Spring's inentions are clear.

I’ve not been here a whole season so I don’t know what it looks like when Spring has sprung, but I am sure that Spring has made her intentions known – and here’s how:

• Migrants are beginning to move – the dark eyed juncos are almost gone and I’m hearing new birds singing in the dawn when I take Nutmeg out. One turned out to be a Spotted Towhee that I’ve seen picking through the dead leaves under the oak; suddenly, he is not shy about sitting at the top of the oak and advertising his interest.
• The trees are budding. Some were already fuzzy when Maria was here at the end of January, but now the cottonwoods are plumping. Those same cottonwoods were golden when we arrived November 9, and I watched them slowly drop their coins over that month. After only a short nap, they are coming back to visible life.
• I watched a male Western Scrub Jay bring food to a female sitting on top of the electric pole just outside my office window on Friday. At first, I was only peripherally aware of a bird flying up with something in its bill, but the second time, I looked up in time to identify the bringer of food, and the third time, I saw the male deliver the morsel into the bill of the female. She wasted no time being dainty – she knocked it back and the male flew off, presumably to hunt for another offering. After both of us waiting for a few minutes, she gave up and flew away, and I gave up and went back to work. Spring is courtship.
• I know what Spring smells like back East and I don’t here, but I have noticed a change to the quality of the air early in the morning. I have enjoyed the sharp turpentine-and-pine smell of the junipers that edge our patio and line the arroyo in the just-dawn chill. In the last week, the chill is softer when I step out and there’s a fragrance that I haven’t yet pinned down.
• The surest way to know that Spring is springing is that the City of Silver has come around with the asphalt truck and patched the winter-frayed edges of the streets.
  

I made a quick trip to DC for work week before last and had a close encounter of the political kind on the way home. I was sitting in my gate area at National Airport, waiting to board my first flight – DC to Dallas-Ft Worth (DFW in airportese). I was looking down, reading, when a wheel ran over one of my feet. I looked up in time to see a man dragging a wheelie bag and it was that which had run over my foot. The man wasn’t aware of his wandering wheelie, and continued toward the facing row; there was a man sitting at the end of the row already and my wheelie-wielder approached him and introduced himself: “Hi,” he said, “I’m Pete Domenici and I wonder if…” at which the man-less-famous immediately said, “Mr Domenici, I would have recognized you anywhere. I’ve seen your pictures for years.” And Mr. Domenici said, “yes, I was in the Senate for 36 years, but I’m retired now. I wonder if you’d watch my bags while I get some coffee.” Of course, the man-less-famous said yes, and Mr. Domenici went over to the DunkinDonuts stand to get coffee and smooze the seller. Finally he came back and just in time, too. The gate attendant had called first class, and as you might expect, Mr. Retired-Senator was flying up front. So the kind man-less-famous dragged Mr. Domenici’s wheelie, bypassing my foot, and carried his briefcase up to the entrance to the jetway. There, they relieved him of the baggage and helped Mr. Domenici down the jetway and out of sight.

Well, that was amusing, and my foot wasn’t really hurt, and should I enshrine my foot for Pete Domenici’s sake? I got on the plane, passed the good senator who was now smoozing the lady sitting next to him and sparing big smiles for us coach passengers filing past. I thought that would be the end of it, and was later telling the story to Nick while sitting at my gate at DFW waiting for the flight to Albuquerque. I didn’t think I’d see the Senator because there had been an earlier flight for Alb. While I was talking with Nick, who rolls up, but the home-bound Senator. Instinctively, I pulled in my toes and watched as he went to the gate counter where there were two women and a man getting ready to board us. Smoozing must be de rigueur for Senators, because he started up with the attendants. This time he scored kisses on the cheeks of the two women.

I was beginning to wonder whether he knew all the people who work American Airlines or whether he just gets to know everyone he encounters. Another first-class call, another kid-glove-handled Senator and another boarding. Not a surprise – Mr. Smooze was already talking to his seatmate, grinning and, I’m sure, expounding on his 36 year Senate career.

There hasn’t been a dance at the Buffalo Bar since the Inaugrual, but Saturday night Nick, Steph and I went to Isaacs, which serves microbrews and local music. We got there about 7:30 which was in good time to grab the comfy chairs in the window. It was like Starbucks with wine. The place began to fill and the local group got started. They began with light jazz and other stuff you can’t dance to. But by 8:30 they were playing a little Patsy Cline, old Motown, and other good ‘movin’ music. The place was now packed and dancing. As at the Buff, I was completely engaged with people-peeping. As at the Buff, I was amazed at the character of the characters that make up the Silver City scene. And as at the Buff, there were cowboys, hippies, old graybeards, young chesty women in summer tops. And finally as at the Buff, you could dance by yourself, with a partner of either sex, or in a group but just get out there and shake it!

It’s more and more obvious that this is a place that no-one cares what you do for a living, where you bank, what degrees you have, what kind of car you drive, whether you get your clothes at Brooks Brothers or Nordstrom’s. It refreshing that, at least to appearances, you can step away from the competition so prevalent on the East Coast and the power of money and image so typical of big cities.

And that reminds me to tell you that earlier in the day Saturday, we went on a birding trip with a local Audubon group. We went out to The Nature Conservancy’s Gila River Farm, and passed 2 working cowboys moving cows through a field. Working means mounted on horseback and herding the cows in the desired direction. That alone was about as good as any of the birds we saw at the Farm.

And today, Steph, Skee, Nick and I drove 100 miles for lunch. That’s one-way! We wanted to get out and away for the afternoon. There’s a restaurant in a town called Alma that is almost 100 miles – well maybe more like 85 – and there’s another café in a town called Reserve that’s more like 130. Saving grace: the country is unbelievably gorgeous. We passed through Alma, having decided to try for Reserve.

The drive is all through open land, some of which is ranch land and much of it Gila National Forest. We went through a range called the Mogollon, which is pronounced Mug-gy-own, whose peaks reach at least 9,000. On the north slopes there was still snow, while we were basking in 65 degree sunshine. We also drove through some burns, where fires had burned through the forest. In some places, the burn was not so bad, behaving as good forest fires should – burn fast through the grass, scorch the tree trunks and move on. There was one section, though, where the fire had lingered, torching the trees to the top and leaving black toothpicks. That fire was some time ago, though, because ground-level plants were making a healthy come-back. Wouldn’t you know that we got to Reserve to find the café closed for renovations, and had to backtrack almost 40 miles to Alma to that little restaurant. We had chicken-fried steak with gravy, eggs and texas toast with cherry pie for dessert – all home-made. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Did I mention...

...that I finally got the newspaper started – the Silver City Sun-News.

This is a Silver City version of a Las Cruces paper published by an El Paso publishing company that is actually owned by a national conglomerate (not Hearst). That means it has two stories on the front page on Silver City news. For two days last week, those stories were about the kids’ skate park where none of the kids are wearing helmets. If there’s not enough news for two stories, there is a picture. This week one day the picture was of a large roof-top sculpture of a dragonfly just installed on one of the galleries in the heart of town.

The second and third pages are national news and the most of the rest of the paper is regional or Las Cruces-focused. I have fun seeing what makes it onto the front page, and what is relegated to pages 2 and 3.

Our paper is not obscure or uninformative, though; the editorial pages have a nationally-syndicated political cartoon, and two cartoon strips: Doonesbury and for balance, a Republican-leaning duck who has been complaining of late about the halo around Obama’s head.

The editorials themselves are not locally-authored. They are entitled, "Their view…"
and the bylines are often familiar ones from the Washington Post. Not always a byline I enjoy reading. Who would have thought that Charles Krauthammer would have followed me to New Mexico with his knee-jerk offenses and defenses. Nick wonders why I subscribe to a newspaper that is mostly Las Cruces news. I think it’s interesting to see, given the limited coverage for Silver City, what makes it above the fold. That alone is worth a dollar and a half a week.

...that Nick and Dave, on Dave’s first day here, made it to the top of Gomez peak. You’ll remember that Maria was pointing at Gomez peak from the heights of the next range of mountains when we visited the Monastery. Maria, I just want you to know that we were within 15 minutes of the top! Apparently, we were almost to marker 6 and from there it would have been a 15 minute climb. Of course, that would have been straight up. Also, apparently, the view was 360 degree gorgeous.

Nick called me from the top, while I was still working, to describe the experience. Not fair.

...that we located a second piece of property that we like. This is one I mentioned in an earlier story -- it is in the community here and is 5 acres. It has a ready-to-build house pad, a nice elevation with good south-south-east exposure and short views. It is much more expensive per acre than the property 4 miles out of town we looked at first.

Now we are totally confused. We like them both; they both have strong attractive elements. We took Maria to see both and she liked the property here in Indian Hills – it’s closer to things and part of a community. We took Dave to see both and he flipped over the lot out of town because of the long views and the evidence of water in the valley below the house site. Each one swayed us in their own way. We may end up just sitting down with the realtor and see in the last second which address we give to write into the contract.

Well, maybe not that arbitrary. We may use Dave’s flip-a-coin-and-do-the-opposite technique.

...that Nick has been nominated and voted in to join the Board of Directors for Habitat for Humanity here. Maria and I attended the Board meeting the day that the vote was held. He was nominated by one of the fellows who works at ReStore, although it was the chairman of the Board who proposed his name. Now, he’ll cut back his hours at the ReStore and focus more on the activities for which he’s committed himself as part of the Board. Oh. I also volunteered. They needed some volunteers to work on publicity for Habitat to try and create more donors, more business and more visibility in the community. They were discussing the idea of a newsletter and other written stuff. Since I kind of have my keyboard warmed up now, what with these stories of mine, and I have Publisher which has built-in newsletter templates, I thought – oh, what the heck – why let Nicky make all the friends. I could use a new friend or two myself. So I stuck my hand in the air, and they didn’t hesitate a heartbeat.

...that I am re-reading a book I read some years ago. I read it then because we were thinking of moving to Tucson. I am re-reading it because we’re here; maybe not Tucson, but in arid country where water is life.

The book is The Secret Knowledge of Water by Craig Childs. I loved it the first time because his writing is so elegant and image-filled. Now that I’m here with a growing personal perspective, I love it because he creates an intimate, integrated landscape of water, desert and self with which I can begin to identify. I need to learn to be on the land in an entirely different way, now. There is no tameness to the places we hike. It’s not walking the C&O Canal towpath in the footsteps of George Washington. It is a place where in 1150 AD someone drew a picture on a stone wall using ink made of water, crushed stone, blood and urine. We are less likely to meet a couple with a stroller on a Sunday walk. We are more likely to meet a rattlesnake, at least in summer, sunning itself on a path we expected to pass along. He writes of surviving the desert by finding the water that is always there. It’s a useful lesson, I think.

We climbed steps, ladders, bridges and trails, and...

...I’m beginning to feel like a mountain goat after this weekend’s excursions, albeit a very sore and tired one. With our nephew Dave visiting for a few days, and Dave claiming to be “nature starved,” we took two all-day trips plus an afternoon’s meander through the woods.

On Saturday, we went up into the heart of the Gila Nat’l Forest to the Gila Cliff Dwellings; Sunday, to White Water canyon, also known as the Catwalk and today, a long “walk” on the Continental Divide Trail, or CDT.

The Gila Cliff Dwellings are located 25 miles from Silver City up into the Gila Nat’l Forest. That 25 miles took about 2 hours to drive. The road was narrow, winding, and without shoulders or guard rails much of the way. But the scenery was incredible. We crested ridges up to 8,000 feet in elevation, and dropped down into lovely valleys. The road took us through ponderosa pine forests and arid hillsides. If this sounds familiar, it’s because we drove part of this road a couple of weeks ago.

We reached the Gila Cliff Dwelling Visitor Center just before lunch, spent a few minutes there, bought some books, and then ate lunch at the Lower Scorpion Campground. Drove the final mile up to the base of the cliffs in which caves the dwellings had been built. We started up the trail to the dwellings, up a canyon with a running stream; this is the headwaters of the west branch of the Gila River, birthplace of Geronimo.

Then we began to climb up the canyon side. And climb. And stop for breath. And climb. And stop to gasp for breath. And climb the last few steps to the caves. The dwellings were wonderful although in fact, the most recent research suggests that the site was not used as full-time dwellings, but possibly as a ceremonial center. There were a few pictographs and in a presumed storage area, some very old corn cobs.

The energy power still clinging to the walls and rooms was palpable to me. It was amazing to learn that these dwellings were built and used for the span of a single generation and then abandoned. We climbed from the last cave down a traditional kiva ladder and then followed the steep path back down the side of the cliff to the base. After leaving the site of the dwellings, we went back to Lower Scorpion campground and walked a few hundred yards up a trail to a wall of pictographs; there were so many of varying degrees of sophistication and skill that I speculated that this must be the Mimbrenos' Facebook or MySpace -- it certainly looked like Wall-to-Wall postings.

There was also a small two-room dwelling built in a cave up a short canyon from the campground. It very much looked to be the same age as those we'd just visited up on the cliffs.

On the way home, we stopped at WalMart to pick up wine and dinner fixin’s – certainly a contrast to the effort and energy that would have been required to grow and stock those little ears of corn during the living years at the cliff dwellings.

White Water Canyon is a slot canyon with the man-made feature called the Catwalk. During the mining years, miners hung a pipe down the canyon to carry water; because the canyon was so narrow with no ground on which to lay the pipe, the pipe was suspended from the walls of the canyon and the workers had to walk the pipe like a cat walks a wall – thus the canyon became known as the Catwalk. The CCC removed the pipe and replaced it with a suspended wooden walkway and that was in turn replaced by the Forest Service in the 80s? 90s? with a metal walkway.

The catwalk does not go all the way up the canyon, but only through the slot section. Above that, the canyon widens and the trail continues up, hewn out of the canyon wall first on one side and then the other. There are several bridges that cross the chasm along the way to the top. The canyon is full of enormous boulders and slabs of rock that split and fell from the canyon walls into the creek bed. The boulders and slabs have been moved, perched and piled by the water, shaped and sculpted, softened and rounded until the canyon is like a giant sculpture park.

The last bridge to cross is a suspension bridge which sways and undulates as you walk across it. Instead of reaching a pinnacle with a grand view of the canyon or surrounding land, the trail comes to an end under the overhang of the canyon wall where there’s no room to go further. Nick and I had been to the Catwalk back in September on our last trip, but I was not able to quite make it up to the end. Of the 1.2 mile length, I expect I made it almost a mile. Yesterday, I made the top without strain. For that, I thank all of you who supported me to quit smoking. 42 years of puffing – and puffing to walk – and one year three months 2 weeks (roughly) of not smoking – I’m very proud of my increasing ability to move easily on this terrain at this altitude.

Anyway, we made our way back down past some guy trying to handle 3 active young 40 lb dogs on leash, coming up the narrow walk. The dogs jumped up on me and knocked me back a step, but fortunately I wasn’t near the edge, this stretch of edge had a railing and Nick was right behind me. I wasn’t too thrilled with the owner though, and even less thrilled – nay, downright pissed off – to get a few feet further down the trail and find the mess left in the middle of the trail by one of the dogs. In truth, it wasn’t the dog that left the mess – it was the inconsiderate owner who left the mess, when he or the woman with him could easily have taken some handy rock or stick and pushed the poop off the trail. We did that, instead. Then not much further on, we found another form of poop (since I’m being polite here) – an empty beer can left, we assumed, by the young, loud couple who had passed us going up as we came down. The can had not been there when we ascended, so we knew someone had been along recently and dropped it on the ground, again in the middle of the walk; and we had seen him carrying a white bag of something. The can, we also packed out.

Today, we took Dave to lunch in town and gave him a look at Silver City’s historic district, which is where its real character presents. He’s been here since Thursday, but since we headed out of town each day before today, he had not seen civilization as we know it. And today’s civilization sample was skewed toward the grungy and the straggly, hanging on the sidewalk around the Buffalo Bar or the Javalina coffee shop; everyone else was working or not in town. Most of the galleries and shops are closed on Monday so there was also a dearth of tourists to balance the street guys.

After a 30 minute tour which took in a walk up and down the main drag and a drive around the University, we headed up to the Continental Divide Trail (CDT). We enjoyed a very pleasant, less strenuous walk, although the CDT is not without its little ups and downs. Nutmeg was along today, much to her pleasure, since we left her home Saturday and Sunday.

I cannot close without telling you about seeing the Superbowl. It didn’t really occur to us (Nick and I) to worry about watching The Game since we both have been weaned from weekend football for years. But Dave wanted to see how Pittsburg would fare; he considers the Steelers his hometown team, having gone to school at Carnegie-Mellon. So the great search for a venue began. We do have a TV, but it’s analog and only gets one channel, and that one not well. Yes, I have our coupon for a converter box, but no, we haven’t gotten around to trading the coupon for the box; we are still on the prehistoric side of the great digital divide. We talked about the local options – or lack of them. Dave went so far as to post on Facebook his dilemma – how to watch The Game in a household without TV.

He got a couple of responses he shared: (1) find a Circuit City and watch there; (2) find a sports bar, now! Someone might have missed the fact that Circuit City has gone out of business, but we did briefly discuss the possibility of watching at WalMart. Dave thought perhaps if he bought a six-pack of beer in groceries, and a folding chair in home furnishings, and wandered over to the electronics department…but was dissuaded fairly easily. I thought that the Buffalo Bar would probably broadcast The Game, but wasn’t too thrilled with the character of the venue. Then I remembered that is a new brew pub in town, which seemed a natural. I called – they were closed for the day!!!

Finally, in desperation, I checked to see what channel The Game was to be broadcast on and found that by the grace of Howard Cosell and Sonny Jergensen, it was broadcast on the only station we can receive – NBC. So I wired up the rabbit ears and lo and behold – a snowy but viewable image. Maybe they couldn’t see the ball go through the air for the snow, but they could tell the difference between the Steelers and the Cardinals and that seemed enough. Dave was pleased and Nick pulled up a chair; he (Nick) very soon was shouting at the TV, jumping up and down, waving his arms at real and perceived great plays and infractions. It must be genetic. How does someone transition from not seeing a football game in years to raving like a rabid fan, when 24 hours ago he wasn’t sure who was playing let alone had a reason to root for a choice of teams.

Ah well, I tuned in for the final half of the final quarter. It was an exciting 5 minutes! And the tv hasn't been turned on since!
Love, Sonnie