It's not that easy B(uild)ing Green

Just like Kermit.

We finally have loan approval and an acceptable appraisal.  That means our bank is setting up the construction loan. And THAT means we will be breaking ground soon – hopefully within 2 to 3 weeks.  I know we’ve said that before.  In fact, since before Thanksgiving.  Who knew it would take two loan applications with two different lenders and two appraisals to get an approval?  This is the permanent mortgage that I’m referring to; the local bank doesn’t carry mortgages so had to have a loan commitment from a secondary lender before it would do the construction loan. 

The problem is a small matter of building green.  It’s the smart way to go.  It’s good for the environment. It’s good for our pocketbook. It takes advantage of natural, renewable resources.  But no bloody bank wants to finance green.  Not vanilla enough.  NON-CONFORMING! 

We’re on our way, though.  Now, it seems the usual head-aches of choosing colors and cabinets and lights will be easy by comparison.  We’ll see – ask me in a few months when I’m in the throes of those choices.  Right now, I’m making myself crazy over picking a color for the dyed concrete floors!

The Bear went over the Mountain

goes to flikr images

Or rather, we went over Bear Mountain!  Back when we were just visiting Silver City and hadn’t committed to moving here, I used to watch the sun set behind Bear Mountain from Skee’s porch.  It was on our third visit that I watched another New Mexico-classic sunset and found myself resonating like a tuning fork, knowing that this is where I’m meant to be.  But it took us almost three years  -- and  the purchase of one big truck – to finally make it up and around the mountain.  Actually you can’t really go over; the road tracks around the shoulder, dipping up and down the mountain shrugs.  Bear Mountain Road finally climbs up and levels out on LS Mesa.  We have a friend who lives out there, and she tells us that LS stands for Lone Star.  Yep, as in the Lone Star state of Texas.  History has it that this area used to belong to the state of Texas.  That makes New Mexico a “breakaway republic.”  Or something like that.  Anyway, I don’t know about the Lone Star bit, but the mesa is one spectacular place.  A hand-shaped grasslands-covered flat-top wrinkled by canyons, arroyos and dry crick beds.  Dropping off at the fingertips to places like Bear Creek and Hells Half Acre, with ridges having names like Tadpole, fronting the Mogollons in the mid-distance and Arizona’s Mt Graham in the blue distance.

We made two trips up there.  The first was on our own so we didn’t push the edges of the mesa too far.  There were signs that said things like “trespassers will be shot” and “open range,” the latter sign peppered with bullet holes.  Much of it is National Forest, hosting grazing rights, but there are some in-holdings of private ranches.  So we just parked the truck and walked the open range grasslands, dodging cow pies and tripping over salt licks.  But lovin’ every minute (especially Nutmeg). The second time, our friend met us, hopped in the front seat of the truck and showed us around.  She’s lived out there for something like 18 years on a small place with a couple of horses, 4 dogs and her “girls,” a collection of hens and ducks.  She took us exploring the off-tracks, where I got to put my truck into 4-wheel LOW and creep over rocks and ruts, knocking twigs and leaves into the open windows.  I was reminded again that we now live in the real west – or at least an honest facsimile.  We twice passed cowboys in the saddle, chaps and spurs looking worn and natural.  These weren’t displaced Californians playing dress-up, although our friend tells us there are a few newcomers trying to make a life there.  These were the original ranch families or hands who’ve been there 3 and more generations and are still running cattle on their own and federal lands.

We’ll go back to hike as the weather warms.  Our friend showed us some easily-followed tracks or trails, although Nick’s tendency is to prefer bushwhacking.  Hell’s Half Acre is supposed to be pretty spectacular – down into a series of canyons, including slot canyons.  That visit, I will want to go with either a GPS or people familiar with the way out!

Small observations:  I went to Walmart on Saturday.  I was waiting to be served at the deli. I watched the woman handling the hams and turkey breasts wince as she maneuvered with her right hand.  When it was my turn and she turned her chat my way, I mentioned that her wrist appeared to be giving her a problem.  She said it was and acknowledged my comment that it was probably hard to wear a wrist brace and do what she was doing.  She said she would go to the doctor, but the only thing the doctor would say would be not to work until the wrist healed, and, “Who can afford that?” So she apparently gets by on aspirin and will. 

Mid-day Saturday is usually very busy at Walmart in my short experience here.  Except sometimes.  Sometimes, like this past Saturday, the checkers are downright lonely-looking.  I walzed up to a register and without a pause began to unload my cart.  When I said something to the checker about how quiet it seemed, and had it been busier earlier, she said, “No, it’s the end of the month.  Everyone’s outa money.” 

Oh. 

The Dragonfly and Spring in the Southwest

 President’s Day on the Dragonfly (flikr images)

Taking advantage of the day off, I arranged with my friend Gail to have lunch and then head out to the Dragonfly Trail, a loop trail of just under 4 miles that’s part of the Ft Bayard trail system. Dragonfly is best known because of the petroglyphs or rock art created by the ancients around 1500AD. I had been on the trail before with Ami and Bob at Thanksgiving, but we couldn’t find the petroglyphs – we didn’t know exactly where to look and appropriately, there’s no “neon arrows” drawing your attention. But Gail knew and so I got to wonder at the magic of the rock art and its staying power for all these many millennia.

The trail itself is a quiet blessing. A mix of grasslands that glow gold and silver in the afternoon sun and woodlands both dry and riparian, the whole cut by a creek. At the right time of year the air will vibrate with winged life in all its micro-habitats. This day, we saw ravens and jays, juncos and a large crowd of western bluebirds. There were probably a couple of other species skulking around the bases of shrubs but since this was not a “birding trip” I stayed my binoculars for the most part.

I could go on, but instead I’ll share a link with you from March’s New Mexico Magazine called My Favorite Places. It’s written by a friend who’s lived here for many more years than I and who has been writing her life here for most of those years. She tells the story of this magical place – one of so many here – far better than I.

Sure Signs of Spring in the Southwest

It seems like Spring is springing early this year. Maybe because last winter and spring we had snows on top of snows so that we went from white to green almost overnight. This year, minimal rains mean that we’re very dry. But Spring will not be thwarted. Sure signs that Spring is making an entrance:

A slight rain brings out the scents of Spring: wet and warming earth, running sap that wafts smells of pinion and juniper across an upturned nose. No longer the cold flat smell of winter.

Bird-song in the early morning dark: not just the ravens’ breakfast conversation, but thrashers and finches and titmouse and juncos—at least those juncos that haven’t already departed on their northward migration – and others are claiming their territories.

On the days that lack the lingering nip of winter and have not yet been blown dry by the spring winds, there is a balm to the air currents that turns me toward the sun like a new leaf.

The shrubby local oak, which I think might be Gray Oak, are losing their leaves: these trees are deciduous in that they lose a portion of their leaves each season, but interestingly, the season of loss is spring, not fall as I’m used to from back East. In another few weeks, they will start showing a greener gray when their new leaves bud out. And I learned that the reason these oak lose their leaves in spring is that they must wait for the new leaves to push them from their branch tips.

Other trees and shrubs that are more classical in their shedding and budding seasons are already getting fuzzy on the tips: the cottonwoods are showing, so are other hardwoods. Blooming trees are blushing with Spring colors. A few more warm days and not-so-cold nights and the town will be “in the pink” with Serviceberry and Redbud and other vibrant Spring celebrants.

No longer can I tell the difference between the shes and the hes among the Mule deer groups: most of the males have lost their antlers; the mature males certainly have, although there are a few spikers who still have their “they’re-my-very-first-and-I-want-to-keep-them-a-little-longer –please-can-I-mom?” single, finger-length antlers. I’m imagining their plea since they are still moving with their family group that includes the dominant doe (or is that a he?), a younger doe or two, one to several yearlings and last summer’s crop of babies.

And speaking of shedding, Nutmeg is starting to get that patchy look: every spring, she sheds that inner layer of insulating fur, taking on a slightly mangy look. She hates to be brushed. Maybe I just don’t have the right brush yet, but I’ve tried several types with similar results—she looks at me sideways and heads for the bedroom. So she walks around with tufts of fur sticking out like a bad case of bed-head. I think I should put a sign on her that says, “I’m not contagious. I’m just shedding.”

Insha'Allah--God Willing

My hope for the Egyptian people:


May they reap the fruits of their courage.
May they savor the freedom for which they stood.
May their diverse voices rise in harmony, not conflict.
May Muslim and Christian stand together in mutual respect.
May their challenge of the past build a new democracy.
May their leaderless revolution raise leaders, not tyrants.
May peace, security and prosperity be theirs, as they deserve.
Insha’Allah – God Willing

If you wonder why this is important to me, it’s because I visited Egypt in November of 2001, two months after 9/11(2001). I was a rare American in their midst at a time when the lines were already being drawn, both on the world stage and in American cities and towns. I was welcomed. No, I was embraced! The Egyptian people whom I met and traveled with expressed sympathy and loathing – sympathy for our losses in NY and PA and DC and loathing for those who committed the crimes. Those whom I met made the distinction between people (me) and politics. Sadly, I could not claim the same for all Americans. My seat-mate on my flight from Luxor to Cairo told me of his hijab-wearing niece in Chicago who was spat upon in the days following 9/11. What could I say?

I was back in Egypt the following February, this time with Nick. Again, we were welcomed, even though by this time, our government was refocusing on Iraq as the enemy, much to Egyptians’ dismay and lack of understanding. Well, mine too! Nick walked the streets and neighborhoods of Cairo while I worked. While walking through a poor neighborhood, he passed a woman completely covered, with the exception of her eyes. In that culture, a man does not speak to a woman not known to him. As Nick walked by her, head averted, she said to his back, “Welcome back. We’ve missed you.”

I heard a little about life under Mubarak. On my first trip, I toured on my own, with arrangements for a tour guide and driver in Aswan, Luxor and Cairo. In Luxor my tour guide was a young well-educated man and my driver was a little older and from a rural community. The three of us were eating lunch in a restaurant where the guide knew the restaurateur. He was telling me his opinion of Mubarak and the regime and his perspective of the problems and needs of the people. The driver became concerned and cautioned the guide to silence. When the guide continued in his perspective, the driver left the restaurant. A small example.

So, in the footsteps perhaps of Ghandi and Martin Luther King, the people of Egypt took to the streets armed only with their voices and their belief in their rights. Although certainly not unanimously. They organized themselves, policed themselves and for the most part resisted the rise to violence. They raised one voice: secular, Islamic, hopefully Christians; men, young jeans-clad women from the University, women in hijab, conservative women fully covered; working people, un-employed, educated, well-off and poor. A single call for rights, democracy and freedom from fear, reprisal and suppression. May they reap what their courage has brought them. Insha’Allah—God Willing.