It’s January, fields of water-hungry hay are dormant, and a layer of hoarfrost and fog blankets the sagebrush for miles in Oregon’s remote southeast corner.

But as fields lie frozen, the seeds of an impending crisis continue to grow in Harney County.

It’s sure to force many farmers into a tough financial spot. Some say it could put them out of business. And now, some farmers are trying to navigate a problem that’s both about the economy, and the environment.

The Harney Basin does not have enough groundwater to allow the current pace of irrigation to continue.

In December, water regulators adopted a plan to address the issue.

But many locals feel that the plan ignores their needs and could devastate a region whose economy largely revolves around agriculture.

Some have come to distrust the very agency in charge of managing the state’s water. They’re now forging a partnership with the governor’s office with the hope they can avoid, or at least delay, costly litigation.

“There’s a lot of animosity. And some of it is valid, and some of it’s not,” said state Rep. Mark Owens — a Republican from Harney County and a farmer. “Right now, if the state wants to work with this community, there needs to be a different face leading this instead of the water resource department, and the other option is the governor’s office.”

A disagreement over water management

Last month, the Oregon Water Resources Commission unanimously voted to designate much of the Harney Basin in southeast Oregon a critical groundwater area.

This designation will give the state more authority to reduce how much water irrigators can pump out of the aquifer, with the goal to stabilize it by 2058.

The Harney Basin spans 5,240 square miles of southeast Oregon’s high desert.

Almost all of the groundwater that’s used each year, about 97%, is pumped out to irrigate fields of hay that feed beef and dairy cattle.

For the last three decades, there’s been a problem: The water is drying up.

For decades, the state’s water resources department – overseen by the commission – enabled developers to drill new wells and pump out more water from the aquifer than what can naturally be replenished by rain and snowmelt.

That continued long after the department knew it wasn’t sustainable.

Irrigators in the basin acknowledge the problem – but many disagree with the state’s “critical groundwater area” designation and with how the state has interpreted the science that underpins it.

In one area of the basin north of Malheur Lake, groundwater levels have declined by more than 140 feet below the water table and, since 2016, have continued to drop by as much as eight feet per year.

But groundwater levels in other parts of the basin have not dropped as drastically – falling by less than a foot per year in some places.

As it stands, the water resources department’s plan to cut how much water irrigators can use in the basin doesn’t go into effect until 2028. That plan outlines how some water users will have to cut back their use by up to 70% over the next 30 years.

Before the plan takes effect, water users will have the opportunity to contest the restrictions they might face – a process that would require an attorney and an administrative law judge. It could be costly and take years to resolve.

But many farmers disagree with this plan.

Some feel they’re being punished for the water resources department’s failure. Some say the plan treats all irrigators the same, even though groundwater declines are not uniform across the basin.

Meanwhile, other people in the basin, residents who have domestic or livestock wells but are not irrigators, say the state is not acting fast enough to regulate water users.

In September, a coalition of residents, irrigators, tribes and local governments organized under Owens filed a petition asking the water resources commission to consider a different plan that diverged from the state’s own proposals to cut water use in the region.

In a memo, the water resources department determined the petition’s proposal would result in “continued long-term groundwater level declines” in most areas of the basin.

The commission rejected the petition and adopted the state’s plan instead.

Lost trust, and a different approach

Now, Owens is advocating for a different approach.

If the water resources department proceeds with its plan, many irrigators are likely to contest the restrictions they face.

Owens would like to give them more time to work on what’s called a “voluntary water conservation agreement” – a binding agreement to reduce water use, but one that irrigators would have a say in writing.

That’s where the governor’s office could come in, he said.

“There is some trust that needs to be gained again if we have a desire to work with the [water resources] commission on voluntary actions, because it’s not there right now,” Owens said. “The governor’s office can weigh in with the agencies, specifically the water resource department, and give direction on, ‘You have regulatory sideboards now, but slow down.’”

That doesn’t mean the governor’s office plans to take over for the water resource department, according to Anca Matica, a spokesperson for Gov. Tina Kotek.

“We trust our agency. We know we monitor the agency’s work and implementation, but we also want to hear from community members to figure out are there ways we can do better,” Matica said. “Are there ways that we can help provide guidance to that agency that maybe they didn’t have?”

Geoff Huntington, a ​​​​​​​​​​​senior natural resources advisor for the governor, was at a meeting last week in Burns when irrigators met with Owens and state officials to discuss their options.

He acknowledged the lack of trust.

“We have a trust issue, right? Let’s call it what it is. It’s a trust issue,” Huntington said. “That’s a legitimate thing that has to be overcome if we’re going to be moving forward, and I say that on behalf of the department and the governor’s office.”

Chandra Ferrari, also a natural resources advisor for the governor, told irrigators at the meeting that developing voluntary water conservation agreements would require a joint effort between the governor and the water resources department.

“Part of the trust building is us resetting right now and recognizing that we have an opportunity for a better pathway,” Ferrari said. “There is potential right now for this agreement, but ideally, we’re coming with you, right? The [Kotek] administration is coming with you to the [water resources] commission and saying we have a good path here.”

To date, no voluntary water conservation agreements have succeeded or even been proposed in Oregon, though.

“Voluntary agreements are a tool that’s available, but has not been used,” said a spokesperson with Oregon’s Water Resources Department. “There has not been one proposed to the department in regards to the Harney Basin.”

Owens said he’s optimistic the approach can work in the Harney Basin, but it will take time.

“These community members would like to try to take some of the fate in their own hands,” he said. “I am optimistic that our farmers will come together for the benefit of the community, for the benefit of themselves, and for the benefit of the state. And work toward reasonable reductions to hit reasonably stable [water levels] within a time frame that can work.”

SALT LAKE CITY — A groundbreaking documentary — conceived, filmed, and produced entirely by inmates at the Utah State Prison—is giving the public an unprecedented look at life behind bars.

The film, Breaking Chains, follows six incarcerated men and women as they confront their pasts, reflect on their choices, and work toward rebuilding their lives.

The Utah Department of Corrections collaborated with the One Kind Act a Day initiative to secure funding and equipment for the inmates. The result is a raw, emotional film that highlights a little‑known educational program operating inside the prison.

The documentary opens with a stark confession from participant Casey Vanderhoef.

“When I was incarcerated in 2021, I had no more answers,” Vanderhoef says in the film. “I knew I was broken in a way I couldn’t fix.”

Vanderhoef, now living in a halfway house as he completes his sentence, says revisiting his past on camera wasn’t easy.

“There are certainly regretful decisions—and sometimes embarrassing ones—that are definitely part of my story,” he explains.

The project was coordinated from outside the prison by filmmaker and educator Bo Landin, who says the decision to have inmates interview one another created a level of honesty he didn’t expect.

“It’s authentic. It’s raw. It’s emotional,” Landin says. He admits he became emotional himself while transcribing the conversations. “I think it’s important because it is their voice. They are telling us a story.”

The program began with roughly 18 to 20 students learning the fundamentals of filmmaking, storytelling, and production.

The One Kind Act a Day initiative—created by philanthropist Khosrow Semnani—donated the professional equipment used to make the documentary. The Semnani Family Foundation will now support an ongoing media program integrated into the prison’s career‑training and productive‑time initiatives. Semnani hopes the effort encourages compassion in a place where it can be hard to find.

“Human nature is born with kindness,” Semnani says. “But in prison, it’s not there.”

For Vanderhoef, the experience has been transformative.

“As I look back at the mistakes that were made, I have some regret and embarrassment,” he says. “But I have a lot more gratitude.”

Semnani says he recently spoke with U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi about expanding the program nationally, potentially bringing similar opportunities to prisons across the country.

Breaking Chains debuted at the Utah International Film Festival and won the Audience Choice Award. Landin now hopes to promote it at film festivals worldwide in hopes of getting it in theaters for the public to see.

Wyoming is still gaining residents, but the real story isn’t how many people are moving in — it’s how quickly the state’s population is aging. Births are barely keeping up with deaths, and with fewer young people to replace them, Wyoming is entering a new era where older residents are quietly reshaping the economy, communities, and the future of the state itself.

According to the latest U.S. Census estimates, Wyoming’s population reached about 588,753 in July 2025, an increase of just over 2,000 people from a year earlier. That works out to about 0.3 percent growth — still upward, but slow. And most of that growth is coming from people moving here, not babies being born. Natural growth — the difference between births and deaths — added fewer than 300 people during the year. That reflects years of lower birth rates and a growing number of older residents.

Wyoming’s aging trend is among the fastest in the country.

The number of residents age 65 and older grew at a faster rate than the overall population, making the state’s median age rise more quickly than the national average. Analysts say this is driven by the large baby boomer cohort moving into retirement and by younger generations leaving the state.

Wenlin Liu, chief economist with the state’s Economic Analysis Division, bluntly described the demographic shift: the state’s older population is growing fast, while outmigration of young people and lower birth rates continue to shrink the pool of working-age Wyomingites. That’s already contributing to labor shortages in key sectors.

The trend is real and concerning.

Josh Dorrell, CEO of the Wyoming Business Council, has warned lawmakers that Wyoming faces a “chicken‑and‑egg” problem: there aren’t enough jobs to keep young people here, and without more young people it’s harder to build the kinds of economies that create jobs in the first place. “We don’t have enough people to attract the jobs and we don’t have enough jobs to attract the people,” Dorrell told a legislative committee last summer.

Surveys of Wyoming residents mirror that concern. A recent poll presented to county officials found that most voters want stronger action to grow local economies and create opportunities to keep young people from leaving. Dorrell noted that two out of every three Wyoming‑born adults move away by their mid‑20s, often because they can’t find the jobs they want close to home.

The demographic shift carries consequences beyond just census numbers. An aging population has different needs — more health care services, more senior‑friendly housing, more support systems — while the shrinking share of younger adults can shrink the labor force available for schools, hospitals, factories and small businesses.

Despite the state’s strong job market — with unemployment remaining low — leaders worry about what happens next when more boomers retire and fewer young workers are around to replace them.

Wyoming’s growth story may still be positive on the surface, but the deeper reality is that the Cowboy State is aging faster than it’s growing younger. That shift is already changing communities from Cheyenne to Sheridan, and may have long‑lasting effects on the state’s economy, schools, and way of life in the years ahead.