Watch This Space!

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Today I have come to the conclusion that I will continue to live the ongoing half-life for some time to come so I will take a sabbatical from this blog to the end of October or longer. I wanted so badly to show you the photos of the new place but do not wish to impose on Gayle and her computer any more than I have to. The three of us are getting along remarkably well considering that we were bought together in the course of fate and an otherwise standard real estate transaction but we are all looking forward to the day when we can re-establish two separate nests once more. We are all living and working in the rug canyons between piles of full moving boxes, both theirs and mine. It sort of reminds me of once living in the Katlady's boarding house in a huge brick Victorian ... well, except that she had no intention of moving anywhere at the time.

Wayne is doing the classic frantic rush to get the heavy and nasty jobs done at their new place before his surgery next week and Gayle is doing the related fruitless fretting and damage control. The good news is that I have convinced Gayle to start a blog about their new start-from-bare-earth homestead. She writes very well and will have plenty of stories about their shoe-string adventures as they develop. All I have to do now is remind her to take her camera along, right Mushy?

As with our long down times at the ranch, my imagination has been in high idle with all the possibilities and potential here. All must be planned around the recent market tank and a new tight budget in mind now. Lots of bang-for-the-buck projects on the slate so watch this space come November! Red's uber-geek son promised to come through for me with something reliable in the way of a computer system and then I will be back in full blog force! Hopefully he will also be able to retrieve all the cool unpublished photos which I had taken previously on the ranch. .


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Racing the Rains Home

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I had planned to show you intriguing photos of the ghosts of metal victims of the running washes but this was probably my worst emotional week since Terry died. I had been carefully avoiding anything that might trigger the worst of the sorrow that I knew I could not deal with yet since the stress and the upset of this rapidly approaching move from our canyon will certainly provoke its own lion's share. That didn't work out as planned however. So, instead, I will share photos with you of our access road condition which weighs so heavily on me right now after last night's rains.
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The rain had mostly held off for my three solo trips out of the canyon. And other than seeing this odd bird (above) on Friday which appeared almost double-winged, the trip in went well and without too many excitements other than the usual one or two oncoming vehicles sliding into sudden view from blind corners at impressive speeds. An adrenaline rush trumps coffee any day for waking up fast and fully.

This necessary trip on Friday let me almost beat the storms home. I had made it across the creek and was only a mile away from the Rat when the skies dumped their full load suddenly. I could now see the Rat and picked up the pace, fish-tailing a little here and there on the newly slick dirt. Having picked up Virgil's bed full of moving boxes, I didn't want to dally in the deluge any longer than necessary and heaved a long sigh of relief when the Dakota finally dove under the shelter of the barn's tin roof. Good, only the top layer of boxes had been soaked so I now ran to the Rat in my favorite go-to-town moccasins through the mud slime. I should have brought my tall rubber boots with me, I knew better than to leave them at home, in fact. At least I had remembered to bring a flashlight and a roll of toilet paper just in case. You will only need the items you don't remember to bring - it's another quirky law of the wilderness.

I jettisoned the mud-caked shoes on the porch and all dogs and cats were on deck to witness me blow through the door and collapse breathlessly into my wing chair. They had been very good, not leaving me any 'chocolates' of desperation to deal with. The five of us just sat quietly listening to the thunder and the roar of rain on the Rat's tin roof. Then it subsided unexpectedly within a half hour and the dogs were able to go out to execute their withheld duties with exuberance. I was just thankful that this sudden but short-lived downpour might not force the creek to run that day.
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The creek had been a major, ongoing source of concern for us this year since its meandering course had begun to claw away ruthlessly at two sections of our road in. It had been narrow but sturdy and nicely passable upon our arrival here three years ago although the man who moved the Rat in for us had noted that we lucked out in buying a 14' wide trailer and not a 16' wide one because of those narrow road widths.
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This photo was taken during this last dry spell, well before Sunday night's downpours. I don't have the heart to drive down there to see what's left of the road today. News, good or bad, will reach me soon enough.
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So call me a wimp but I don't like the thought of having a section of road collapse beneath me as I am driving over it, especially when it's a long way down to the creek below. It could ruin your sterling insurance rates in a hurry. I find it even more disconcerting when it involves a heavy vehicle full of your treasured and often irreplaceable belongings piloted by even more irreplaceable friends. The water haulers announced last week that they would no longer let their tanker drivers cross this section of road. This news did not impart a warm and fuzzy feeling to me at all.

We have planned the big move for this coming weekend. This might just be my biggest unofficial heart stress test coming up. Please keep us all in your best thoughts and prayers this week.
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Southwest Soup For Sickly Souls

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I knew I was running late on this Friday post but just remembered that everyone else is out there barbecuing and playing with fireworks anyway.
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Happy Fourth of July!
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Sopa del Curandera

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Carteach lobbed a food wars volley in this direction. Unfortunately it struck the column of the walking wounded out here at the Rat. Mark is still recovering from 'whatever that was' and the fanciest food production I dared assail his stomach with was a medicinal soup, southwest style.

The idea was to make vast quantities of natural antibiotics seem palatable and this soup emerged. I never was a big soup fancier but even I liked this one. With the temperatures in the mid-90s to 100 degrees lately, you absolutely avoid using the oven for anything until the sun sets and the desert's cool nights return so this is a stove-top creation from start to finish.

The soup came into being as I stood there anally trimming out a tray of boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Since I am fussy about meat texture, I was busy removing any fat, tendons and mystery parts and placing those scraps into a sauce pan. I added a couple cups of water and let the whole thing simmer for a few hours, adding a good dash of Montreal Chicken Seasoning to the mix. I later strained the broth into a larger pan and the dogs and cats went nuts over the solids left in the strainer. No waste! Of course, you can avoid all that time, effort and being stared at by big brown eyes by cracking open a can of chicken broth and adding it to that large pan instead.

Then I finely diced six (yes, count 'em!) cloves of garlic, ran them through a crusher and added the entire aromatic mess to the big pot of broth and set the heat to a high simmer. The garlic is the major medicinal ingredient so don't skimp, the rest of the ingredients will help absorb its booming voice. The spice rack got raided and in went paprika, some taco seasoning, cumin, turmeric (another BIG illness fighter although it stains the chicken and your counters a bright yellow), juice of one lime, a dash of smoky marinade, a splash of white vermouth, ample ginger which would help break Mark's profound chills and what the heck - a chicken bullion cube for good taste measure. Then off to the pantry; one each 14-15 ounce can of diced tomatoes and black beans plus a small can of green chiles. Don't drain them, throw the contents in with all their juices.

I took a large onion (part of the medicinals) and cut it into 1/2 wide rings and then sliced those rings only in half. I wanted larger pieces of onion as you would traditionally find in French onion soup. Then I cut up two of the larger chicken breasts into cubes and very lightly browned them with the onions in butter (another mild antibiotic) in a large skillet. When done, I transferred this into the soup pot, turned down the soup pot heat to a low simmer and let it burble for a half hour. In the meantime, I sliced up both red and green bell peppers into roughly half inch squares. I added them to the soup pot only at the last five minutes of simmering so that they remained firm, colorful and so very slightly crunchy. I added a little water to bring up the volume and we managed to get six bowls (or two meals out of it) out of it.

We used round tortilla chips to scoop up chunks or crumbled them into the soup as you would crackers. Using them like crumbled crackers is a great way to use up the broken chips always found at the bottom of the bag and you get that pleasing corn taste and crunch in the process. Be well!
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I was going to post a review on the failures and victories of seating for the Rat's UV-drenched front porch but, since I am now running REALLY late for Friday's update, I will post that one on Monday or Tuesday. We finally found solid outdoor seating comfort at a reasonable price that you might like to try as well!
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Do na da go hv i, U na li i

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It's been a sad week for some of my blog friends. Mushy lost his high school friend, Danny, this week after a long battle with cancer. Moose lost his sweet mother just this morning. My sympathies, my dear friends ... I mean that sincerely.

It was only last night that I found our own sad news; a friend had left us as well. I have not replied to that e-mail yet but I will when I can find the needed words but first I must talk to her here.

She was given the name Vonda, a name which her mother told her was Tsalagi (Cherokee) for 'Child of the Morning'. And she was as bright and sparkling as a new sun rising with fresh, limitless possibilities. She befriended me when I signed up to do graphic art for the Main Street effort in an otherwise spiritless and cold village.

"Vonda, they laid you to that final rest today in a place so very far away from here. I was not by your side in the flesh but I was there anyway. The tears no longer easily fall from my eyes but they still rain within my heart, unseen but as ever sorrowful. I will miss you.

You were there to help before I could ever be shamed to ask in desperation. You gave your heart, time and most treasured belongings to anyone you met. And you were forever hurt in a half dozen decades by takers and users but never let it stop you from giving. I wish I had your relentless faith in mankind, I really do. But I somehow fear that you were finally used up like the precious commodity that you were, that your big heart could no longer bear you aloft in this world.

You befriended me despite my many eccentricities. You adopted us as family. You never hid me from your famous, fancier and richer friends - your love had no earthly boundaries.

I can count the number of people I have met, admired and learned to trust on less digits than my fingers and toes. You took a place on one counting digit and it will likely remain reserved for you. Farewell, friend (Do na da go hv i, U na li i) ... I will miss you deeply until we meet again."
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I stared out the window today, a lot. And I saw an eagle circling, unusual since they had not been by in quite a while. I grabbed the camera with the zoom lens and threw open the window. Just as I was able to focus in on this visitor, it disappeared from view. I lowered the camera and scanned the skies intently for any trace of it. It was simply gone. Perhaps moved on to some freer, more effortless realm of flight as my Vonda did.
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Ads with Subtractions

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I'll admit it, my muse has left me for the moment. And not in a kindly parting either. She smacked me in the face, packed her stuff and slammed the screen door behind her. Okay, so maybe we don't have the screen door installed yet but you get the idea. I think it was all over Mark coming home VERY sick on Wednesday and showing no improvement since, despite already being on antibiotics! Out here in the middle of nowhere, especially when you have no health insurance, such things can be a worry. Tomorrow, the herbs and medicinals will be dragged out again to be brewed up in hearty measures of teas and soups.

In the meantime, I was at a loss to post what I had in mind so I rummaged through my files for inspiration and came up with these. It's all about advertising and these particularly annoying or confounding ads popped up in New Mexico. Do you ever come across ads which simply hit you the wrong way? And do you ever wonder if they did that on purpose?
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This one REALLY grates on me. Maybe it's the message that this woman equates the ultimate proof of love with what material fluff a man can buy her. Whatever it is, I just want to catch Ms. Bad-smell-under-her-Nose bending over and plant a good and pointy-toed boot in her fanny SOOOO badly. Is it just me here? Too bad the image scan lost some of that irritating, nearly snarling snottiness though.
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. Mark was naturally the one to first point out this very disconcerting mixed message above. Here is a very purpose-built device which could make a fellow squirm on a good day and right there in the middle of the ad is a photo of a very appealing young lady. We just didn't 'get it' so we consulted with our professional cattleman, Slim. "Woooo (wince), well, I sure see where you're coming from on that one (wince), no doubt about it. Well, all's I can figure here is that the company owner has that pretty young daughter there and decided to get the message out real subtle-like, you know, while still taking a write-off as advertising." Hey, he's our expert in cowboy affairs and it sure beat any of our possible explanations.
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Petro Tour 03

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Since there were so many petroglyphs at this one site, I just couldn't resist sharing a few more with you before continuing on to the ruins.
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This one is so very old and worn but you can still see the faded shape of a figure. Notice the fine gravel and layers of sand in this sedimentary rock.
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Although not the most pronounced and best preserved, I think my favorite is this turkey which was etched in good proportion and great detail right down to his feathers. It is hard to say if he succumbed to an ice pick in the butt or if that symbol had been there earlier or added later.
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Brou intently analyzing the Spanish horsemen of the big panel.
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Cousin Colin intently analyzing another cache of carvings.
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Colin caught up and asked if I had seen that odd 'statue' back around the corner. "You mean the one that looks like a frog in a tri-corn hat and uniform from the 18th century?" "Yes! That one indeed!" and then we laughed about how two eccentric minds can think so alike.
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Now, before you go getting all fluttery about the deeply mystical and superior spiritual nature of these ancient inhabitants, let me bring you back down to earth a notch or two as did my very, uhm, unusual and unexpected guide at Mesa Verde. He had overheard an official park guide expounding in rapt New Age speak about the inhabitants and the great spiritual significance of their every structure. He continued on with a hint of disdain that the people were not that dissimilar from us, living largely in unremarkable and mundane ways for the most part. I have no reason to doubt him, especially given his curious nature. An example of the mundane is shown below.
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We came across this inviting niche in the rocks and I crawled inside. Quite the cozy and intimate setting really. It wasn't until I exited that I noticed this faint carving which I have blown up for you in the upper right hand corner. This was obviously some young man's little den of seduction and he indiscreetly carved a tribute to his conquest later. This might even be one of the earliest examples of a fellow asking a young lady in to see his etchings. The archaeologist we met 'up top' confirmed this notion, stating that they had found some doozies in the way of prehistoric 'guy' art. Caves or bathroom walls ... boys have always been boys and will likely remain that way for as long as the human race survives. Ya gotta love 'em!
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It's good to be back for a bit so comment away if you feel like it!
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Petro Tour 02

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More views from Wednesday's petroglyph tour:
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If you look closely at the enlarged versions of these images, you may find many different styles and subjects mingling on a single panel of rock and which might have been carved any where from A.D. 500 to the 20th century.
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. Certainly look like elk prints to me, especially given the rack on that dancer!
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.This is the left half of one large split rock panel. Notice the Navajo corn growing up from a lineal rain cloud.
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.Here is the right half of the large panel. White men on horseback appear on the scene. At the top, one such rider was lost to the frailty of the sand stone.
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An enjoyable hodge podge of feet and who knows what else. Below shows you its setting on the skirt of a sandstone giant.
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I'll be back in a few days with a quick glimpse of the lands these peoples chose to call home and some ruins they left behind.
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Petro Tour 01

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We took a drive down the canyons late this morning and found new petroglyphs to explore, ones which we had not seen for ourselves as yet either. Virgil had told us about these a year or two ago and they were well worth the drive to visit. I want to show you the highlights over the next couple of posts.

If the weather holds, Colin and Terry will head into Albuquerque tomorrow for a couple of days. The forecast doesn't mention rain but the winds are kicking up and rocking the Rat a little and the skies are a dull gray.
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It was a perfect day to explore; the lightly overcast skies kept the temperatures bearable and these delicate prickly pear cactus flowers were in bloom everywhere along the petroglyph trail.
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Your guess is as good as mine as far as interpretations so let's just walk along quietly and enjoy them.
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I'll be back with more in a couple of days!
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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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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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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 Mysterious Rock Inscription

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Today we ponder the very incongruous etching left in the midst of many indigenous petroglyphs. .
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Above is a photo I downloaded from Red's camera after our big outing late last Fall. As you can see, petroglyphs can hide themselves from discovery very well unless you happen to be close enough and specifically looking for them This wider view shows the curious scribing in the upper left, the ones which I covered in more detail in "Slowing Down for the Curve".
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. Here is the detail from the far left of that panel. The images are heartbreakingly worn away by time but still faintly discernible as you draw to within feet of them. Our odd inscription trails off from the right side of this view.
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Here it is in the long afternoon shadows of the Fall sun, a form intense and boundary disciplined, imposed over the much older rambling expressions of the first humans to pass through or live within these canyons.
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Virgil and his wife stood with us last weekend as we took new photos and still, between us, no one wrested an intelligible message from between those two lines. European in influence ... had to be. But why incise very distinct lines above and below the figures? A lingering school primer mindset overly-enforced by hovering dark-robed proctors brandishing rods? Roman numerals? Surely there are too many strange figures to support the numeral idea. What then?

At least two of the figures appealed to my fancy as nearly Runic in form but this did not help me decipher the puzzle. Now it's your turn!
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In lieu of a comment, Scully has donated an image which might explain some of the motivation behind these petroglyphs. The 'fish story' surely has been around as long as there have been humans capable of hunting and fishing ... and drinking beer.
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The Cowboy Bar and Grill

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This is the continuation of our 'big night out' tale from the previous post.
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Above is a better view of the adobe walls and beams for Mushy and thud. In this photo, you can see how the thick adobe walls support a healthy beam across the large opening to the kitchen. You can also see the hand adzed marks on the central beam holding up the long main beam running from the back of the kitchen to the front of the house. The plaster finish on the walls attests to how solid this building is; almost no cracks in the wall finishes other than in a very low door header for which Slim claims responsibility in the course of a previous 'relaxing' evening. He even lifted his hat and showed me the original contact point on his forehead. Sold.

I was pleasantly surprised that I also captured a glimpse of the brick floor in this shot. Adobe buildings of this age were generally built directly on dirt; walls, floors and all. These dark glazed bricks were stacked together tightly without mortar in the last decade over the original age-hardened dirt floors. They are beautiful!
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. Slim returned from his grill management duties and settled into the dining room with his pile of spuds to peel with his picket knife. Without the young Tyrell here to help out, he surveyed the remaining help and decided that he was best suited to the task. Mark had already found some armaments annual to become engrossed in and clearly placed himself outside of the labor pool for the next hour.

Somewhere in all this, I perked up as I heard planes overhead. Slim looked up and grinned "Yep, that's some of your military birds out there." He knows. I looked disgustedly at their two dogs who did not warn me as Brou would have and then ran outside. Cool! What was taking place overhead was an aerial refueling! I had watched a mid-air refueling from the boom pod before but never got to see one from the ground so I ran back in to get my camera. Sigh, the photo sucked SOOO badly (likely caused by my buck fever moment) so I won't even post it here.

Meanwhile, back in the ranch house, the conflict of the chefs flared continually over when to put Clay's burgers on the grill. I sided with Slim in that rushed and raw potatoes would assail my sensitive stomach in horrid ways, and for several days to follow. With that thought in mind, Slim soon took to munching on raw potatoes, making sure to stand near-by to let their raw crunch ring in my ears as I sliced up his various peppers.

Somewhere in there, an impromptu auction banter was set up by Clay over the contents of the pass-through shelf to the dining room. I knew better than to stand in front of Mark and accidentally up his bids so I played ring man instead, responding to bids and calls for half-price and choice and yelling "Yep, yep!" and pointing to either Mark or Slim. Okay, so now you are getting an idea of why these suppers are not exactly drive-through fast food events. And maybe that is the whole idea - anti-rush.

Probably, oh, an hour later, we sat down at the table and had supper; Clay's burgers and green beans and Slim's canyon-famous grilled potatoes. Awesome good, all of it! Then it was time to head out and up to the bar, up those exterior stairs which I swear will kill one of us eventually. My gimpy knee likes neither the first nor the very last step spacing but, so far, so good (touch wood).

The pool table got a work-out that night. While Slim and Mark had a round of pool, Clay beckoned me over to the round poker table in one corner as he laid out cards and chips. ???! "You talkin' to me, bud?" "Well, of course! Sit down here!" "Uhm, I don't play poker ..." "C'mon .. five card stud?" "Nope". "99?" "Nope." He went through the litany of possibilities without a taker until I feebly offered "I can play solitaire ... ?". I gathered that this was the wrong answer as he let his head hit the poker table with a painful-sounding thud and sighed loudly, the cards sprawling out from his limp hand.

Meanwhile, Slim had donned his bright yellow flannel gloves gained from the kitchen auction. He would hold court at the long side of the pool table for the rest of the evening, holding up a hand in over-sized yellow flannel and offering guidance to the current shooter such as "Ohhh, Big Bird here wouldn't go for that shot, nope, unh-uh." As the evening progressed, he would admit his declining skills by placing his cowboy hat on backwards, putting his dark shades on and singing "Se-e-h-ven Spanish A-a-a-n-gels!" a la Ray Charles before a shot. Clay, on the other hand, and despite some heel teetering which I expected to turn into a backwards collapse at any minute, became more lethal in his shots as the evening wore on. Go figure. This was a vast improvement over his earlier flat-out-on-his-back sprawl after he had scooped up the supper condiments and then tripped over the low step into the kitchen. All four of us were suspended in amazed silence until (you know that someone had to break the shock and decorum here) I broke out in loud hysterics. At least it got everyone moving and abusing again. And poor Clay would wear and bear the abuse of being covered in condiments for the rest of the evening.

Other than that and my own gastric indignities suffered later on (I WARNED you that I had a sensitive stomach, didn't I?) which involved a short but brilliant aria from the second story balcony and some too curious ranch dogs below, the evening went splendidly and memorably. We followed Slim back up the canyon at a fairly safe distance until his turn-off and flicked the generator on back home at the Rat by 3AM. Wow! What a memorable evening out!
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This unimpeded view of the cowboy bar is for Buck. You can now get a better idea of the woodburning finesse of the young lady who sketched in the steer and the bucking bronc. Two of her prints were hanging in weathered window frames around the bar room as well ... VERY talented.

The face of the bar was built with new 1 bys and framed in weathered boards, a well-used rope edged the top, welded half-horse shoe brackets held up the rail at the bottom. You can even see where one brand was held in place a speck longer than necessary and flared a little. All in all, a very unique bit of work. Now I can't wait to start on our own saloon some day!
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An Unexpected Invitation

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What started out last Wednesday as a rare supper get together with the cowboys became just the beginning of four days of separate social occasions. This is unusual not only here in the canyon but probably set a twenty year record of some sort for us. And despite the utter enjoyment of it, I seriously doubt that us two cloistered old farts could survive a steady diet of it.

I also didn't realize that such a full slate would completely trash my normal blogging and e-mail time ... but it sure did. I am hoping to catch up on those lagging activities this week. Both of us have pretty much recovered from that nasty bug but one of my molars decided to give out last Friday and may throw everything off until I find a dentist to relieve this pain and fix the problem. In the interim, I won't be looking forward to meals no matter who cooks them and may have to rely heavily on the aluminum can feeder system while others pig out. ... grin
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Thursday's invitation came after Mark drove out to unlock the far gate for Slim and Clay. They had been out driving around on our isolated mesa to check out the pasture conditions and plan how to best drive some of Slim's cattle over there. These cowboys love driving around and planning almost as much as they love cattle. After checking out the water and grass and adding a little plinking brass to the road substrate here and there, they dropped down off the mesa and stopped by the Rat. "Supper over at Clay's place tonight? You bet, just say when!"

This time I would make sure to get more photos, too, because it is a pretty cool place that you might enjoy seeing. We waited until the appointed time to head over there and I forgot that taking photos so near to dusk would be a challenge. I tried to lighten up the color in some of the photos for you. Same for the interior shots.
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We drove along the main canyon road, taking in the big views ahead and all around us. I enjoyed these fading skies since it brought back memories of a day's end on the ocean where breezes would cool warmed, reddened skin and the salt water had already soaked the tenseness out of every muscle. It was that kind of comfortable and content feeling.
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I had to paste together two photos to show you the ranch. Even at a fair distance, the cameras could not capture this spread in one take. You can see the peach-colored bunkhouse at the left and the peach-tinted lowers with brown second story main house on the far right. The second story is home to the infamous cowboy bar and pool room of our tales. The airstrip and concrete pool lay somewhere in between it all. I wasn't kidding you, it really is a cool place.

So cool, in fact, that when the owner recently considered selling it, he was besieged by offers and backed off to reconsider its place in his holdings (and this wasn't even advertised!) i.e. ain't gonna be a steal if he does sell it off, i.e. Mark and I probably won't end up buying it either...(big long sigh here)...Probably the very best we can hope for now is that someone with a notch or two above rudimentary social skills and looking for a personal year-round home will end up with it. That would be a great blessing to our life out here.

So many really great ranches never hit the open market but remain within the old rancher network and change hands without public fanfare but that will be changing as demand from outsiders (like us) tempt the old boys to not leave any money on the table. Traditional ranchers and farmers are finding themselves priced out of new land due to development pressures. Their own existing land values also put them under pressure - continue a risky but much beloved lifestyle or sell out and retire comfortably. Wall Street's portfolio crowd and trust fund babies have added serious weight to the tipping scales (just to keep the records straight, Mark and I fall into neither of the previous categories). I have no doubts that big government's lucrative subsidies to not grow various commodities have enticed the former group to swallow up ag businesses and their lands by the greedy mouthful. I am inclined to forecast a sub-prime type fiasco in our food supply chain down the road as a result. Expect stunningly higher prices for anything involving meat, grains and vegetables on the grocer's shelves as just the starter. Don't get me going on the great pork barrel bio-fuel farce in contributing to this likely scenario because I try to stay away from touchy issues on this blog. But such frustrations are one of the reasons we get together with 'da cowboys' - to forget about all the pressures of the moment and the near future. So let's get on with the tour.
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Here is one of the original homesteader buildings. I fell in love with it and had to click a photo before darkness set in. Apparently cameras hold a different idea of darkness so I had to lighten this one up considerably as well. Look at the sandstone walls, the original small timber bough roofing, the rough door and window frames. Is that cool or what? And tell you what else; after New Mexico Magazine farted off my Rat entry for their schmancy Home issue, I'm not telling them about this one either. Hmphhhh ... yeah, would you believe they passed up on the Rat without so much as a polite 'get real, get lost' e-mail reply? . Hmphhh ... I have been thrown out of much better places ... so there.
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Here is a photo of the main room in the original adobe ranch house. The doorway on the left confesses to how thick the walls are. Genuine adobe works so well here in the desert. When we were here in the 90+ degree swelter last year, this dwelling was still invitingly cool by day's end.

I also wanted you to see the hand cut beams which support the roof. Slim and I boisterously argued semantics over 'hand hewn' versus 'rough cut'. I am funny about such things and these beams had been laboriously hand worked down to roughly square using an adze. To me, 'rough cut' refers to lumber which rolls off the end of a mechanical saw mill but not mechanically planed afterwards. To call such beams as these 'rough cut' would discount the hours upon hours that someone spent hand whittling down round logs chip by small chip. These particular beams contain the history of much sweat, blisters and ambition. They are simply gorgeous. I will show you a slightly better detailed photo of these in the next post.

At the back end of this view, you can see Clay starting prep on our cowboy supper while Slim is out fussing with the grill. This will be Clay's short 'quiet time' before the other chef and associated help turn the kitchen upside down with teasing banter and horseplay.

To be continued!
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Slowing Down for the Curve

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A confession: I feel and look like death takes a holiday. When I feel this 'good', I just don't feel like blogging, computering in general, e-mailing or phone chatting. Not that there isn't plenty going on in the canyon but I don't have the heart to keep up with it right now. The move possibility is still pending and depending on pretty much everyone else but me. I will bring you up to date as soon as I have any truly tangible news. And maybe I am just a little blue that I will be losing an old friend. He's always been a fighter but sometimes the odds are just too overwhelming for even the toughest of them. Another chunk of my heart will go with him unless miracles avail themselves in very short order.

Sooo ... what I am going to do is post the odd photo or two here every four or five days in the interim, just something to let you know that we are still out here. Don't feel obliged to leave a comment since I will likely not feel up to answering them or be around very often to blog visit for the next little while .
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Here is a very strange petroglyph which we discovered while out exploring with Red last Fall. Being sheltered beneath a huge overhang of rock, it has survived the ages quite well. Oddly enough, we found it after failing to find the remote Spanish inscriptions which Virgil had shown us earlier that year. Quite the consolation prize.
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Here is a better detail of that find. You can see that someone added 'the barbell holder' at a later date.

I will try to be back by Friday with a most curious inscription from that same locale.
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