By Jacqueline Covey for Civil Eats.
Broadcast version by Roz Brown for New Mexico News Connection reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Tucked high in a mountain range in San Diego County, California, ranch managers Rob Paulin and Jeremey Walker rely on "spunky" cows to mitigate wildfire by grazing on the chaparral brush and shrubbery that traditional market cattle won't seek-let alone eat.

"Spunky," Paulin said with a smile as he surveyed his herd coming into a valley from mountain foraging. "That's one way to put it."

Originally from the Andalucía region of Spain, these Raramuri Criollo cattle are small and trim-weighing about 800 pounds each, compared to a 1,200-plus-pound Angus cattle. After being brought from Spain 500 years ago, they evolved in the mountains of Chihuahua, Mexico, where they learned to survive by searching for food in the far corners of the rough landscape. For centuries, the Tarahumara people have successfully bred Criollos with little husbandry, taking advantage of the cattle's ability to forage and thrive in arid climates to produce meat, milk, and more.

The cattle travel further and for longer periods than other breeds-even away from water-and will eat brushy shrubs when grasses run low due to drought. These unique grazing habits support native vegetation and reduce fire fuels at a time when California and the U.S. Southwest are facing a megadrought that could last another eight years. California is the driest it has been in 1,200 years, and this year wildfires have already burned more than 53,000 acres in the state.

Some Western ranchers are responding to the crisis, reducing wildfire risk, and conserving water by restoring native grass ecosystems and reducing overgrazing to avoid thinning herds.

Paulin has spent the last 10 years trying to improve the ecological footprint of the 4,500-acre Corte Madera Ranch by reducing biodiversity loss and ground compaction, which makes it difficult to retain water, without downsizing the ranch and jeopardizing his profitability. The profit margin from raising cattle is tight, so ranchers often trim costs by culling their herds during drought.

The Criollo's foraging patterns helped to manage fire-prone rangeland and restore native vegetation, while providing a cheaper alternative to conventional English beef cattle.

Since 2005, researchers from the U.S. Department of Agriculture and New Mexico State University (NMSU) have studied the Raramuri Criollo's potential to produce more sustainably in the drought-prone Southwestern states. In 2015, Corte Madera Ranch became one of five ranches across the U.S. participating in the Sustainable Southwest Beef Coordinated Agricultural Project-adding Criollo heifers and a bull into its Angus herd.

The federally funded study compares the economic and environmental impacts of Angus-Hereford and Raramuri Criollo cattle in arid places. So far, researchers found that the Criollo are better suited to shrubby landscapes and have a lower footprint than Angus and other commercial cattle. At the Corte Madera Ranch last year, the drought forced its owners to reassess operations.

"Between all the Angus we had and the Criollos, there was just a little too much, and we were getting some overgrazing that we didn't like," Paulin said, who decided to sell the last remaining Angus. "We have nothing but Criollo mother cows now," he said.

Heritage Cattle on Arid Lands

With their Loki-style horns, the Raramuri Criollo are cousins to the Texas Longhorn, which grew larger as they evolved alongside commercial English Angus production.

It is believed that the Raramuri Criollo were on the "first shipment of domestic livestock destined to inhabit the New World"-somewhere in the West Indies-during Christopher Columbus' second voyage between 1493 and 1496. The cattle underwent a "semi-natural selection" over the course of nearly four centuries, according to NMSU scientists, as red meat consumption in the U.S. favored larger, faster-growing English breeds.

With little demand for Spanish cattle, the Criollo largely remained isolated in Mexico's Copper Canyon for centuries. They were forced to adapt into nimble-footed foragers with a willingness to venture away from water sources-the ideal characteristic for a desert rancher.

Raramuri Criollo "had to fend for themselves, and so they became resilient," Paulin said.

Regenerating Landscapes, Preventing Wildfire

On a June day, cooled by the fire-exacerbating Santa Ana winds, Paulin and Walker looked out to the site of a prescribed burn carried out by Cal Fire on Valentine's Day, part of an ongoing effort to reduce wildfire risk in the high desert of Southern California. It's hard to decipher between the treated and untreated acres-the fire-treated land is lush with growth-but after a second look, the vegetated area appears almost swept clean, even months after the burn.

"That's less of the ladder fuels to lead into the tree so the tree catches fire," Paulin said, referring to shrubs, low-lying tree branches, and other fuels that can spread fire burning to taller vegetation.

Once given some time to regenerate, Corte Madera's Criollo cattle will scour the Cal Fire-managed areas for new sprouts and rid the ranch of fire-fueling shrubs such as Mountain Mahogany. These fire management plans help landowners lower the likelihood of wildfires getting out of control. Fires that burn at very high temperatures for too long can sterilize soil and inhibit new grass and tree regrowth.

While English cattle tend to graze in a compact area in one pasture, the Criollo hunt for food across greater distances, which is less detrimental to the land. Improper grazing management alters fire patterns and the land's ability to regenerate naturally, according to NMSU researchers, but adopting new practices can help limit flammable brush and encourage deep-rooted native plant growth.

"Conventional grazing can be more devastating to the land than fire, because fire comes through and doesn't stay," explained Ann Adams, the education director for Holistic Management International, a global farm management agency. "[Fire] doesn't keep hammering the same grass over and over again the way that a stocked animal will."

Paulin has noticed that, unlike the commercial breeds, Criollo seek out patches of new grasses after pastures have been burned, but will not eat down to the soil. This grazing style helps keep fire fuels low as the cows replenish the land with manure.

"If [the land's] got that fuel load down and there's fresh grass growing, that can actually suppress the fire that comes in to the land," Adams said. "It's not just that the animal turns the carbon of the plant into fertilizer through its dung and urine . . . As it prunes, that is also bringing nutrients to the roots through the liquid carbon pathway."

Working in part with the scientists in New Mexico, Paulin found that the Raramuri Criollo's grazing helps reduce fire fuels without decimating native vegetation. In fact, he told Civil Eats he's begun to see native grasses that haven't flourished in a long time.

"Native grasses, when they're gone, it's really tough to bring them back," Paulin said. "We're starting to get places where needle grasses and deer grasses are growing back, where before we had two little patches of them."

Cost-Effective Alternative for Arid Ranches

Criollo are considered sports breeds, typically sold for rodeo events and not off to market.

Paulin and Walker still crossbreed Criollo with Angus bulls so that Corte Madera Ranch can sell it on the meat market as a beef animal-rather than as a recreational animal. NMSU found that quality cuts of Raramuri Criollo meat are comparable to the English breeds. Paulin noted that the leaner Criollo meat has more nutrients than Angus and is a match in taste.

A big obstacle to greater availability of Criollo meat in the market is that the few existing meat processing plants in the U.S. aren't suited for the small-framed animal-at least not yet, Walker explained. Some individuals privately slaughter and market Criollo cattle on their own.

"There are basically four main meatpackers in the United States," Walker said. "It's not that somebody couldn't make money, it just wouldn't be the same way as traditional meat right now, because [Criollos] aren't accepted in [these] facilities."

Although Corte Madera Ranch keeps its Angus bulls to attract better prices in the conventional market, NMSU purchases most of the cattle for its research pool, and the ranch auctions off any cattle not sold on the market.

Another perk of raising Criollo cattle is that their self-sufficient grazing makes them more cost-effective than English breeds. The Corte Madera Ranch has saved between $4,000 and $10,000 annually on supplemental feed and mineral bin costs.

"We only feed them when it snows," Walker said, "basically to keep them on the ranch."

The Corte Madera Ranch supplies its cattle with simple salt licks roughly the size of a cinder block to provide essential minerals.

"We've come to a point where it looks like we can maintain the herd through a drought without devastating the land, and the reason for that is because the Criollos will go so many places [to graze]," Paulin explained.

Diversifying from Angus, which comprises 90 percent of the beef market, is risky for ranchers trying to keep costs down and steady the flow of cows to the market. During dry years, California cattlemen must weigh the value of their herd with the bottom line and hope for a wetter season the following year to feed their land and cows.

While the Criollo cattle may not be the solution for all rangelands, they may relieve some pressure for those in the arid environments of the American Southwest. And the managers at Corte Madera Ranch say they are seeing better profit margins than before their Criollo integration.

"We're able to keep a third more mother cows on our land, because of the way the Criollo use our land," Walker said.

At the same time, the land is improving, rather than deteriorating, Paulin added. "That's the key."

Jacqueline Covey wrote this article for Civil Eats.


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When the Champlain Towers South collapsed in Surfside in 2021 taking 98 lives, it sent shock waves across South Florida. The tragedy has left lingering questions about the safety of coastal high-rises and whether the ground beneath them is as solid as once thought.

A new study by scientists from the University of Miami uncovered a troubling pattern: 35 buildings along the coastline from Miami Beach to Sunny Isles Beach are sinking, some at rates of up to eight centimeters in the past seven years.

Farzaneh Aziz Zanjani, a postdoctoral researcher at Washington University in St. Louis and the study's lead author, called the findings significant.

"We saw a correlation between the start of the subsidence and the nearby construction activities and we also found some correlation between the geology," Aziz Zanjani explained. "As we move from Sunny Isles to Miami Beach, the amount of subsidence is less."

Using satellite-based technology, the team tracked subtle ground movements which are otherwise invisible. Sunny Isles Beach, known for its luxury high-rises, showed the most dramatic rates of subsidence. The researchers believe the southern Florida geology with softer sandy layers within the limestone may be a factor.

For longtime residents, the study is unsettling. The idea some buildings may be sinking in a region already grappling with rising seas and stronger storms adds concerns about the future. Aziz Zanjani cautioned against jumping to conclusions.

"It doesn't necessarily mean that these buildings are unsafe," Aziz Zanjani pointed out. "This is beyond the scope of the study we had. It just shows that there is something happening under these buildings and it's related to geology and a lot more factors that we don't understand, and we need to do more research."

The research was motivated by the Surfside collapse but scientists found no evidence subsidence contributed to the tragedy. Still, Aziz Zanjani emphasized the study highlights the need for transparency and better monitoring of structural stability across the region. Aziz Zanjani's paper is open-access to the public.


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The Iowa Department of Natural Resources is training operators of Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations on the safest ways to apply manure to their fields and what to do if a spill happens. It is part of the state's effort to help reduce accidents and protect the environment.

Iowa produces about 50 million tons of manure every year or enough to fertilize roughly 17% of the state's cropland.

Jeff Prier, senior environmental specialist for the Iowa DNR, said the state is teaching commercial and smaller operators how to apply it safely by following a required manure management plan.

"When they go out to do their application, they need to comply with any separation distances to residence, church, business, school, public use area, water sources," Prier outlined. "Dependent on their application method."

Manure from Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations is known to pollute air and groundwater when it is not properly applied. Commercial operators said they are looking for more environmentally friendly ways to operate while trying to meet consumer demand for high quality meat. The deadline to apply for the DNR training is next week.

The DNR charges commercial operators $225 for a manure application permit and $175 for smaller operators. Prier noted it is a small price to avoid fines of between $3,000 and $5,000 for applying fertilizer without state certification.

"When they hear the numbers, they tend to open their eyes pretty big and think that's a pretty big number," Prier observed. "But the best reason is being in compliance with the rules and regulations and knowing what to do if there is a spill."

Prier, who has been overseeing training for 26 years, added given the amount of manure spread on Iowa farms every year, the number of spills is relatively small.


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By Ilana Newman for The Daily Yonder.
Broadcast version by Eric Galatas for Colorado News Connection for the Public News Service/Daily Yonder Collaboration

Recycling may be a given in metropolitan areas, but in many rural communities, it is more complicated. Without the infrastructure and funding to reach isolated homes outside of city centers, it falls on individuals to try and dispose of their waste responsibly. 

In Montezuma County, Colorado (population 26,248), the main issue with recycling is the remote location. Located in the far southwest corner of the state, the Four Corners region sits nearly 400 miles from Denver and Salt Lake City, and 250 miles from Albuquerque. 

The isolation means that there is no backhaul trucking to the region — which is when a commercial truck can bring a load on the return trip — which would cut costs dramatically for recycling in the area. 

However a new law signed into law in 2022 is supposed to increase access to recycling infrastructure in rural communities of Colorado in the coming years. The law wants to promote circular economies that cut down on waste and support recycling in rural parts of the state. A circular economy looks at the end of life of a product and helps it to be revitalized, recycled or reused instead of trashed. 

The Producer Responsibility Program for Statewide Recycling Act was signed into law in 2022 and a needs assessment was published in early 2023 to assess the current state of recycling services in Colorado. Currently, Circular Action Alliance, Colorado’s Producer Responsibility Organization is working to create a program plan which is due by February 1, 2025.

But many people have already been working on the ground before to manage trash and recycling for their communities. Take Colby Earley, superintendent of refuse and recycling for the City of Cortez, Colorado, as an example. “There’s no magical place called ‘away,’” he said. Once your waste leaves your home, it has to go somewhere. Many people are doing their best to make sure that waste is disposed of responsibly.

Recycling in Montezuma County happens in a few different ways. The City of Cortez (population 8,909) has a curbside pickup program, which is free for residents. But for the rest of the county, recycling is much trickier. 

In 2009, the nonprofit Four Corners Recycling Initiative stepped up to fill the gaps in recycling infrastructure for Montezuma County, with three dropoff bins around the county that, when full, get brought to the Montezuma County Landfill for processing. 

Casey Simpson, president of the board for Four Corners Recycling Initiative, said that the nonprofit was not designed to exist forever. It was created to get the grant to pay for the bins because the small towns of Dolores and Mancos did not have the funding to support municipal recycling programs. 

The Producer Responsibility program in Colorado will require companies to pay for the eventual recycling of their packaging which will fund recycling around the state. Other states like California, Oregon, Minnesota, and Maine are beginning to implement similar extended producer responsibility (EPR) programs. 

Now, Simpson is working in collaboration with the circular economy work that is happening on a state level because of the Producer Responsibility Program. One of the ways that recycling could be increased in rural areas would be to incentivize businesses that use recycled material. 

“If there was a plastic company that was taking plastic and turning it into rain gutters in Montezuma County, you would have a high demand for recycled plastics, and it would be really cheap because it would be more lucrative. You wouldn’t have to transport that plastic anywhere,” Simpson said. 

Transportation is currently a big factor for Montezuma County recycling. According to landfill manager Mel Jarmon, number one plastics are currently sent to Georgia to make carpet backing. He sends out a semi-load of these every year. Number two plastics he can only send out every 15-16 months, to California. He sends cardboard and electronic waste to Oklahoma. The landfill can only recycle what they can make money off of. 

“We’re a business just like anybody else in town. We’re not taxpayer-funded. We make our money on what we do here. If it’s so contaminated that we can’t at least break even or make a little bit, then we can’t do it,” Jarmon said.

For one load of e-waste sent to Oklahoma, Jarmon said it costs the landfill over ten thousand dollars. 

Glass is one thing that currently does not make financial sense to recycle. Jarmon said there’s no market for it close by. But Earley at the City of Cortez continues to collect it because he hopes there will someday be a market closer to the Four Corners. For now, Earley crushes the glass himself, mixes it with street sweepings, and sells it to the landfill to create cover for the landfill itself.

Earley said that it remains to be seen what impact the Producer Responsibility program will have on Montezuma County and Cortez, but he hopes it will make it easier and cheaper to recycle in the area.

Simpson has personal reasons to continue to fight for increased recycling in his rural community. “I love where I live and I don’t want to see it all turn into a landfill. I would much prefer seeing the wild and open spaces that we have and keep the landfills as small as possible.”


Ilana Newman wrote this article for The Daily Yonder.


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