Still Here .... Sigh

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Yep, I am still here. This weekend was supposed to be "Moving, Part 2" but it didn't happen. I won't say that I wasn't upset when I found out after 5PM on Friday when it was too late to call around for other resources. It was pretty devastating news, in fact, after thinking that this one source of great stress had been covered. And, had I known just a day earlier, I could have stocked up with the bigger bag of dog food, more generator gas and beer at least. As it was, I blew my back out on that supply run so I had little to lose pain-wise by lugging greater quantities of supplies at the time. But Wayne was not in great health to begin with, tried his best for me and will undergo surgery for possible bladder cancer on Tuesday, right as their own plans for a new homestead get underway. I will have to write about his trials after he left here late last Sunday with the big trailer - never a dull moment, I tell you. They are both great people and have their own plate full to overflowing right now - please send them your best thoughts, too.

After a week of threatening thunderstorms, this weekend was as weather-perfect as I could have hoped and prayed for; cool with absolutely cloudless blue skies. It's definitely the beginning of Fall in the high desert here with the temperatures falling into the 30s at night and rising into the comfortable 70s during the day. I am feeling very guilty about prolonging our exodus since the gas field, the road maintainers and the BLM have been so generous and committed to keeping these roads passable for my departure. Please send your thoughts and prayers in keeping the washes and creek dry until I can find new help with the last of the move out.

I will start calling around today in earnest to find suitable work-arounds to complete this move. One part is hopefully already in motion thanks to Virgil. He and Jenny came out yesterday with a buyer for the big welder so that is one less heavy item to find trailer space for or worry about leaving to the inevitable scavengers. He was feeling awfully bad that his own truck is laid up but he has come through for me like the ultra dependable friend he always was to Terry and I. If all is going well today, he has hitched a ride into Albuquerque and will be driving Terry's big Ram and the gooseneck trailer back out here for the next reload. Red will be flying out to a B52/tanker reunion shortly so I can't rely on his calm-under-fire logistical thinking this week but everything will work out according to some big but seemingly nebulous plan for the best ... of that, I have no doubt.

This is just a quick update in the midst of vast uncertainty so no need to leave a comment this time - I know you are all still here with me and it's truly keeping me going. Hopefully the next update will be done from the far end of this new journey.
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Moving Away from Our Dream, Part 1

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Firstly, I want to thank our blog friends who have stuck by me even though I have not been making my rounds of my favorite old blog haunts since 'that day'. Hopefully I will be settled in to a largely different, somewhat daunting new life alone by October. Can I say that I am looking forward to it? No, I will not lie to you; the prospect embraces practical reasons more than anything right now and little more. The best friend I ever had is gone now but I am trying my best to move forward, as much for the well-being of our fur family as anything. I was doing quite well, in fact until a cascade of events on Sunday caught me off guard emotionally. But let's get on with the moving tales since some incredible people had intervened to help get the dreaded move progressed to this point. The number of widely divergent folks who have helped with this move has left me in awe, a needed reinforcement of my faith in humanity. You, our blog friends, have been a crucial part of this transition as well.

Red and Wayne arrived last Thursday in Red's venerable little Jeep. We really didn't get much accomplished that day; it was more a time for exchanging tales and settling in and to eat a good dinner, the first real effort that I had cooked up since Terry left. It was a necessary gentle lead-in to the hectic days to soon follow.

Friday saw the beginning of the packing up even though we all enjoyed stopping to chat far too much. It was still a good and appropriate pace that kept me from stressing out emotionally. I only had one particularity bad moment that day when we had to look for something in the bed of Terry's truck. His truck, his skid steer; those are particularly haunting since I still see him so clearly in both and his big cat-like grin of satisfaction as he commandeered them. I thought Red hadn't noticed that I collapsed into tears before I could jump down from the tall bed of the Ram but he returned shortly. By then, I was standing on the Rat porch and so we both sat down on the steps, his arm around my shoulder, his other hand grasping mine tightly. He had been there before, he remembered the pain and understood how I was feeling all too well. He said "It's okay, you are going to have these times. Don't avoid them, let them happen, it's absolutely normal." I hope you all have a friend like that if the seemingly unbearable happens some day.

On Saturday, our extra help arrived. I was hoping for just a couple of young and brawny lads to help us aging, creaking old farts with the lifting and loading. What we got instead was two full truckloads of help. I only regret that I was too frazzled to remember to take a photo of the second truck with the five young lads.
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Above is a photo of our friends, Dan and Virginia and their family. Like the five young lads, they are from the local Mennonite community. We had met them through ordering the two new buildings for our new Rat Town dream. Dan had not only helped me out with making other plans for the two buildings which they had already built but not delivered but also arranged for the brawn for loading day. We could not have gotten as far as we did without their serene and obliging help. And I have never been more impressed with a religious group than I was with all my dealings with the Mennonites; they walk the talk like none other that I've ever dealt with. If Terry and I had ever decided to commit to a particular sect, it would have been them, no doubt about it. I will hopefully write more about our dealings with these lovely, non-judgmental people some day when I am settled in as well as all the other folks who came to the fore in this unexpected new life drama. They all deserve mention and credit. As promised, even the road out was fixed well enough to accommodate rolling the big 45' trailer out of our canyon. I will take a photo of that effort for you if I can in the next week.
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Sunday morning: Here is the tractor of the kindly neighbor hooked up to the 45' trailer. This was a particularly emotional time for me, seeing this original container of our surviving life's belongings being readied to vacate our dream land. Terry's Ram is jump charging the trailer's lift-gate battery.

Above; Red , Wayne and John are clearing out the debris which had grown in around the 45 footer in the last three years ... there was a lot of it, too. Everything that was settled and comfortable was now being uprooted, much like our dream.

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I will write more about the big move but, for now, I am depleted. Sunday was a draining day emotionally and my immune system predictably collapsed. There were so many things left to be done here but I am not up to it physically now. Yes, I stayed behind with the fur family, awaiting the return of at least one trailer emptied for we ran out of trailer space in deed. And I did not want to leave the Rat in this state of utter mess and chaos. I also wanted time for the fur family and myself to adjust for a few days before the next and final phase. Leaving the dream behind so abruptly, so traumatically, was simply not an option despite the threat of new wet weather. It will work out, we will be fine ... not to worry, okay? A thunderstorm just rolled in - time to shut down the generator and unplug it from the Rat. Daisy just bowled me aside and dove under the desk as is customary. But we will all be fine, I'm not kidding.
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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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Made It Home Safely

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Once the critter sitters were briefed on the quirks of our off-the-grid arrangements, getting ready to leave the canyon by myself for the first time was the hardest part of my journey. It seemed foreign and completely unnatural. And in the back of my mind, I fretted about the Dakota's acceleration once I reached pavement. That pack rat's nest episode in the engine compartment coincided with my gut feel that I had been robbed of genuine speed and I thought that maybe some obstruction was restricting the gas pedal movement. These dirt roads don't allow for an acceleration test beyond 35 miles an hour and only briefly at that unless you want to slam down hard and then launch yourself aloft in one of the many deep key-ways in these dirt roads. Both of us had incurred headliner bruises and nearly worn the heavy Ranch Hand bumper grill like braces from previous feats of bravado and brain farts out here on these weather-pocked roads. And I had only vague recollections of the directions to get out of the canyons when heading south.

I loaded up all the documents, clothes and gas cans that I needed and just hoped that I wasn't forgetting something ... which I did anyway. Turning the ignition key was one of the hardest things I had ever forced myself to do; I felt like I was abandoning Terry (Mark), our dreams and our fur friends in horribly callous ways. Concentrating on the rough roads for the next 25 miles helped soften that tension and remorse. I eventually eased up beside the old Indian trading post and hit it out on to the highway. "Hitting it" brought forth disappointing results. For the next couple of hours, I was mortified at being passed going up hill by semis at 45 mph. It was going to be a long drive so I poked the radio seek button and found but one station, a country western venue, and the miles droned by. And I felt so alone. Then a song called "Remember When" came on. It is a bittersweet, lilting, slow lovers' waltz and gentle kind of piece with lines like "... we won't be sad, we'll be glad, for all the times we had ... remember when ..." And for the first time since Terry died, I started to sob quite uncontrollably; no one but me in the truck, no critters and friends to be strong and stoic for, just me alone on this quiet four lane highway. I looked over through my dappled vision to my right and reached out to pat and grasp Terry's leg affectionately, just as he had done so many times before when I was riding shotgun. But in reality, I now knew that I was truly alone in this stark and beautiful desert, that landscape which we both fell in love with not that long ago. It still held its rugged but scarred beauty proudly; it's defiant cliffs bleeding from exposed slashes of incredible colors. I would have to be like those cliffs we loved so much now - stubborn and defiant. I was suddenly snapped out of my lost thoughts when I noticed traffic overtaking me and wiped blindly at my clouded eyes lest they somehow see my heartbreak and I repeatedly stabbed my soft-moccasined foot hard into the gas pedal to no avail.

I survived the drive through Albuquerque on the interstates without acceleration capabilities quite nicely. In any other major city, I might have been slaughtered in the rush of commuters going 30 mph faster but not here. Perhaps that is why we loved this place; it wasn't unnecessarily frantic and fast 'just because'. After climbing their mountain highway at an eye-burning 35 mph, I pulled into Red and Sally's just before supper and it was like joyously arriving home again from a very tough trek.

With their help and encouragement, we got a lot of necessary things done that week and we had some fun as well. And when they retired each night, I would remove to the guest apartment on the second floor of the building next door. I guess I needed that time alone and away from the ranch and the rest of the world to sit out on the deck, to look up at the skies, to pretend that Terry was seated beside me on that rough bench and to talk with him about many things unsaid up until then. And to cry, to cry deeply when there was no one else around - neither friends or creatures to hear and be further disturbed and hurt by my laments. As I gazed up into the skies, I would sometimes be pelted by sporadic rains crying down to join my tears, sometimes see shooting stars etch short but dazzling paths across the firmament, just as Terry had done. I had so desperately needed that quiet time of reconciliation, of putting this horrendous but unavoidable new reality into some sort of perspective.

The days flew by far too fast but we accomplished many things and the three of us found a couple of new and special friends in the process as a delightful bonus. It looks like I will be taking over their small farmstead in September if all goes as planned. Better still, Wayne was a professional mover for years and I can hire him to help pack and load up our belongings at the ranch. Since they are both of the same breed as Terry and I were for collecting odd-ball and sometimes heavy funky stuff, I doubt I could have found a better person to orchestrate the move. Yes, a small light has started to shine on what needs to be done before winter sets in and more pegs are falling into place now. I am so thankful, not only for this break in that onslaught of disasters but for your thoughts and prayers in getting me this far. We are starting to get somewhere now ... finally!
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I'll Be Back!

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Just a heads up to let you know that I, God willing and the creek don't rise, will be heading into the big city this week to look at possible alternative homes a little closer to civilization for the remainder of our Rat pack. It still has to be rural, no half acre lot will do now that we have lived out here in solitude and loved it so completely. Hopefully many necessary things will be accomplished during this, my second trip out of our canyon this year. It would appear that the 2nd nearest neighbors have come to the rescue by finding me a critter sitter (including the guy's ex!?) for this event. This still may beat having to battle Ms. Daisy (the extreme travel barfer) to get her into the truck and drop her off elsewhere. Please wish me luck in every way on this venture ... I am SO severely jaded on melodrama.

Red will just have to wait a little longer to find out just what he said and did during our unplanned but most excellent wake for Terry up at Slim's Cowboy Hotel. You bet, we did it up in the most fine of Irish traditions possible all right.

Remember; I may be off-line for a while so your comments may not show up for a bit.
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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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