04/30/2026
Right now, here in Colorado, we are experiencing, yet another, hard drought.
We came out of a winter that barely felt like winter at all. The snowpack—the very thing that feeds our rivers, our reservoirs, our farms—has fallen to record lows, with some measurements showing less than 40% of even the previous worst year on record. This is the kind of number that doesn’t just stay in the mountains. It moves. It makes its way down into our rivers, into our reservoirs, into the soil beneath our feet.
And we’re already feeling it.
Cities across the Front Range are beginning to respond. Water restrictions are being put into place earlier than usual. Outdoor watering is limited. Conservation is no longer a suggestion—it’s a necessity. In some areas, reservoirs are being drawn down and carefully managed just to ensure there will be enough water to sustain communities through the months ahead. Farmers are preparing for reduced allocations, knowing that some fields may not be planted at all this season.
There’s a quiet tension in it. A shared understanding across the state that if the water doesn’t come, everything changes. Because here, water is not just convenient. It is a privilege.
And as I’ve stood out in our fields since last fall, watching the soil begin to dry and tighten, wind blowing warmer and harder, the ground never freezing, I began a routine. With my head down I began going through the motions of hooking up hoses, and unhooking hoses, hauling hoses from zones to zones, and doing it all again in a few days. Now spring is here, and I've managed to keep almost everything alive over winter, but I’ve realized something.
The land isn’t the only place where drought can slowly settle in….
More in the blog ✍️
And as I’ve stood out in our fields since last fall, watching the soil begin to dry and tighten, wind blowing warmer and harder, the ground never freezing, I began a routine. With my head down I began going through the motions of hooking up hoses, and unhooking hoses, hauling hoses from zones to z...