…a tracks ‘n scat book…(da dee dumdum)…(da dee dumdum)…so I can tell what was here before me!
This is not something you need in DC. DC streets may be wild but knowing what to be wary of doesn’t require knowledge of tracks in the mud and scat on the trail. Now, hiking in the Gila? Beware a cat of a different, um, genus?
Watch your feet on the trails where-ever it’s wild, and even, I’ve noticed, on the property we’re buying. Not so you don’t step in som’thin’, but so you can see who’s been visitin’. We were hiking on the Gomez Peak trails today; it has rained a number of times in the last couple of week, creating an abundance of print-preservative. I’m guessing – that’s why I’m askin’ Santa for a tracks book – but mixed with the dog-prints and boot-prints and mountain-bike-tire-tracks I swear there were big cat prints. Or were they bob-cat? Need that tracks book.
We also found much scat on the trails. Now, having been a dog owner for the last 30 years, I can tell you what that scat wasn’t. But what’s fascinating is trying to figure out what the various markers-of-passing were. Well, fascinating to some of us. Others of us would just step over (or on?) and keep going. I saw interesting examples a couple of weeks ago hiking at The Nature Conservancy’s holdings and I noticed curiosities on the property that we’re buying. I’m not even going to try to convince you that studying scat is everyone’s call of nature. However, if you’re trying to figure out what might eat your favorite chocolate Lab, you might want to study the possibilities. And, if you’ve hung out with biologists over the years, as I have, there’s a natural…well…attention. Every nature center you visit in the Parks, Forests and Refuges will show you tracks ‘n scats to help you learn the neighborhood – the producers of same are notoriously hard to spot. Fox, coyote, deer, elk, bear, bob-cat, mountain lion, raccoon, packrat, and on goes the list; and then you can also learn to read the owls’ , hawks’, and ravens’ pellets – not scat, but equivalent ledgers of recent meals.
Oh, ok, enough wild kingdom.
We went to a street dance last night. One of Silver City’s attractions is the number of world-class musicians that return to Silver to raise families and engage the community by making music. Last night’s group played a mélange of Brazilian and African. The lead singer-musician-song writer is what I can only describe musically as a White West-African. He may have studied Brazilian music, but he is at soul an African griot , a story-holder/historian/magic-teller/moral-teacher. I’ve seen both world-renown griots and local griots in Senegal and this man is on par with any of them. The group played free to the community – tips appreciated – and the young, hippy and alternative crowd was there in force. Also a few of us who enjoy a night under the street-lamps and who appreciate good music regardless of label.
We had been to a fund-raiser a couple of weeks ago where a number of local musical artists and groups performed, including this artist. For $5, you could sit all night and watch one performer or group after another take the stage for ½ hour each. Musicians in this town combine and recombine in different ways and each combination has its own identity and style. Last night’s griot-artist performed alone at the fund-raiser, while last night he played in combination with a bongo player who drummed with an alternative group at the fund-raiser and a husband-wife team we normally see playing Motown and 60’s classics.
I remain amazed, enthralled and fascinated whether I’m watchin’ my feet or tappin’ my toes. ss
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
20% Chance of Rain
A new weather term – or a new interpretation of a familiar weather term. I didn’t make this up – I think I heard it on NPR’s local affiliate. 20% chance does not mean that the entire area has a 20% chance of getting rainfall. Nope. That would be too normal for the likes of the Land of Enchantment :^] Remind me to explain the ‘approximate-ness’ of Silver City, a wonderful and accurate concept introduced by a friend and long-time resident here. What the weather term means is that 20% of the entire area will probably get rain. Let me say that a different way, in case the subtleties escape. A cloud here and a thunderhead there and a gray mass over there, all separated by brilliant blue clear sky, makes up 20% of the sky that bears rain. If all of that rain that starts up there actually hits the ground – and a good measure does not – then you have 20% of the (ground) area getting rained upon. So a 20% chance of rain! Makes sense, no?
We have been observing this phenomenon known as rain. This is supposed to be monsoon season. But it is, from what we can gather, very dry with much below-normal rains. At least in Silver City. Here’s where the 20% chance comes into play. Several days in the last couple of weeks, we have started the day with beautiful clear skies holding up a few puffy clouds. By late afternoon or early evening, about the time we walk Nutmeg, clouds virtually surround Silver City’s clear blue ceiling. It’s raining down in the desert, or it’s raining up over the Gila. You can see the cloud patches and bands with the rain falling. But not here. We did get a good night’s rain late last week. And yesterday, I think it was, we got up to heavy overcast – a very gray morning. I thought: today’s the day – we’re going to get some good rain today. Umm, no…it rained to the east and it rained to the south, and maybe a little in between, but no rain here. And by mid-afternoon – sunny, bright, warm, blue. There may be 20% rain, but we’re in the 80% that’s dry.
And that means, warm. Well, hot. For here, hot. Only during the day, but flat-sunlight-hot-to-the-touch hot – low to mid 90s. Well, ok, then, not hot by Tucson or Phoenix standards, or El Paso or central Texas hot, but still… I am having to learn to chase the sun around the house, but with a different intent than my whole life’s training which was: Open the window for breeze and the curtains or shade for sun – let the light pour in – hate a dark room – feels like a cave. That does not work here. After more than one argument with my more-desert-savvy husband and the experience of heat radiating off the window glass, I am learning. Chase the sun to lower the shades and close those windows. Open the ones – windows and shades – in the rooms the sun has just abandoned. Get used to caves because it’s only for a couple of hours. And not necessary on an overcast day. But we haven’t turned on the ac yet! Have had to suffer through a few 80° afternoons in the house, but not enough to justify the electricity or the chill in the air the rest of the time. We have ceiling fans in most of the rooms. That’s been all that we have needed during the day. Don’t forget to turn the fans off at night or we wake up over-cool when the outside temp drops below 60°. This isn’t even an efficient house. Wait until we build our ‘green’ house with passive solar and passive cooling.
I’ve gotten a number of notes back about my last discourse on armed men walking the neighborhood prepared to fend off potentially hostile canines. Where I don’t see the usefulness of a nine iron, sand wedge or whatever as a protection against a loose dog, others would consider it a psychological reassurance. One good and loyal friend sent me a story about a lion whisperer (ok, her term) she saw on a documentary. His job? Carry a big stick and make loud noises to impress an aggressive pride of lions – Big-Cat aversion therapy, I guess. Been known to work with bears. The cats were aggressing the tourists at a safari location in an African country. He was charged with changing their behavior. He was apparently so successful that he was able, eventually, to walk up and cut a chunk of meat from the pride’s recent kill without the lions challenging him. Fine if you like wildebeest pot roast complete with toothy tenderizing. Truth in advertising, even for lion whisperers – the dude, his big stick and big mouth were backed up by big guns – just in case aversion therapy failed. I definitely don’t think that’s what these golf-club guys are thinking. But thanks, Ivia – every
story deserves a better one back.
We have an fully signed contract now on the piece of land we’re buying. It took a few days to get everyone inked together. Now we’ll apply for the financing and I expect we’re off and planning. Talked with the architect yesterday and he’ll make a site visit to start translating dreams to dirt. Here’s a picture of our official greeter. Ain’t he cute?
We have been observing this phenomenon known as rain. This is supposed to be monsoon season. But it is, from what we can gather, very dry with much below-normal rains. At least in Silver City. Here’s where the 20% chance comes into play. Several days in the last couple of weeks, we have started the day with beautiful clear skies holding up a few puffy clouds. By late afternoon or early evening, about the time we walk Nutmeg, clouds virtually surround Silver City’s clear blue ceiling. It’s raining down in the desert, or it’s raining up over the Gila. You can see the cloud patches and bands with the rain falling. But not here. We did get a good night’s rain late last week. And yesterday, I think it was, we got up to heavy overcast – a very gray morning. I thought: today’s the day – we’re going to get some good rain today. Umm, no…it rained to the east and it rained to the south, and maybe a little in between, but no rain here. And by mid-afternoon – sunny, bright, warm, blue. There may be 20% rain, but we’re in the 80% that’s dry.
And that means, warm. Well, hot. For here, hot. Only during the day, but flat-sunlight-hot-to-the-touch hot – low to mid 90s. Well, ok, then, not hot by Tucson or Phoenix standards, or El Paso or central Texas hot, but still… I am having to learn to chase the sun around the house, but with a different intent than my whole life’s training which was: Open the window for breeze and the curtains or shade for sun – let the light pour in – hate a dark room – feels like a cave. That does not work here. After more than one argument with my more-desert-savvy husband and the experience of heat radiating off the window glass, I am learning. Chase the sun to lower the shades and close those windows. Open the ones – windows and shades – in the rooms the sun has just abandoned. Get used to caves because it’s only for a couple of hours. And not necessary on an overcast day. But we haven’t turned on the ac yet! Have had to suffer through a few 80° afternoons in the house, but not enough to justify the electricity or the chill in the air the rest of the time. We have ceiling fans in most of the rooms. That’s been all that we have needed during the day. Don’t forget to turn the fans off at night or we wake up over-cool when the outside temp drops below 60°. This isn’t even an efficient house. Wait until we build our ‘green’ house with passive solar and passive cooling.
I’ve gotten a number of notes back about my last discourse on armed men walking the neighborhood prepared to fend off potentially hostile canines. Where I don’t see the usefulness of a nine iron, sand wedge or whatever as a protection against a loose dog, others would consider it a psychological reassurance. One good and loyal friend sent me a story about a lion whisperer (ok, her term) she saw on a documentary. His job? Carry a big stick and make loud noises to impress an aggressive pride of lions – Big-Cat aversion therapy, I guess. Been known to work with bears. The cats were aggressing the tourists at a safari location in an African country. He was charged with changing their behavior. He was apparently so successful that he was able, eventually, to walk up and cut a chunk of meat from the pride’s recent kill without the lions challenging him. Fine if you like wildebeest pot roast complete with toothy tenderizing. Truth in advertising, even for lion whisperers – the dude, his big stick and big mouth were backed up by big guns – just in case aversion therapy failed. I definitely don’t think that’s what these golf-club guys are thinking. But thanks, Ivia – every
story deserves a better one back.We have an fully signed contract now on the piece of land we’re buying. It took a few days to get everyone inked together. Now we’ll apply for the financing and I expect we’re off and planning. Talked with the architect yesterday and he’ll make a site visit to start translating dreams to dirt. Here’s a picture of our official greeter. Ain’t he cute?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Another in an occasional series on the neighborhood fauna
I’ve been gathering these observations over the last couple of weeks: some are in the ‘awwww’ and ‘awe’ categories, some are amusingly curious, and then there’s the irony of the interface between two legged and the rest of the walking-running-flying-crawling world.
Awwww
Awwww
- Sitting at my desk in my office, looking out the window, I noticed a fair-sized mule-deer doe come up onto the yard from the arroyo. Right behind her were one – and then two – fawns. Still spotted. About the size of a medium-sized german shepherd dog. When mom stopped to nibble on the weeds, one twin positioned itself to nurse. I jumped up to go and get my camera – when will I learn to keep binocs and camera on the table next to my window – and when I got back, both mom and twins were gone. Another “when will I learn” lesson: to just sit, look and take in as living memory, rather than try to pixilate everything!
- Visiting our newly-purchased property to show friends, we saw a doe and her fawn right off the side of the road. This baby was smaller than Nutmeg (our standard-sized lab) so must have been no more than a couple of weeks old. Our driver stopped without scaring off the pair. So we watched the baby chasing its lunch, while mom casually and repeatedly stepped over the poised nose to move to a choicer bunch of grass. Another sales point for Toyota Prius: it runs quietly enough not to scare away the neighborhood fauna.
Awe-ful
- I went for a hike with two friends on Thursday morning (no I wasn’t playing hooky! I was on official leave…a micro-vacation.) We went to Bear Mountain Lodge, a property of The Nature Conservancy. As many wild-focused properties do, this had a veritable forest of bird feeders hung around the lodge. Including several hummingbird feeders from the eaves of the east porch. The feeders were swarmed with hummers; it sounded more like a busy bee-hive. There were as many as 15 birds around each feeder; it’s possible there were up to 75 or 100 hummers all told. We took seats in the Adirondacks to watch the activity and try to identify all the species present. Anyone who uses binocs knows that you can’t focus under a certain number of feet. And my distance vision is just off enough not to crisply focus on the little birds. So I got up, put on my glasses and moved toward one feeder. Closer. And closer until my face was not two feet from the feeder. The birds were not intimidated – perhaps I should have been by the dive-bombing of the aggressive male Rufous hummers. I could see every little bird in its finest detail. I could identify female of one species from female of another, not always easy to do because the differences can be subtle. I watched as Caliope throat patches changed from almost-black to brilliant, iridescent ruby or Black-chinned to deep purple as birds turned toward the sun. But what was so awesome was to stand with a dozen or more whirling around my head, to feel the energy of their small-but-furious engines, and not just to hear, but to feel the hum and vibration of their wing-beats pass inches by my ears.
Amusingly curious
- Another deer story: last night, I took Nutmeg for a long walk through the neighborhood. By now, you get that we have lots of deer who are very acclimated to the comings and goings of two- and four-legged, as well as two- and four-wheeled. We were walking down a nearby street, and saw two dogs running up the street toward us. Looking just beyond the dogs, I saw a large doe running up the street right after them. Was she chasing them? Or was it pure coincidence? When one of the dogs looked back over its shoulder and the other, smaller dog redoubled its pace, I was convinced. For whatever reason, this doe was the pursuer, and the dogs, the pursued. Whatever happened to reverse the normal course of events I don’t know. Suddenly, the doe saw me and veered down a driveway. Both dogs were so hell-bent-for-leather, they almost ran right by Nutmeg and might have indeed, had Nutmeg not done her usual bark-and-lunge routine. After a brief encounter, the dogs trotted on and we continued down the street to see the doe standing in the driveway watching us go by.
- And another bird story from Bear Mountain Lodge and our hike there. Up on a ridge along one of the trails in the middle of the Conservancy property, we saw a golf ball. There is a golf course in Silver City, but way the other side of town, quite a number of miles away. And the idea of any one person carrying a club, some balls and a couple of tees up-and-down a trail to get into a clearing on a ridge to hit a few…well that’s just silly. So how would a single white golf ball come to be resting there on the ground? Raven. Yep, that big, black, noisy bird with a big, curious and inventive mind. Ravens collect things that interest them. Their nests are often full of odd, shiny and unexpected treasures found and picked up along their aerial journeys. Apparently they are known to mistake all sorts of small round white objects as eggs, eggs being a favorite snack. Small round white objects like golf balls. So a Raven had passed over the golf course miles away, picked up this egg-like object, flown off, and somewhere over Bear Mountain Lodge property decided this egg-like object wasn’t an egg and dropped it. Glad I wasn’t hiking just underneath at the least opportune moment.
The interface
- I have had to walk Nutmeg especially early a few mornings lately, going out at the waning of dawn when the stalked and the stalkers are heading to den for the day. We know there are coyotes in the hills and arroyos that make up this neighborhood, but of all the critters seen, we have not seen these. One morning, Nutmeg and I were on the last block of our walk and we both heard a howling start up, joined and joined again. I wondered – I’m always wishing to hear the wild rather than the domesticated canines singing – and when Nutmeg literally froze with a paw still half-way to the next step, I knew for sure. She stood without moving, except for the quiver in her flanks, listening until the last howl died away. And I was in no hurry, being just as mesmerized as her. When even the echo was gone, we both mentally and physically shook ourselves and came on home – touched for the day by a bit of wild magic.
- Likewise on these early walks, I have encountered neighbors not met before. These are not the dog-walkers. These are the couples our age and older who go out to walk for exercise. The peculiar thing: several of the men in these couples carry clubs. Golf clubs. Which they swing like swagger sticks. But why? What good does a swagger stick – nine iron, sand wedge, whatever – do walking these neighborhood streets? It occured to me that these golf clubs are intended as protection. Mmmm…protection from…? I ran down the list of possibilities in my mind as Nutmeg and I passed the third-such armed couple. The idea of using a golf club as protection against the deer is ludicrous. Although who knows how vicious that doe was chasing those two poor innocent canines up the street! They are certainly not – at least I hope not – thinking they would use a club on one of the community skunks (another story in itself). Besides, any skunk presenting itself during the daylight to be golf-clubbed has more of a problem than a wedge-wielding two-legged; rabies is a real concern in this area. I would hasten in the opposite direction rather than attack a day-lit skunk full-on with a nine-iron (sand-wedge, whatever). If these brave souls think that they are carrying a sand-wedge (nine-iron, whatever) as protection from the occasional mountain lion that follows the deer into town, they need to go back to whatever tamed city they came from! (Sorry, a little judgment creeping in there.) Even trickster Coyote would not be cowed by a golf-club – there are alternatives to avoid unwanted contact with those four-legged folks. And finally, if they are carrying their weapons against the few dogs that do run loose through the community, they obviously don’t know much about dogs. If a dog gets close enough to get whopped by a golf club and the dog means business, the clubber is already too late. Unless they are VERY good with martial defense. If the dog is out of reach of the club but is menacing, just what good will the club do? Better a handful of pebbles to toss at legs or nose and eyes, depending upon the degree of menacing behavior, to yell loudly, to wave arms and of all things, to avoid eye contact. Well, maybe in that context, a wild-ass swing of the club might help after all. Just pretend they’re on a driving range…
Well, as the saying goes, “I got a million of’em.” But I’ll save the rest for another in my occasional series on neighborhood fauna. Hope you are out there swinging.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
About to become New Mexico tax payers!
Property taxes, that is. We wrote a contract which has now been accepted on 5 acres of land not far from where we now live. It was accepted and ratified, and soon we will be landowners …homesteaders …estate-holders …indebted! No turning back, now – we’re tied to the land. Dirt under our fingernails. Alright, enough already.
We found a nice piece of ground that is – soon to be, was – part of a larger parcel that was not really on the market. Are you curious? Here’s the story – owing mostly to Nick’s hard work and our real estate agent’s willingness to ask questions. When we had looked at everything on the market without success, and after I mentioned a tactic I used when I myself was a realtor, Nick set out to explore the landscape in the areas we were most interested in living. He identified a number of sites that were appealing and then we asked our realtor, “Are you willing to approach a landowner and ask if they’re interested in selling, even subdividing and selling?” Then we took her for a ride and pointed out spots of interest, including, indirectly, the piece we now will own. She asked the right questions of the right people, and found that this 5 acre piece, part of a larger 15 acres, could be purchased for a very attractive price. It isn’t currently on the market, although the 15 acres had been surveyed into 5-acres lots and city water, power and telephone had been brought to the edges of each lot; obviously the owners had some intention of selling eventually.
Here’s are links to some still images on flikr :
http://www.flickr.com/photos/sonnie-in-silver/sets/72157621053683892/
Buying land here is a different experience. On another occasion, I told the story of needing a witcher to help locate water for drilling a well, and witchers here make a decent living; you wouldn’t buy land without one if you’re smart – or you have city water. So this time, no witcher for us. But there’s more to this purchase than a divining rod.
Today, Nick went to the Grant County offices (this property lies just outside Town limits) to explore a number of questions, including the ownership, restrictions and rights to the land. One thing we need to research is the mineral rights. The term used by the County staff was “tracing back the land ‘patent.’” A new term for us: it means “A land patent is evidence of right, title, and/or interest to a tract of land, usually granted by a central, federal, or state government to an individual or private company” according to Wikipedia. I gather that a patent was the first title to the land to be held in white man’s hands. Certainly the Native Americans, in local case, the Mimbres people or the tribes of the Apaches neither believed in or traded in land patents. In the East, we always just heard it called ‘title’ to the land, with ‘title searches’ and ‘title documents’ that went with the ‘deed.’ We need to check out mineral rights because if you don’t own the mineral rights under the surface of the land for which you hold the ‘patent,’ someone could conceivably show up and demand to drill your land because they, not you, have the mineral rights of extraction. On another piece of property we looked at, we discovered a small stone monument with a mining claim etched, going back to the time this area was first staked for gold, copper and other minerals. So either Nick or the title company will have to do the research back to when this land was first patented to make sure there are no existing mining rights, which will lead to some reassurance there are no abandoned mine shafts, which are found frequently on land that was part of large tracts now divvied up and sold as building lots.
All this makes me remember one of my favorite stories of all time. That is, a telephone installer on the Eastern Shore of MD whom I knew well, was doing some renovation in his home, the family farmstead. He knew the farm had been in his family for some generations. But he couldn’t guess how many. Until he pulled up flooring in the attic to find a strong box, with the original deed – ‘patent’? – granting the land to his ancestor by King George of England back before folks decided they didn’t want a king.
Now it’s time to get serious about designing a house. We have a designer, and we’re talking to an architect to help us creatively. We know we want to build green – passive solar, etc. We have lots of pictures pulled from builder, architectural and home design magazines for ideas and inspiration. We won’t be able to build until our house in MD is sold. At least I don’t think so. Unless I can get really creative on how to swing the finances. And you know me, I can get pretty creative when I really want something. I can’t wait to move. I can just see our new house and see us sitting there…guess I’d better start thinking…mmm, wonder if we…
We found a nice piece of ground that is – soon to be, was – part of a larger parcel that was not really on the market. Are you curious? Here’s the story – owing mostly to Nick’s hard work and our real estate agent’s willingness to ask questions. When we had looked at everything on the market without success, and after I mentioned a tactic I used when I myself was a realtor, Nick set out to explore the landscape in the areas we were most interested in living. He identified a number of sites that were appealing and then we asked our realtor, “Are you willing to approach a landowner and ask if they’re interested in selling, even subdividing and selling?” Then we took her for a ride and pointed out spots of interest, including, indirectly, the piece we now will own. She asked the right questions of the right people, and found that this 5 acre piece, part of a larger 15 acres, could be purchased for a very attractive price. It isn’t currently on the market, although the 15 acres had been surveyed into 5-acres lots and city water, power and telephone had been brought to the edges of each lot; obviously the owners had some intention of selling eventually.
Here’s are links to some still images on flikr :
http://www.flickr.com/photos/sonnie-in-silver/sets/72157621053683892/
Buying land here is a different experience. On another occasion, I told the story of needing a witcher to help locate water for drilling a well, and witchers here make a decent living; you wouldn’t buy land without one if you’re smart – or you have city water. So this time, no witcher for us. But there’s more to this purchase than a divining rod.
Today, Nick went to the Grant County offices (this property lies just outside Town limits) to explore a number of questions, including the ownership, restrictions and rights to the land. One thing we need to research is the mineral rights. The term used by the County staff was “tracing back the land ‘patent.’” A new term for us: it means “A land patent is evidence of right, title, and/or interest to a tract of land, usually granted by a central, federal, or state government to an individual or private company” according to Wikipedia. I gather that a patent was the first title to the land to be held in white man’s hands. Certainly the Native Americans, in local case, the Mimbres people or the tribes of the Apaches neither believed in or traded in land patents. In the East, we always just heard it called ‘title’ to the land, with ‘title searches’ and ‘title documents’ that went with the ‘deed.’ We need to check out mineral rights because if you don’t own the mineral rights under the surface of the land for which you hold the ‘patent,’ someone could conceivably show up and demand to drill your land because they, not you, have the mineral rights of extraction. On another piece of property we looked at, we discovered a small stone monument with a mining claim etched, going back to the time this area was first staked for gold, copper and other minerals. So either Nick or the title company will have to do the research back to when this land was first patented to make sure there are no existing mining rights, which will lead to some reassurance there are no abandoned mine shafts, which are found frequently on land that was part of large tracts now divvied up and sold as building lots.
All this makes me remember one of my favorite stories of all time. That is, a telephone installer on the Eastern Shore of MD whom I knew well, was doing some renovation in his home, the family farmstead. He knew the farm had been in his family for some generations. But he couldn’t guess how many. Until he pulled up flooring in the attic to find a strong box, with the original deed – ‘patent’? – granting the land to his ancestor by King George of England back before folks decided they didn’t want a king.
Now it’s time to get serious about designing a house. We have a designer, and we’re talking to an architect to help us creatively. We know we want to build green – passive solar, etc. We have lots of pictures pulled from builder, architectural and home design magazines for ideas and inspiration. We won’t be able to build until our house in MD is sold. At least I don’t think so. Unless I can get really creative on how to swing the finances. And you know me, I can get pretty creative when I really want something. I can’t wait to move. I can just see our new house and see us sitting there…guess I’d better start thinking…mmm, wonder if we…
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Home Again
I’ve written about the idiosyncrasies and character of Grant County Airport. I haven’t talked about the experience of going – and coming – home again. Although I’ve been asked by folks here how it feels to go home again. So here were my impressions from both this recent trip and my trip back in January.
· DC is my natal city, well, just outside of DC in MD (born in Bethesda and raised in Kensington); before moving to NM, I lived in the DC metro area all but 5 years of my life. There are few more beautiful cities than Washington on the Potomac – the Washington that hugs the wide tidal river and overlooks the rocky fall that is the Potomac Gorge. Especially when flying into the city following the river down from the north. I like a window seat on the left side of the aircraft so I can track the river, watch for White’s Ferry and Sugarloaf Mountain, and on a particularly clear day, find my now-former home in Clarksburg. Then the urban centers thread by underneath: Rockville-Bethesda-Chevy Chase-Northwest DC along Wisconsin Ave-the National Cathedral-GlenEcho and MacArthur Blvd-the reservoir-Georgetown. And finally, the great monumental Washington spreads out as the plane drops past Georgetown Cathedral: the Lincoln Memorial, Key Bridge, the Washington Monument, the White House set on the South Lawn and the Capital, and finally the plane sets down right on the edge of the water across from the SW waterfront. This unfolding of DC has always thrilled me, and always will.
· On the ground in downtown DC – a different visual, auditory and olfactory experience. Assaulted by bus fumes, rumbling and exhaust-ing sidewalk grates over the underground Metro tubes, car horns, and the other forms of “street life” to be dodged or skirted, paced and tolerated.
· Seeing friends and neighbors, both personal and at work – getting hugs is so reaffirming. Having FCC folks stop by my office door to ask where I’ve been and how I’ve been reminded me that there are many forms of family. Having personal friends and former neighbors go out of their way to spend an evening or an afternoon reminded me that distance does not change the connection between us, easy enough to forget when relying on electronic bits to keep the connections fresh.
· Riding the Metro from hotel to work to dinner and back to hotel on a daily basis – at one point, I swore that every citizen from Silver City must be on the platforms at Metro Center. The trains were running more slowly because they were being manually controlled since the truly horrible train accident a few weeks ago. But that meant larger than usual crowds on the platforms. Oddly, though, the trains I rode were not, themselves, overly crowded.
· Losing my balance in the Metro – I had forgotten how jerky the trains are when they start and stop, not to mention the frequency with which they stop short of their discharge point. I was up and starting for the door when the train stopped, only to hear those dreaded words, “this train will be moving forward.” And it did, but I didn’t. I lost my balance backwards and almost fell to my butt except that the two women behind me broke my fall – not entirely voluntarily!
· Losing my balance in the Metro 2 – I got off on the yellow line and went upstairs, having to pass along the red line platform to reach my exit. The platform was the most crowded I remember in years – a train had just disgorged its passengers. They were all flooding toward me, half at a run, afraid that they’d miss the next yellow train, oblivious to the fact that another yellow train would arrive in no more than 7 minutes. In DC like many cities, time is money and is jealously and aggressively marshaled. I found myself on the train-side of the flood, and like monsoon-driven floods, could not safely cross the river of racing humans to the saner side against the wall. People were brushing me and some, bumping me, and I began to worry that when the standing train closed its doors and began to move, I could be in trouble. Sure enough, the doors closed, the train moved out, and just then, a woman moving faster than the rest of the flotsam, pushed past me, and knocked me slightly sideways. I believe that, if I had not been anticipating just such a knock, I would have fallen into the side of the speed-gathering train. My DC-attitude finally took over and I almost simultaneously bulled back, managed to move 2 feet into the onrushing flow and push forward. When I finally cleared the crowd, my heart was racing, face and scalp were wet and my mind was whimpering, “Oh to be home in Silver.”
· And that was the instant that I knew. Reinforcement came on the home-bound flight from Albuquerque through the thunderstorms to Grant Co Airport, when I found myself anxiously looking for – and low-and-behold – finding familiar landscapes to mark my progress home. I realized I could recognize, not just the most obvious, like the huge pits of the mines, but the thread that is NM 15 from Gila Cliff Dwellings, the Mimbres valley along the river and NM Rt 35, Hurley and the old graveyard across Rt 180 from the main drag into town and finally knowing when we started our approach to the airport, not by the loss of altitude but by the change in the land running beneath.
There’s no doubt that I’ll always miss much about Washington and MD and will look forward to visiting whenever I can. But now, when someone here asks how it was to “go” home, my answer is, “it’s just so great to BE home.”
· DC is my natal city, well, just outside of DC in MD (born in Bethesda and raised in Kensington); before moving to NM, I lived in the DC metro area all but 5 years of my life. There are few more beautiful cities than Washington on the Potomac – the Washington that hugs the wide tidal river and overlooks the rocky fall that is the Potomac Gorge. Especially when flying into the city following the river down from the north. I like a window seat on the left side of the aircraft so I can track the river, watch for White’s Ferry and Sugarloaf Mountain, and on a particularly clear day, find my now-former home in Clarksburg. Then the urban centers thread by underneath: Rockville-Bethesda-Chevy Chase-Northwest DC along Wisconsin Ave-the National Cathedral-GlenEcho and MacArthur Blvd-the reservoir-Georgetown. And finally, the great monumental Washington spreads out as the plane drops past Georgetown Cathedral: the Lincoln Memorial, Key Bridge, the Washington Monument, the White House set on the South Lawn and the Capital, and finally the plane sets down right on the edge of the water across from the SW waterfront. This unfolding of DC has always thrilled me, and always will.
· On the ground in downtown DC – a different visual, auditory and olfactory experience. Assaulted by bus fumes, rumbling and exhaust-ing sidewalk grates over the underground Metro tubes, car horns, and the other forms of “street life” to be dodged or skirted, paced and tolerated.
· Seeing friends and neighbors, both personal and at work – getting hugs is so reaffirming. Having FCC folks stop by my office door to ask where I’ve been and how I’ve been reminded me that there are many forms of family. Having personal friends and former neighbors go out of their way to spend an evening or an afternoon reminded me that distance does not change the connection between us, easy enough to forget when relying on electronic bits to keep the connections fresh.
· Riding the Metro from hotel to work to dinner and back to hotel on a daily basis – at one point, I swore that every citizen from Silver City must be on the platforms at Metro Center. The trains were running more slowly because they were being manually controlled since the truly horrible train accident a few weeks ago. But that meant larger than usual crowds on the platforms. Oddly, though, the trains I rode were not, themselves, overly crowded.
· Losing my balance in the Metro – I had forgotten how jerky the trains are when they start and stop, not to mention the frequency with which they stop short of their discharge point. I was up and starting for the door when the train stopped, only to hear those dreaded words, “this train will be moving forward.” And it did, but I didn’t. I lost my balance backwards and almost fell to my butt except that the two women behind me broke my fall – not entirely voluntarily!
· Losing my balance in the Metro 2 – I got off on the yellow line and went upstairs, having to pass along the red line platform to reach my exit. The platform was the most crowded I remember in years – a train had just disgorged its passengers. They were all flooding toward me, half at a run, afraid that they’d miss the next yellow train, oblivious to the fact that another yellow train would arrive in no more than 7 minutes. In DC like many cities, time is money and is jealously and aggressively marshaled. I found myself on the train-side of the flood, and like monsoon-driven floods, could not safely cross the river of racing humans to the saner side against the wall. People were brushing me and some, bumping me, and I began to worry that when the standing train closed its doors and began to move, I could be in trouble. Sure enough, the doors closed, the train moved out, and just then, a woman moving faster than the rest of the flotsam, pushed past me, and knocked me slightly sideways. I believe that, if I had not been anticipating just such a knock, I would have fallen into the side of the speed-gathering train. My DC-attitude finally took over and I almost simultaneously bulled back, managed to move 2 feet into the onrushing flow and push forward. When I finally cleared the crowd, my heart was racing, face and scalp were wet and my mind was whimpering, “Oh to be home in Silver.”
· And that was the instant that I knew. Reinforcement came on the home-bound flight from Albuquerque through the thunderstorms to Grant Co Airport, when I found myself anxiously looking for – and low-and-behold – finding familiar landscapes to mark my progress home. I realized I could recognize, not just the most obvious, like the huge pits of the mines, but the thread that is NM 15 from Gila Cliff Dwellings, the Mimbres valley along the river and NM Rt 35, Hurley and the old graveyard across Rt 180 from the main drag into town and finally knowing when we started our approach to the airport, not by the loss of altitude but by the change in the land running beneath.
There’s no doubt that I’ll always miss much about Washington and MD and will look forward to visiting whenever I can. But now, when someone here asks how it was to “go” home, my answer is, “it’s just so great to BE home.”
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Grant County Airport revisited
Nick had to travel back to Brooklyn in July and no sooner did he return than I had to go out to DC. We had 4 – well, actually 5 opportunities to visit our regional airport about which I’ve already told a couple of stories. I have a feeling that Grant County Airport will always be a source of stories – this time, corroborated with pictures.
. I remembered to take my camera so you could travel with me down the country road to the airport, see the welcoming committee, remark the size of the plane, note the airmail being passed up to the pilot’s window and Nick’s deplaning, and finally watch the plane take off over a member of the welcoming committee, her attention now redirected to a most preferred activity. Here, at flickr, is the story.
. Janey, one of the employees of the airline and airport, is a local animal rescue specialist. You never know what you’ll find when you visit her at the airport. When we dropped Nick off for his outbound flight, she let us know that the pilot was coming in quickly to see her babies. Too bad I didn’t have my camera that time – her babies were 2 month old skunks! Their mother had been killed while they were still nursing. We found them running loose in the back section of the airport. She moved the baby gate and the babies scampered out from the back into the ticket and waiting area. 5 baby skunks exploring the territory, eventually finding human shoes and toes, as well as more adventurous human hands trailing the floor to be sniffed. Janey scooped them up, one by one, to greet us. They “scoop” much like cats grabbed around the middle and held aloft. These were very cute little critters and would soon be ready to release or adopt. Fortunately for all noses present, they are acclimated to people, dogs, distractions and chaos – so they don’t get defensive and spray.
. Picking Nick up, I had my camera, only to find that Janey was not on duty, thus neither were her babies.
. Nick came home on Friday, and I was supposed to leave on Monday. We showed up Monday to find the flight had been canceled. It seems that the lightning storm the evening before had taken out the airport’s one light/power pole on which hung the airport’s communication system and the airport’s approach and landing lights. FAA requires both for commercial flights to operate. The power company hoped to have the transformer working again by mid-day and afterwards the communication and approach/landing systems could be restored. When was the last time you couldn’t fly somewhere because all the systems that made the airport functional were on one pole and that one pole was struck by lightning?! However, the babies were in the terminal. You should have seen the faces of the people not local, not knowing Janey’s penchant for critters in need, when they saw several small skunks with tails standing at high noon waddling around the waiting area checking out feet and bags. But you can imagine. Good news: two babies have been adopted (skunks, believe it or not, make excellent pets) and the others are almost ready for wild release.
. I flew out on Tuesday, spent a good and productive week in DC and flew back on Sunday last weekend. Monsoons are here. That means that, like DC on sultry summer afternoons, there are often storms moving through. We got out of Albuquerque ok, and flew through the overcast at an altitude of around 20,000. Looking out the window, I was struck by the experience of watching the cloud particles flowing past the plane’s window. We flew out from the surround of gray cotton, only to find ourselves surrounded by lightning cells. Off to the left, there was a very active cell – so fascinating to watch the electric discharges right to the ground. To the right, another storm cell was providing an impressive display. Ahead, toward Grant County, the mines, Silver City and the airport, was sunny, blue sky. But we had to get through the leading edge of the front to reach that calmer, brighter prospect. And so we hit the bumps. Once through, we sailed clear into the airport. I hoped that the plane would have time to land, shovel us all out the door and get airborne again, before the storms hit. Otherwise, those pilots would need someone’s living room couch for the night.
. Landing on time meant we got home just before the storms moved over Silver City proper. So we sat on the back patio and watched the most spectacular sky scenery that we’ve seen since moving here. Magical -- clouds, layered in purples and blues with coral bands where the cloud layer was high enough to reflect the setting sun’s light; deep windows into the strata of clouds with lightning running laterally across space against blue sky; almost black at the horizon with falling rain making indistinguishable the sky from the hills. We took Nutmeg for her evening walk, walking in circles and loops up the road and back again, with our heads craned back, trying to take in what was offered to us up above. And you know, for all of that, it never did rain here that night.
. I remembered to take my camera so you could travel with me down the country road to the airport, see the welcoming committee, remark the size of the plane, note the airmail being passed up to the pilot’s window and Nick’s deplaning, and finally watch the plane take off over a member of the welcoming committee, her attention now redirected to a most preferred activity. Here, at flickr, is the story.. Janey, one of the employees of the airline and airport, is a local animal rescue specialist. You never know what you’ll find when you visit her at the airport. When we dropped Nick off for his outbound flight, she let us know that the pilot was coming in quickly to see her babies. Too bad I didn’t have my camera that time – her babies were 2 month old skunks! Their mother had been killed while they were still nursing. We found them running loose in the back section of the airport. She moved the baby gate and the babies scampered out from the back into the ticket and waiting area. 5 baby skunks exploring the territory, eventually finding human shoes and toes, as well as more adventurous human hands trailing the floor to be sniffed. Janey scooped them up, one by one, to greet us. They “scoop” much like cats grabbed around the middle and held aloft. These were very cute little critters and would soon be ready to release or adopt. Fortunately for all noses present, they are acclimated to people, dogs, distractions and chaos – so they don’t get defensive and spray.
. Picking Nick up, I had my camera, only to find that Janey was not on duty, thus neither were her babies.
. Nick came home on Friday, and I was supposed to leave on Monday. We showed up Monday to find the flight had been canceled. It seems that the lightning storm the evening before had taken out the airport’s one light/power pole on which hung the airport’s communication system and the airport’s approach and landing lights. FAA requires both for commercial flights to operate. The power company hoped to have the transformer working again by mid-day and afterwards the communication and approach/landing systems could be restored. When was the last time you couldn’t fly somewhere because all the systems that made the airport functional were on one pole and that one pole was struck by lightning?! However, the babies were in the terminal. You should have seen the faces of the people not local, not knowing Janey’s penchant for critters in need, when they saw several small skunks with tails standing at high noon waddling around the waiting area checking out feet and bags. But you can imagine. Good news: two babies have been adopted (skunks, believe it or not, make excellent pets) and the others are almost ready for wild release.
. I flew out on Tuesday, spent a good and productive week in DC and flew back on Sunday last weekend. Monsoons are here. That means that, like DC on sultry summer afternoons, there are often storms moving through. We got out of Albuquerque ok, and flew through the overcast at an altitude of around 20,000. Looking out the window, I was struck by the experience of watching the cloud particles flowing past the plane’s window. We flew out from the surround of gray cotton, only to find ourselves surrounded by lightning cells. Off to the left, there was a very active cell – so fascinating to watch the electric discharges right to the ground. To the right, another storm cell was providing an impressive display. Ahead, toward Grant County, the mines, Silver City and the airport, was sunny, blue sky. But we had to get through the leading edge of the front to reach that calmer, brighter prospect. And so we hit the bumps. Once through, we sailed clear into the airport. I hoped that the plane would have time to land, shovel us all out the door and get airborne again, before the storms hit. Otherwise, those pilots would need someone’s living room couch for the night.
. Landing on time meant we got home just before the storms moved over Silver City proper. So we sat on the back patio and watched the most spectacular sky scenery that we’ve seen since moving here. Magical -- clouds, layered in purples and blues with coral bands where the cloud layer was high enough to reflect the setting sun’s light; deep windows into the strata of clouds with lightning running laterally across space against blue sky; almost black at the horizon with falling rain making indistinguishable the sky from the hills. We took Nutmeg for her evening walk, walking in circles and loops up the road and back again, with our heads craned back, trying to take in what was offered to us up above. And you know, for all of that, it never did rain here that night.
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