Canyon Country Zephyr page 27

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on renewable energy and eco-friendly construction. Maybe some of the damage can be slowed or stopped by these new innovations. Morocco gets more modern every year.

But what is going to happen to the culture here? How much "improvement" can my village take before it loses itself in the shuffle? Homogenization is often the death of culture, and I can see that my village could soon be another victim of the slow tide of progress. But the irony of the situation for me, as a development worker focusing on the environment and its protection, is that the more modern my village becomes, the better it is for the local ecology. Switching from, say, sheepherding to ecotourism would take the pressure off of the already shattered ecosystem and allow some degree of healing to take place. Improvements in sanitation and irrigation practices would remove toxins and pathogens from the nearby river and maybe allow a regeneration of the riparian corridor along the Melloul valley. The list goes on, but at what cost? Both culture and environment have incalculable value; and what is best for a culture may not be the best for the environment.

The National Park that I work with, the Eastern High Atlas National Park, is 135,000 acres of daggerlike mountains and long, narrow river valleys. Some of the valleys are still filled with Atlas Cedar (Libocedrus atlanticus), an endangered tree species, and some of the mountaintops foster hanging gardens of orchids and other strange wildflowers that I have yet to identify. But for the most part, the mountainsides are barren and the river valleys are filled entirely with fields and mud houses. All parts of the park are stunningly beautiful, but part of what makes them lovely is the delicate interplay of pastoral civilization with the rugged austerity of the surrounding landscape.

will ensure the complete destruction of the few reservoirs of biodiversity remaining in the Atlas.

It is a fascinating thing, like a step backward in time, to be thrown into these situations that mirror the glory days of the American National Park System, but to see them through the lens of modern ecological and sociological management strategies. "America's best idea" was the vanguard; we were the first in the world to realize that some things are so precious that we need to save them from ourselves. Other countries, especially those outside the "western world" have followed suit in recent decades and Morocco's National Parks are some of the most recent. So here I am, an American Park Ranger in Morocco. I have nearly 150 years of National Park history to work from, and the swirling unknown of a deeply rooted and ancient culture to work with. What is the right thing to do? What am I even able to do?

I have no current projects, just many ideas and prospects on the horizon. I maintain contact with many people back in the States and tell them whatever I can about my life here; after all, that is also part of my job. I continue to learn the Tamazight Language and make friends in my town, as we all wait for the snow to come. In the next month, the leaves will fall from the poplars by the river and the mountains will greet each day silver with frost. Life will slow to a crawl as my friends spend more and more time indoors by the fire, and I will sift through my sheaf of Park Management Plans and my shelf of community development books and try to wrap my mind around my service as a whole. I will try to understand the delicate balance between the Moroccan people and their environment, and hopefully learn if the preservation of an ecosystem really must result in the destruction of a culture. Thankfully, there are few places better for thought and reflection than beside a hot woodstove as the snow falls gently outside.

"The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not refect the views or opinions of the U.S. Government"

CHARLIE KOLB is almost a native Coloradan,and has worked as a seasonal ranger for the National Park Service, but will be working with the Peace Corps until 2012.

The Zephyr looks forward to sharing-regular reports from Charlie.

You can also follow him via his blogs:

http://charlieofmorocco.blogspot.com http://wind-water-stone.blogspot.com

My village has only had electricity for 3 years.

It still only has running water for four hours a day.

But the western world is slowing encroaching

on this ancient culture and I see signs of it every day.

By principle I am a strict preservationist; I idolize John Muir and am wary of Gif-ford Pinchot. I share Muir's viewpoint that the incredible balance of the natural world is something incredible and unfathomable to humans. We cannot improve upon it, but we can learn from it; it is an incredible self-righting machine that functions best when left untouched. The agency that I once worked for, the National Park Service, bases its mission on the idea that land is best protected when boundary lines are drawn around it and people are removed. In the early 1900s, in what was to be Great Smoky Mountains National Park, literally hundreds of people were displaced by the NPS. The people of the cove culture found in that branch of the Appalachians were made refugees, but the environment was encapsulated and protected—though how effective that protection is in such a popular park remains debatable.

I continue to learn

the Tamazight Language

and make friends in my town,

as we all wait for the snow to come

I know that the National Park here in Morocco would benefit from such an approach. If this park were managed in the same way that we managed the Smokies, there would be miles of scenic byway, overlooks, campgrounds, and shiny, neat park "villages." All of the original residents would have been relocated by then and the hillsides would be starting to heal themselves. It would be clean and safe and beautiful. But the Berbers of the High Atlas are a people defined by their landscape; they are a piece of it and the land would seem strange without their stairstepped villages that cling to the steep hillsides or the fields of golden wheat that fill the valley floors in late summer. The ecosystem here has lost so many niches that restoring it to its original primal form would be next to impossible. Yet, on the opposite end of the spectrum, leaving the status quo of the park intact

www.redhawkphotography.com

redhawk81503@yahoo.com

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	on renewable energy and eco-friendly construction. Maybe some of the damage can be slowed or stopped by these new innovations. Morocco gets more modern every year. But what is going to happen to the culture here? How much "improvement" can my village take before it loses itself in the shuffle? Homogenization is often the death of culture, and I can see that my village could soon be another victim of the slow tide of progress. But the irony of the situation for me, as a development worker focusing on the environment and its protection, is that the more modern my village becomes, the better it is for the local ecology. Switching from, say, sheepherding to ecotourism would take the pressure off of the already shattered ecosystem and allow some degree of healing to take place. Improvements in sanitation and irrigation practices would remove toxins and pathogens from the nearby river and maybe allow a regeneration of the riparian corridor along the Melloul valley. The list goes on, but at what cost? Both culture and environment have incalculable value; and what is best for a culture may not be the best for the environment. The National Park that I work with, the Eastern High Atlas National Park, is 135,000 acres of daggerlike mountains and long, narrow river valleys. Some of the valleys are still filled with Atlas Cedar (Libocedrus atlanticus), an endangered tree species, and some of the mountaintops foster hanging gardens of orchids and other strange wildflowers that I have yet to identify. But for the most part, the mountainsides are barren and the river valleys are filled entirely with fields and mud houses. All parts of the park are stunningly beautiful, but part of what makes them lovely is the delicate interplay of pastoral civilization with the rugged austerity of the surrounding landscape. will ensure the complete destruction of the few reservoirs of biodiversity remaining in the Atlas. It is a fascinating thing, like a step backward in time, to be thrown into these situations that mirror the glory days of the American National Park System, but to see them through the lens of modern ecological and sociological management strategies. "America's best idea" was the vanguard; we were the first in the world to realize that some things are so precious that we need to save them from ourselves. Other countries, especially those outside the "western world" have followed suit in recent decades and Morocco's National Parks are some of the most recent. So here I am, an American Park Ranger in Morocco. I have nearly 150 years of National Park history to work from, and the swirling unknown of a deeply rooted and ancient culture to work with. What is the right thing to do? What am I even able to do? I have no current projects, just many ideas and prospects on the horizon. I maintain contact with many people back in the States and tell them whatever I can about my life here; after all, that is also part of my job. I continue to learn the Tamazight Language and make friends in my town, as we all wait for the snow to come. In the next month, the leaves will fall from the poplars by the river and the mountains will greet each day silver with frost. Life will slow to a crawl as my friends spend more and more time indoors by the fire, and I will sift through my sheaf of Park Management Plans and my shelf of community development books and try to wrap my mind around my service as a whole. I will try to understand the delicate balance between the Moroccan people and their environment, and hopefully learn if the preservation of an ecosystem really must result in the destruction of a culture. Thankfully, there are few places better for thought and reflection than beside a hot woodstove as the snow falls gently outside. "The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not refect the views or opinions of the U.S. Government" CHARLIE KOLB is almost a native Coloradan,and has worked as a seasonal ranger for the National Park Service, but will be working with the Peace Corps until 2012. The Zephyr looks forward to sharing-regular reports from Charlie. You can also follow him via his blogs: http://charlieofmorocco.blogspot.com http://wind-water-stone.blogspot.com My village has only had electricity for 3 years. It still only has running water for four hours a day. But the western world is slowing encroaching on this ancient culture and I see signs of it every day. By principle I am a strict preservationist; I idolize John Muir and am wary of Gif-ford Pinchot. I share Muir's viewpoint that the incredible balance of the natural world is something incredible and unfathomable to humans. We cannot improve upon it, but we can learn from it; it is an incredible self-righting machine that functions best when left untouched. The agency that I once worked for, the National Park Service, bases its mission on the idea that land is best protected when boundary lines are drawn around it and people are removed. In the early 1900s, in what was to be Great Smoky Mountains National Park, literally hundreds of people were displaced by the NPS. The people of the cove culture found in that branch of the Appalachians were made refugees, but the environment was encapsulated and protected—though how effective that protection is in such a popular park remains debatable. I continue to learn the Tamazight Language and make friends in my town, as we all wait for the snow to come I know that the National Park here in Morocco would benefit from such an approach. If this park were managed in the same way that we managed the Smokies, there would be miles of scenic byway, overlooks, campgrounds, and shiny, neat park "villages." All of the original residents would have been relocated by then and the hillsides would be starting to heal themselves. It would be clean and safe and beautiful. But the Berbers of the High Atlas are a people defined by their landscape; they are a piece of it and the land would seem strange without their stairstepped villages that cling to the steep hillsides or the fields of golden wheat that fill the valley floors in late summer. The ecosystem here has lost so many niches that restoring it to its original primal form would be next to impossible. Yet, on the opposite end of the spectrum, leaving the status quo of the park intact www.redhawkphotography.com redhawk81503@yahoo.com
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