A Collection of Small Observations at Week's End

I have been collecting these small observations about visiting, being and living in Silver City.

· When you drive in Silver City, wear your seatbelt. Nick has the opportunity to support the state, if not the local, Motor Vehicle Department because he forgot to put on his seatbelt and got pulled over and ticketed. No warning for anything else – not going too fast, no rolling stop at a stop sign, no light burned out, nothing. Just the seat belt. I know small towns make a living on unwary drivers, but usually with out-of-state plates going 2 miles over the speed limit. But seat belts!?

· When you buy in Silver City, have cash. Many small business cannot afford the cost of credit cards, which can charge a business up to 5% or more (especially American Express) for a purchase. So many have instituted a cash/check-only policy – no credit cards at all. Others have set a limit of $10 or $15 dollars for credit card purchases. Not the big stores or businesses like WalMart or Micky-D’s – they still take your card for $3.15. But a latte? Or a tamale? Cash only, please.

· Javalina, one of the coffee houses, still posts people’s names who write bad checks. There’s someone who wrote them not one, but three bad checks. Dude’s from Colorado, so I doubt that Javalina will see the money. Again, the lesson, though – avoid embarrassment, cash only, please.

· “Yes, we have no tamales…” Oh, but we do – pork spiced with red chili and chicken spiced with green. Real corn husk. Large, plump; two will fill you up. Best part is – they’re a small unadorned storefront, which means the tourists won’t find them. That’s good because even without tourists, they sell out fast. Just increased, with apologies, the price for tamales to $1.50 each. They’re a small family-run business in a little section of a strip; the kitchen-side is screened by a table-cloth and the side you enter has no neon sign, no logo, no advertising, no testimonials – just handwritten signs on lined notepaper telling what they sell, which is about 5 things: tamales, tortillas, Menudo and home cut-and-cooked chips. All fresh. All handmade. All still warm from the fire. I don’t eat peppers. Or at least I thought not. But there’s a difference between bell pepper (don’t eat) and chili pepper (am learning to eat). Tried a piece of Nick’s pork tamale and was instantly hooked. Have been in most Saturday mornings since to purchase six tamales (half pork, half chicken) to take home for lunch

· Getting adventurous now – IF I can eat RED-CHILI PORK, what else might I be able to eat? I’ve been experimenting with some red chili powder given to me by a friend, different, lighter red chili powder purchased from a couple from Hatch – chili capital of the world, self-proclaimed – and green chili. To date, my gastronomical experiments: light red chili and key lime juice homemade salad dressing; dark red chili marinade for chicken breasts; chicken soaked in chili and lime juice on the grill; jicima (raw) with light and dark red chili and lime juice and tonight, a twist on an classic Southern recipe. I grew up with fresh cucumbers and onions sliced into a bowl and fresh pickled with oil and red-wine vinegar, with lots of dill, preferably fresh, plus salt, etc. A favorite! Tonight I soaked 3 dried green chili pods and when they were plump again, stripped out the seeds, chopped them up and mixed them with oil, vinegar tarragon and basil and put that on the cucumbers and onion. Even I liked it! Next time, I think I’ll use one green chili pod less – they were so hot, Nick got the hiccups.

· Learning to use chili, especially green chili pods, means also learning where not to put your fingers afterwards – Eyes! Nose! Although I had washed my hands carefully – I thought – I still had some chili under my fingernails. Scratched my eyelid! Oymygod! Blew my nose!! Ay, carumba!!

· Going to the local theatre means not having to wait in line, even for blockbusters. New mathematical relationship to master: blockbuster only as large as blocks from which to draw theatre goers . Harry Potter hit town. We haven’t been to a movie since we got here. Yes, there is a theatre – two screens, even. In a metal warehouse type building. No marquee to speak of, just an old sign for the Real West Cinema. Really! Real West… There isn’t a ticket booth. There’s a card-table where the lady sells tickets and only gives you one half, because there’s no ticket taker. We arrived ½ hour before the show. That would be almost too late for Harry Potter at 6 pm on a Saturday in Gaithersburg or Bethesda or Arlington. Not sold out, no siree. No line! 3 souls in front of us. No ticket lady yet – too early? Just making popcorn. Mmmm, fresh popped. Theatre seats about 200. But it was less than ½ filled.

· We’re discovering that, without an acre and half of grass to cut, trim, sometimes-rake, plus bushes to prune, mulch or otherwise tend, we have quite a bit of leisure time. If we don’t have a plan for the weekend days, we have time to just be. Novel experience – one I’d recommend everyone try out from time to time. This evening, we sat on the back patio sheltered from the rain, and fell into a drowse watching the thunder storms move across the sky. Woke up in time for dinner and walk the dog. And now time to get ready for the week to come.

Barbqued Eggs, Anyone? Grilled Grits on the side!

I continue to learn the idiosyncrasies of the weather of the southwest – at least our corner of the southwest – and in the context of monsoon season. I imagine I’ll be learning for a long time before I really know much, based on what I hear from other folks.

Yesterday was a good example of the importance of learning weather patterns and planning around them, because the weather sure isn’t going to pay attention to minor human concerns like dinner. I had invited a friend over for supper; Nick’s gone this week so this was an opportunity to sit and visit and watch the world settle for the day. Promised to throw something on the grill and fix a salad. She was coming about 5—I hoped to serve supper, oh, 5:30 or so. Watched the clouds start to build up over the Pinos Altos mountains a little after noon . By 2ish, it was looking pretty dark and by 2:30, the breeze was pretty breezy. By something after 3 pm, lightning was snapping and leaving large claps in its wake. It poured solid for about 15 minutes, then stopped. 20 minutes later, it poured again for 15 minutes. So began my rather anxious sky-watch. I had everything ready but for starting the grill. When my friend arrived we made a joint decision that we’d risk it, since we have the outdoor room and the clouds were moving in from behind us. So I started the grill, sizzled a few raindrops and got supper going. We were fine, as it ended up. But this was the second time I had planned to grill for company and just about the time to light the charcoal, the clouds opened up.

When I lived in DC and traveled a lot, I learned never to try to fly into DC in the summertime between 4 pm and 7 pm because of the likelihood of thunderstorms. Here, I need to learn not to plan to grill after 3 pm during monsoons if I don’t have a backup – meaning I can put that chicken breast in the oven or on the grill: let Mother Nature decide. Or, I’ll plan all my barbques for breakfast, when it’s sunny, bright, cloudless and cool. Barbqued eggs, anyone? Served with mesquite flavored bacon and grilled grits!

Speaking of Mother Nature, here’s the conversation I had with her recently (me is me and MN is Mother N…)

Me: Have you been a little confused here lately, MN? You’ll forgive my asking, but…
MN: (Tall, white cumulus beginning to gather on the horizon…)
Me: Now, I mean no offense, but what I’d heard about May and June and July isn’t the way it seems to be this year.
MN: (Cumulus beginning to get a little gray; low, warning rumble…)…and just what have you heard?
Me: Well, (slight tremor in voice) that May is pleasant if breezy, and June is when it gets hot for two or three weeks, and then at 3:55 pm on July 4, you announce the monsoons by drowning out Independence Day…
MN: (Seriously dark clouds) Go on…
Me: (plunging ahead heedlessly) But this year, you got it all – I mean, it turned out all – I mean, maybe things are a little…backwards?
MN: Backwards? Confused? What do you know, you silly little Easterner (loud thunder claps deep in the clouds)
Me: But this year, it rained in May, was cool and sunny and pleasant in June with occasional showers. It did rain right on time on July 4, and we got a hint that the monsoons were starting on cue.
MN: (Laughing with glee – which looks suspiciously like lightning flashing across the sky)…and then I broiled you!
Me: Well, yeah, that’s the point. Suddenly it dried up and heated up and we’ve been roasting with 95 to 100 degree weather the last couple weeks. What’s up with that, anyway? People turning on air conditioning, complaining about the heat, dragging around looking a little fried. Poor dog doesn’t want to walk outside after about 10 am and it’s too hot to go out again until 7:30 or 8. I’d like the monsoons back again, please?
MN: (Clouds caving in with torrents of rain)…sure thing, girlfriend, but be careful what you ask for. Remember the old adage about me? I’ll paraphrase it for you: “You don’t insult Mother Nature” Next time you invite folks for dinner and you’re getting ready to fire that grill….

Bumper Sticker: Our Other Car is a Trek

We continue to be a one-car family. In part for the savings in gas, insurance, upkeep. Except that gas costs are negligible when you drive about 50 miles A WEEK! Still. In order to stay a one-car family, Nick is now relying on pedal-power. He invested in a Trek mountain bike which he often rides to town for meetings and etcetera. It’s all downhill. Well, to town it is. Coming home, he has to get off and walk the bike the last 100 yards because it hits a fairly steep incline.

This is relevant because the car broke down last Tuesday evening about 2 blocks from the house. Fortunate for us that it broke on Tuesday, because on Thursday morning, we were supposed to take off for San Diego. If you look at a map – trust Google or MapQuest only so far, but they both at least show the same route from here to San Diego and that is right straight through the desert. We had to have the car towed into R&L Service Center. And here begins this week’s saga.

We own a 1998 Volvo sedan. Where we came from, that is nothing of note. At any intersection in the Northeast or Middle Atlantic cities, you will see 3 Volvos. They are very popular because they have a tendency to last forever. My last Volvo? I earned a 350,000 mile longevity emblem. But we weren’t the sages of our Volvo dealer. The longest-running Volvo there sported a half-million mileage emblem on its grill. Volvo puts out a million-mile emblem because, one assumes, there are Volvos that earn that honor.

However. In Silver City, Volvos are exotic creatures. I’ve seen a handful since we moved here. A friend has one – hers has a spoiler—I always wished for a spoiler. Another gray Volvo lives in our neighborhood. Other exotic cars here include: Mercedes Benz; BMWs; Chryslers. Cadillacs are rare enough to be eye-catching. Perhaps that’s because there is only a Ford Dealer and a Toyota Dealer here. I think the Toyota Dealer also sells Jeeps. There’s not even a Chevy dealer that I know of. How can you see the USA without a Chevy dealer? Oh, sorry; showing my TV age. If you don’t drive a Ford or a Toyota, you are an endangered species with limited habitat. And so you find R&L Service Center or their equivalent. R&L came highly recommended by the neighborhood Volvo and has lived up to its reputation. They got to our crippled car as soon as they could (Thursday morning) and fixed it promptly – as well as they could fix it. They couldn’t replace the part – the ignition key cylinder. To give them credit, they called a Volvo dealer to see about ordering the part for long-term repair. Unfortunately, Volvo apparently keeps the replacement of keyed parts close and so told R&L that we’d have to bring the car to a Volvo dealer, or have it towed there if the car broke down again and R&L couldn’t clean and repair the cylinder again. Nearest Volvo dealers: Albuquerque-5 hours drive; Tucson-3½ hours drive; El Paso-3 hours drive. Can you imagine the towing bill? Small towns can be wonderful: this small town has a terrific bakery, an arts community, an energetic and diverse community made up of caring friends. Small towns have their drawbacks: limited services to keep you, your car and perhaps other durable goods healthy and humming.

My daughter was telling me about the Cash for Clunkers program where you trade in your gas hog and get credits toward the cost of a new car that has better gas mileage. I think that’s wonderful. I don’t think our Volvo would qualify because we get marginally better than the 18 mpg or less to qualify. Last I measured, we got about 20 mpg/town and 25 or so on the highway. But I have to laugh. If everyone in Silver City with an aging vehicle decided to take up the Federal government on the Cash for Clunkers program, it would make the bailout of General Motors look like pocket change for the Salvation Army. We have cars on the road with brand names that no longer exist – there’s a Datsun 280Z that we see regularly when we walk the dog. Numerous Datsun sedans are to be found lounging in the WalMart parking lot. There are several Dodge Comets, Plymouth Barracudas and Ford Falcons roaming the territory. Raise your hands if you remember fins on cars. Think they are only exist in classic movies or tv ads? Nope, still tooling along Hwy 180. Before Nick committed to a Treck instead of a truck, we looked at a Ford F150 pickup that was advertised as a 1990 vintage. When the seller brought out the actual title, it was 1980. There are any number of trucks running the roads, mostly Fords but some Chevys, that have a split windshield. A buck to the person who writes me back with the last year that trucks, or sedans for that matter, had a seam down the center of the windshield. $10 to the person who actually drove one! (A virtual bet only, but tell me if you remember or drove one anyway.) The winner of this cruise down Silver City’s old Rt 66 is a Jeep that surely saw action in WWII. Still seeing action on NM Hwy 90 but hasn’t been painted in the intervening decades. I think the thing is that nothing really rusts here because it’s so dry. And because we’re not really desert with sand or dust storms to grit up moving parts, you can keep most anything running. And people do! I have a great time watching the variety of 4-wheeled workhorses and basic transportation that folks here still coax along from home to ranch to store to work. Perhaps you’ve seen images and video and stories of the cars of Old Havana? You don’t need a passport or permission to ride on down to Silver City and see our mechanicals any day.

Independence Day Ups and Downs

Up with parades in small towns! Flags galore – every lamp post sported the stars and stripes. 6,000 flags handed out by a local realtor. Flags of varying size glued or taped onto bicycles or stuck into headbands and shirt pockets and even gelled into young boys’ Mohawks. Candy tossed from every float, truck and tractor—stuffed into small mouths, little and big people-pockets, fanny packs, and finally, crushed by tires, feet and hooves to be swept up by the last “float” in the parade, the street sweeper. Transport of all sizes – live and mechanical. There were floats pulled by 4x4 pick-ups on steroids. The floats themselves carried hay bales, fake rockets, or lawn chairs filled with veterans, the Red Hat ladies, various citizenry representing various social and business enterprises…and a bazzilion ball players from barely-big-enough-to-field-a-glove to ready-to-graduate. There were a couple of tractor-trailers bedecked with banners, posters, flags and ribbons; every fire company in the County was represented, providing a lift in style for many of the younger ball players. There was a tractor brigade made up of 1930s through 1950 era farm tractors sponsored by the Silver City Museum. This was one of my favorite segments since the old Farmalls reminded me of my grandpa’s tractor, though these were much redder and shinier! And there was horsepower on the hoof. A group of horseback performers didn’t, except by accident when the mechanized horsepower following the troupe sounded its airhorn causing horse flesh to start and riders to grip the reins. Another favorite, though was the US Forest Service mounted firefighters and the mule-drawn water tank. Some of these may have been, as recently as a week ago, fighting real fires up in the Gila where mechanized horsepower couldn’t reach. All these paraders and more are in my Flickr slideshow , there are also two little videos of the parade route and of the horse-mounted performing group. (let’s hope the links hold this time!)

Down with parades as the vehicle for political statements! I have not seen many small-town parades, so maybe this is normal. But the buzz that I heard from neighbors and friends for the next couple of days would suggest that this one got a little more political than usual. Or maybe it was a little one-sided? Many flavors of republican or conservative, few flavors of liberal or democrat (not always the same thing regardless of your lean). Many opinions about who paraded and who wasn’t represented. Can’t say I was entirely thrilled with some of the points of view on parade or even that any political points of view were paraded at all, but you know, they were shooting people in Iran and currently seem to be doing so in China if the paraders’ viewpoints were not welcome. At least everyone here has the right to stand up and speak out in relative safety, other than a dirty look or two. On a lighter note, there were five – 5! – different men running for sheriff who had floats in the parade; floats with lots of very cute kids, very attractive young women, good music blaring or all of the above. Three of the 5 were together in a line.

Up with July 4th in the Park! I didn’t get to stay too long, but was there long enough to see…well, a little of everything and a little of everyone. Like the Blue festival, a full representation of the community. More food than you could taste if the day had room for several meals, snacks and appetizers. All the paraders, some still in their costumes military, hatted, sports or otherwise, wandering along looking at the food booths, the political booths (yep, here too), at the arts’n crafts booths, and at the “sign up here” booths, usually with raffles as temptation. Especially up with being hailed by several new friends and stopping to chat and hug and wish well for the weekend.

Up with good food and good company. We didn’t get to attend all of invitations on Saturday we had intended due to a family phone call in the morning that kept us close to home, but what we did attend, we certainly enjoyed. Then, we extended our celebration the next day with friends here at the house, tucked back into our outdoor room while it rained-sunned-rained-blew-stormed. When the rain went horizontal and started blowing into the recessed space, we gathered drinks, food and cushions and headed for the living room.

Up with fireworks – although on this note, Nutmeg would surely disagree. Giant blossoms of red-and-blue or green, with sparkles and bangs. Roman candles in brilliant white. And all viewed from our back patio. Uniquely, in my experience, just about everyone with a few dollars could buy and shoot fireworks. The law here says that anyone can set off fireworks…and I’m not talking about sparklers, but the streak-into-the-sky aerial fireworks…as long as they are within city limits. ?? But they can’t set them off outside of town, where so much of the vegetation is grasses. ??? Well, you can imagine no one paid any attention to municipal boundaries. So from our patio, we could see anywhere from four to seven or eight discrete fireworks displays going off in the skies over town proper during the course of an hour and half, as well as two or three separate displays going on right around, and behind, us. The skies were glowing. Nutmeg didn’t know in which direction to bark. We didn’t always know where to look. Oh! Look at that one…wait, you’re missing that one over there…wow, did you see the one behind…quick turn around, oh, too late, but wait, what’s that over there………

Oy! The humidity!

Walked the dog this morning and, just like the last couple of days, came home lathered! Dripping! Fresh t-shirt no longer fresh, but damp and sticking. I thought, oy! it must truly be monsoons, the humidity is so high. So I went on the weather and (friends and family in Eastern states, please forgive me) found that the humidity was a sauna-like 5o+% . Found myself truly amazed at the speed at which our bodies and minds adjust. The average humidity here when it’s not monsoon season is probably 20%, may25?%. In the really dry season, it’s even lower. I have to go back to DC for work at the end of July. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll survive.

Speaking of monsoons. I guess they have for sure started. Despite the fact that we’ve had rain once or twice a week since before Memorial Day (remember that Sunday afternoon when the Blues Festival was rained out?), we have learned that it’s not truly monsoon until the storms come in from the southwest. For a week or so, I’ve had the experience of the seeing the day’s weather develop out my office window facing north and east: at 8 am, the sky is deeply blue with mare’s tails clouds; at 10 am, there is a beautiful cathedral of white cloud building over the Pinos Altos mountains to the north-northeast; by noon, there is a dark gray bottom to that cloud cathedral, and by dinner, the wind is blowing and rain is falling. But that’s just rain. That’s not the monsoons. Well, a couple of days ago, I think the monsoons started for real, because by mid-afternoon, the sky to the south was black, the sky to the north was sunny and blue and we were sitting right in the seam. The seam can be nice, though – we saw rainbows 3 evenings in a row, including two that were doubles!

I have to tell you that these clouds-blue-clouds-storms make for magnificent, dramatic skies. I also now understand where all the cartoons got the idea of the miserable one with the rain storm right overhead and nowhere else. Out here, that’s a fact! In fact, when we went to Tucson a couple of weekends ago, I saw a most marvelous example – on one side of the car within 100 yards, there were dust devils swirling along the highway. On the other side of the car within 100 yards, it was pouring rain. A cloud can drop rain across a whole mountain range, but it can also drop rain in a 1-mile-or-less band width. I swear that, being in the seam, one evening it was time to walk the dog – it was sunny on the north side of the house when I called Nick to come let’s go and he decided I must be crazy because on his side of the house, the rain was beating against the windows. It is thoroughly fascinating to watch the clouds bring their rain in patches, buckets, and splatters across the landscape – and a good gambling game – is that one going to hit us? Or miss us? Your side of the street? Or mine? Wanna bet?

The conclusion (I hope) of our Hitchcock saga of cliff swallows: we kept going to the back porch and the front porch (did I mention the swallows were trying to build in 3 corners over the front door?) and chasing the birds away, and scraping away their mud daubs. I did a little research on the web and found that we really needed to prevent them building their nests. Turns out swallows are protected, and once they build and lay eggs, you can’t destroy the nests or the eggs – not that I’d try, but I really didn’t want people having to come to the front door ducking as the birds whizzed by or covering their head for poop-protection, nor did I want to give up the back porch because of the same set of reasons. So I went to Walmart and bought some netting like you’d use for petticoats or tutus and decided that I would hang netting around the entrances and sides of both porches. Wouldn’t look too great, but would only have to last 2-3 weeks until the birds found other roosts. But, it would appear that just disturbing them and scraping their hard work onto the floor every hour or so was adequate. They seem to have given up. Don’t know whose house the swallows’ve chosen now. But I have 14 yards of netting I could sell them!
Wishing all of you a happy and cheery 4th of July – remember when you’re watching those fireworks that it’s also our 22nd anniversary and blow us a sparkler or two. We’re anticipating a glorious small-town celebration.