A poem written by Shelby Price, owner of Mountain Grace Lavendar Ranch in Hot Sulphur Springs, CO.

There was a time when this land didn’t come with opinions—
it came with responsibility.

Before grocery stores, before subdivisions,
before anyone had the luxury to debate how land should be used—
there were families who made it produce something at all.

They cleared timber, sagebrush, hauled rock, clearing land for meadows and fields by horses and hand.
Not for profit. For survival.

In places like Grand County and beyond, the growing season is short,
the winters are long,
and nothing comes easy.

The water that runs through these lands—
it isn’t excess.
It’s intention.

It’s history.

And somewhere along the way,
we stopped telling that story.

And maybe that’s where the divide began.

Because today, most people are so far removed from the land,
they no longer see the work behind it—
only the outcome.

They see water being used,
but not the hands that built the systems to carry it.

They see animals on pastures, crops grown for animal and human consumption
but not what it took to keep them alive.

They see open space,
but not the generations who fought to hold onto it.

And yet—
we all depend on it just the same.

We all eat.
We all need water.
We all rely on the land to give us something back.
Maybe the question isn’t who’s right.

 

Maybe it’s whether we remember enough to listen.

Because the land doesn’t care about sides.

It responds to how it’s treated.

And somewhere between survival and preservation—
there’s a place where both can exist.

We just have to be willing to meet there.