Occupation of Independence

The best travelers in the world are those who can meet people with interesting lives and talk to them. It must help to have an irrepressibly jovial disposition, be non-threatening, and have the right physical appearance and age. But even if these things aren't perfect, you still get a chance to meet the neighbors, every now and then. First it was the cows and their calves. Then "Hondo" paid call. That really was his name! What a great name for a real Western ranch dog, a workin' dog.   What a lifestyle Hondo must have! But it isn't all fun and games. He has 75 cows to fuss over. Of course he doesn't have to do it all alone. He delegates a certain amount of the workload to his human partner, who drives the ATV. She is recovering from shoulder surgery -- otherwise she would be driving her horse. Hondo even delegated a certain amount of work to me: he assigned me the job of checking on cows and their calves at a local wallow hole. The bottom is glutinous mud, and

I was surprised to see the sharp cut in the volcanic surface. It was visible from the road. After camping close to it, there were plenty of opportunities to do dog-walks into this canyon, if that is what you should call this humble slot in the black volcanic rock. The one thing that seemed certain was that the canyon was small, but sharply cornered at its top. But I didn't know what else to expect. How nice! A few trees were decorating the canyon with the marvelous light greenness of new leaves. Unleafed-out sycamores stood out with their white bark.  The canyon bottom was strewn with large round rocks -- the product of water flow apparently. All of this was such a glaring, but pleasing, contrast with the sharp-cornered top edge of the canyon. It was hard to imagine how a canyon like this could have been formed. Was there some kind of discontinuity in the lava surface where water flow got started, way back when? I guessed right about the depth of the canyon. Usually the sidewal

What a morning! It was getting pretty late, 830 or so, and yet it was still dead calm. I liked how the mountain bike ride started off, but then again, there was nothing in particular to focus on. Hmmm... Except these spider webs. Thirty of them were catching the glancing morning light.     Typically there was a one inch diameter hole underneath the spider web. It seemed like the perfect size for a mouse. But how did the mouse get through the spider web without tearing it up? Could the hole be the residence of the spider itself? A tarantula needs a residence that big. Do tarantulas weave webs, too? Think how big the fiber would have to be to support their weight! There is so much about nature that I need to learn. But I had to chuckle when I realized why these spider webs grabbed my eyes, besides the glancing light: the last few posts have been about adapting to summer, by several means. Among them is switching from sleeping on thermal insulators to sleeping on screen/mesh/netting. The

Was I just imagining the New Mexican landscape as more barren than usual in spring? At any rate it certainly affected me. If a thesaurus were handy, what would the perfect adjective be? 'Disconsolate' might do, although it sounds a bit odd when applied to a landscape. But why fight it? It was impossible to look at this landscape and not sink into hopelessness. We turned a corner and lost some altitude as we approached the mighty river of this area. I couldn't believe what I was seeing: an effusion of light-greenness from the leaves of cottonwood trees that lined the river. Is the green of young leaves special to their newness, or is it just that the brain hasn't seen anything but grey and brown for the last six months? I wanted to scream with relief. Soon we crossed the mighty river, all of four inches deep and four feet wide, and yet it must be responsible for that marvelous verdancy.  It would be interesting to use an auger to drill down 10 feet or so, and then point