This is first in a series to reflection on each documentary I saw at Mountainfilm Festival 2019.  Each post will be a reflection on the documentary and a focus on the impact and the issue that documentary is raising.  My goal is to share my authentic take on watching the films as a witness who cares about having an impact. This is not a film review.  Spoilers are probably all up in this.

Like every American and likely every person around the world, we've all heard the sitting President of the United States talk about the wall.  I won't do that justice by linking out to it.  I've always said when the topic comes up in conversation that having grown up in San Diego, I realize how pointless a wall as a concrete barrier is.  Pointless both because people find a way around it always, but pointless also in a greater sense.  The amount of folks who crossed the border from San Diego / Tijuana everyday for commerce, for work, for recreation...it always was and continues to be high.  I remember vacationing in Rosarito and Ensenada growing up.  I remember my neighbor working in Tijuana, driving himself to the border and walking across to save time so his company would pick him up on the other side.  The talk and rhetoric about the border has always been puzzling and annoying to me as someone from a border community.  The rhetoric is so heated that other side from the United States could besome form of oozing evil that will come through any gap, when in reality, the border is an artificial construct in a way you really understand only by living near one.  In reality it's always porous like Swiss cheese going in both directions, and we're better off economically, politically and as humans when we think about it this way.

I had heard that the monarch butterfly which migrates across the border by the millions was being threatened by Trump's border wall, and so was intrigued to catch this documentary at Mountainfilm 2019.  The premise of the film is a fascinating concept.  The filmmaker and a team of characters (literally and cinematically) will travel along the 1200 miles of the Colorado River that forms the border between Texas and Mexico from El Paso to the Gulf of Mexico.  Canoes or kayaks, sure.  I fully admit that I didn't expect before immersing myself in the film that this would involve bikes and horses.  Bikes for the first stretch from El Paso because the river is fairly dried up, and horses through the amazing wildlands of Big Bend National Park.

Check out this beautiful imagery from The River and the Wall webpage and read more after the jump.

So often what I face in my day-to-day eco-worklife is the same issue that we all face in our day-to-day lives.  Soundbites.  People who have already heard all they want to hear [insert person covering their ears and saying 'la la la laaaa'].  There are real hazards of people not being able to listen with empathy and understand another perspective.  We all have an inherent fear and ego of allowing ourselves to be challenged (let alone be proven wrong).  But it’s an absolute must, not just on the society but on the personal level.

I have so many posts I’ve wanted to write these last months as I transitioned jobs and made big life changes to a shiny new city.  This is the thing I wanted to say that tipped the scales (never fear though, Pope-est with the Mostest and Laudato Si will be coming in hot. Soon.)  And it’s all thanks to a communications lead at Monsanto.
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Last year I came to SXSW Eco and sat in the panel session when Monsanto underwent what I can only describe as a live feeding frenzy of pent-up anti-GMO fervor.   A courageous woman from Monsanto did one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen from a sustainability professional: she invited more conversation in the heat of the moment.  Which is exactly what these most thorny issues desperately need the most.  Real dialogue.  But how do we get there?  How do we increase everyone’s personal responsibility to listen better?

We had some miraculous rain on Halloween here in Los Angeles.  About an inch when the last we've had was one tenth of an inch April 1.  Considering the Biblical/DEFCON4 drought in these parts, it was glorious!

The next day I was playing flag football and got mud under my fingernails and had a moment.  The kind of moment gardeners must have all the time...how wonderful that feeling of earth is.  

It's all about the frame isn't it?  Dirt on a chair/bench when I'm dressed up purty is very UNwelcome.  But digging my toes into the sand or the feel of soil when you're playing on a field or in a garden is kind of magical.  Do you ever have those moments?  How do they make you feel?