Standing at the edge of the Iracambi preserve, on a bone-jarring dirt road that will put a Land Rover through its paces, looking down at once-forested hillsides, and up at the still-forested heights of national park Serra do Brigadeiro, you can sometimes hear the screeching of Sahuámonkeys ringing through the valley. To the untutored eye, this is a beautiful, simple and idyllic landscape: Cows grazing peacefully, birds chirping, small farmhouses nestled among winding roads, swaths of dark green forest interspersed with fields in a quiet valley deep in Minas Gerais, Brazil, 5 hours from the hustle and glam of Rio de Janeiro. But take a closer look and the land tells a complex story. There are lines etched deeply here—countless traces that reveal land use over time, patterns of human habitation and exploitation, and the challenges of sustaining a rainforest and a farming community at the same time in the same place. Paths trodden by countless cow hooves line sloping pastures, coffee bushes dot fields of raw, red earth, vertical stands of stretching eucalyptus trees march down hillsides. But none of these lines are as vivid and shocking as the abrupt, clear demarcation of protected vs. protected lands. Dark, vibrant forests, havens of biodiversity and vibrant life abut worn-looking grassy pastures. Easy one, right? Forests good, pastures bad. Not exactly. These are the pastures that feed the cows that produce the milk that make the simple, fresh cheese, Queijo de Minas, that helps drive the local economy. Monkeys and cows, pastures and forests, coffee bushes and native Inga trees—this valley is a complex, interconnected place that captures the challenges of conservation in an accelerating, ever-more populated and used-up planet: How to balance the protection of natural resources with economic realities and individual ownership rights and needs?
Craig Bida
Originally published 10/1/12
Craig Bida
Originally published 10/1/12