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