In this issue…

_{Water News}
Local wine growers on groundwater
A closer look at Gail Griffin
A tale of two basins
_{Land News}
Leave a message after the -bleep-
Jaguars just want to prowl
Chickens are in, roosters are out
_{Arizona Civics}
What will our story be?
Unsubscribing from city life
Potlucks, property, and politics
Desert-powered localism

Note from the editor

Howdy, readers.

I was thinking about the upcoming County Comprehensive Plan which will get finalized next year, and wondering what to write about it while the comment period is still open.

There’s plenty of low-hanging fruit:
“Keep the opt-out permits!”
“More groundwater conservation!”
“Support rural family economies!”

Thinking “comprehensively” a full 20 years into the future is a big lift, but it’s important. So I went all out and wrote over 3,000 words, telling a story of big-picture perspectives on today’s rural Cochise County, as I see it — hoping to jumpstart the “visionary” spirit of my neighbors.

While we’re all busy keeping our heads down with the day-to-day of staying afloat in the unforgiving environments of the high desert and high cost of living, it’s typically the wealthy who can afford more time to think long-term — and that means they often have more say in how things actually turn out.

But if you’re up for it, take some time to think about what you want too. Without that, we’ll get dragged along instead of leading the way.

Or you can skip all that and just browse through the other news items I’ve collected at the top of this newsletter.

In the next edition, I’ll do a wrap-up of voter items on the November ballot: Local government candidates and state ballot measures. (Don’t worry — no national politics!)

And after November, I’m looking forward to easing off the politics and doubling down on the fun stuff: Alternative building and community spotlights :)

I’m pleased to announce a little giveaway for the next 20 paid supporters of the Ground Party Papers: a free Cochise Stronghold coffee mug, filled with the good stuff!

While I was helping cleanup the backyard storage at the Talking Irons Coffee Saloon in Sunsites, I found a box full of these mugs, headed for a landfill.

No can do! Let’s give em away.

If you want a mug and one free fill-up, choose one of the supporter options, and then reply to this email letting me know you’ll be claiming one, and stop by Talking Irons to pick it up. If you don’t file your claim, I can’t set you up with the mug!

Speaking of paid supporters — I’ve almost reached the November goal for 50 supporters. We’re up to 35!

Here’s a shocker — some local wine growers have a problem with the groundwater free-for-all in the Willcox basin.

Mark Jorve and Rhona MacMillan started Zarapara Vineyard over a decade ago, and recently wrote an op-ed with their thoughts about how that’s going.

Here are some excerpts:

What’s Gail Griffin’s deal, anyway?

Local independent journalist Beau Hodai did a 4-part deep dive, and I mean super deep dive, into the special interests that Griffin — the “grim reaper” of water protections — is friendly with:

And I’ve been busy writing about water too over at the Arizona Agenda and the Tucson Agenda.

I did a 3-part series on Arizona’s groundwater battles, history, and future:

Part 1: A tale of two basins
Part 2: The well of history
Part 3: Rural Arizona, land of the free (water)

And then I wrote about the Arizona Corporation Commission (again) and Arizona’s water-energy nexus:

Leave a message after the -bleep-

Previously, I detailed the U.S. Air Force’s proposals for the new Tombstone MOA, a huge expansion of military test flights in Cochise County, including lower-altitude super sonic booms, flares and chaff, and how to give your citizen input.

The comment period was set to expire earlier this month, but its expanded to November 12, if you still want to weigh in.

In a recent op-ed, an anonymous local said:

Jaguars just want to prowl

AZ Luminaria just wrote a piece on the work of Miguel Gómez who’s spent 15 years chasing the ghost of El Guapo, king of the jaguars, through the wild Sierra Madre in Sonora. He’s never seen him, but he’s felt his presence in deep scratches on palm trunks and blurry trail cam shots. Out there, jaguars and land are one, a pulse of something ancient and free. And local communities are embracing the cats as a proud symbol of their regional identity.

But up North, in the Chiricahua and New Mexico side of their active range? The walls go up, rules come down, and the dream of jaguars in Arizona feels distant. El Guapo and Fisgón, an ocelot, like to roam both sides of the border, but fences and politics stand in the way. Conservationists are pushing for a natural return — no helicopters or barriers, just jaguars prowling like they always have, slipping between worlds.

Down in Sonora, the shift is happening. Ranchers, once pulling triggers, now get paid to snap pictures instead. El Guapo has become a sign that things are right. When he’s out there, the land hums with life — how it should be.

Chickens are in, roosters are out

Savanna Randall, just nine years old, stood before the Oro Valley Town Council, asking for permission to raise chickens on her family's one-acre lot. Eighteen months later, the council unanimously passed an ordinance allowing small animals like chickens and miniature goats in single-family homes — no roosters, though. It was the town’s first update to its zoning codes in over 20 years, the Explorer reports.

The new law lets residents keep up to six chickens and four miniature goats and includes beekeeping and pot-bellied pigs on larger lots. The journey wasn’t without twists, as state laws forced Oro Valley to loosen its restrictions. Vice Mayor Melanie Barrett cautioned about the state’s increasing control over local zoning.

Arizona Civics

What Will Our Story Be?

For me, it all started with a trip to the Adirondacks. A friend’s friend bailed on a weekend camping and hiking trip, and I was the replacement hiking buddy. I dutifully gave my dollars to REI, geared up, and felt more than ready to leave New York City behind, which I had only done once in the four years I’d been living there.

City life never felt the same after that. I started skipping town more and more, until eventually, it seemed silly to keep paying rent there. The suburbs I grew up in? No way I was going back to that either.

I’ll spare you the full saga for now, but a mix of good fortune and risk-taking, with a pit stop in Arcosanti, eventually landed me in the Douglas Basin in 2020, right as the pandemic hit its stride.

Four years later, and here I am, writing this newsletter, arguing with politicians at the capitol, and helping people build desert homes. Why? It’s a mix of motivations, but a big one is thinking about the future.

“So ‘the future’ is your thing,” a farmer in the Douglas Basin remarked to me.

I guess it is — and it’s not other people’s thing?

Why is that, I wondered.

Studying history can be a trip — after a while, it sneaks up on you that we’re not just living in the present, but crafting a legacy for future generations. The Great Story, as it turns out, is ours too, and we’re responsible for what we leave behind. That must be why I think about the future so much — because I’ve spent so much time studying the past.

And right now, our story is being written in a small but consequential way as we shape the new Cochise County Comprehensive Plan. When policy making goes sideways, it’s something we can point to and say: We’re getting off track.

It’s an opportunity for us map out our rural future, stake out some destinations and paths to follow.

So for today’s edition of the Papers, I’ve written a long-form overview of the recent cultural changes in rural Cochise County:

How it started, how it’s going, and how it might one day be.

Generation Drift: Unsubscribing from City Life

It’s not just a feeling anymore — there are graphs and maps behind the story of people leaving the cities. A mass exodus is underway. And the reasons? No big mystery. Generation Drift, composed of wayward Millennials, Gen Z, Gen X, and Boomers, was born.

The rent was too damn high. Despite economic growth, incomes have been stagnating since the 70’s while the cost of living kept its ruthless climb. Housing prices shot up 40% from March 2020 to March 2024, and for a lot of folks, that was the final straw.

Why settle for the suburbs? It turns out that a little backyard and a strip mall just aren’t enough for many. As people get older and start families, it’s typical that they’ll move to the suburbs where they might actually afford to buy a home and have a little more space. But some people want lots of space. In fact, recent surveys show that 56% of people moving rural expect to own at least 1–5 acres — not some fraction of an acre wedged tightly between other suburban homes.

When COVID hit, some people took social distancing to the extreme. Some wanted to avoid getting sick while others wanted to escape lockdowns and government health mandates. Rural migration had already begun, but COVID created waves. Between 2021 and 2023, major U.S. metro areas lost nearly 2 million people to outmigration.

From “cottagecore” to “underconsumption core” to “almanac core,” a pipeline had been forming. First came IKEA — save a buck, assemble furniture yourself, and embrace minimalism. But soon people wanted a little more character in their homes — straw baskets, repurposed apple crates, DIY pottery, a rustic chic called “cottage core”. Most recently is “underconsumption core” a new reaction to the social media “influencer economy” where popular figures make it cool to use less instead of buying more. And if I may coin a meme, “almanac core” is for the diehards looking to change their whole lifestyle — something simpler, self-sufficient, in harmony with the rhythms of nature. Rural homesteading became the way.

At the same time, there was a shift from LinkedIn to Chickens, from résumé-building to box-garden-building. The rise of farmers markets and the emphasis on organic local food transformed from niche to norm. Even my disgruntled chain-smoking roommate in Queens built a sneaky box garden on the roof of our apt building. When I lived in Austin, I was renting from the biggest CSA farmer in town who had started his business in his (and then my) backyard. He kept the name “Johnson’s Backyard Garden” even after upgrading to a full-fledged farm. And chickens have made a bid for “man’s new best friend.” Tractor Supply Co. reports that their chick sales have doubled from ten years ago, and organic chicken feed sales are up 10% since 2020. We now have the “chicken math” meme poking fun at the psychology of increasing one’s flock.

And everything is going green(ish). Permaculture and sustainable agriculture aren’t just trends — they’re becoming the backbone of people’s lives and careers. In many cases its just a matter of taking cues from historical and indigenous practices, back when low-tech sustainability was a necessity rather than an aspiration. But there are new innovations and twists as well, from solar-powered well pumps to residential rainwater catchment systems. Practices like rotational grazing and no-till farming are going mainstream in commercial agriculture. “Natural building” techniques like superadobe and strawbale construction have brought home building into the mix. But careful throwing around the term “green” or people might get suspicious that you’re a shill for the “radical globalist green agenda” — these days, everything is one word-association away from becoming politicized.

The “electric cottage” is a new option that makes deeper rural migration possible. Would Henry David Thoreau have used a Starlink connection to blog his philosophies instead of writing books? Thanks to Amazon, e-commerce, rural broadband, and ZOOM, you can live in the middle of nowhere and still make big city dollars and procure big city supplies. Post-pandemic, 30% of “office hours” are remote work — after a taste of freedom, people do not want to go back to the office. A recent poll says that 60% of city dwellers would leave urban life if they felt they could.

And I’ll go out on a limb and say that the “meaning crisis” is another likely driver of migration. Heightening political conflict, culture wars, desire for community, and lack of “purpose in life” — these sources of stress and disconnect drive people to simpler, more holistic lifestyles and environments.

Rural Renaissance: Potlucks, Property, and Politics

The chemistry of this new migration is complex — a blend of idealism, economics, and necessity. But what happens when city slickers and suburbanites meet the slow pace of rural life?

Remote work means city dollars can flow into rural economies. Some rural governments, like those in Kansas and Vermont, are scrambling to attract remote workers. Rural relocation grants up to $12,000 are offered to willing newcomers.

Local farmers get both headaches and payoffs as the idealistic Generation Drift continues their way Back to the Land. The newcomers like to hangout at the farmers markets and promulgate theory about "the better way" to do agriculture — the farmers nod along as they hand over bags of produce and actually make a living. It’s not that there aren’t problems to be addressed, and helpful solutions already staked out — but solutions in principle are not always solutions in practice. More communication and problem-solving needs to happen, which means more mutual listening from everyone. Conversation is key.

Meanwhile, this new rural Brain Gain brings gentrification along with it. As more people pour in, property values are climbing. In the early 2010’s I was paying $550 a month for a shabby room in Queens. Today, it’s hard to find rent that cheap in Willcox. Bisbee? Forget about it. Even rural land prices are going up, up, up. $700 per acre was an easy find when I got here in 2020. Today, unwitting transplants are willing to pay $5,000 per acre for parcels of barely-accessible mesquite scrub. Some of that comes down to bigger economic factors — but supply and demand is king.

Elsewhere, the “eco-village” trend is becoming popular. Disillusioned Silicon Valley hippies are setting up outposts in foreign tropical locales. Some of them work remotely as digital contractors, while others won big in the cryptocurrency sweepstakes. They often draft up wordy manifestos for their visions for a “metamodern future” while figuring out how to monetize the gentrification of small communities. Lots of wheatgrass smoothies and brainstorming sessions are involved.

But in rural Cochise County, community cooperatives give homesteaders a leg up. Neighbors are linking up to help each other tackle the essentials: housing and food. Sure, maybe one day these growing communities will see the birth of visionary new futures. But for now, we’re still building the foundational infrastructures. (I’ll be talking more about this in an upcoming appearance on The Great Simplification podcast with Nate Hagens. Tune in!)

But we better build fast, because the billionaires are coming. You hadn’t heard? I’ll share just a sampling of new cities in the works.

• Belmont: The city Bill Gates wants to build — a hi-tech, master-planned 234 square-mile city in Arizona.

• Telosa: Billionaire Marc Lore is planning his $400 billion city for “somewhere in the U.S. desert.”

• The Network School: Crypto investor Balaji Srinivasan is taking applications for his new private university being built in the duty-free zone of Forest City in Malaysia. The curriculum is coding and other forms of digital technology, and the long-term vision is to create a “startup city.”

• Starbase: Elon Musk has announced plans to build his own city in Boca Chica, Texas.

• East Solano: In a rural California county, a group of tech investors have already bought up 60,000 acres of land where they’re planning a new city. A lot of locals aren’t happy about that, and some farmers are refusing to sell out.

And here in Cochise County, its millionaires rather than billionaires who have their eyes set on future cities. If you want to learn more about the out-of-state “service industry investors” and other big players who are already investing in a 50,000 person city, send your questions to outgoing county supervisor Peggy Judd.

This convergence of rural and ex-urban cultures might seem like a recipe for political disaster — but non-partisan grassroots alliances are forming, and they may be the best against bigger disasters. Common causes, like groundwater conservation and rural preservation, transcend political divides. Libertarian-liberals and conservationist-conservatives have a lot of overlap, it turns out. And, notwithstanding any upcoming population booms, its still easy to have a political voice in rural politics, as we saw with the AMA elections in 2022, and the Sulphur Springs Water Alliance formed earlier this year.

But how much government is the right amount for Arizona’s rural backyard? The tension between anti-regulatory attitudes and the need for resource protection is real. On the one hand, we crave independence, but on the other, government grants and projects offer opportunities to protect what matters most — our land and water. Most tricky of all is that there’s no such thing — yet — as “local control” of groundwater resources. The state has final say on groundwater policies, and so their involvement is unavoidable. In turn, if people want groundwater protection without having captured regulators calling all the shots, building the muscles of rural civic engagement is a must.

And what kinds of newcomers survive the Great Desert Filter? It takes grit to make it out here—a mix of entrepreneurial spirit, humble aspirations, and a sustainable mindset. Those who can’t handle the tough spots get washed out, but those who can lean on their community will find a way through. Like “startups” in the business world, a desert homestead startup means lots of birthing pains, a willingness to fail and get back up, more than once. Also — do you like wildlife? There’s tons of it. Watch out for rattlesnakes and make sure your dogs don’t pick fights with javelina.

Out of the Dust: Desert-Powered Localism

“Every crisis is an opportunity,” they say. But who’s taking the advantage? The history of the corporate consolidation of agriculture is deep pockets buying out smaller farmers during economic down turns. But problems can also be leveraged for the greater good if humble people are willing to put the work in. In Arizona and beyond, housing and water are two of the biggest issues faced by everyday people. Here in Cochise County, we have opportunities to create new solutions in both of those domains, to be leaders and innovators, with alternative building and sustainable agriculture. But only if we step up, come together, and think ahead. And if we don’t take the advantage, you can be sure someone else will.

We’re in a race with suburban sprawl. They call it “Ag(riculture) to Urban,” and if we don’t get ahead of it, Cochise County could end up like the sprawling developments overtaking other parts of Arizona. Look no further than what’s happening in Buckeye and Pinal, where family farmers are exiting the biz and selling their farm equipment at big discounts. For the state officials, this is the path of least resistance: Keep letting the locals suck the aquifer dry, and then let Big Development do its thing. Getting to sustainable levels of water use is a huge challenge, but it beats the alternative. That is, if you include our future generations in your circle of concern.

Partnerships between agriculture, conservationists, and communities can help “regreen” the desert. We might not turn Cochise County into the Garden of Eden, but strategic restoration and permaculture can undo the damage of overgrazing and, some say, even increase precipitation when more grasslands lower our ambient temperatures. Groups like the Sky Island Alliance are leading the charge on the ground, while the USDA and NRCS are offering up restoration grants galore.

We can learn from the mistakes of the big cities. With the Douglas Port of Entry poised for development, we have an opportunity to rethink residential sub-development and city planning. Some amount of high-density development is simply unavoidable, but we do it smarter in Cochise County. Local architects like John Riggs, and ASU’s Center For Smart Cities offer forward-thinking visions for sustainable growth. We need everyone at the table talking if we don’t want to become Tucson’s bedroom economy.

We can also take clues from our local environment. Drought-tolerant crops are all around us and have been here for millennia. Prickly pears, mesquite beans, yucca, and other yummy foods await commercial development. But this takes more than lofty daydreams. Developing new crop economies is a long-term project and requires big alliances to pull all the right levers. Incubator funding, university research partnerships, and government subsidizing of farm infrastructure transitions are all pieces of the puzzle.

“Political potlucks” are how we build the muscle of civic engagement. Once upon a time, town halls were the norm. Let’s bring those back. Without direct communication, too much information gets distorted along the grape vine of hearsay, rhetoric, and rumors. No one is going to agree about everything all the time, but being exposed to your neighbor’s point of view is like sociological yoga — it’s a little uncomfortable at first, but it makes the whole community healthier. And it keeps the rumor mill from becoming a factory farm of mistrust.

“Gift economies”: If you share it — they will build. “Circular economies” is a trendy term, but is economic localism possible without circular communities? Money is a “trustless” store of value. I don’t have to trust you, much less like you, to know that the dollars you give me are worth something. But in order to sidestep money-based economics, building peer-to-peer trust is essential. Host a fun event. Offer a local “skill trade.” Start a tool library. Regenerative economies and agriculture depend on regenerative community bonds.

The big guys have their lobbyists—what about the little guys? I half-jokingly call myself a “community lobbyist” when I drive up to Maricopa to talk with legislators and other officials. When voting for officials only goes so far, we need grassroots political representation. And one person won’t have the time and energy, nor the community consensus, to do all that representation. More people will need to step and do their part to make sure all voices are heard. And everyone has an opportunity to their own part locally, by attending county supervisor meetings, or submitting comments on the County Comprehensive Plan.

Most of all — we need opportunities to heal the wounds of the culture war. Rural life offers the chance to truly commune, to find transpersonal affinity rooted in universal values and virtues. People exist in different religious and philosophical contexts — but when you get to know each other deeply, we have more in common than not. When’s the last time you had a heart-to-heart with someone you deeply disagree with politically? I’m lucky, at least, to have those experiences all the time in this wonderful Sulphur Springs Valley of Cochise County.

And I hope future generations have those opportunities as well.

So let’s think ahead.

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Thanks for reading!