A letter written to the City Council

Greetings,

It seems the time has drawn near to make the final decision on whether or not to rezone the Main Station Farmland. I have been opposed to this ever since I first learned of it and have attended several City Council Meetings. I received an email from the Great Basin Community Food Co-op that sums up how many in Reno feel about this decision. It reads as follows: 

Farm land in this country could be classified as endangered. In the last 20 years, much farmland has been turned into neighborhoods, shopping malls, and warehouses, because as a general rule, farmland is on flat ground that is easy to develop.
The last decade, though, has seen the rising desire and need for locally grown foods, mainly because of the fresh taste, lesser impact on the environment (in particular fossil fuels), and the opportunity to support local economies and meeting the farmer that grows your food.
The administration at UNR wishes to rezone and sell 104 acres of farmland at the Main Station Field Lab located at McCarran and Mill, the last remaining big-acreage and thus endangered agricultural land in our City.  This acreage is part of the land grant university that has a function to provide land for research and education of agricultural crops and practices, and serves to support both our rural and urban communities.
These 104 acres also lie in the flood plain, thereby serving as much-needed area for water storage in times of floods, such as the 1997 and 2005 floods, which were classified as 100 year floods. Development in surrounding areas has caused this shift in flood waters, including inundating houses in surrounding neighborhoods. The City of Reno also has a mission to serve its citizens, and this case falls under their purpose of protecting citizens in emergency situations.
Lastly, the 104 parcel is also located near Wolf Pack Meats, which is at risk of being negatively impacted (and potentially closed) by this rezoning proposal. the UNR administration has requested to rezone the acreage to commercial/industrial, which would allow warehouse development in the flood plain.
Many local citizens working to help save UNR Farms envision Main Station Field Lab as an ideal location to create the community's food security hub. We believe that UNR should hold to its premise to serve the community and provide agricultural research and education to support local agriculture for Nevada. This land has ample well water allotment and the best soils for growing food of the total 1,000+ acreage at Main Station Field Lab. Creating a signature agriculture education program, Master Gardeners' demonstration garden, and high desert specialty crop research fields is a smarter and more sustainable solution for the last remaining farm land in our area.

With that being said, I would like to point out the the University of Nevada is a Land-Grant Institution, a college founded on the principles of farming, of research, of developing new ways to grow food. This cannot and should not be ignored, especially in such an unstable economic climate. It should be seen as an opportunity, a chance to change, for the better, how we, the city of Reno, treats its land and food - and as a step towards sustainability.
We have a gem, a swatch of extremely fertile land - and some people want to develop it. For what, money, power, status? What will those things get anyone? To close it up, pour concrete over it, fill our valley with more empty buildings would be detrimental to every person in this valley. It would not be development in the name of progression, but rather digression, it will not move us forward.
Why not take this land, develop a new Master Garden and provide fresh local food for local school lunch programs? Or homeless shelters? Or the Food Bank? Why not develop a new curriculum at UNR that focuses on high desert farming? Or develop a perma-culture class, where the land is properly stewarded into sustainability while producing food as well as habitat for fauna? The options are endless and each one, would put the City of Reno on the national map of the food culture. Many of these ideas have been presented in the past, but I fear, with the delayed progress of this decision, many of you have forgotten the severity of this situation. And the new members, some whom I previously emailed before the election, had no idea what I was talking about. I want this email to serve as a refresher, a breath of fresh air, while it lasts, to remind you just how important this land is.
It provides me with a space to visit, to smell fresh air, to see the Natural world as it once was in our concrete ridden valley. It is fertile land. Land most farmers dream of having. Land that would be a shame to see covered in concrete and steel. I will finish with an essay I wrote while studying at the University of Nevada. It is about the Truckee Meadows, and I feel the overall message is pertinent to saving the Main Station Farm.

Truckee Meadows:  An Epitaph

Right now, the sun is breaking through the clouds and shadows sneak across the Truckee Meadows.  Wind is blowing away the snow, pushing the clouds east—over concrete—across the meadow.  Flowing through this meadow, a river meanders its way towards Pyramid Lake.  Breathing deeply, what trees remain cough and stagger weakly in the wind; this meadow lies fallow and tainted.  Glancing out my panoramic window the flurry of telephone poles, wires, pigeons, and casinos harass and harness the meadow.  I stop for a second, in an instant the meadow was as it was, before progress paved over it like a summer thunderstorm.

* * *

An oasis thick with trees and a youthful river flowing east with animals coming, going, and eating the greenest of leaves.  The calm drift of the water carries a lazy otter and a rambunctious beaver.  Slapping his tail, the beaver eagerly searches for the right cove to build his home.  Another slap on the glassy water and he disappears.  The otter indolently floats down the river. Disappearing under the bridge and cloud of car exhaust.   

A fresh rain has passed over, leaving a deep smell of sage.  Smelling the sage, a fox looks up from across the river, and his eyes point to a scurrying mouse, fleeing death.  Mentally noting the mouse’s destination, he takes a drink and continues along the river.  The wind glides above the river and the rustling of the trees awakens a hawk from an afternoon nap.  She, too, tracks the mouse as she soars among the clouds, eyes riveted on the meadow.  But buildings and wires that drape over the meadow like a dense cloud of smoke skew her vision.   

The receding smell of sage leaves a fresh and sacred cleanliness to the air.  The animals coexist peacefully.  The otter—now with a partner—playfully meander upstream.  Below their games, a world of fish and insects respectfully swim, giving life to the river basin.  Admired most, the Brown and Rainbow trout loyally succumb as nourishment.  For the bear, the cougar, the eagle and the coyote, the trout is a giver of life. 

Coyote appears, coming out of a thick wooded area.  He stops and catches the scent of something.   He notices a large brown bear preoccupied near the river.  Realizing the bear’s fixation is a fat rainbow trout lying disemboweled on the ground, his eyes widen.  Not as successful of a hunter as the bear, Coyote quickly devises a trick to get the trout for himself. 

The bear is left dumbfounded as Coyote wily dashes away, trout in mouth.  The bear humbly lumbers down the riverbank.  He stops. Stands.  Sniffs.  He falls back to the sandy earth with a muted thud and continues on, hungry.  The sun is getting lower to the mountains and the shadows of the buildings grow longer.

Across the river a deer pokes her way through a willow shrub.  Nibbling the bark and leaves, she looks away from the willow, her eyes are directed at the bear.  Raising her nose into the air, she too, sniffs.  She grabs one more mouthful of leaves and heads back into the protection of the forest, which grows thick with pine, oak and cedar.  Offering protection, this grove of trees is inhabited by the deer, Coyote and the bear.  Not too far from the river, the forest thins out giving way to the high desert.  Pinion pine, sage, and juniper trees populate the hills as the highways meander in every direction like the snakes.

The sun quickly slips beneath the mountains as darkness approaches.  New animals come out while others blend back into the landscape.  Steeping in the twilight, the air over the river has cooled and the flows on.  The stars watch over the meadow as they give light for the owl.  Ready to begin the hunt, the owl swoops over the river.  The timid mouse fears to leave his hole in the ground. 

The night is filled with life and soon melts into morning as the cold simmers into warmth.  The seasons are changing.  The leaves near the river evolve from green to yellow, red to orange.  Daily, the temperatures cool as the sun sinks lower while the animals busily prepare for the snows ahead.  The leaves have all fallen, composting on the ground, fertilizing their creators.  The city is growing as the pavement hardens.  

The bear is timid yet eager to slumber.  Fat and cheerful, he lazily absorbs the last delicate moments of the fall.  Breathing deeply, one last lungful of air.  He is puzzled.  He shuffles into his den of solitude and rest—not knowing his world will never be the same.  The deer, the fox and others find shelter among the snow and tuck themselves away with companions.  Coyote quietly walks through the snow along the eight-mile bicycle path.  Now entombed in ice and snow, the river carries on.  Nervously, he notices the air is not as fresh.  He is lonely.  An intangible angst flutters with the frozen air and he ponders over the yellow earth moving machines. 

The air is still and quiet and a soft snow warms the ground.  Coyote can see his breath and the rising sun reminds him of his solitude.  The stillness smells fresh and calming.  Coyote hears an unfamiliar noise.  Loud.  Menacing.  This noise startles Coyote.  A thunderous roar.  The snow springs off the trees.  Coyote is uncertain of what to do—he runs—fast, towards mountains and towards wildness.  Soon the deer, the cougar, the badger, and the raccoon run with him.  He no longer feels lonely but his whole world has changed.  Beside the fleeing animals, the concrete sound shatters the ice, sending it down the flowing river past plastic bottles and rubber tires.

The noise, now accompanied by a somber gray mass, flows swifter than the river.  The noise has unseasonably awoken the bear.  Drowsy, he stumbles out of his den with little time to escape.  His lungs fill with dense, black smoke and he cannot run fast enough.  His tracks fill with oil.  The oily mass catches the bear and entombs him in bricks.  Cars and buildings sprout up replacing the trees.  Wires fill the sky and large planes spew smoke as they float across the sky.  The world has changed in this meadow but the river has persevered and continues to flow. 

* * *

Though the river flows, it is not the same.  No longer does the beaver slap its tail and the trout feed the bear.  Plastic bottles, bags, drunken humans and aluminum cans now float down the river, clogging this essential artery.  The coyote has left for the mountains, along with the deer and the eagles.  He rues the bear’s demise.

* * *

Still standing, I gaze out from the confines of this little box, the clouds drift over the mountains.  The winds howl, leaving little snow.  Below the clouds, tall buildings and streets of concrete intermingled with telephone wires and poles pollute the sky.  Helicopters and airplanes hover loudly over the meadow.  The smell of sage seldom drifts across the meadow.  The river chokes, slowing to an unseen trickle.  She is losing her will to survive.  We are suffocating her dwelling among the tall buildings, wires, and smoke—glowing, day and night. 

Sincerely, 

A concerned Citizen.