|
[Written at Ward, Nevada, in
September, 1878. [Editor.]
To the farmer who comes to
this thirsty land from beneath rainy skies, Nevada seems one vast desert,
all sage and sand, hopelessly irredeemable now and forever. And this, under
present conditions, is severely true. For notwithstanding it has gardens,
grain fields, and hayfields generously productive, these compared with the
and stretches of valley and plain, as beheld in general views from the
mountain-tops, are mere specks lying inconspicuously here and there, in
out-of-the-way places, often thirty or forty miles apart.
In leafy regions, blessed
with copious rains, we learn to measure the productive capacity of the soil
by its natural vegetation. But this rule is almost wholly inapplicable here,
for, notwithstanding its savage nakedness, scarce at all veiled by a sparse
growth of sage and linosyris, the desert soil of the Great Basin is as rich
in the elements that in rainy regions rise and ripen into food as that of
any other State in the Union. The rocks of its numerous mountain-ranges have
been thoroughly crushed and ground by glaciers, thrashed and vitalized by
the sun, and sifted and outspread in lake- basins by powerful torrents that
attended the breaking-up of the glacial period, as if in every way Nature
had been making haste to prepare the land for the husbandman. Soil, climate,
topographical conditions, all that the most exacting could demand, are
present, but one thing, water, is wanting. The present rainfall would be
wholly inadequate for agriculture, even if it were advantageously
distributed over the lowlands, while in fact the greater portion is poured
out on the heights in sudden and violent thunder-showers called
"cloud-bursts," the waters of which are fruitlessly swallowed up in sandy
gulches and deltas a few minutes after their first boisterous appearance.
The principal mountain-chains, trending nearly north and south, parallel
with the Sierra and the Wahsatch, receive a good deal of snow during winter,
but no great masses are stored up as fountains for large perennial streams
capable of irrigating considerable areas. Most of it is melted before the
end of May and absorbed by moraines and gravelly taluses, which send forth
small rills that slip quietly down the upper canons through narrow strips of
flowery verdure, most of them sinking and vanishing before they reach the
base of their fountain ranges. Perhaps not one in ten of the whole number
flow out into the open plains, not a single drop reaches the sea, and only a
few are large enough to irrigate more than one farm of moderate size.
It is upon these small
outfiowing rills that most of the Nevada ranches are located, lying
countersunk beneath the general level, just where the mountains meet the
plains, at an average elevation of five thousand feet above sea-level. All
the cereals and garden vegetables thrive here, and yield bountiful crops.
Fruit, however, has been, as yet, grown successfully in only a few specially
favored spots.
Another distinct class of
ranches are found sparsely distributed along the lowest portions of the
plains, where the ground is kept moist by springs, or by narrow threads of
moving water called rivers, fed by some one or more of the most vigorous of
the mountain rills that have succeeded in making their escape from the
mountains. These are mostly devoted to the growth of wild hay, though in
some the natural meadow grasses and sedges have been supplemented by timothy
and alfalfa; and where the soil is not too strongly impregnated with salts,
some grain is raised. Reese River Valley, Big Smoky Valley, and White River
Valley offer fair illustrations of this class. As compared with the foothill
ranches, they are larger and less inconspicuous, as they lie in the wide,
unshadowed levels of the plains - wavy- edged flecks of green in a
wilderness of gray.
Still another class equally
well defined, both as to distribution and as to products, is restricted to
that portion of western Nevada and the eastern border of California which
lies within the redeeming influences of California waters. Three of the
Sierra rivers descend from their icy fountains into the desert like angels
of mercy to bless Nevada. These are the Walker, Carson, and Truckee; and in
the valleys through which they flow are found by far the most extensive hay
and grain fields within the bounds of the State. Irrigating streams are led
off right and left through innumerable channels, and the sleeping ground,
starting at once into action, pours forth its wealth without stint.
But notwithstanding the many
porous fields thus fertilized, considerable portions of the waters of all
these rivers continue to reach their old deathbeds in the desert, indicating
that in these salt valleys there still is room for coming farmers. In middle
and eastern Nevada, however, every nil that I have seen in a ride of three
thousand miles, at all available for irrigation, has been claimed and put to
use.
It appears, therefore, that
under present conditions the limit of agricultural development in the dry
basin between the Sierra and the Wahsatch has been already approached, a
result caused not alone by natural restrictions as to the area capable of
development, but by the extraordinary stimulus furnished by the mines to
agricultural effort. The gathering of gold and silver, hay and barley, have
gone on together. Most of the mid-valley bogs and meadows, and foothill
rills capable of irrigating from ten to fifty acres, were claimed more than
twenty years ago.
A majority of these pioneer
settlers are plodding Dutchmen, living content in the back lanes and valleys
of Nature; but the high price of all kinds of farm products tempted many of
even the keen Yankee prospectors, made wise in California, to bind
themselves down to this sure kind of mining. The wildest of wild hay, made
chiefly of carices and rushes, was sold at from two to three hundred dollars
per ton on ranches. The same kind of hay is still worth from fifteen to
forty dollars per ton, according to the distance from mines and comparative
security from competition. Barley and oats are from forty to one hundred
dollars a ton, while all sorts of garden products find ready sale at high
prices.
With rich mine markets and
salubrious climate, the Nevada farmer can make more money by loose, ragged
methods than the same class of farmers in any other State I have yet seen,
while the almost savage isolation in which they live seems grateful to them.
Even in those cases where the advent of neighbors brings no disputes
concerning water-rights and ranges, they seem to prefer solitude, most of
them having been elected from adventurers from California - the pioneers of
pioneers. The passing stranger, however, is always welcomed and supplied
with the best the home affords, and around the fireside, while he smokes his
pipe, very little encouragement is required to bring forth the story of the
farmer's life - hunting, mining, fighting, in the early Indian times, etc.
Only the few who are married hope to' return to California to educate their
children, and the ease with which money is made renders the fulfillment of
these hopes comparatively sure.
After dwelling thus long on
the farms of this dry wonderland, my readers may be led to fancy them of
more importance as compared with the unbroken fields of Nature than they
really are. Making your way along any of the wide gray valleys that stretch
from north to south, seldom will your eye be interrupted by a single mark of
cultivation. The smooth lake- like ground sweeps on indefinitely, growing
more and more dim in the glowing sunshine, while a mountain-range from eight
to ten thousand feet high bounds the view on either hand. No singing water,
no green sod, no moist nook to rest in - mountain and valley alike naked and
shadowless in the sun-glare; and though, perhaps, traveling a well-worn road
to a gold or silver mine, and supplied with repeated instructions, you can
scarce hope to find any human habitation from day to day, so vast and
impressive is the hot, dusty, alkaline wildness.
But after riding some thirty
or forty miles, and while the sun may be sinking behind the mountains, you
come suddenly upon signs of cultivation. Clumps of willows indicate water,
and water indicates a farm. Approaching more nearly, you discover what may
be a patch of barley spread out unevenly along the bottom of a flood-bed,
broken perhaps, and rendered less distinct by boulder-piles and the fringing
willows of a stream. Speedily you can confidently say that the grain-patch
is surely such; its ragged bounds become clear; a sand-roofed cabin comes to
view littered with sun-cracked implements and with an outer girdle of
potato, cabbage, and alfalfa patches.
The immense expanse of
mountain-girt valleys, on the edges of which these hidden ranches lie, make
even the largest fields seem comic in size. The smallest, however, are by no
means insignificant in a pecuniary view. On the east side of the Toyabe
Range I discovered a jolly Irishman who informed me that his income from
fifty acres, reinforced by a sheep-range on the adjacent hills, was from
seven to nine thousand dollars per annum. His irrigating brook is about four
feet wide and eight inches deep, flowing about two miles per hour.
On Duckwater Creek, Nye
County, Mr. Irwin has reclaimed a tule swamp several hundred acres in
extent, which is now chiefly devoted to alfalfa. On twenty-five acres he
claims to have raised this year thirty-seven tons of barley. Indeed, I have
not yet noticed a meager crop of any kind in the State. Fruit alone is
conspicuously absent.
On the California side of the
Sierra grain will not ripen at a much greater elevation than four thousand
feet above sea-level. The valleys of Nevada lie at a height of from four to
six thousand feet, and both wheat and barley ripen, wherever water may be
had, up to seven thousand feet. The harvest, of course, is later as the
elevation increases. In the valleys of the Carson and Walker Rivers, four
thousand feet above the sea, the grain harvest is about a month later than
in California. In Reese River Valley, six thousand feet, it begins near the
end of August. Winter grain ripens somewhat earlier, while occasionally one
meets a patch of barley in some cool, high-lying caņon that will not mature
before the middle of September.
Unlike California, Nevada
will probably be always richer in gold and silver than in grain. Utah
farmers hope to change the climate of the east side of the basin by prayer,
and point to the recent rise in the waters of the Great Salt Lake as a
beginning of moister times. But Nevada's only hope, in the way of any
considerable increase in agriculture, is from artesian wells. The cleft and
porous character of the mountain rocks, tilted at every angle, and the
presence of springs bursting forth in the valleys far from the mountain
sources, indicate accumulations of water from the melting snows that have
escaped evaporation, which, no doubt, may in many places now barren be
brought to the surface in flowing wells. The experiment has been tried on a
small scale with encouraging success. But what is now wanted seems to be the
boring of a few specimen wells of a large size out in the main valleys. The
encouragement that successful experiments of this kind would give to
emigration seeking farms forms an object well worthy the attention of the
Government. But all that California farmers in the grand central valley
require is the preservation of the forests and the wise distribution of the
glorious abundance of water from the snow stored on the west flank of the
Sierra.
Whether any considerable area
of these sage plains will ever thus be made to blossom in grass and wheat,
experience will show. But in the mean time Nevada is beautiful in her
wildness, and if tillers of the soil can thus be brought to see that
possibly Nature may have other uses even for rich soil besides the feeding
of human beings, then will these foodless "deserts" have taught a fine
lesson. |
