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Mr. HEINRICH. Mr. President, in New Mexico, we practice querencia. Querencia is a deep, even spiritual, connection to the land--a love of place that demands that we care for what has been passed down to us and protect it so we can pass it along to future generations.
Today, I stand on the Senate floor to pay tribute to a man who literally embodied this idea. His name was Ralph Vigil. And Ralph grew up along the Pecos River, at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, in Northern New Mexico.
With family roots extending hundreds of years, Ralph often called himself ``a twelfth-generation Hispano in a state of Nuevomexicanos.'' He took pride in his Hispanic and indigenous heritage, and every aspect of Ralph's life was really a testament to his commitment and connection to our State and its people.
A parciante of his local acequia, Ralph often brought people in to share acequia traditions, and this included Mark Allison, the executive director of the New Mexico Wilderness Alliance.
One year, Ralph and his family invited Mark for an annual acequia spring cleaning. So all day, they shoveled and raked and cleared the way for the water to be able to nourish the fields.
Once they were done, they went up and opened up the headgate. Ralph's dad moved a few rocks, and Mark and Ralph stood and watched the water come down to water the fields.
As mayordomo of the Acequia del Molino, Ralph determined the allocation of water for each family like he did everything else, with the resounding belief that in the acequia, as in life, everyone is equal, bound together by water, by land, by tradition.
So Ralph carried these principles of equality and justice and interconnectivity to literally everything he did. As chairman of the New Mexico Acequia Commission for 19 years, Ralph fought to protect the water and the needs of local communities.
In the words of Juan Sanchez, who worked alongside Ralph at the commission, ``Ralph . . . helped communities who didn't really have a voice, keep a voice.''
And when extensive mining proposals threatened the traditional way of life along the Pecos River, Ralph stepped into action, helping to form the Stop Terrero Mine Coalition.
This is where I really got to know Ralph, as we worked together to craft and introduce legislation, the Pecos Watershed Protection Act-- legislation to defend our watersheds and designate over 11,000 acres of national forestland as the Thompson Peak Wilderness Area.
At the Federal and State level, Ralph was a community leader in every sense of the phrase, committed to protecting and nurturing the people and places of New Mexico. He was also a farmer, a father, a skateboarder, a mariachi, and a friend--one who let others know how much they meant to him.
As described by one of his close friends and colleague he worked with, Garrett VeneKlasen, ``Ralph was an old soul and a sage'' who ``radiated goodness and grace.''
His friend Robert Apodaca put it similarly:
Ralph . . . loved with his whole heart and soul. . . . [And his] legacy lives on in every life he touched and every cause he stood for.
Julie and I extend our heartfelt condolences to Ralph's family, friends, colleagues, and community. And I know that we will all think of Ralph every time we see the Pecos River.
May we all honor Ralph's memory by carrying on our own querencia for the places and waters that have sustained our way of life, traditions, and forged our communities.
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