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When I was a kid, I spent time with my dad and my abuelo in Plaza Blanca, a welcome change from the dryland farming that shaped life in my hometown of Cebolla. My dad would take me down to the acequia at dawn. We鈥檇 stand barefoot in the cold water while he checked the headgate, listening to the river talk 鈥� small, steady sounds that meant the fields would drink that season and the tortillas would be made. Those mornings taught me something simple and sacred: The Chama isn鈥檛 just water. It鈥檚 memory, livelihood, and identity.

The Carson National Forest that rises above our villages is part of that same story. Its canyons, springs and high meadows feed the watershed that feeds us. The forest is not a backdrop; it is a living extension of the Chama Basin, shaping the water that reaches our acequias and wells. What happens in the Carson happens downstream, in our homes and our communities.

So when I learned that a company is in the Carson National Forest, my reaction wasn鈥檛 technical 鈥� it was personal. I thought of the woman down the road who depends on a shallow well. I thought of the acequia that has carried water to our fields for generations. I thought of the pueblos whose cultural ties to these mountains go back centuries. Uranium is not a small risk. Once it enters an aquifer or a stream, it can linger for decades. You cannot fence off contamination.

I serve on the Upper Chama Soil and Water Conservation District because I want to make sure these human stories are part of the record when decisions are made. We may not control what happens on federal land, but we absolutely have a responsibility to speak for the people who live with the consequences. That means insisting on a full environmental impact statement, baseline water testing before any disturbance, and meaningful government鈥憈o鈥慻overnment consultation with tribal nations.

Before the first road is cut or the first drill pad is cleared, we need answers to basic questions: Where will runoff go when the monsoon rains hit? How will spills be contained? Who pays if a spring is contaminated? Who monitors the water decades from now?

That is why I am going to work closely with Rio Arriba County, local land grants, tribal leaders, acequia associations and my own Upper Chama Soil and Water Conservation District to ensure that both the Chama watershed and the Carson National Forest are protected. No single agency can safeguard this landscape alone.

I am not against jobs or responsible development. I am for a future where our children can drink from the same springs we did, where our fields still turn green in the spring, and where cultural places 鈥� both in the Chama Valley and in the Carson National Forest 鈥� are honored. Asking for careful study and a precautionary approach is not obstruction 鈥� it is stewardship.

When I stand by the acequia now, dry with drought, I still hear the river. When I walk the forest trails, I feel the same quiet strength. We owe it to those voices to ensure decisions about the Chama and the Carson are made with care, with science and with respect for the people who call this watershed home.

Tirzio Lopez serves on both the Upper Chama Soil and Water Conservation District and the New Mexico State Game Commission. He lives in Cebolla.