Comfort Thoughts

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The last several days have been physically unpleasant so I was almost glad to see that nearly everyone had wandered away from the blog to do Memorial Day Weekend things. But I am equally glad to see you wandering back now, it lifts my sodden spirit and body considerably. I finally had enough last night of languishing atop bedding which I had drenched repeatedly since last week . I got up, lit the kerosene lamp and sat quietly in front of the Rat's large living room windows, letting the breeze wick away some excessive fever heat. My lymph nodes (or were they nymph lodes? I was too drained to figure which) were aching away painfully. According to the pain mimicking broken ribs when I cough (which thankfully isn't often), I suspect I might have a touch of pneumonia settling in. I was going to do up an herbal chicken soup but I knew that the eye-watering aroma of heavy amounts of garlic would have Mark gagging, screeching like a girly and heading for the door so maybe later today! The soup really does work well though; garlic, onion, turmeric and whatever else jumps to the fore medicinally as I scrounge through the cupboard.

And when I feel this down, comfort thoughts are as important to me as comfort foods. Comfort thoughts have helped sustain me through many bleak times at the Rat so far. I was reminded of this today when a friend wrote about the joy of creating with his hands. I needed that reminder. Creating with my hands was one of the activities by which I defined myself and my greatest joys. Restoration more so; reviving things which have been unappreciated, neglected, tossed aside and left to rot away, little bits of history possibly insignificant but a loss nonetheless if they disappear forever.

So, in my aching misery, I thought back to consider an odd cart which is now underneath the 45' moving trailer, just barely out of any driving rains but still subject to the direct ravages of the sun and dusty winds. Like my dear friend, the Katlady, I have a great appreciation for things built to last; like things made out of oak and cast iron, not molded plastic destined to clog landfills in two short years after the sun destroys them. I am sure this common passion forged our friendship even deeper beyond our mutual love of motorcycles. And she taught me the fine art of abandoning all dignity in high heels to salvage a roadside or dumpster piece with, you know ... potential!

Mark is generally a placid, logical and analytical creature. These are excellent traits in a partner for a scavenger who can actually follow through with a renaissance. But it took a while for those traits to develop a calm faith in what the junk cat had just dragged home; quite a while actually.
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.Case in point is the cart shown above. I got those junk hound goose-bumps when I found it. Cast iron and vestiges of solid oak ... chills down the spine. Although I had help in loading it into my truck, I was able to unload it (ain't gravity a wonderful thing?) just minutes before Mark was due home. I garaged the truck quickly and posed nonchalantly upon my new treasure and waited for seemingly ever until I could hear his footsteps coming up the long drive. And then steeled myself.

My salutation and broad grin drew his attention to my new and vulgar settee. Before he could compose himself, he flashed the old 'look'. But this time he imagined that it was truly justified as he surveyed my proud pile of rust, red paint and rotted wood. "Sigh ... mind telling me what you brought this home for?" "Absolutely! I've ALWAYS wanted one of these!" "I see ... but ... why?" "Well, because I've always loved Victorian railroad era stuff and this just ... " "But it's totally shot, Lin, a pile of junk that someone was thrilled that you dragged away. And that they made a few bucks in the process." "Sigh ... oh, you of little faith as usual. Here, grab one end and lift - it cost me less pound to pound than bags of ready-mix cement!" His turned, sighed again and then shrugged in martyr-like fashion and walked towards the house.
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Okay, fine then; you can see from the detail above that maybe it wouldn't have stunning curb appeal to most. If it had, I wouldn't have been able to afford it either. So much oak had rotted away around the carriage bolts over the front casters, one push handle was completely missing, the other hopelessly bunged up, the cast iron wheels were so badly rusted and seized and, in some places, looked as though they had been run through cement and left to dry that way. Are you starting to get the idea? This was a magnificent challenge of the first order, especially now that Mark had cast down that biting gauntlet of doubt.

I made a pilgrimage up to my wood man and he was able to supply me with straight grain white oak planed down to precise widths, enough to make two new push handles and replace two sides of the cart. Not cheap mind you since we're not talking big box store crappy pine or even their pricey red oak here. It was a healthy three digits before I got out of there with the oak and a short mahogany plank for a spinet desk restoration. This is why I was so protective of my restorations supplies. I remember one occasion where I heard the shattering of my salvaged antique glass in MY shop and went to investigate. Mark and a visitor emerged pleased and proudly holding a two foot long piece of my custom cut and planed 2" straight-grained white oak. "Took a while to find but this piece will be perfect to drive the RV up onto to level it out!" They beamed, at least until they saw my ashen reaction. "Uhm, that is a $60 chunk of wood you're holding there so I would prefer it if you could find something else, okay?"

Now the sanctuary of even that dark, damp shop is gone. The long-collected supplies had to be jettisoned at the last moment thanks to the sloth of professional movers in packing our semi-trailer and that deepest joy of my creative life vanished with it.

So here is my hard-earned advice to you if you plan on relocating to the boonies: know the passions which are dearest to you, make sure that they make the move and are accessible in relatively short order. If the vent of that passion is denied you, you may wither much sooner on the vine when other challenges come to the forefront. Such passions might be books and reading, knitting, fly-tying, your attempt at the world's largest ball of tin foil - it doesn't matter, don't let it slip away when you are about to tackle a radical change of lifestyle. Comfort thoughts are very helpful but can only last so long.
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Here was the finished product. Cutting mortise joints into that long side plank of 2" oak to fit tested my absolute strength with each pass. With no sandblasting available, I had to chip, chisel and file the corrosion off each cast iron wheel. The front casters were horribly worn and resting at lax angles but I was able to find the perfect piece of metal tubing to act as a new, snug bushing after being packed with grease. While fussing over the cast wheels, I came across a foundry name and did some research on it. It was active during the Civil War and survived almost into the new century. At that point, I stood back and became very pleased with my bit of preservation. Don't ever think that you can't save a small piece of history here and there. I've see so many wonderful things accomplished by first-timers simply willing to try.
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Everything Hits the High Desert

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Seems as though in every place I have ever lived, eventually some local would come up with that painfully tired old saw "If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes." Heard it, thank you, bo-ring.

While New Mexico normally has very predictable and pleasant weather, it can throw in some extremes from time to time. The following photos describe our weather over the course of the last four days. The irony struck me in that I am trying to advise my cousin on what to bring in the way of apparel for his visit next week. At this rate, he will need four steamer trucks and a state room on the QE2. But that is our little secret; we can always find him suitable garments once he hops off the plane with his single carry-on bag.

.Tuesday: Low 90s in the shade

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Wednesday: High winds and dusty! 80 degrees

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Thursday: Cooler mid 50s, the rains move in

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Friday: Snow!

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As fragile as they appear, the hummingbirds never let the snowflakes as large as silver dollars slow down their quest for nectar!
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Techno warning! It took my computer over half an hour to switch on this morning. Since it doesn't have a spark plug, I haven't a clue how to remedy this problem which has become steadily worse over the last few months. If I disappear without warning, know that computer death is the likely cause!
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Summer Hits the High Desert

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It has been simply gorgeous out here today. The sun is gauzed over lightly by wispy clouds, keeping the air cooler than normal. There is a strong wind blowing through, suggesting that Nature is about to bring new weather our way. You never know quite which way she will change, you simply know that there is change afoot.

And I am finally comfortable in pronouncing that summer has hit our high desert. It was barely two weeks ago that we had our last hard frost with temperatures dropping down into the mid-twenties before dawn. That one felt like the last official frost of winter to me, finally! Yesterday, the temperature broke the nineties mark and prompted the annual ritual of reviving the swamp cooler. If you have never lived in arid regions, then you probably haven't a clue about how this odd, simplistic and miraculous item works. If you tried this in Missouri, you would be mildewed from head to toe and sweating even more profusely.

The more dignified and descriptive name for this device is 'evaporative cooler'. The idea is to drizzle water down over fairly absorbent materials in the in-take filters so that air flow will cause 'evaporative cooling'. To bring this idea home, remember back to running under the sprinkler as a child and feeling the breeze bring a goose-bumpy chill as it hit and dried the water on your skin. THAT is evaporative cooling at work!
.The Rat's swamp cooler had been draped over with canvas since last Fall and now the Spring uncovering and resurrection was due. It is a ritual to mark the seasons. Mark found and readied the ladder and, since I am least likely to break the Rat's smallish rafters with weight, I climbed up onto the roof and unfastened the tarp cover. Mark winces noticeably when I scale the metal ladder in my 'construction slippers' (which are basically soft-bottomed moccasins) but I like the real time connection with my footing and the rungs don't seem to bother my in-step at all. This explanation of the 'construction slipper' is really for my U.K. cousin who has asked what apparel might be most suitable during his upcoming visit. The term came about since I have used such footwear forever and for everything, including severe house make-overs. Mark never did get over my use of them and OSHA would undoubtedly faint dead away at the prospect. But what was most hilarious was when I mentioned construction slippers to an old friend who I found again after twenty years and he knew EXACTLY what I meant. "You wear construction slippers, too?!" Sure enough, he sent me a photo of himself building a log cabin and shod ever so comfortably in those versatile moccasins. Great minds and all that, you know, but not recommended for the faint of heart and tender of foot.

Mark scaled the ladder next and siphoned out the slimy residue left over from last year before refilling the sump reservoir and making sure that the make-up water float control was functioning properly.

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Job done! Here is the swamp cooler ready for hot weather action once again. Now you can see that the unit has a louvered intake panel on all fours sides. Behind each louver is a pad of material over which water is drizzled continually by a small amp pump. The big strain on the generator is the start-up of the fan motor, one not unlike your furnace fan but without it, you are not going to get any cooling effect in the living space.

Our regimen is to open the exterior hose bib which supplies the water to the pump and then let it catch up since water will evaporate from the reservoir over night. To allow proper and even through-circulation, we then open a window at each far end of the Rat and make sure to close intermediate windows or at least narrow the openings considerably. Then we make sure that the sensitive computers are not on during the start-up of the cooler. You can turn them on as soon as the start-up amp demand of the fan motor has been satisfied however. The last step is hitting the cooler switch. If the start-up doesn't kill the generator with its demand, you grin and begin to feel the cool relief wafting down from the big ceiling vent ... a glorious relief!

The pros and cons of this unit in our situation:

I suppose we could have gone without any cooling at all and simply lay there sweating and whining incessantly throughout the entire summer but both of us run body systems more suited to Alaska and don't tolerate heat all that well (don't ask us why we settled in the desert - it was just one of those strong emotional things).

With the prospect of only generator power and maybe eventually solar power, standard compressor-driven 'refrigerated' cooling was absolutely out of the question. The electric supply required to keep such a system happy was too great for our situation.

The swamp cooler has much less electrical demand but it is a shameless water hog. I monitored its water consumption through the translucent walls of our 350 gallon water tank. The unit will consistently use almost 100 gallons of water a day during the hottest weather. If you have to truck water in, this is not an affordable option. Fortunately, we have a shallow and plentiful well and can refill our tank as needed.

Just as an exercise, now consider what demands such popular cooling systems would place on the limited water resources of any quickly growing city in the desert. Some new desert McMansions may consume three or four times that amount of water. You can eat up water or electricity ... or just wilt miserably and unproductively in the heat. Decisions, decisions, decisions ... as always.
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Me-me-me-me

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Okay, okay, fine then ... I will indulge in one of these meme things despite my usual stance, as expressed in the blog preface. But ONLY due to the unlikely planetary alignments which cascaded into place: A) Scully 'tagged' me and I happen to have a soft spot for her. B) Carteach did a titillating and inspiring job of responding to her challenge already. C) They both confessed that it was an effort requiring few deep mental gyrations D) AND the most important aspect of this rare alignment; I belatedly stumbled upon a post from Buck in which he had been tagged and respectfully acknowledged that I was not an option in passing on such a slimy booger. Guilt will get you EVERYWHERE with me; my mother could have told you that without a pause or a quick blink. Just don't think that I have declared open-season now, okay? I AM still a hermit and curmudgeon after all - you must not forget that this is why I am out here writing this journal in the first place.

Soo ... the idea is to answer these questions with only a photo or other graphic, NO words allowed. Here goes then (but I reserve the right to complete and childish asininity):

1. What is your current relationship status?
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2. What is your current mood?
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3. What is your favorite band/singer?
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4. What is your favorite movie?
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5. What kind of pets do you have?
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6. Where do you live?
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7. Where do you work?
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8. Who do you look like?
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9. What do you drive?
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10. What did you do on Saturday?
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11. What did you do on Sunday?.
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12. What is your favourite network TV Show?
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N/A
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13. Describe Yourself.

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14. What is your favorite candy?

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Sooo ... do I dare pass this one on to the other folks regularly supporting my social life with their comments (and haven't already been tagged)? How about Buck, Mushy, Fat Hairy, Cat, Bruno, David, Ginger, Da Moose, Goddess, Alex, putz? It's okay, you can be a curmudgeon just like me. And who did I miss that might actually be game for any of this foolishness? Just let me know!
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Raiders and the Talkative Arc

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Thursday was a great adventure day out here at the ranch. And I almost opted not to go because of the early wake-up involved - this can comfortably become part of your new defiant zen when you quasi-retire. It's a marvelous feeling to say "No!" just because you can. It's worth cutting back on your current lifestyle now to do this a bit earlier than normally expected, trust me on that!

But the prospect of roaming around our lands with someone who could answer my questions about its ancient history was too much for me to pass up. It haunted me throughout my night's sleep and I awoke at dawn, even before Mark and the pups, excited and determined to find answers. An hour or so later after a cup or two of Mark's always excellent stove perked coffee, we piled into his Ram to make the 35 minute trip to 'up top'. Although the sky was unusually overcast and denied us any customary morning solar warmth, we headed off without our jackets, confident that the day would warm up quickly. A bad assumption in the high desert.
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We made the rendezvous right on time with our gas field rep and the archaeologists, just outside the gates of the old gas field camp and headquarters. The mission of the archaeologists today would be to determine the suitability of new well sites and access road locations. The gas developer also very generously allowed them to research our personal choice for a new home site. I have had a love of archeology since elementary school and wasn't about to disturb any significant site for our own purposes so I was very grateful for this opportunity. There was a good chance that my personal choice of a future home site had already been taken by ancient peoples but I was willing to acquiesce to the importance of history. Mind you, my fingers would remain painfully crossed until that arc survey was complete.
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Here is the first meeting of minds. From the left, Mark is hidden behind my most informative arc mentor, Steve. Then our reasonable and pleasant gas field rep. Then another arc who I excitedly greeted with a handshake and a playful but irreverent "Wow, it's Indiana Jones!". Hidden behind him is the head land surveyor, a very tall Navajo who I decided may not like his image being captured any more than I do. To the far right is the head archaeologist and company owner, Doug.

The first order of business for both groups was the gas field matters. In the end, this was a wash for us. We lost more ground than we gained in comparison to their first well site choices but at least they weren't destroying significant archaeological sites in the process.
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Nearly everyone was unprepared for the cold winds that persisted in the sun's ongoing absence. A few shivers, a few sneezes, all hands buried deeply in available pockets when not being used.

Mark, myself and Mike (our gas field rep) eventually snagged Steve the archaeologist away to survey the south end of that mesa. Talking with Steve was a complete joy for me. This was like taking a college field trip for free but in the convenience of my own back yard. And he was one of those broadly knowledgeable people who can keep you fascinated all day long. He was even able to answer a question that a nuclear physicist had recently asked me about the existence of opals in New Mexico. I LOVE answer people!

I had read an article recently on what the established archaeological community thought of the Indiana Jones portrayal of the field. As expected, each person held a conflicting mix of emotions running between disapproval of the relic-snatching raider image and an appreciation for the new generation of students who had been snagged by the Indie romance. So you know that I just had to ask Steve what drew him into the field as we tramped through the sage, me barely able to keep up with his pace. The answer was amusingly surprising.

Steve had gone from a wide range of telephone field work through to FCC radio tech licensing; the guys who are qualified to mess with radio station signals, etc. He smiled broadly when he thought about the defining moment. "Well, I ended up at this keg party ..." At that point, Indy observed "Yeah, they threw some great ones!" and Steve continued, a thumb sideways pointing towards Doug "Anyway, someone introduced me to Doug here and that was that." A chance introduction at a kegger and a life long passion had been ignited. Doug also had the good luck of inviting Steve on his first volunteer survey and they happened to find an old pit house cut through by a meandering arroyo with a fully intact pot resting in the arroyo bed below. Hooked! Doug had been listening in and smiled at that memory. Then he added slyly "Yeah, that rarely happens but it sure got Steve hooked for good."
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How to make an archaeologist smile

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Here is Steve with his first find on the east end of our proposed home site. In his hand are two translucent fragments which most of us would likely walk past. They are small chips left by a man chipping away at an arrow or spear head, meat scrapper or other implement. He painted a fine mental image of a man finding a comfortable spot with a good view from our hillock and patiently creating a tool chip by chip over the course of half an hour. He not only knew the original home of each variety of rock used but pointed out which pieces were the outside cortex (or rough outer shell of the rock chunk) and was able to show me the exact impact point which flicked this piece away from the work, even mimicking the motion and tools needed to so do. At this point, I was starting to resent the occasional intrusion by the rest of the world pointing at watch faces. Notice Steve's ample supply of colored marker flags ready at his waist. He would color-code flag the artifacts in situ according to a specific category as he found them.

Before we were done walking the new site, he had found what only now strikes me as a very obvious site where rocks formed three sides of a rectangle and was used for the stone grinding of grains and then, but a few yards away, the remains of an old Navajo hogan several hundred years old. I was stunned by his abilities to discern such things at a quick pace but he explained that daily familiarity is everything, much the way an experienced bank clerk can tell a counterfeit bill by simply holding it. Doesn't matter, I am still in complete awe of their abilities.

The good news for me was that his exciting finds were so workably to the north and east of my preferred building site. History right outside the back door without destroying it - is that cool or what? The bad news? I quickly caught the flu from someone in that group, probably the guy with the small icicle forming on the end of his nose throughout that entire chilly morning. Hopefully I will kick this new bug and be back by Tuesday with the next update.
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Coming up next ...

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I've been trying to put together an update for you but I am utterly dragging after a very fun and interesting week. We just got back from a highly productive trip 'up top' which has brought us that much closer to moving up there. This meeting involved surveyors, archaeologists, electric company and gas field reps. Somehow the many, many objectives were completed by early afternoon; a good thing considering that there are weighty and bleak clouds rolling in as I am typing this.
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I am hoping to be recharged and back before the weekend. At that point, you will be hopping in the truck with us and then hiking a mile or two through the sage brush behind a very informative archaeologist just for starters.

But, for now, I am going to find a willing bedcat and take a much needed nap before our favorite cowboy shows up for supper in a couple of hours. I will try my absolute darnedest to be back before Saturday so don't wander too far away!
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Yesterday's visitor
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The Manhunt

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Retrospect: September 2006
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Finally! This should be the last tale from September 2006. For whatever reasons, that month proved the most lively of our tenure here to date. There was the Home Cummins parts 1 through 4, Val de Mort, Part 2 , Strangers in the Night and The Junk Pile Surprise. What a month indeed. Don't expect a quiet and boring life just because you move out to the middle of nowhere ... just giving you a helpful heads up.
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I had been sitting out on the Rat's porch and enjoying the cooler Fall air when I heard the unmistakable chopping of helicopter blades. I was surprised when I saw a dusty green locust of a helicopter poking and nosing along low over the creek. I never had a camera handy back then but the photo below at least shows the type of bird. I thought to myself "Well, that was certainly odd." and went back to reading the paper, vaguely perturbed at having lost my page in the process.
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About an hour later, Virgil slid into our parking lot and jumped out on a mission. "Where's Mark?!?" "He headed in to town a few hours ago ... why?" Virgil slapped his thigh in exasperation and asked "Have you got any protection?" "Maybe ... if I dig through the trailer for a half day or so. Why?" Virgil sighed loudly "There is a BIG fugitive manhunt going on; Hondo just talked to some state police and wanted me to warn you." "Any details?" "Yeah, a couple of guys in a stolen car got pulled over on the highway south of here, bailed and headed this way." "South!? That's the route Mark took today. Great timing, he hasn't driven that way in almost a year but he did today!" Virgil and I exchanged concerned looks.

Knowing that the kindly Mark would not hesitate to offer a ride to anyone who looked stranded, I immediately shifted into worry mode. Virgil and I hovered expectantly over his cell phone as he dialed Mark. No answer. We both exchanged the customary "It's okay" looks now even though we both had other mental scenarios forming. Virgil was concerned for both Mark and I now and it obviously killed him to leave either of us out here without his help. "Awww, great timing ... I have this appointment I can't miss back in town at 6:00PM and ..." ..I replied "Pwah, don't worry about it, Virgil, we're pretty big kids and can take care of ourselves." Of course, as he drove out of sight, I thought "Ohhhh man, whaddamy ... nuts?" I did a logical survey of my readily available self-defense options; "Oh yeah, they will quake in their boots when I flash my serrated paring knife ... you bet." This is something you should think out and plan for well head of time, always, because occasionally we might run into people who are simply not nice. It is a good idea to consider how you will address such rudeness. I won't condemn pacifism but I personally don't like the idea of being subject to possible unmentionable abuses to myself or those who I feel protective towards. Sort out your thoughts on this well BEFOREHAND and you will be better able to deal with the consequences. Statistically, it is a long shot but, as the Scouts say, "Be Prepared" - the exercise won't hurt you.

Once I adjusted to this situation, it seemed that my priority was to alert the neighbors after confirming the details with the state police and in between my fruitless calls to Mark. The confounding lesson I learned here was that neighbors in the boonies, counter to your assumptions, might not appreciate your old-fashioned value of looking out for them as you would your own. And it was bitterly enlightening indeed. The least pleasant neighbor at least begrudgingly admitted to locking her doors but I received a VERY insulting e-mail from another a few days later in reply to my phone message. So Tip#2; don't expect a broad and mythical Nirvana of neighbors caring for each other just because they inhabit a remote and harsh land with police, fire and medical help hours away at best. Be prepared to go it alone. I can now handle that revelation but many idealists would find it devastating. Your idea of Nirvana should have ever-mutable boundaries if you wish to find it.

But I have digressed here for your own homestead illumination. The afternoon shadows drew so painfully long over the next three hours before I was able to reach Mark by cell phone. Apparently he had chosen to recharge his cell phone in the 'OFF' position as soon as he had left the Rat. The retreat of my adrenaline overdrive flooded in as I heard his unworried voice at the other end. He was still an hour from home but at least now knew not to pick up strangers on the long road back in. Other than listening for unusual noises in our darkening canyon, I could now worry far less about one most infinitely dear to me.

The manhunt? Well, there never was an official and satisfactory resolution to that incident. In the end, I presume that in this age of cell phones, the fugitives dove into our canyon but called for likewise sleazy accomplices to meet and spirit them away from justice.
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Leaving the Creek Behind

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The idea of leaving our creek behind brings some rueful moments with it, even aside from the name of our journal becoming largely irrelevant at that point.

Although it is dry for most of its life, that one percent when the creek runs fully is a marvel to behold. You can wade through the sage brush and descend to sit on its banks, listening to the rise and fall of the waters as they find new pockets in the sandy banks to tease and roust and to watch any number of curious things being rolled along noisily in the shallow but rowdy currents. And you imagine for a moment what it would be like if this creek was forever so alive. Trout? Silent wading anglers? Being able to launch an inner tube and drift lazily down to its end? Utterly pleasant fantasies for a cool and breezy afternoon with the sun dappling warmly down on your arms through the chattering leaves of the tall cottonwoods. Peaceful. Joyous. So deeply invigorating.

But the creek soon spends its small allotment of rain waters and withers into a silent white sandy ribbon once more.
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I came across this above photo again this morning and smiled. The old storefront architecture had helped inspire my original plan for the new Rat Town facades and the theme echoed my fondness for the totally incongruous and outrageous. Before I found this photo, I had already planned on hanging faux store placards announcing guided fishing tours and water skis for rent in the midst of our dusty desert canyon. Come to think of it, I might still do so when we relocate up top. Maybe I'll even stock a cattle watering trough with a few goldfish and call it a resort. Well? Why not?!
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Movin' On Up!

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Update: I am now on my second day of having to perform the miserable duty of accessing and pulling the spark plug and squirting gas directly into the cylinder to start the generator myself. So far so good.

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I think we can finally announce a certain candidate! But it was a brutal, tiring process of getting there. I finally had to call in Slim, Virgil and Earl to help sway my number one super delegate and CFO.

We had gone through the neverendum meetings with certain gas field companies and that had left Mr. Pragmatic with serious concerns, and they are very real concerns, no doubt about it. The part of our ranch which we hope to relocate to and which I will show you below, has been recently acquired by a new player; a gas company known for ruthlessness and a penchant for picking up under-performing leases. And they will generally tell you anything to get their way i.e. 'lie like a rug'. Our big concern was building on one of the few sites that they haven't already disfigured, only to have them come in a year from now and plant a well right in our faces ... complete with a VERY noisy compressor AND jack pump. Our survey of the field and the feds say that these guys will likely do it, good neighbor policies be damned. In the end, we did meet with one of their people who seemed willing to give us a vague idea of where they may likely drill next and where they might not. Of course, if he is a straight-shooter, he might not last long with this outfit anyway. Verbal and gentlemen hand shake agreements are a thing of the past unless you are a complete fool looking for a guaranteed let-down.

As clarification here; as a land owner with no mineral rights, you basically have no rights if an energy developer wants to take over parts of your land. When we first heard the term 'split estate', we thought "50/50 ... guess we can deal with that". But split estate, in this case, is more like a split between Lord and serf. If they want your virgin daughters or your best treed elk habitat, they can pretty much take it at their whim. The only thing stopping them is some new NM lip-service legislation on surface owners rights and their own 'good neighbor policy', which some clearly do not possess. I normally don't like to mention names but ConocoPhillips has been very good so far despite a few shameful logistics screw-ups but is ever striving to improve and does try to make amends when at fault. This new three-letter player out here, however, remains seriously in doubt by all accounts.

In the meantime, we have decided to take our chances, given the improved overall year-round accessibility of the new location. Yes, it is a daunting move for us with so many things to arrange for and the last disastrous move still clearly too recent to not effect our enthusiasm. That move left us very drained emotionally and didn't help our opinion of mankind when given a chance to take advantage of or not. But we have some time on our side now and some trustworthy allies to help us out.
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What is this thin and curious strip of an image?! Well, this time you are going to have to click on the image to find out. It's under 250K though and you won't regret the view.

It is a roughly 160 degree panorama from the proposed site of Rat Town. I am not kidding when I say that the views are BIG out here. I had to splice together 5 different photos to show you what you would see if you pivoted around on your heels from not even quite North to South. At the very extreme right of this photo, you can almost see the new Rat site. If you could see over that dark ridge of trees for a couple of miles beyond, you would see the Rat's current home in our canyon.

Virgil and his wife came out for a visit a few weekends ago and we headed up there to check out the new site possibilities. They liked! Then Slim weighed in later, noting that it would be a lot easier to find his way home from there after one of our supper evenings. And then Earl cast his vote, noting that grid power for running shop tools was less than a quarter mile away from the new site.
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.Here is the view looking directly north from the second potential site. The first site was sitting a little low to take in the mountains to the north shown here.

Now don't be thinking that my next blog entry will be from 'up top' - just ain't going to happen. In fact, this move may take a few seasons to complete and, since unattended things are ripe for pillaging and scavenging even way out here, we might be trying to inhabit two sites at once for some time to come. Not my idea of a good time but I am not the Rat's grand fuhrer of our resources either. A decision one way or the other is still good news to me even though my original enthusiasm has waned considerably in the process. Guess I'm just one of those 'do it or get off the pot' types.

If you've been following along with us for a while, you are familiar with our current cozy canyon along with its blessings and drawbacks. What is your gut feel?
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The Hummingbirds Have Returned

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This first part of today's post is just for Sharon. She could use some New Mexico good cheer while she wraps up the last frantic days of their big move. Barely two weeks to go, girl, and then these little fellows will be joining you out under the portales for margaritas!
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About a week ago, I heard the distinct sound of a hummingbird diving in and out of the sage brush. A friend describes the sound well; like tiny Volkswagen Beetles.

It wasn't until yesterday that I found our one surviving bird feeder. The other had fallen down late last summer and the UV-beaten plastic shattered, leaving a good quantity of sticky sugar water everywhere.
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So far, this little fellow with just a touch of purple collaring his neck is the main visitor. If he has his way, he will be the only one. He perches up on the cast iron hanger and guards his nectar water intently. But, as you can see in the top photo, the green is returning to our canyon and soon more hummingbirds will join our early bird. You picked the perfect time to migrate, too, Sharon!
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Mark Receives a Big Hand

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I owe our friends and family more details on Mark's broken hand so here it is:

We are finally finishing off part of the bathroom. It took me forever to start feeding and juggling four new electric wires through the ceiling and walls and around the shower and sink. The rework unfortunately required removing the flush mount shower light which we had installed last year since I couldn't access its junction box otherwise.

To reinstall the fixture, I was standing on a crate, trying my best to hold the light up in position and not rip up my arms on the shower's jagged edge screws while Mark replaced the light's mounting screws from within the shower. Easy enough.

Well ... there is bound to be a problem with a six and a half foot tall man working in a shower many inches shorter. It was a good thing that he got the first screw into place, too. The second screw slipped out of his grasp and fell to the drain area. He backed up as he leaned down and startled when his rump hit the shower door. So he lurched forward and nearly lobotomized himself as his head connected with the projecting corner shelf. I almost fell off the dairy crate when I heard (and felt) the sickeningly loud whack.

Having too recently performed a nearly identical move myself in our cozy little waterboard chamber, I empathetically recalled the blinding head pain and screeching of neck vertebrae as they compressed and shifted at horrid, unnatural angles. And I was hardly the one to go "Tsk, tsk" when he hauled off and whacked the offending shelf column in his moment of extreme pain.

So the score now stands at Shower: 2, Big People: zip. It is an amazingly robust and most evilly designed fiberglass torture unit. Although I lived with a mild hand fracture for a week or two after my own bout with it, Mark had obviously broken one or more things of significance since his hand swelled up to impressive proportions. A few days later, I finally found an ace bandage and bound his hand up. If nothing else, the binding reminds him to NOT use that hand. But, ya know, sometimes it feels so good to get in a little revenge at such excruciating moments. Maybe we need to pad the thing with rubber walls next or wear helmets in there next time. Someday I may fantasize about a much bigger shower area but, for now, I just fantasize about a real porcelain throne. Possibly my kingdom for one, in fact. One of these days, I will describe life with a composting toilet and gimpy knees. But first I must finish off that bathroom!
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