When I finally got my phone plugged in, this evening, and was able to have a decent conversation with my mother, we each agreed that the other had done a good job of parenting. We also gave credit to our now departed spouses. The finest gift one could ever get, regardless of the occasion, is consistent love from a parent.
Some say it’s the parent with whom one shares gender, who is the most crucial influence in life. I found the influence of both to be critical to my survival and happiness, over time. I know Penny valued both of her parents, and her father loved his three girls, with all the paternal ardor he could muster. Penny poured her heart and soul into raising our son, as did I. What sparked this in my mind, was seeing a photo of a young man playing a video game on his phone, with his two daughters very close to him, and looking very glad that their Daddy was with them.
People can do all sorts of things that are positive, with their children. Most of the messages I have received from people today about their family time, yesterday and today, have been positive and full of gratitude. There are a few tales of conflict and strife, mainly from the victims of selfish and unhappy parents. Those tales pain me, especially when I think of how much my parents did to make our lives joyful, and I know it wasn’t easy for them, a good many years.
I spent a marvelous Christmas Eve and Day with a couple of wonderful friends, just east of Tucson. This is the first day in a while, that I don’t have a boatload of photos to unleash on you, my faithful readers. Just know that enjoying a meal prepared by a woman who can barely eat anything, is worth all the buffets in all the casinos of the world. Eating fresh-baked biscuits, as is, was one of the best breakfasts ever’. My friend and I went out for lunch, he hoping to find a Chinese buffet. We found a small place which prepared off the menu, and did even better, meal-wise, than we might have at a buffet. The relaxation that I enjoyed the past two days was a huge Christmas gift.
So, too, was speaking with my Mom, after all these years, one of the best friends I could ever want. She doesn’t feel old, and that does my heart fabulous. Hope a fine Yule was had by you,but if not, look to the New Year. Sometimes, Happy can’t be summoned within a given time frame.
December 24, 2014, Vail, AZ- Growing up, and especially in my teens and twenties, Christmas Eve almost achieved a holiday status all its own. As a young adult, it almost became a not-so-dry run for its sister Eve, a week later. This morning, I scouted around for a breakfast place in Lordsburg. The Pilot Truck Stop store turned out to be the closest thing to such an establishment, since I swore off fast food chains, a while back. (Well, I do go in Subway, now and then, but you get the picture.) Armed with a blueberry muffin and high test coffee, I checked out of Holiday Motel and headed west.
Cochise, the famed Apache warrior chief, was a complex man. His thoughts on the state in which he found himself and his people were summed up by his observation to General Crook that the common enemy of both Apache and American was the Spaniard, who had long since disappeared from these lands, to be replaced by the Mexican, whom Cochise neither understood, nor trusted. He didn’t particularly like Crook, but he did see the General as a man of his word. The feeling was mutual.
Cochise would probably like the way in which his old redoubt, the Stronghold that bears his name, has been kept largely wild. There are horse camps and vacation cottages nearby, but the campsites that are set aside, for those who come to pay their respects to him, are primitive. Pack it in, pack it out, just as the Chiricahua people did.
I walked a short distance, from the Day Use trailhead, to the base of the Dragoons, and said quiet prayers to the Father of us all. Like Quanah Parker did, at the Sipapu in Palo Duro Canyon, nearly three years ago, Cochise communicated with me: “You are ever welcome at this place. Return, at length, when you are able, my son. For now, go in peace and harmony, and above all else, keep your word.”
The ruggedness of Cochise Stronghold was soon replaced by the wild yapping of those whose owners call them the Heathen Hounds. Hacienda Ranch lies a fair stretch down towards the road from Vail Steak House, one of my homes away from home, when I’m down this way. The Heathens and their people came this way, from Oklahoma, about six months ago. These are hounds (chihuahuas) that like all such little critters, would gladly enjoy me as their breakfast. Bob and Tamy are of a different opinion regarding yours truly, and so I was given a fine lunch and a nice little guest room. So, I hailed the Heathens from the other room, and went off with Bob, exploring the low country, and a winding hill.
After such a repast, the confluence of the Chihuahua and Sonoran Deserts called out pretty loudly There are no sahuaro, or yucca, in this transition zone, but everything else is here, including the javelina and coyotes.
Bob and I went a bushwackin’ through the scrub, and found this seasonal tank. He thinks a larger one lies just to the west of this one. Maybe on a future jaunt, one or both of us will find it.
The scene is recorded for posterity.
These next scenes are from the winding road up a nearby hill.
In the absence of sahuaro, the ocotillo take full advantage. The dogs didn’t take advantage of me, but even if they tried, I’d have been loved to death.
This Christmas Eve was spent watching a rebroadcast of A Christmas Story 2″, which bored me to tears, and . another, of “Pearl Harbor”, which delivered the full horror of that awful day. One element of surprise, though, led to another, and as Admiral Yamamoto said, the sleeping giant had been awoken.
December 23, 2014, Lordsburg- When I was a very young child, about 4 or 5, my maternal grandmother would occasionally babysit us, so both our parents could work. Grama would sometimes have the radio broadcasting something about truth or consequences. I could barely say the second name, but I knew what truth meant, and figured consequences were some kind of lies.
In March, 1950, shortly after I would have been conceived, the game show host Ralph Edwards, celebrating ten years of his successful radio show, “Truth or Consequences”, took an idea from a couple of staff members- to name an American town after the show. The town selected was Hot Springs, New Mexico, which had the advantage of already being a prime tourist destination, due to its eponymous mineral baths and nearby Elephant Butte Lake, a man-made reservoir of the Rio Grande. On April 1, Mr. Edwards, his wife and several crew members went to Hot Springs, for the official renaming, and the City of Truth or Consequences, “TRC”, was born.
I spent Monday night and Tuesday morning, enjoying the hospitality and vibrant civic spirit of this remarkable little community. Here are some scenes from the Hot Springs Historic District and Geronimo Springs Historical Museum, Sierra County’s place of record. The painted water tower and some brightly coloured homes reminded me of Bisbee, AZ.
The San Andres Mountains rise to the southeast.
Quirky shops and eateries are scattered throughout the town.
Geronimo Springs Museum is a well-ordered and delightful place in which to learn of west central New Mexico
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A display of coloured glass and ceramic greets the visitor, outside.
So, too, does a log cabin.
Inside the museum are many features of paleontology, anthropology, local culture and history. I started with Pleistocene relics, a mammoth skull, and one of a mastodon.
Going backwards in time, here is a Devonian coral.
Next, are some fern fossils.
This is the tale of a chair, brought from the original Sierra County Courthouse, in nearby Hillsboro. The two towns disputed which would be county seat, and the State of New Mexico ruled in favour of Hot Springs
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The historical exhibits showed portraits of Geronimo, Don Juan de Onate, and cowboy author Eugene Rhodes. This local hero outshines them all, in my opinion.
I left “TRC” a bit later than I had planned, but some serendipity is worth delayed gratification elsewhere. I would end up putting off a visit to Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument and a walk around Silver City, but along the way to that area, I encountered several little gems.
Hillsboro, the aforementioned rival, was mostly closed up for the holidays.
Not far up the road is Percha Creek, with a truss bridge and adjacent walkway/overlook.
Emory Pass, at 8230 feet, is the highest point along this exquisite highway. Here, I encountered a writer from Martha’s Vineyard, who is looking to relocate to warmer climes. I gave him a few possible sites to explore, in that regard. Emory was definitely not one of them- but it is a place of splendour.
I stopped for lunch at La Tienda del Sol, in San Lorenzo, before visiting the Mimbres Ranger Station, which confirmed my suspicions about Gila Cliff Dwellings closing at 4 PM. This delightful little place was full into the holiday spirit, as was Sunset Grill, in TRC, last night and this morning.
I headed to Silver City, in the end, spent a short time at Fort Bayard National Cemetery, then continued down to Lordsburg. The dusty desert town has its own gems, among them the comfortable and inexpensive Holiday Motel (NOT “Inn”) and Kranberry’s Family Restaurant, open for lunch and dinner. I was treated like royalty in both places. Days like this will bring me back to this area in the Spring, and then we’ll see about Gila Cliff Dwellings and vicinity.
December 22, 2014, Truth or Consequences-It was a mild day, which I started with a lovely breakfast of Strawberry Pancakes and sausage patties, at Socorro’s El Camino Family Restaurant. Once again, all the regulars were present; nobody named Strawberry, though.
I set out for my first visit to Bosque del Apache (Apache Woods), since Penny and I came here in 1983. It made an impression then, and did so now. There were more sandhill cranes back then, and one of the docents gave a reason for the relative decline in their numbers. The cranes have become dependent on corn that is grown by a farmer, who is employed by the Refuge. The farmer they had, left and so, if anyone is interested in growing corn, specifically to feed birds, and be part of an upbeat crew of wildlife managers- contact Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, US Fish and Wildlife Service.
I began my drive down El Camino Real (New Mexico Highway 1), with a stop at this defunct Catholic church, in San Antonio, NM. This little village has few remaining residents,but it is still worth remembering. Each small settlement along the Royal Road was once a major stop, for those on foot or on horseback.
I was greeted, upon my entrance into the Wildlife Refuge, by a Greater Sandhill Crane, perched on a branch. Of course, he flew off immediately as I got my camera ready to shoot. Continuing on, I walked a 3-mile loop of Chupadera National Recreational Trail. The whole trail, up Chupadera Peak and back, would’ve been 9 miles. I had more on my agenda, so that can be done another time. The cairns mark each length of the trail.
Watch out! The snakes and scorpions may be hibernating. Not so, the thorny bushes.
Out in the distance, lie the San Andres Mountains.
Ann Young was an avid birder, who has since passed on. To make up for the relative lack of wintering birds this year, here is a video of one of her last visits to Bosque: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KyecyGVWrto.
New growth is taking its place, all over Bosque del Apache.
From the window of the Visitor Center, one can sit for hours, just watching the various finches, wrens and hummingbirds eat their fill. Many, though, prefer the findings on the ground and in the brush.
Believe it or not, a bald eagle is perched in the cottonwood tree on the right.
Trees growing up out of the sandbars create a safe haven for aquatic life, but also are a convenient place for raptors to sit and enjoy the view.
I walked this berm, around a marsh that is full, seasonally. This is not the season of its fullness, but I got a sense of what it could be. A Cooper’s hawk followed me around the loop, screeching, but never quite finding its favourite meal.
Raptors, cliff swallows and barn swallows make their nests in these sandstone cliffs.
Here is an overlook, above the Marsh Trail.
When I climbed the path, this was my view. Some say the Chihuahua Desert is more barren than the Sonoran. Right now, I’d say they are correct.
This is an oxbow of the Rio Grande, and trends towards dry, even when the river itself is full.
As you can see in Ann Young’s video, sometimes the bed under this boardwalk is full of water. Not today
It is good enough for cattails, though.
My spirit friend was on the job.
Once back along the main flow of the Rio Grande, I spotted a Lesser Sandhill Crane, by its lonesome.
From the Eagle Scout Deck, more evidence of past drynesses and flows could be seen.
On my next visit to Bosque, I will focus more on the North Loop and the Canyon Trail. It’ll also mean taking in a Fly-In, at sunset.
Continuing down El Camino Real, I came to a dirt road, which led me to Fort Craig, five miles eastward. This National Historic Site is comprised of ruins, and figures in three sorry episodes of our nation’s history: The Mexican War, which was its raison d’etre; the Civil War, during which Confederates from Texas tried to use New Mexico as a steppingstone to Colorado’s gold fields; and the Trans- Mississippi Indian Wars, which just led to more suffering and misunderstandings, on both sides. That its ruins stand at all, however, show just how formidable Fort Craig was. Walking these paths brought me back to the ramparts and walls of France, Belgium and Luxembourg. The pilings below support the earthworks, which defended the fort against the Confederate force.
This is what’s left of the Guard House and Jail. Prisoners were segregated by race, as were the soldiers.
These are the remains of the Commanding Officer’s Quarters.
The perimeter walls were more formidable than they look now.
Here is the Magazine Storage, where ammunition was kept safe and dry.
The Battle of Valverde, near Socorro, was a Pyrrhic victory for the Confederates. They lost so much in materiel that they were unable to capture Fort Craig and hobbled on to Albuquerque, never gaining control of New Mexico.
I don’t believe I have ever cast such a long shadow. Being tired by now, my course of action was to stop in the unique town of Truth or Consequences. The story has been told by someone on my Facebook wall, but I will discuss it at length in “Mile 25.”
December 21, 2014, Socorro- I encountered two sets of people, atop Atsinna Pueblo, on El Morro. One was a worldly, sophisticated couple, who showed mild interest in my observations, before heading off to more intriguing things. The others were grandparents and grandson, who had several questions about the nature of the settlement, and whether the Zuni were related to the Puebloans who lived in Atsinna, before the Spanish came.
These chance encounters set me to thinking; What message, in picture and word, was each person who left his/her signature on Inscription Rock, trying to convey? How has each been received by those who have seen these messages since?
Before addressing that issue further, let’s have a look at what we found yesterday, at Atsinna.
The area that was once farmed, below, is now home to junipers and a few Ponderosa pines.
Snow and ice have given the Headland Trail a rest for several months.
I turned around and headed to Inscription Rock, for a new look at some old friends, from thirty-one years ago. Here some of the better examples of each period’s messages to posterity. Can you see any resemblance to Mount Rushmore, above the lichen-created heart?
The next three frames show the natural pool, created by runoff and preserved by an artificial dam, and the striation caused by mineral absorption.
Next, are inscriptions by Puebloan peoples, Spanish explorers, and Americans headed west.
A pair of Cliff Swallows also leave their mark, in the form of nests, barely visible under the slight overhang
How many signatures and petroglyphs can you discern?
I spent a few minutes driving around Zuni Pueblo, but with all shops closed on Sunday, and my own practice of not taking photos inside a Pueblo village, I leave you with this view of a nearby mesa, which is sacred to the Zuni.
I continued on to dinner, in Magdalena and a restful sleep, in Socorro.
NEXT UP: Mile 24- Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge and Fort Craig National Historic Site.
December 21, 2014, El Morro, NM-I don’t think I’ve made such a big deal about the December Solstice before. Penny and I would have chai and watch the moon rise, with a group of Phoenix- area or Prescott- area Wiccans, but since her passing, it took me until this year to include the occasion in my life, in a meaningful way. (I use the term December Solstice, because the longest day is a great celebration for the indigenous people across the Southern Hemisphere, and I tire of seeing them left out of the celebratory messages.)
Today started with a marvelous shower and gradual wakening, by 7:30 AM, in my comfortable cabin, “Deer Cabin”. I was informed that breakfast would be served from 9-12, so there was plenty of time for me to take a few winter photos and pray for many people and situations. I posted a few of these on FB, but here are some scenes of the El Morro Lodge and Ancient Way Cafe.
First, here is the interior of Deer Cabin.
Here’s the exterior.
Ancient Way Cafe was founded by a spiritual mentor who is known as Red Wulf. He paid us a visit at breakfast, but stressed “I’m not here”, as he is officially on sabbatical, until April, 2015. Several other local characters also gathered for breakfast. I selected “Donald’s Breakfast”, a hearty farmer’s breakfast ,which is fitting, since Donald is a self-sufficient organic farmer. He was present this morning, at the table next to mine, along with several members of Red Wulf’s spiritual circle, Wave Riders of the Ancient Way. They’ve been here since the 1970’s, as have many counterculture groups, around the Southwest.
Hanging chilis are a symbol of welcome in New Mexico, and I certainly felt welcome. The Wave Riders did not wish to be photographed. Many of them were quite exhausted from having attended an event at a gallery across the highway, until 2 AM. Our cook was one of them but fortunately he was rested enough to do a good job.
I checked out at 10:30, and headed up the road to El Morro National Monument. The place is distinctive in three aspects: Geologically, archaeologically and graphically. I will show photos of the geological aspect first. El Morro, Spanish for “The Headland”, is made of largely striated sandstone. Wind, water and lichen are breaking the sandstone down. Many, like the NPS film’s narrator, the actor, Edward James Olmos, bemoan this process. The National Park Service is trying to shore up the ruins, as we’ll see. The big picture, though, is that nature was here first, and will fulfill her mission, one way or another. Notice that there are pinon pines, and one-seed junipers, mixed throughout the park. A smattering of Ponderosa pines have grown on top of El Morro Mesa. The trees also break down the rock, by sending out roots.
So, you can see the majesty of the sandstone massif, plus the effects of wind, water, lichen and tree roots, on the great structure. In the next post, “Mile 23.5”, I will address the human legacy of El Morro.
December 20, 2014, El Morro, NM- I set out for Zuni, a bit after noon today, preferring to wait for the last little bit of mail to arrive at my house. It was an inconsequential piece, but better safe than sorry. Gassing up at Costco, I headed to what I hoped would be a satisfying lunch at a local organic farm stand. As it happened, the farm stand’s sandwich maker has Saturdays off, so the choice was pastry, or pastry. I waited until Camp Verde, got a tuna sandwich from one of the chains, just off I-17, and continued on, past Flagstaff, to Winslow, where a delectable acai smoothie, from Mojo Coffee House, re-energized my focus.
The terrain is low-lying, through the Little Colorado River Valley, past Joseph City, Holbrook and the Petrified Forest National Park, then rises into chaparral forest near Navajo Travel Center. After taking advantage of good, inexpensive gas, at the Giant in Sanders, I followed HWY 191 to Hwy 61, which leads to the New Mexico state line. At the junction, I looked back and saw this:
It was getting dark, though, as I approached the settlement, where I met Penny, my late wife, on December 6, 1980. There was no visible place of accommodations, on the main road and Chu Chu’s Restaurant shut out its lights, just as I pulled into the parking lot. Getting the message, “Beat it”, I resolved to come back to Zuni in daylight.
My next choice for a dinner stop was Stagecoach Cafe, in Ramah. It was marvelous- a small, cozy room, filled with Southwestern decor, and offering hearty New Mexican-style cuisine. I opted for Red Chili Beef Enchiladas, followed by coffee and blueberry pie. I’d stop again at the Stagecoach, anytime. The owner told me about El Morro Cabins, so that’s where I headed next, and where I am now. This is a lovely reminder of the Cabins at Wolf Creek, where I stayed last year, on a return from Denver. One of these journeys will be spent entirely in one spot, a cabin like this, somewhere. (Photos in the next post).
December 19, 2014, Prescott- Much has been said, all over the place lately, about the Congressional Report on Torture, and about the North Korean reaction to “The Interview”, a Sony feature film about…. North Korea. As is often the case on social media, people are bickering, squawking, yelling at each other, breaking out flame throwers, and just about anything else that can be done to silence those of opposing viewpoints, on both matters- as well as such arresting topics as “What should Celebrity X have named her new baby?”
I have dear friends on both sides of each issue, and some who are on both sides, depending on which cactus patch into which they stumbled, in the dark, on the way to the theater. My own take on each subject, seriously, is as follows:
IS (Islamic State), is the acronym which I will use to identify the current group of flaming imbeciles who are now practicing to be members of the Society for Creative Anachronism. ( I have a young friend named Isis, and I feel badly for her having to sit through her high school Channel One sessions). Anyone who beheads, rapes, dismembers or otherwise deprives another human being of his/her God-given rights, purely on ideological grounds, does not deserve to take part in the life of society. No Prophet of God ever said otherwise, although there are some who believe that They did. I believe that the death penalty should apply in severe cases, such as mass murder, beheading, child rape and armed attacks on schools. This penalty should be imposed by the State, not by individuals, and is the State’s bounden duty.
In the meantime, however, torture by individual agents of government is a false means to security. Here’s why: Many of those tortured over the past ten or twelve years have snidely provided false information. Most recently, a bogus tip given the U.S. Government about American and South African hostages in Yemen resulted in the slayings of those hostages. The tip was a result of torture. We live in a dangerous world, yes, but lowering ourselves to methods used by Torquemada and Himmler will not prove reliable, over time.
“The Interview” is an inane movie. I don’t care in the least for the policies and behaviours of the North Korean elite, but the likelihood of regime change through assassination is relatively small. Nonetheless, our Constitution says that people have the right to express themselves freely. So, despite the ridiculous content of the film, people, in this country, should be able to watch “The Interview”, if they so choose. I hope it at least goes straight to video. Either way, I will ignore it, but I will defend to the death YOUR right to pay it ,some mind. After all, no one from Texas hacked the studio that produced the film about killing Dubya.
December 18, 2014, Prescott- I found out, early this morning, that someone had pushed the wrong button, in the course of my last financial transaction. The deposit which should have been posted yesterday, never made it. This will slightly alter my spiritual journey to western New Mexico, which I had planned on starting Friday night. No matter, I will get a good night’s sleep here, and most likely be able to set out on Saturday morning.
Zuni, where Penny and I first met, in December, 1980, is first on my itinerary. El Morro National Monument, near there, is next, and I will head, in succession, to Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, where we went crane watching, Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument and Silver City, which we wanted to visit, but never did, Cochise Stronghold (one of my favourite meditation spots), and Tucson, where a few friends await.
Christmas weekend will find me at the Grand Canyon Baha’i Conference, where I have spent each of the past twenty-two years, save 1997. It is a good place for spiritual regeneration, and coming on the heals of my time in the forests of western New Mexico and the serene desert near Vail and Avra Valley, it represents a double dose. Of course, the crowds at GCBC are large, but I draw energy from the youth, and regard many of them as friends. I have watched so many grow up from infancy, in the time I’ve been back in Arizona. Now, they are taking on the world, on their own terms.
I sat down this morning with several of the Red Cross Disaster Response Team members, with whom I would be working, if chosen for the position mentioned earlier. There is a plethora of detail to be worked out, each time a disaster happens. Good thing there is no I in team. It is nice to be an active member of a team handling somewhat chaotic emergencies. There is a reason for everything.
This evening gave me an hour’s worth of study on Essential Oils, vis-a-vis women’s health issues. It is also going to come in handy, and this area was not something with which I had much familiarity, until now. That goes to show, in this day and age, an old dog had best learn new tricks, and skills, without hesitation.
December 17, 2014, Phoenix- I could not really explain to the befuddled police officer why I slightly strayed over the broken lane line, on one of Prescott’s main streets, this morning. I certainly wasn’t DWI- haven’t had a drink in 33 years, and I’m not on any meds. I was feeling a bit woozy, though, so his pulling me over, mostly, it seemed, out of boredom, was a good thing. I didn’t get anything more than a verbal caution, which nonetheless forced me to refocus on the here and now.
I bought the cookie sheet I needed, went home and baked 1 1/2 dozen cookies, made with spelt flour, aluminum-free baking powder, a cage-free egg, fractionated coconut oil,shredded coconut, coconut sugar (unrefined), fennel and lemon oil. The process of finding the cookie sheet, police encounter included, took one hour. The mixing of ingredients and baking of the cookies took 25 minutes.
I took the goodies down to a Red Cross luncheon in Phoenix. It was a well-catered, Mexican food affair, to which the HR director and I were the last to arrive. No matter; I missed the enchiladas, but had a good plateful of everything else. I also got to watch the latter part of a white-elephant gift exchange, always good for a few laughs. Once all was done, I offered my cookies to the group, as they headed back to their desks. Each one who took a bite said the cookie was fabulous. Mission achieved!
After ascertaining from the HR Director that nothing more would be done, vis-a-vis the position for which I’m applying, until after New Year’s, I gassed up and headed back to Prescott. This is the way of it: The tasks which I undertake might involve driving 100 miles, for thirty minutes worth of, or they might mean walking five minutes, and spending five hours at a small desk.
I’ve drawn the conclusion that it is all a matter of focusing on the what, the why and the who. The how usually makes itself known, in process. There is nothing too small or mundane, too grand or exotic. There is no one too obscure, or overarching, in importance. There is nothing too simple, or complex, in rationale. All tasks end up equal in importance, in the end, as all tie together to make this series of events we call a life.
I will, no doubt, make more cookies, before the week is out. There is another gathering on Friday evening, and before that, a friend or two to visit here in town. Each one counts as much as the other, differing only in the intensity, and nature, of our relationship. That’s how it is with a widower: Those who fill the world, after one’s beloved departs for a purely spiritual presence, are loved strictly for their inherent humanity. Ulterior motives serve no good purpose, and I have thus discarded them. In the ensuing bliss, green chili is as good as its red cousin and cookies flavoured with essential oils are a joyful contribution.
