New Mexico – Page 7

America Ends In Black & White

August 9, 2021 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

El Camino Family Restaurant in Socorro, New Mexico

The venerable coffee shop and diner, an institution on the great American road trip, is faltering. Here is where our day should have begun, but with food prices rising, pay demands of those toiling in the service industry, and the migration of previously independent people moving back home due to dire economic consequences brought on by a pandemic, restaurants have little choice but to shut down or scale back operations, just as this institution in Socorro, New Mexico, had to do.

I wonder how much doubt was alive and well in those businesses that cater to the travel industry as the world entered the summer, not knowing which direction COVID-19 was going to take. Sure, many of us rushed to get vaccinated as soon as we could earlier in the year, but an equal number are swearing off ever getting a vaccination. So, with uncertainty about how things would progress, businesses appeared to be reluctant to staff up, especially knowing that there would be no global travelers descending on America, and this was compounded by shortages of parts and supplies that hamper car rental agencies trying to ramp up their fleets, which left everyone scratching their heads about what to do.

What everyone did was raise prices. Hotels and motels out here are expensive, car rentals are pricey, and feeding a family of four at even cheap restaurants is just shy of or even more than $100 for dinner. Caroline and I paid over $50 for breakfast on the California Coast back in May. As the green is being drained away by the higher cost of living, diminished opportunity, and a population moving in reverse intellectually, the colorful sparkle that has been so attractive about life in America is starting to appear tarnished.

Turbine blade in Magdalena, New Mexico

Wind power is quietly being deployed across our country. Elon Musk has battled scorn and disbelief from those angry about the move from gasoline-powered cars to self-drive electric vehicles, but now all manufacturers are on board, validating his initiatives. Drought and fire are scarring the land and polluting the air, but still, a large segment of our population wants to deny that we are having any impact on the environment. Coal is still a critical element in our energy supply, though we are well aware of how it fouls water and air.

I want to see red, but I’m afraid that the opaque nature of our collective intelligence is blocking us from engaging in meaningful discussions that would be required to foster an embrace of change. The color drains from hope.

Very Large Array in Datil, New Mexico

We try to communicate with aliens and land all manner of craft on Mars, but we can’t get through the backward attitudes buried deep in thick skulls. Many are entrenched in the fight against the perceived existential threat that they might have to change and learn anew how and where to operate in our world. We risk becoming aliens to modernity as we resist launching ourselves into new horizons. Searching the heavens with telescopes will never bring blue-sky clarity to a population mired in a universe of denial. As knowledge is passed through society, those entrenched in fear and conspiracy become negative refraction materials, suppressing humanity’s move toward greater enlightenment.

Very Large Array in Datil, New Mexico

Fences keep animals in an enclosed area, but they also keep out trespassers. I wonder when knowledge became a dangerous beast that required barriers to keep the peace. Fences, while at times transparent, also arrive in the form of walls that stop others from looking in. It is my belief that we are building metaphoric walls between those who embrace the future and those who abhor the idea of any contact with things that might alter their intellectual underpinnings, such as they are.

Pies in Pie Town, New Mexico

There are spectrums of light, sound, thoughts, and flavors. When these things are refracted, they produce various phenomena that delight human senses. Take sunlight and water vapor; we see its effect in the sky when rainbows appear. Flavors, when combined, become something greater than the constituent parts. Thoughts become inventions and art, while sound can be formed into the music that makes us dance. When the vibrancy of potential in these spectra is diminished or even squashed between two poles, we are left with a damaged system of noise; dreams are turned black and white.

I will not choose between cherry or poop pie; that’s not a choice. I want a menu that features peach, coconut cream, apple, blackberry, and even pumpkin; I want to choose from a diversity of flavors. That diversity is a fact of life, but it doesn’t only govern our food, music, TV, and racial makeup; we must also adopt a diversity of thought. Right now, we are in a cultural war with only poop and rainbow pie on the menu; well, I’m ready for a heaping slice of rainbow pie while I still have a choice. The people eating a daily diet of Carlson Tucker’s secret poop pie recipe should consider the old saying, “You are what you eat.”

To try and exist on a monotrophic diet both physically or intellectually will ultimately damage your health, meaning you cannot eat carrots three times a day every day for years without consequences. And yet, this is what many Americans do regarding their intake of echo-chamber information. But why are so many returning again and again to the same thing? Fear. They are afraid that if they challenge their monolithic belief system, the world around them will collapse. Therefore they come back to the trough of affirmation that convinces them that only the poop pie will nourish them while everyone else nursing at the teat of the rainbow unicorn is being poisoned and will soon metamorphize into the spawn of demons, communists, pedophiles, or other detritus that they consider dangerous to their way of life.

The point here is that we need a spectrum of options that is not a bucket load of the same old, same old. Our world needs colorful alternatives. If things are only black or white, there are no choices for those who want to exist somewhere in the middle.

Near Hannagan Meadow on the Coronado Scenic Byway in Eastern Arizona

When culture and society are built like a house of cards, time and weather will easily wear down the structure, making the shelter quickly uninhabitable. America is in the process of breaking out the windows, punching holes into the roof and walls, and tossing out the conveniences of comfort that are the underpinnings of our country. It’s as though the outside is fighting to be inside, and the inside wants outside, or maybe they just want to eliminate differences by subordinating one to the other so all of it is the same.

Near Hannagan Meadow on the Coronado Scenic Byway in Eastern Arizona

But when we walk together, live together, and recognize our similarities, a different world opens where harmony might emerge. Out of harmony, we create new things, such as when we take up partners and produce offspring. Similarly, when harmony arises in a population, we create a culture that brings society forward and ultimately leads to an increase in the standard of living and access to more tools for even greater expression. Through creative expression and invention, we stand apart from the animals. Without it, we become the animals.

Near Hannagan Meadow on the Coronado Scenic Byway in Eastern Arizona

We step over barriers when we are at our best as we recognize that one side is much like the other. But if that barrier is a line demarking an ideological divide, then we bring weapons to defend this imaginary border, be they verbal or physical. The resultant stalemate or total conflagration might allow one side to hold their ground and not let the other take influence over their sacred beliefs and ways of living, but both sides ultimately lose out. Our fear of that onslaught that would accompany change has us needing to reinforce the dividing wall or fence that keeps us separate. This backward thinking is the fodder of intellectual regression and war.

Coronado Scenic Byway in Eastern Arizona

The space between earth and clouds is vast, with a near-infinite number of hues that paint the landscape. Every minute of every day, life is coming and going, the clouds stream by, we grow older, and nothing is quite the same. It is this dynamic shifting of the view and our place in it that enchants so many of us humans into delight when we are afforded the luxury of watching big nature execute its script of constant change. And yet, we recoil at the thought of our own change, maybe because we are ultimately afraid of our own death, but that’s childish as this is at the heart of the contract that we must live with.

Jessica Aldridge on the Coronado Scenic Byway in Eastern Arizona

Right there in the middle between sky and ground, here and there, left and right, storm and sun, home and open road, experience is waiting for us to toss off inertia and put ourselves into the mix. We cannot find what we don’t know without moving into the unknown. If you’ve never been down the highway that takes you elsewhere, then how will you discover what might be right in front of you?

Copper mine in Morenci, Arizona

Down in the pit, deep below the surface, under the mountain, this is where we bury our demons, our poisons, our dead. In that darkness, there are no colors or light other than the eternal bleakness of being rendered blind. This is where the unilluminated minds of the voluntarily ignorant choose to exist, though they are convinced that all is bright and crystal clear to them and, often, only them. Throughout history, we have always looked uncomfortably at the wounds and scars that are opened in our efforts to make progress. Progress is only found in the march forward into certain uncertainty. You cannot escape the darkness, cowering under the rock you’ve always known.

Big Horn Sheep in Clifton, Arizona

Even if you need to stand alone, get out there and see what the potentially hostile terrain has to offer. There is nearly always something that can nourish you, even in the middle of the desert. Along the way, you might find that who you are traveling with is not really who you think they are, and when that person is you, you cannot simply deny things; you must keep going and find fertile ground. Don’t stop moving. Continue your march forward; you’ll likely ascend mountains if you just remain in motion.

La Paloma Mexican Restaurant in Solomon, Arizona

At the end of the road, oh yeah, there is no end of the road; there’s just one more short pause on the way forward. But, when you sit down again to your diet of carrots with your closed mind and your fear of encountering what you don’t know yet, just remember that a world without the color of the rainbow is a world stuck between black and white, and you are only experiencing a tiny fraction of what the full spectrum of life has to offer.

Decaying Rural Southwest

August 8, 2021 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Yesterday, I was writing about the American Prairie Reserve and the ranchers who are opposed to the idea of preserving a wide swath of the Great Plains for the native grasses and animals that once populated these lands, and yet, most of what might have been here during a time of prosperity has disappeared. What you find in the rural middle of America and the Southwest is decay. Cities are really where everything is happening now and about the only place to find work.

The idea of a renaissance in which high-paying jobs return to the middle of America is a pipe dream where the infrastructure to support tech workers is sorely missing. Add to the complicated situation that in many small towns, the locals do not want outsiders moving in and telling them how to do things, though they do appreciate visitors stopping by to spend money on hotels, food, and gas to support the few businesses that are hanging on. There are many small towns scattered across America that would be ideal for well-paid workers who can operate remotely to take up residence, but the dearth of grocery stores, immediacy of Amazon deliveries, and forward-thinking by the locals make this a daunting challenge.

Sure, wind and solar power installations are promising industries in these empty lands, but once constructed, they operate mostly autonomously, so there is no long-term win to this possibility. Then there are those small towns that flip the need for blue-collar jobs on its head as the very wealthy adopt locations they find appealing. Just consider Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Telluride, Colorado; and Sun Valley, Idaho; these small towns only thrive due to the exclusivity brought on by the profound wealth that was able to squeeze out the non-rich residents. Labor is then relegated to nearby towns where those lower-paid workers must commute to the only jobs that allow them to stay near the area they may have grown up in.

Sure, there’s a tremendous amount of pride among the people who survive on these hardscrabble lands, and they’d pay a hell of a personal price to try to integrate into some of our bigger cities but without growing populations and new industries or workers establishing themselves in these thousands of far-flung towns, what are the odds of their survival?

Over the years, we’ve driven through some beautiful old places that visually are incredibly enticing, but the majority of their storefronts have been shuttered long ago. The slow decay which ushers in the sadness of a place leaves bitter anger in its wake. I don’t mean to imply that only grumpy people remain as we meet some wonderful people along the way. But, after enough time out here in small cafes and gas stations and poking around ruins, closed businesses, and other curiosities, it’s bound to happen that you eavesdrop on anger or are confronted by someone who doesn’t have time for someone interested in things they don’t want you to be interested in.

Then, on the other hand, there’s the wildlife that, aside from often being afraid of people as they seem to sense our murderous intent, just go about their lives making the best of whatever is in front of them. If you don’t believe they see through us, just watch them when other species are around. I’ve seen rabbits hanging out with birds, deer grazing near donkeys, prairie dogs chilling with hawks, and they all just get along. Okay, I’m joking about that last one, as prairie dogs will tear those hawks some new b-holes in a second.

Another dirt road, but not the one I thought I wanted. While it will get us where we’re going, the passage of time lets me forget how Caroline and I got to the same destination 15 years earlier. No matter, as it’s beautiful out this way.

As Jessica and I drove through Canadian, Texas, and I recounted Caroline’s and my July 4th, 2006 celebration of Independence Day with a parade, rodeo, small fair, and fireworks, I mentioned that we’d stayed at the ranch house featured in the Tom Hanks film Cast Away. Asking if Jess was curious to see it and that it was nearby, we meandered out the dirt roads that brought us here.

The old house that still looked pristine six years after Cast Away was released is now showing some serious wear. We learned from the Arrington family back then about the problems with ranching in this region due to depleting groundwater and drought, so there are those issues of needing the capital to support life out this way. Some months ago, I wrote to Mike and Debbie (the Arringtons) about the possibility of renting the property again but was informed that the bed and breakfast side of the ranch was no longer available.

One-thousand thirty-eight miles ago, we turned south and had already spoken with a few people who were lamenting the drought conditions and grasshopper infestation. Well, we are in Texas now, and true to form, things are bigger out here. The grasshopper on the right was already bigger than the ones we saw jumping away from the car when we had stopped for photos in North and South Dakota. The grasshopper on the left could have been saddled and ridden off into the sunset; it was close to being reclassified as a monster.

Tiptoeing On The Ocean Of Storms is the name of the sculpture of astronaut Alan L. Bean, who was the 4th person to walk on the moon. This monument to a favorite son of Wheeler, Texas, stands in front of the local historical museum. Even the road out front (U.S. Route 83) has been renamed in honor of Captain Bean.

The anger I spoke of earlier is not hidden; it is in plain sight, and the juxtaposition of the assault rifle with the church that is reflected in the window speaks to the fundamental zealotry that has festered in these corners of America. Sadly, or maybe fortunately, this will all disappear as these towns continue their decay into irrelevance.

These two photos of the rifle and this absolutely empty main street play testament to my supposition that towns such as Shamrock, Texas, pictured here and a broad array of others up and down the middle of America will continue their fade-out. I find this tragic as it speaks volumes to the type of mentality that populates these remote corners where people are inflexible, under-educated, and often afraid of change though they’d likely challenge my gross characterization, possibly even with a weapon, thus proving the above.

Back in the day, at the height of Shamrock’s population, the town had nearly 3,800 citizens, but today, that’s about half of what it was. Old U.S. Route 66 intersected with U.S. Route 83 as people passed through the crossroads of America right here, but that time is over, and discovery and exploration are relics from a different age.

After 1,125 miles (1,810 kilometers) on the 83 South, we turned west on Texas Highway 256. We peeled off 20 miles early before reaching Childress, Texas, as we tried to shave some driving time off the day.

Why did the javelina cross the road? Don’t answer, as it didn’t end well. A few feet away from this lifeless creature was the truck driver’s license plate that was torn from the vehicle, so if the person who lost Texas plate number AK5 6815 ever looks for that number, here’s the animal your truck took out.

Welcome to Lesley, Texas, a great place for people looking to photograph the spreading decline of America and a horrible reminder of what it once was to the handful of people who might still live in the area.

I don’t think this recliner has seen use in many a year though the birds seem to enjoy pooping on the left corner of it when they’re not taking aim at the walls.

The first thing my daughter noticed here was the 1970s plastic cup holder over the sink. I think she wanted it. Come to think about it, she might have snagged it because while she went upstairs to explore that area, I ventured outside, but not before…

…I admired the toilet with an open lid that I could only imagine what was in it. You see, I was afraid to step into this room because I couldn’t be certain how much floor damage might have occurred from water, and my curiosity to peer into a potentially shit-filled bowl was lower than my sense of preservation that wanted to remain in the light.

Speaking of remaining in the light and sketchy floors, the neighboring house met all the criteria of being a place I wasn’t going to step into, and while you probably can’t see it over on the left at the lower corner of the window is a small part of a hive of bees. Below that is the larger part of the hive that is peeking out of the dark hole and is moving along the lower wall. I was looking at 1000s of these chill bees that, fortunately for me, were not disturbed by my presence.

Look at my horse. My horse is amazing. Give it a lick, Ooh, it tastes just like raisins.

Dimmitt, Texas is not a misspelling, as I was reassured that a Dimwitt would only be found in the mirror. Had we arrived an hour earlier, we could have eaten here, so it goes.

What is it about grain silos that are such interesting architectural structures? Maybe it’s the repeating megalithic brutalist forms they take? Or maybe it’s their demonstration of historical significance and the lingering echoes of the steam trains pulling through to collect the wheat or barley for hauling across America? Whatever it is, I know that when I see these silos off in the distance, there’s a likelihood I’ll be stopping to snap a photo or two of them.

Getting closer to home as our trip is winding down fast.

Before we’re even 50 feet into New Mexico, we get to encounter our first abandoned building, an old motel. This dilapidated place rests in decay in the small town of Texico, New Mexico. I think the founders of this town were being cute when they married Texas to Mexico. This motel used to be known as the Cross Roads Motel, and from the state of the sign out front, I’d have to guess it hasn’t been deserted for all that long.

The empty toilet paper roll is right across from the toilet that had been used fairly recently; I hope the person knew before they started their business that there’d be nothing to wipe with. Just as I’m writing that I realized that the shower curtain is still there, so in an emergency, I guess it could be used to clean the old b-hole.

Yeso, New Mexico is a big Nogo these days.

Here we are in the Mesa Hotel, which was a museum at one time after the demise of the building’s use as a lodging stop. Though the faded paint is difficult to read, you can still make out that rooms used to cost from 75 cents to one dollar.

It seems that Yeso came into being as a train stop, and when trains transitioned from coal and steam power to diesel, the need for the station that existed here was no more. So began the decline of another outpost in the frontier.

Looking for details regarding Yeso after getting home, I learned that there’s still a single resident living here in town. Her name is Deborah Dawson, and I can only wish we’d met her. I suppose if she made herself known to everyone who stops to look around she’d be a full-time tour guide for the curious.

Like hotel rooms that used to go for a dollar, it’s been many years since a tobacco seller supplied businesses with sponsored signage announcing their opening and closing hours. That business now belongs to Visa/Mastercard it seems.

Maybe you are wondering if there are any viable towns remaining on the route we’ve taken, and the answer would be a resounding yes. While not one of them feels like a place to find success or even a future, they do exist. From Minot and Bismarck, North Dakota; Pierre, South Dakota; and North Platte, Nebraska, there are those places that appear to be holding on, but in over 1,000 miles, those were about it.

Another 50 miles west, and we pull into Encino, New Mexico. Do you see a trend?

And then the real treasure is found just off the road on a small spur where nearly a dozen vehicles are pulled over. Under one of these giant turbine blades, a few people sat just finishing up dinner. We learned that these loads travel pretty quickly, but how long they can be on the road in one day is limited. At approximately 200 feet long from the nose of the semi to the tip of the blade behind them, these are some seriously long loads. One of the guys demonstrates how flexible these fiberglass creations are and allows us to reach up and touch them. For something that weighs more than 10,000 pounds each, they sure are easy to move.

Another day with a ton of miles accumulating behind us, but we still have a good amount of time before we reach the end of today’s road.

I, for one, can never get enough of spectacular sunsets, and this one being filtered through the heavy smoke from the California fire allows us to look at the sun with our naked eye. Not good for the environment, but it sure plays pretty with the aesthetic.

The sign is the worst for wear, and COVID has created the situation that our old favorite stop in Socorro is now closed Monday and Tuesday in addition to closing at 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. depending on staffing, but lucky for us, we arrived on a Sunday night before they locked the doors. The El Camino Family Restaurant has served us countless times on our journeys into and across the region. Our motel tonight was just short of being a nightmare, but when everything else is costing $159 and up, what should one expect for $67? Tomorrow is the beginning of the end.

Traveling Again

July 29, 2021 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

East of Superior, Arizona

After that last blog entry, my longest ever at 11,833 words, I needed a break from writing critical things. So, I turned to work on old blog entries. I did some backfill of photos for various, long-neglected trips from 2004, 2007, and 2011. Along the way, Caroline and I fixed a date for the two of us to visit Germany together, and those tickets are now reserved. Meanwhile, with all the travels of May and June, including the Big Sur Coast and Germany, I’d forgotten about a trip coming up early next year that will take us to Chiapas and Oaxaca in Mexico. the first part of that adventure is all about the fiber arts of Chiapas. A conversation with our travel companions opened up online that brought my attention back to this Mexican adventure. I suppose we should somehow give thought to it though I can’t really think how I’ll prepare any better.

While steeped in the old blog entries from 2011, I focused on writing about a particular visit to Oregon that had us visit the “Spruce Goose” airplane from Howard Hughes. The more I looked at the images from that 5-day vacation, the more I longed for a return to Oregon, and so I booked us two nights at Carl G. Washburne State Park and a night at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park for later this year. Speaking of vacations, last December, I’d mentioned that Caroline and I were going to raft the Selway River in Idaho around the 4th of July this year with friends; well my need to be in Germany derailed that for us.

Off the Salt River on Highway 60 north of Globe, Arizona

In between all of that, but still connected to the old blog entries, this time from a 2004 trip, I was filling in some details and old photos of my daughter Jessica and my first-ever road trip together and called her, inviting her to read the updates. Soon, we were talking about how it’s been a couple of years since we’ve seen each other, and as she recently got her COVID vaccinations, I suggested we should consider the idea of a new road trip and found she was ready for some traveling. Well, then I found a room available at the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone National Park, and our trip started taking shape. We leave today, just she and I.

On this trip, while on the road, I’m going to invest myself in taking a more studied approach towards photography. Typically, I just point and shoot, grabbing enough to end up with a couple of dozen good photos that I can share here, but I don’t focus on taking great images. Well, that’s changing for this 11-day journey as I’m bringing five lenses, a tripod, and better attention to focus, aperture, and low ISO.

Near Salt River Canyon in Arizona

About my writing, some of the days on the road will be easier to write about than others due to the different natural areas we’ll be exploring. I’ve intentionally loaded up on some days that I hope will present challenges to my use of descriptive language.

Rounding out the time shared with Jessica will be my need to dip into a synthesizer I’ll be taking along. For that, I recently migrated some modules into a portable case that allows me to take the essentials to help with beta-testing a particular module a friend is creating. With our trip to Germany coming up fast, I need to get in as much time as possible, digging into the way things work in the firmware to help make it as idiot-proof as possible [John, the proper word is user-friendly – Caroline].

Heading towards St. Johns, Arizona

Stacked up, this looks like a lot of things to do and not enough time in a day to do them all, and if I fail, I’ll fall behind in such a way with the photography, writing, and testing that I won’t be able to catch up in a meaningful enough way. So, I am writing this to myself as a mantra to not falter in my resolve to do everything I need to do. In order to extract every ounce of value from the investment in time, energy, and money, this must offer an incredibly experiential contribution to my memories, but isn’t that always the case for how I approach life?

North of St. Johns, Arizona

In full disclosure, all the above was written a couple of days ago, but I never took a photo to match it to, and so it wasn’t published. So, I’m assembling this post tonight after arriving in Cortez, Colorado, after the first full day of traveling with Jessica. The photos above and below were all shot during our drive when we had good weather. We had a lot of gray and our fair share of rain, but here we are out on the road.

Somewhere in New Mexico

This will be the longest trip my daughter and I take together as I believe the previous lengthiest was maybe five days maximum. I’m pensive as we dig into this 3,000-mile-long haul as there’s a lot of driving, and she’s a sporty, stay-active kind of person, which causes me a bit of concern.

Somewhere in New Mexico

But out we’ll go and see what the road has to deliver as we bring ourselves into the unknown territory of sharing so much time together.

Being Out – Day 2

August 23, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Without a sound, we woke from our internal alarm to find the house reflecting its age with quiet. It’s only when moving into the parlor that the tick-tock of a clock becomes our companion to the emerging day. The place settings that were put out the night before identify where breakfast will be, but that’s still being concocted if Clayton and Deborah’s movements in their kitchen are indicators. Coffee is brought out with the promise of being strong in order to appeal to our European sensibility. We start to wipe away the remnants of sleep with this jolt of caffeine and the serenading of opera flowing from the kitchen and wait patiently; Caroline knits a sock, and I am writing.

Breakfast must be identified and accounted for as it is a labor of passion and investment of skills. Initially, we were informed that the cooking services were on hold for the duration of the virus, but it turns out that my rhapsody about the wizardry of tastes that enchanted our memories of a January visit was enough to have Deborah inquire of the man behind the frying pan if he’d be willing to grace us with a new ensemble of flavors to help us break the overnight fast. He agreed.

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Aplomb cannot be the right choice of words as I do not believe Clayton finds his time in the culinary alchemist’s lab to be demanding. Our breakfast arrives, radiating the skills of the maestro. We are brought a small ramekin of fresh fruit, a carafe of juice, and a plate separated into threes, which could be a nod to the father, the son, and the holy ghost, or is it a reflection of academia where there is your opinion, my opinion, and someone else’s opinion? On second thought, maybe nothing at all was implied with our servings of veggie frittata, field roast sausage, and chia seed pancakes about to be topped with prickly pear agave syrup, but it’s nice to dream. As for the appeal of the palette? Gluttony would have me asking for seconds while manners dictate I simply gush over the exquisite meal.

Speaking of dreaming, it is time to temporarily leave this house to wander over to the Gila Cliff Dwellings and visit others’ faded dreams.

Gila River at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

In the distance, long before we ever reach our destination, we start to see where normal used to be. Driving into an adjacent state reminds me of the freedom to roam. Our sense of place has an inherent need to take ourselves to the end of the road in order to look out and wonder what’s beyond the limits of what we can see and know. Our exercise in exploration offers us a footing to better understand what the toil at home is for. This journey over to Silver City, New Mexico, where we’ll connect to State Road 15 going north through Pinos Altos and up into the Gila National Forest area, where the cliff dwellings are, will literally deliver us to the end of the road.

Caroline Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Nearly two hours of twisting, windy road in an air-conditioned car traveling between 25 and 45 mph allowed us to arrive in the middle of nowhere in comfort; we even had iced drinks in the backseat along with snacks for our visit by way of absolute luxury. The entire way, I thought about those who would have lived in the cliff dwelling we are visiting for the second time in our lives. How far did they venture away from home? Had any of them ever gone so far as to walk to the ocean? What was the totality of their universe? I’d wager that they likely did not have concepts for the need to escape on a weekend sojourn to change things up.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

From the clues that remain in the area, researchers have surmised that people known as the Mimbres lived in this area, with the Gila River running through it, from about 1,000 to the year 1,250. Only 25 years later, the members of the Mogollon people took up residence on the cliffside, building a series of 46 stone rooms within five caves, but then abandoned the area a bit over 100 years later. We have little certainty about what was in the minds of indigenous peoples of North America since before we could learn of their customs and history, our ancestors tried to annihilate all references and appearances of what they might have contributed to our culture. Such was the weakness our forefathers felt about their own religion. Funny, not funny, how that holds true to this day.

While I stand upon lands they were forced to give us, I cannot stand in their footsteps. I watch the shadows of birds whose ancestors flew over the same adjacent canyons as their descendants. Lizards scurry about just as they would have when the Mogollon and Mimbres people walked amongst them; I can’t help but wonder if the lizards and birds don’t know more about the people of these lands than we ever will.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

I’m jealous of the stones that knew the touch and felt the warmth radiating from the people and their hearths, taking refuge from the elements within these homes fashioned by ancient architects. I listen closely to the silence but cannot hear the echoes of knowledge of the band of humans brought to this corner of remoteness.

I don’t mean to infer there was ever anything in North America like a hub or city for the millions of indigenous people that strode among the trees, mountains, rivers, and animals over the centuries. The one thing I can surmise, though, is that while they likely knew hardship, they also knew how to occupy a quiet place upon the land, which has me questioning if they didn’t find a kind of enlightenment in the quiet of the mind when one soars effortlessly within one’s environment.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

But this is all speculation and flights of fantasy, as my own mind is a hive of parasitic jingles and messages conditioned by consumption that were supposed to deliver me to happiness and success. I can have everything shipped home from Amazon, Walmart, musical instrument shops, all kinds of food, even marijuana, but I cannot have anyone bring me the vastness of being from a place that conveys the spectacle only nature can deliver to one’s eyes, ears, nose, and touch. For this reason, I will always be poor.

Wild grape at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Had it been the Mimbres or the Mogollon living here, they did so without fee, without tax, without deed, and without anyone to answer to. All they needed to do was survive, and maybe that wasn’t all that easy as, within about 100 years, they abandoned their perch with a view. I don’t believe they all perished, but would like to think they moved on as circumstances had become difficult, which necessitated a relocation, and that their descendants are now in nearby communities. As a visitor to these lands, I’m allowed to take nothing besides my memories and photographs; I cannot even pick a wild grape that would have been free for the taking in the centuries before my ancestors arrived.

Caroline Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Caroline has continued in her effort to know something more about the place we’ve been visiting and on our arrival, she inquired about the local Junior Ranger program only to learn she could earn her Senior Ranger badge today. Needing to understand what could be gleaned from a visit to this National Monument, she ventured up the trail, trying to capture every clue from the details on display so that when the park ranger tested her knowledge, she might qualify for the honor of once again taking the oath to help protect what is held as important to our culture. With her right hand raised, socially distanced, and masked up, Caroline is now a Senior Ranger.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Our own time here was extraordinarily brief, and the timing was perfect, with beautiful skies on hand until they started to darken with the threat of storms on the horizon. We managed to visit another small dwelling and almost missed some incredible pictographs had my eye not caught a hint of them after we’d started to drive away. I reversed back to the Lower Scorpion campground and pulled into the parking lot again so we could take a different trail that delivered the reward of more than a dozen cliffside panel pieces with meanings lost in time or at least lost to the invading forces. We can admire the messaging from afar, but deciphering their intrinsic value is a guessing game that I cannot claim to know how to win.

Driving south toward Silver City, New Mexico

Our signs, on the other hand, are easy to parse, “This windy road pissed off others who passed this way which required them to leave their vehicle with a weapon and attempt to murder the sign.” We’ll pass through old town Pinos Altos on our way back through Silver City, where we’ll need to get dinner. This town is not very well equipped for serving people food on a Sunday. Most restaurants are closed. I can only guess that Silver City is not really on anyone’s map of places to go, and so with a depressed economy, the locals cannot support these businesses seven days a week. If there was a demand from tourists, I’m sure owners would have brought on staff.

Once we’d decided on where we’d pick up food, we started hearing a commotion outside of our windows; it was the buzz of cicadas sounding, unlike the ones we have in Phoenix. Their screams were like a sine wave of volume modulation that would wax and wane, and at the top of their crescendo, you wouldn’t be blamed if you were slightly frightened into thinking some kind of imminent explosion of their species was about to occur. I say, unlike their Arizona brethren, as the chirp is significantly different.

Caroline Wise dining el fresco in Silver City, New Mexico

After our incredibly mediocre Mexican dinner, taken al fresco in a local park, we licked the wounds of having missed out on one of New Mexico’s famous green chili dishes, but there will be other visits to this part of the Southwest in the future. On the bright side, we are enjoying the idea of taking our food to go and finding a picnic table to have a private dinner in the great outdoors.

Driving west towards Mule Creek in New Mexico

Our options to return to Duncan were to go back the way we’d come or take a longer route up north on a road we’d not traveled in years. Of course, we took the long way. Were we rewarded with some spectacular sunset for our efforts? Nope. But, there was one moment when a deep, beet-red sun peeked through a keyhole in the clouds and let us have a tiny glimpse of our star far out in the distance. We’d never seen such a phenomenon and sadly do not have photographic proof as the road we were on was not amenable to pulling over safely to indulge our sense of capturing an aesthetic we’d not experienced yet in all of our years. Such is the magic of the little moments that pass without documentation, images, icons, or words. It feels like the Mogollon people and so many other native peoples from these lands can only be seen as the fleeting image of something profound and beautiful glimpsed through the tiniest of keyholes.

Duncan Arizona – Day 2

January 25, 2020 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Along the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

Up at the crack of dawn because who says clichés shouldn’t be lived by on occasion? Looking out the front door at the frozen cars gave me pause, but not so much to stop our momentum to catch the sunrise and see if the bird trail lived up to its name.

Along the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

The grasses are alive as early birds flutter undercover of the brush. Overhead, we can hear the approach of the sandhill cranes long before we see them. Cranes turn out to be quite common here in the area at this time of year. Last night, we learned of the Wings Over Willcox festival that celebrates the cranes. It is held each January, and we will try to place a permanent note in our heads to visit next year.

Along the Gila River in Duncan, Arizona

Our walk along the Gila River this morning took us on a mile-and-a-half long loop trail under a clear, frosty 34-degree blue sky here near the Arizona and New Mexico state line. The bird trail ended up being well worth the minor effort to bundle up and get a little exercise in before breakfast, and with the eight o’clock hour approaching (the time we told our hosts that we’d like to eat), we had to head back.

Cat at the Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Maliki the Cat enjoying the warm sun and a snuggle in front of the big window at the Simpson Hotel. As much as the Simpson acts as a hotel, it has a dual role as Bed & Breakfast. Deborah and Clayton, the proprietors of this historic building, made us a terrific homemade, gourmet breakfast, allowing us to move at a slower pace than would be typical when we are anxious to get out and start exploring the area.

Joyce and Juliette came down to join us after a bit, which slowed us down yet again. Talk of sandhill cranes, ghosts, hotel lore, and an interesting trail out by Virden, New Mexico.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at the Arizona and New Mexico state line near Virden, New Mexico

The interesting trail wasn’t found, but the state line was. Mea culpa time, as I’ve bragged countless times that Caroline has already passed over every state line crossing that Arizona has. Well, we’ve never been over this one. Now, before I go blowing my horn again, I think I’ll pore over a map and see which others I might have missed. Hmm, maybe I could blame this on the fact that paper maps never took us down to a close enough resolution, so this could have been an honest mistake.

Abandoned ranch house in western New Mexico

The outside turned out to be more interesting than the inside of this abandoned ranch house with its multitude of textures, all of them in different states of wear.

Gila River near Virden, New Mexico

I don’t think we drove much more than 20mph on our short loop out the Virden Highway and back up Franklin Road. Along the way, we stopped to admire a small flock of sandhill cranes in a farmer’s field, and then next door, Caroline pilfered a bunch of pecans that were still on the trees. She’d call it gleaning; I just hung my head in shame.

The muddy water racing by is the Gila River. It gets its start near the Continental Divide in some mountains east of us and then collects the waters of almost half a dozen other rivers as it passes through Phoenix until reaching the Colorado River down near Yuma, Arizona. After traveling a length of the river today and having watched the patterns of the sandhill cranes this morning, it is obvious that they stay very close to the river while out looking for food.

Caroline Wise at Hilda's Mexican Cafe in Duncan, Arizona

After a meander over the countryside listening to Westlin’ Winds by Robert Burns, we are back in Duncan at Hilda’s for some Mexican food though I wimped on trying the Meat Daddy, which now seems more appropriate while listening to At Seventeen by Janis Ian.

The Rugged and Obese could be the tagline for many of these out-of-the-way outposts that were once something and are now, more often than not, on their way to oblivion. From the amount of tossed-off beer cans, shooters, and broken glass the drinking problems that are supposed to relieve loneliness are hard at work here where little else is found.

Lunch is solid, but hopefully, not so much that it leads us to a siesta. While coffee might be in order about now to ward off drowsiness, we know in a place like this, it’ll be something along the lines of Folgers or Yuban, and after years of strong coffee, that stuff seems like water dolled up to look like coffee, but it’s not fooling us.

With nothing else needing our attention, the thought of just sitting here sipping coffee and smoking while talking about nothing sounds appealing if it weren’t for the fact we neither enjoy smoking nor is it allowed in restaurants anymore. Funny that we grew up in an age where smoking at the table was the norm. To compensate, Caroline has fetched her knitting while I swipe notes into my smartphone, allowing us to skip the chatting part, too; at least we have “coffee.”

Ruth just came in. Strangely enough, this is the third time running into her in less than 24 hours. Last night in Safford at Walgreens, we stopped and picked up Girl Scout cookies from her and the troop. Then, this morning, heading out of Duncan, we pull up to get gas, and there’s Ruth chaperoning some other girls, so we buy even more cookies we don’t need.

Drive-in Theater in Three Way, Arizona

We are way out in the middle of nowhere. The junction is called Three Way, and over 60 years ago, when this giant movie screen was erected, it must have drawn people in from far and wide. I can still hear the echoes of excitement as the car got into position and the tinny speaker was pulled into the car as maybe Cary Grant in To Catch A Thief or James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause flickered onto the screen back in 1955. Walking over to the refreshment counter for a fountain drink and the smell of fresh popcorn would round out the treat of visiting this window to the world that may as well have been a million miles away from those who worked on the ranches and in the mines of rural Arizona and New Mexico.

Looking out the Morenci Mine near Clifton, Arizona

While we miss the paper maps of yore, the in-dash panel of our Kia Niro hybrid features maps that are seriously accurate for letting us find alternate routes to places. A small side road took us out for some nice views towards Morenci and its mining operations (left side of the photo) and past the Clifton Cemetery.

Clifton, Arizona Cemetery

Masin Greenlee may be the most famous person buried at the Clifton Cemetery as one of the 15 counties in Arizona, Greenlee County is named after him. But there are 1098 other people buried in these rugged and rocky mountains, including a number of children such as Baby Goss here, who died December 30, 1924, on the same day this infant was born. There were a number of graves from back in that time where babies didn’t make it or lived only a few days before passing on.

Clifton, Arizona

Clifton, Arizona, is as close to being a ghost town as it can get. If the local mining operation were to cease, this town would blow away. Turns out that it’s almost washed away a number of times due to storms that created catastrophic flooding of the nearby San Francisco River.

This is not our first visit to Clifton, but it is one of the saddest. We’ve enjoyed peeking into derelict old buildings on previous visits, but today, they are mostly boarded up. We can only figure it’s due to vandalism. We’d ask someone, but nobody is around to ask. Most of the few shops that are here are closed on Saturday, which baffles us. There was one small shop open towards the end of Chase Creek Street where a young woman shared some of the pleasures and struggles of living in a town with such difficult living conditions regarding work and the availability of simple things like credit and loans to buy houses and such.

Speaking of Chase Creek Street, that catastrophic flooding I spoke of was exacerbated by the fact that the main road that slices through this part of Clifton and this historic district is part of the creek that, while small or non-existent in dry years, has been known to achieve flows of water that rival the Colorado river when reaching flood stages. We learned about this as we finally Googled why this town has giant steel doors at the south end of the place that are reminiscent of flood gates used in Japan, where tsunamis occur: those doors are part of Clifton’s flood control.

1941 Cadillac Flying Lady Hood Ornament seen in Clifton, Arizona

I think this is the Flying Lady from a 1941 Cadillac, but I’m only about 95% certain. I wonder if the owner knows these hood ornaments can sell for about $750, and if he did, would it still just be sitting out next to the street? A few doors down was another intriguing hood ornament on what might have been a 1950s Cadillac.

Big Horn Sheep in Clifton, Arizona

Getting ready to leave town, we ran into this team of bighorn sheep with that ram over there giving me stink eye more than once.

San Francisco River in Clifton, Arizona

This is the San Francisco River that in 1983, was moving 56,000 cubic feet per second of floodwater through its channel. Today during our visit, it’s only about 520 cubic feet per second. With fading light, we pointed the car south to return to Duncan and get some dinner at the Ranch House before settling in at our cozy hotel. As we head into being tired and seriously satisfied with the day, we are at a loss for what we might do tomorrow. Having that kind of flexibility is not a bad thing.

Katharina – Chaco Culture

July 6, 2019 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Caroline Wise and Katharina Engelhardt at Chaco Culture NHP in New Mexico

Good thing our journey through the San Juan Mountains up there in Colorado happened yesterday because a fairly thick cloud cover has moved into the region today.

We left Durango without fanfare and didn’t wait around for the old steam train to leave the station; we left the station, so to speak. Our destination was only two hours down the road in New Mexico, but I wanted us to have as much time as possible here at Chaco Culture National Historical Park.