First Cavalry Arrives Again

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Reality Warning: Philosophical material to follow
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As I watched their taillights disappear over the last visible far away stretch of our canyon road at dusk, I realized that I had never taken their photograph and I sighed heavily in regret. Now I could only hope that Virgil and Jen's return trip home was safe and uneventful. They had brought me desperately needed supplies without hesitation and even though I still have no means of paying them. This was their second trip into our far boonies. They had already come to the rescue within two days of Terry's passing, being there as both family and friends to quietly share in trying to make sense of this unfathomable turn of fate.

This post is for Connie, Virgil's mom. In her many caring and encouraging e-mails, and like so many of you, she has worried about my predicament alone out here and she lamented not being able to help, wondering what she might be able to offer in this very challenging time. Connie, you have helped in more ways than you could ever imagine; you have shared your son with me - so I thank you, deeply and from the heart.

Virgil came to us from the gas field. He came to us via their good neighbor policy but stayed to become our loyal friend throughout this and so many toughest of times. He did not abandon us when fate transferred him so far away from us either. So many people who cross your path in brilliant comet-like colors will fade away quickly when circumstance and convenience change; he did not. Nor did his equally sincere wife, Jenny. If you can count such people as friends on even one hand at the very end of your life, you have been extraordinarily blessed. I feel as though my two hands are full and am now running out of toes to tabulate such blessings. This is what keeps me going when unseen influences do their best to beat me down to my knees and shove my face into the dirt as they have tried so many times before. And as long as I can feel even a small amount of a goodness and love in mankind, I will keep fighting that good but often discouraging fight. I may retreat into the solitude of my aerie when the sum of events become too burdensome but I bring your caring with me as a balm for heart wounds which might otherwise prove fatal. We all bear the responsibility for mankind's future by caring for others in genuine and selfless ways ... don't drop the ball and then point a lamenting finger at the rest of the world. For all we know, there may be a scale of planetary proportions with a preset point waiting for the day when just one good soul dying away will be enough to set the cogs of our fate into reverse.

That was my big philosophical rant; thank you for indulging me. With any luck and blessing, I will be back to the utterly mundane shortly. In the meantime, get defiant and fight your own good fight; never let them get you down for long because rising from your knees to victory is the finest of life's wines that you will ever taste and remember. If I can do it, so can you - don't ever, EVER forget that.
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A Techno Heads Up

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Here is my warning that my may be cut off from on-line activity soon. This is my new joy for the day apparently as this computer, Terry's, is starting to act up and shut-down. Since mine lost its on-line ability the night before Terry died, when this one goes, I will vanish without warning. Bear that in mind, please.

The cluster bung continues unabated and I have never seen so many dropped balls in my life. With the exception of a couple of folks, the expression "If there is anything we can do to help ..." is one not meant to be seriously redeemed. And some help adds more stress than alleviates it. Still no word on when our access road might be repaired and made passable again after last week's horrendous rains and run-off. So far a no-show on the folks who promised to pick up my empty propane tanks and gasoline cans and deliver them to Virgil who will eventually perform a supply run. If the propane runs out, I will lose the freezer full of elk meat and other foods. If the gasoline runs out, no more generator electricity. Those supplies and the dog food will run out in less than a week ... hope the dogs don't get too much flatulence from eating thawed elk meat and the last of Terry's much loved ice cream. The diesel fuel tank was upended and fell off the stand in the BIG rain storm (the required containment tanks will float when immersed in a pool of flood waters - a brilliant idea). The water pump at the water tank died. Without the water pump, no bathing, no dish washing and the evaporative cooler will not work in this 90 degree heat spell so the fur friends and I just sit around swooning a lot, trying not to move at all. Aside from one night of sleep-over guests, it's been three weeks of being alone through the night and most of the days unless Earl stops by briefly on his well run. Hopefully the scumbags that stole Terry's ID have been finally stopped. And there are other upsetting, worrisome things that I care not to mention. There, that's just so I don't hear any "Hey, sounds like things are really coming together, babe, let's do lunch some time." Sorry if I sound unusually discouraged but July has sucked in record-breaking ways. Shall we see if August brings something better? Why not ... something has to give sooner or later ... and hopefully it won't be me. No comments needed on this one - hopefully I will be back soon with better news.
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One long Week Ago

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It's been one week now since Mark left us. His real name is Terry but when I started this blog, we were concerned about the weirdos and scumbags out there. Doesn't seem to matter as much any more. But we both had fun with it while it lasted and he always liked the name Mark. That was the point; to just have fun out here. Most of the wonderful folks we met over these past three years had 'nom de blog's and they were given the opportunity to choose the names they liked, too. Everyone seemed to enjoy that element of mischievousness. Try it yourself, you won't regret it. I'm not saying to ever do things which hurt other people because that is plain rude and selfish ... just have maximum harmless fun when you can. And laugh and make others laugh, as much as you can and while you are able because there are few other gifts as powerful and healing as laughter when times are not so good.

So many more twists and complications have developed in this last week but I am not yet able to write about them, not until some sense of closure comes home to our canyon. But soon Red will be here to help and comfort as he always has for so many.

Thank you, all of you, friends known and yet to be known, who stopped by to pay your respects and express a love and appreciation for Terry - we will not forget it. It has meant so much to all of us dealing with the loss of a great person and friend.
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I will be back - God willing and if the creek don't rise.
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Our End of the Trail

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If you have been following along on our trials in living out our dream, you may have caught my occasional subtle hint to get on with your dreams rather than wait until everything seems perfect. This corporeal world bound by time and fate doesn't always oblige a so-called perfect time.
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Yesterday marked the end of our dream when Mark died of a massive heart attack. In his very early 50s. Listen to me here ... his early 50s. There is more that I should write here but he left with half of my soul and the better part of this marginal heart of mine. I need to convince you that we don't really know how much time we have to pursue our dreams. Mark would have wanted me to make some good of his passing and I think this would best honor his way of turning disaster to something beneficial for others so I will be back. I don't know if it will be in a day or a month so have patience with me, okay? If I can't make it back, I will make sure that someone tells you so. In the meantime, DO NOT put off your dreams, start working towards them NOW. I know you will make Mark smile if you do.
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Note: I have always loved to reply to each and every comment but I don't think I have quite the heart to do so right now. Please forgive me.
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Also, if you happen to know of someone who has had a dream of trying what we did in this beautiful and unforgettable desert wilderness, let me know. I may be renting out our beloved homestead for a year or so while I try to make some sense of yesterday's unfathomable events. It might be a chance for genuinely good people with many sterling references but without enough money to buy a place like ours to try out their own dreams. If you leave a comment with contact info, I will not publish them to the blog.
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The Adirondacks of the High Desert

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Below: Previous seating experiments on the Rat's front porch. Sad at best.
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A) Having been through at least six of them, I can say that this configuration was by far our worst investment. Within a year, their fabric rips, their tubing and connectors break and you might incur bodily damage or possible sterilization depending on where and when they inevitably let loose. Land-fill cloggers. Don't even go there.

B) Unrestored chairs from the moving trailer. Don't wince - almost ALL the furniture in the Rat looked like that at one time. This Renaissance Revival survivor will look very different some day when I get a real shop back into my life. In the meantime, these long neglected relics might have a leg or a seat pan let loose at the most inconvenient moment, especially if you have that unforgivable habit of rocking back on their rear legs - ask any cowboy.

C) Yes, it's the ever versatile dairy crate again, ONLY called into play when more than one visitor showed up. But do note that it has a much better pattern for avoiding waffle-butt than the one shown in The Generation Wars.

D) Another desperate measure in porch seating. It might have surpassed the dairy crate but for one fatal flaw; notice that there is a molded-in hinge in the lid which is well offset to one side. It does not, therefore, match the God-given symmetry of the human buttocks. This will cause an never-ending shifting in hopes of finding a comfortable alignment. Somewhere in that process, you will find yourself radically off its safe center of gravity. At that point, if the container has been used to store the product well-used by felines, you will not only find yourself flat out on the porch but with a goodly amount of cat doodoo and litter covering you. So avoid this one if possible and resort back to option C if necessary. This one is safer being used as an end table.

Our visitors have all been incredibly good sports up to now but we didn't want to push the limits of their endurance so we recently hit the catalogs hard. Catalogs are another invaluable resource which you will rely upon heavily if you move to the middle of nowhere and I mean for far more than classic outhouse use. When a supply run involves half a day of commuting, you no longer have time to stop here or there to browse on the slight chance of finding the occasional non-staple items you desire.
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Tah-dah!!! . .In fear of calling the Southwest Decorum Squad down upon us, we compromised and ordered four chairs like the more mission-styled chair in the middle of the photo above and only two of the Adirondacks. They all showed up unassembled in flat cardboard cartons and the assembly was done easily without referring to the somewhat odd 'Engrish' on the single page instruction sheets.

What's nice about the center chair is that it comes without any finish so you can let it weather or apply stains, embarrassingly gaudy paints and stencils, whatever your heart's desire. We will eventually use them as outdoor dining chairs. While they look great, their one drawback is that, after sitting down, you realize that the arms are strangely low and therefore amazingly useless unless you happen to have the torso of a circus midget. The advantage of the low arms is that they will fit under a table much more easily and therefore save needed space when not in use. We found those on-line at Northern Tool.

It was the surprising comfort of the Adirondacks which blew us away. Before we moved here, I had the templates to make a fixed-position Adirondack chair which was famous for comfort back home. Even if those paper patterns had survived the move, the time and materials would have been more than these cost us; under $60 each on sale from Sportsman's Guide. These were equally well constructed but arrived with a clear finish. When I finished assembling the first one, I plunked myself down in it for a skeptical try out. I had sat in plenty of uncomfortable Adirondacks in the past but this one was immediately downright cozy and relaxing. If it hadn't been sitting out in the scorching noonday sun, I would have dozed off immediately.
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. But wait, there's more! Here is that chair folded down for storage. I was as equally skeptical about the promise of how compact it might be for winter storage but when I pushed back on the lower end of the back rest, the chair easily relaxed into what you see above. And it doesn't appear to be interested in collapsing when you are occupying it (perhaps, if you are behaving like a complete and talented idiot, it could be accomplished though). Now I only regret not having ordered four of these instead of two. Okay, so maybe they look more at home beside Schroon Lake ... but color us pleased and comfy on the Rat's front porch ... finally! .
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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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Here, Lets Try This Then

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Apologies to all the rabid grammarians out there but I removed the contraction apostrophe in the post title (and might yet regret leaving the comma in). It appears to me that these things insert all sorts of unexpected html gibberish if you leave them in place in titles. And I am not in the mood for html hieroglyphs on a good day. It's just another ol' Sam Ludd thing, you see.
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Thanks to your moral support (I WILL remember those who were kindly) when I really needed it, I have come up with this blog plan for the summer:

After today's post, I will be back on the 27th of June and will try to post a story by every Friday thereafter until autumn. Since there are so many stories yet to be shared, these postings might run a little longer than the previous ones and cover several subjects. I know, this is a long interval between posts but a necessary one at the moment.
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Here are the remnants of the old log barn built in the early 1900s. It seemed more fitting to memorialize it in the colorless sepia tones of that era when things were so much harder, so much more demanding of effort to accomplish even the slightest task. Shovels, picks, axes, sweat, a strong back and a powerful stubbornness. Supplies from the outside normally brought in by tall-standing Model Ts with rigid suspensions and near-gossamer tires as time, fortune and technology moved on. But that breed of stone-tough people had arrived by horse-drawn wagon over tracks which were yet to be forged or civilized, had to build their own shelter from scratch in either blistering heat or the inescapable bite of winter. They had no health insurance, no pension, no social hammock to fall back on. They died in the normal course of working and giving life. But they were strong and vibrant with few expectations and appreciated every blessing from nature, fate and the accomplishments wrung from their own calloused hands. Where has the one hundred years hence really brought us? We now die older ... but not necessarily more content and more fulfilled. How do you think and feel on this subject?
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Giving Up the Blog Ghost

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Yes, I am thinking about hanging up the blog rake in the barn, at least for the summer. But first an update on the news at Rat Town.
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Slim's orphan calf, Bully Boy, is starting to look like a healthy calf of his age. Above is a photo taken a week ago. Not quite spunky but his eyes were starting to fill out again as he slowly rehydrated and recovered from malnutrition.

Just last night, Slim asked if he was going to have a heck of a time getting that calf away from me. I said "Well, Slim, I've got him halter broke, saddle broke and even starting dressage but, you know what?" "I can't imagine ... what?" "Well, it's obvious now that Bully Boy just isn't going to make it as my champion saddle bull. Sigh." "Now why you saying that?" "Slim, he's just not sprouting handlebars, know what I mean?" "I sure am sorry to hear that, yeah, it happens. I'll come take him home him then." "I knew you'd understand."
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Here is Bully Boy this morning after his morning bottle feeding which has become a ritual for the entire population of Rat Town. The cats now recognize this as their big outing of the day as soon as they see me fill the milk bottle and put on my long-sleeved shirt and rubber boots. They are already waiting impatiently at the rear door. The dogs are waiting just outside the door, knowing that there is a slight chance for a slurp from this super-sized baby bottle plus a chance to cavort legally with the calf. Somewhere in the middle of all this celebration, someone WILL step on one of my in-grown toenails and this seems to be an expected part of the troupe's merriment. And this was the first morning that the calf kicked up his heels and responded to the dog play. It told me that we had succeeded in bringing him back fully, such an incredibly warm feeling of accomplishment.
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Other news in brief: Mark is looking a bit better after that round of 'whatever that was' although still dreadfully fatigued. Slim is leaving the canyon this weekend with the last of his cattle and won't be back until early winter (serious bummer). The gas company which will be instrumental in our moving Rat Town up top was all 'hurry up and wait' which means that the monsoons may hit before their construction time schedule and the move may have to wait until next year. Which means that I will not have my creative life back until then (this aspect of treading water is getting REAL old). Sooo, all things considered, I am feeling a little uninspired at the moment. Which brings about my decision to stop making new blog entries for a while. Here are the other reasons:

With the exception of a very few family members and some kindly and encouraging souls I have met along the way, it doesn't appear that anyone has that much interest in reading about this particular subject, at least as I am capable of presenting it. That is despite an article in WSJ which talked about the looming energy crisis spawning a trend to go rural and self-sufficient. In other words, shit ... I couldn't make lemonade even after a tornado hit a lemon grove. Maybe I sound a little discouraged? You bet, especially after hearing friends talk about their million hits a month. According to my mother, I still wasn't talking much by age four. The kindly doctor told her that I was fine but just didn't have anything I felt was worth saying. I think I am going to head back to that philosophy for a while rather than talk largely to myself. I have a lot of planning and design work that I have been putting off in shameless and delinquent ways so it will feel great to get some of it done now.

With the doubling of fuel costs, the practical side of me says that I don't need to be burning daytime generator in order to keep up with both the blog AND my e-mails. It's starting to cost some serious money and wear on the generator to keep that pleasure up so it's time to reconsider the brutal economics of it.

Since a lot of my favorite blog friends have decided to put their own blogs on hold for the summer, it is as good a time as any for me to give it a try, too. I'm not saying that this is going to work any better than trying to ignore those big, gorgeous chocolate bars in the pantry but I am going to try any way. In the meantime, you are invited to read through the archives. Just start at the beginning since this IS a journal of our challenges and joys to date. If you have any questions, just ask. It was always my primary intent to encourage others (at least genuinely NICE others) to follow their dreams of settling into the countryside. It's a great life if you don't bring any city rudeness with you.
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The Parting Shot (humorous images sent in by Ken)
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Don't ever give up on pursuing the greener grass on the other side of the fence even though it can present some unexpected technical problems.
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Yep, this is what we experienced as we finally escaped a 15 year exile in Northern Ill-annoys to our new greener pasture. I like to think of this as God's way of saying "Never look back on that place and such people with any regret" and it has surely worked. If you are not one of the "What have you done for ME, ME, ME in the last five minutes" sort of folks, I hope you find your own greener pasture soon.
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Joys of Big Boys and Their Toys

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I'm just pacing and killing time until Mark returns to the canyon. It was to be one day of driving West and a day of driving back but he got sick last night while traveling, very sick; hasn't kept a thing down in his stomach for the last 24 hours. Was it a matter of catching the stomach flu or running into one of those killer sliced tomatoes ... who knows. But he is not a healthy or happy camper and he's now under strict orders from the Fuhrer of Worry to either stop at another motel for the night or, if he insists, head into the canyon without our usual supply stops. Pace, pace, pace ... no phone update yet.

I am posting this non-journal item in the interim to take my mind off of his well-being and whereabouts.
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Update (10:30PM): Our boy finally made it home and fell immediately into bed. The roughness of the dirt road had compelled him to stop several times to heave from an already barren stomach and he looked disturbingly ashen as he listlessly trudged over from the truck. Before dropping off to sleep, he expressed his great thankfulness to finally be home. Me, too!!! We'll see what tomorrow brings for him.

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I love watching any truly skilled craftsman at work whether it be a stone mason, a jeweler, a glass blower, it doesn't matter. But show me a heavy equipment operator with finesse and I could sit there spellbound for an entire day. Buddy John has sent me links to videos such as one showing how a skid steer operator loaded himself onto a tall flat bed without ramps that left me breathless but his latest series of photos tops even that performance. You will need to click on the image to see the details but it's only 250K and absolutely worth the download.

This is a back hoe operator in action. You're not going to believe what he does with his machine to get a job done. And here I am all thrilled if I manage to walk down the Rat's rickety stairs without falling on my butt. This fellow is a true master of his trade! And with more than just abs of steel.
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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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Don't have a Cow, Dude

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Sunday's plan was for Mark and Colin (me cuz from England) to take a tour of the rest of the ranch and the proposed Rat Town site, maybe wander as far as Slim's camp. But plans never remain solid out here for long.

Before they even left home, Slim had called and asked if they would roundup a small orphan calf which a gas field worker had noticed in Slim's far northern range. If he hadn't noticed this little stray, it would have died in a few days so big brownie points go to Chevron this week for having some conscientious employees out there.

The cows and their calves had been shipped home to Colorado from that range two weeks ago and this little fella had somehow become separated from his mother and left behind. He managed to evade predators on his own and survive without cow milk at remarkable odds. He was born so late in the season that he was even missed in the Spring round-up and branding.

Mark and Colin restricted their tour to sights on the mission route and headed straight home once they picked up this emaciated calf. They unloaded him into our corral from the back of the pick up truck. .
.With a stop at Slim's for milk replacer and a very large baby bottle plus Slim's instructions, Mark did his first surrogate mother job and the calf obliged like he was in the care of Dr. Doolittle. You can see curious Brou in the foreground and Daisy's brown nose sniffing frantically at the calf's rear ankles. They had both chased cows before but this was their first chance to meet such a small version.
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Both became comfortable with the whole arrangement and settled down to relax and enjoy, everyone except Brou who was now far more interested in having a turn at that milk bottle.
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Photo of a young sitting bull

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After the first bottle-feeding was managed, Colin devised a sun shade/shelter from a scrounged wall panel and a metal frame and the young bull calf found it immediately and gratefully followed its moving shade until the sun set.
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. The calf was less interested in the later feedings and Colin, who has long experience with dairy cattle, showed Mark the above method for forcing the issue and it worked very well. The little bull calf has a lot of weight and strength to recover and can't be missing feedings now just because he feels like it.

He will probably be going home to Slim's camp in a day or two and I will miss not having him around. Since Slim is dead set against us having anything to do with horses, I am very tempted to have him leave the calf here as my future 'saddle bull'. That'll teach him to put me off having saddle horses. Hmphhh!
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For the next week or two, I won't be able to answer comments as often as I have done in the past so I am disabling the comment option until I can catch up later with visiting and commenting over at your blogs as well; in other words, enjoy your mini comment vacation!!! We'll be back before you know it!
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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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