watching the sausage-making, the transformation of rural hopes, needs and desires as they become policy solutions might be a little bit gross, as Enzer infers, but the end-product is undeniably satisfying.

Gina Knudson is the executive director of Salmon Valley Stewardship, a place-based conservation group that has participated in the Rural Voices for Conservation Coalition since 2005.