Close your eyes, and picture a radical.
Bill Olson is not that guy. With a neat brown beard and a fondness for western shirts and jackets, even the occasional bolo tie, he’s the quintessential water nerd.

Last month, a fertilizer plant exploded in the tiny town of West, Texas, killing 15 people and injuring almost 200.

It’s no secret that New Mexico is one of the nation’s hot spots for nuclear activity.

One of the hallmarks of wolf recovery in New Mexico and Arizona is the intensity of emotion it ignites on both sides of the issue.

Sometimes at night, I lie in bed and imagine the Rio Grande.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been hearing a lot about industry influence—unprecedented industry influence—within state government, including the New Mexico Environment Department.

When the nights finally turned colder, I hated to close my bedroom window for the season. I’ll miss waking in the night to the syncopated yowls of coyotes. On some primal level the sound alarms me—emergency! wake up!—but after a second or two, that tight tunnel of adrenaline swells into some mix of happiness and gratitude.

Jean Ossorio recalls the first time she spotted a Mexican wolf. It was 12 years ago this month. In the spring of 2000, biologists had released two adults and three pups into eastern Arizona as part of an ongoing program to restore wolves to the Southwest.

In 1996, with a gold Honda hatchback full of books and camping gear, I moved to New Mexico.

It’s sacred coffee time on the patio, that time of day when silence is supposed to reign. I pay attention to the slow migration of the sun each day—it has begun rising each morning just a tiny bit further to the south—and watch the birds settle into the day’s routine.