MARK YOUNGQUIST, who has organized brewers for the Harvest Brew Fest for the past three years, samples his wares Tuesday. Youngquist has been a professional brewer for 15 years and is preparing to open his own brewery in Dolores.

By Jim Mimiaga
Journal Staff Writer

Near Cortez, on land that was once a thriving farm and a wildlife corridor, stark trophy homes now loom against the horizon, devoid of residents, each taking up a large tract.

Up the road, a bulldozer plows fresh earth, spooking a herd of resting mule deer who stampede in a crazed semi-circle among houses, barking dogs and fences, suddenly unsure of where they belong.

The confused deer join the ranks of elk wintering in the Animas Valley, where private open space has succumbed to subdivisions and the Dalton-Ranch Golf Course — its huge sign ironically depicting a bull elk.

Back in ruins-rich Montezuma County, a backhoe digs greedily into a private archaeology site, searching for an artifact of the past and the cash it brings. A piece of human history is destroyed in the process.

The images are grim, but look to the Montezuma and La Plata County land-conservation programs for hope.

And join the Montezuma Land Conservancy’s annual celebration and fundraiser Saturday at the Cortez Cultural Center, 25 N. Market St., from 5 to 9 p.m.

Fast becoming a community tradition, the third annual Harvest Beer Festival is a good excuse to gather with friends and toast open space and agriculture while quaffing deluxe brews.

Plus it’s healthy, as indicated by Cortez’s Mesa Cervesa Brewery classic advisory: "Avoid heart attacks, drink beer."

Voluntary conservation easements also help the health of the local landscape by preserving open space for the next generation.

"It is still pretty rural here, but more and more subdivisions are taking up open space, so it’s never too soon to plan for the future," says Nina Williams, who co-directs the Montezuma County Land Conservancy program with Dave Nichols.

Just knowing that the family farm will remain a farm indefinitely has inspired many to take up the conservancy cause, Williams said.

"That’s a big reason for people coming to us, because they do not know what will happen to their land when they’re gone," Williams said.

Now in its third year, the non-governmental program has so far saved 3,000 acres from development, including a few 160-acre farms, a 2,300-acre wildlife preserve and a section of McElmo Canyon replete with Anasazi ruins.

A landowner is now working with the conservancy to set aside 4,000 acres of prime mountain real estate for wildlife, rather than people.

"This gentleman is seeing subdivisions moving closer and closer and saw an opportunity to help curtail that at his boundary," said Williams, who has a degree in ecology.

Conservation easements can forever protect an agricultural way of life, a pristine natural area, or an archaeological treasure trove from development or destruction. The land can still be sold, but the easement and its restrictions on subdivision are a perpetual part of the title.

"It is the voluntary choice of the landowner on what development rights they want to extinguish," says Nichols. "And it’s flexible — they design the easement agreement so it sets aside certain areas for home sites for their children, or leaves some out to sell later."

The Montezuma and La Plata conservancies do not have the funds to buy development rights, but tax breaks created from the easement’s lower development potential make them attractive.

"The state Legislature has shown they support this type of thing, because they have allowed for a hefty tax advantage," Nichols said. "A lot of times a section of the farm has to be sold off to keep the farm going, but easement tax breaks can prevent that, and help keep the family farm intact."

These days the conventional wisdom of concentrating people in cities has been ignored in favor of a "40 acres and a modem" mentality. State statutes exempting 35-acre lots from zoning restrictions fuel the boom.

Since 1990, 4,000 more people moved into unincorporated Montezuma County, more than the growth of its three main towns put together, which gained a total of 1,158 people.

That pressure has been especially damaging to archaeological sites in Montezuma County, believed to have the highest concentration of ancient Puebloan ruins in the nation.

The Montezuma Land Conservancy created the first archaeological easement in the state that specifically protects ruin sites. Landowner Don Dove, an archaeologist, worked with the conservancy to put together a contract that forever protects ruins on his Mitchell Springs property, some of which date back to 805 A.D.

"The Montezuma Land Conservancy has been very creative in developing niche easements for archaeological land that is important to people there; they’re leading the way," said Kathy Roser, director of the La Plata Open Space Conservancy, which holds the easements brokered by the Montezuma Land Conservancy.

Montezuma County is known for its ardent commitment to private-property rights, so it seems unlikely that a conservancy with environmental overtones would be welcomed here. But former director Kevin Essington said that open-space advocates and the agricultural community find common ground with easements.

"One long-time farmer came up to me and said, ‘I’ve been one of your harshest critics, but now I want to learn more about this’," Essington said.

But the Montezuma Land Conservancy is limited by a shoestring budget of around $25,000 per year. Nichols said the organization has had to begin prioritizing which easements to take on. "It’s tough to turn away requests, but doing them all takes money and staff that we do not have."

The Harvest Beer Festival is designed to help. It features eight specialty brewers from around the Four Corners, a silent auction, and rollicking "groove-tube" music by Doctor Grooveheart.

For more information, call the Montezuma Land Conservancy, 565-1664.