Up in the forest we trundled about. The large stump on the upper right was nearly as wide as the car.
There were several small groves, but we never found any approaching the size of those in the northern section. Still, Smith was duly impressed.
The road into Wishon campground continues out the back and, we were told, goes quite a ways. We only went about half a mile.
Temperatures are mild with warm days dipping into freezing only at the higher elevations.
When the rains came we went into Porterville. While there It cleared up so we went back. It was a few miles past Camp Nelson we found the forest road (top photo) to a nice campspot on the side of the hill. Just large enough for us to turn around, It seems we're destined to continue finding opportunities to be grateful for Phoebe (1996 Geo Tracker 4WD).
Destination by whim. For the last ten years or so I've been trying to get The Michellles (three els when referred to collectively) to move and had, somehow, gotten the notion that Tuscon would be good for wintering. It was time to go see. By the time I got to Socorro (to the tune of that Glen Campbell song) it was already too hot. I camped at my spot on Caballo Lake where the braying of sandhill cranes competes with coyote howls. But if it was this hot here, it was gonna be WAY too hot in Tuscon. So I went to Silver City and took highway 180 north. The Fall colors were hard at it and in Alma we took the road to Cooney's Tomb where, just beyond the "residential area," we crossed the creek (4WD!!!) and found a nice hidey-hole next to a tidy, well-built corral. We, Smith and I, strolled back down to the creek where she clambered aboard a huge cottonwood and stroad its decks, practicing her Captain stances and yelling "Avast!" and "Ha'd tuh sta'bd matey!" After a while I started back, calling every 100 feet. I could see her moving between the crotches, ignoring my encouragements. (Whaddya expect? She IS a cat.) After waiting a bit, I returned and stood peering up into the mass and calling. It was so big I had to crane back and it wasn't until I paused to rest a moment that I noticed a cat, the very one I was interested in, nonchalantly sniffing an old limb lying on the ground a few feet in front of me. Cats!!! I picked her up and carried her toward camp until, after about 300 feet, she started squirming and (silently) yelling, "Put me down! Put me down!" Assured she wasn't gonna go back to the tree, I wandered back to camp and she, enjoyed summiting the ones along the way.
Near on tuh dusk I heard a truck stop on the road and a door close. I waited at the trail and, sure enough, 'bout five minutes later a bean pole of a guy showed up. He said he'd heard there was a corral and he'd come to look at it. I was skeptical and thinking him a rancher investigating his new "neighbor" asked how long he'd lived here. Turned out he'd moved down from Aragon a couple of months ago. He was into photography and really had come to see the corral. I invited him up and led him through camp. Somehow the conversation drifted to some pictures he'd gotten of a mountain lion a few days earlier. He'd managed, with his little Cybershotesque happysnapper, to catch the lion in mid-stride as it, nearly 1,000 feet away, leaped for safety after it heard the click of his first "shot." I gave him my email but he doesn't use a computer so we'll only get to see it if his son follows through. But it's nice to know they haven't killed 'em all. And this one was a fine specimen! Photos arrived (11/18/16)!! As original...... The lion is almost dead center.
A bit left of and below center. Cropt.... ...the upper image. One could mistake it for a bobcat. Its tail is hidden by the rock.
It's right rear leg is forward and its tail is above and parallel to the left rear leg. The white area is at the base of its tail. It moved approximately 200 feet between the time it heard the click of his first shot. (Youse might wanna consider carryin' some catnip when yer out hiking in the Alma area.)
Not having seen the sequoias in the Fall, I headed west. Somewhere east of Barstow this rabbit showed itself. Bunny behind Barrel (cactus).
Cactus growing out of rock!!!
And that fine, crafted-with-enthusiasm and attention-to-detail roofrack tonied out our "overlander" look, don'tchewtink?
Bessie Smith (April 15, 1894 – September 26, 1937) Nicknamed Empress of the Blues, she was the most popular female blues singer of the 1920s and 1930s.
Celebrated British actress Maggie Smith starred opposite Sir Laurence Olivier in 'Othello' and won her first Oscar for 'The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.' She has since earned acclaim for her roles in the 'Harry Potter' films and 'Downton Abbey.'
The Smiths The Smiths were an English rock band formed in Manchester in 1982. The band consisted of vocalist Morrissey, guitarist Johnny Marr, bassist Andy Rourke and drummer Mike Joyce. Critics have called them the most important alternative rock band to emerge from the British independent music scene of the 1980s.
When in ABQ I sometimes stay at Ms. Cook's blue-collar hovel in the Northeast Frights. After over a year of 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. barking from the dog two doors away I complained. The next door neighbor, a farm-raised bigot, took it upon himself to get revenge. Between his antics and the other three neighbors' dogs, not to mention the increased traffic noise over the last ten years, the place is, for me, almost unbearable. Ms. Cook's company makes it impossible to stay away, but it was time for some fresh air. We, Smith & I, drove to Jemez Springs, the valley of which is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Stopping for an art fix at the gallery, I was delighted to find Ms. Kristen Mendenhall's work. The individual pieces on this wall were priced at $245.00, but at a mere $2,205.00 for the "set," it seems a shame to break them up.
It's occasions such as this where my Sony Cybershot displays its weakness. If anyone has a Nikon D600 (or some such) just lying around I'd be happy to put it to use.
Panel in lower right
Upper Right Panel. I enjoy the perspective and/or depth often seen in abstract and nonrepresentational paintings. Once, while gazing into the infinitude of a Jackson Pollock, I nearly fell over. The contrast in colors and triangular section at the bottom center of this panel offer easy access to the other dimensions.
On my second visit
She also does photography. She explained they are one-inch closeups of rust, the texture of which she captures without exposing the context. Her Artist's Statement is the best explanation I've read of the attraction of abstract and/or non-representational art. So hie thee hence...and the Fall colors are just getting going too.
The Gallery is at the south end just before you get into "downtown."
Highway 485, a little, barely two-lane road that goes to The Gilman Tunnels, is 4 miles (6.4 km) north of Jemez Pueblo Visitors Center.
The photo below was taken near the bridge over the Jemez River on highway 485.
I stopped to ask how late (into the year) Loma Linda C.G. was gonna be open. The HOST assured me All Year. I'm skeptical. Here's the number for the ranger station to check....575-829-3535. It's $5.00 per site. No hookups, pit toilets.
72 hours is my limit. Beyond that and reality gets twisted; things turn ugly. Tomorrow we'll have been here, in ABQ, a week. I recently read about a book: When Breathe Becomes Air in which the author cites a line from Samuel Beckett's The Unnamable; it's the title of this post. I first read Waiting for Godot at age 16...on acid. As it did then, it inspires guffaws, even when things seem too much. When Joe Pesce and Tricklock Theater performed it back in '82 (?) I laughed so hard I fell off my chair. I tho't it odd that the rest of the audience wasn't laughing. I have several copies of Waiting For Godot, the library has the book about breathing. I have yet to read The Unnamable.There're 47 holds on 29 copies on the breath book and as of a few minutes ago there are 4,508 reviews on Amazon. I was impressed by how well-written the one-star reviews, comprising 1%, are. And after reading a few I decided not to enter the "hold" queue. The trips, the driving ones, have themes. The last one was titled Existential Dilemma. It characterized the year. My (calling) card and the blog featured a picture of me, shirtless, tits nearly dragging the ground (teats give milk; tits don't.), struggling to open a beer at 9:00 in the morning. I don't usually "drink" that early, but this was a special occasion and I was attempting to rise to it.
Death has been in the forefront for many of us these recent years. Sometimes I wonder how you...anyone, can go on. Serendipitously, I ran across this... A Hopi Prophecy (This could be a good time!)
...and went back and found this: http://squishytulips.blogspot.com/2015/12/meditative-joyful-magnanimous.html Both convey that joie de vivre. I include 'em here for future reference. Unlike some folks who write for their readers, this is my way of keeping track of where I was when and what happened. But perhaps the above links'll resonate with you too. Thanks to RPM Automotive, Phoebe, my '96 Geo Tracker, now runs like a Swiss watch. And thanks to Koenig's Metalmorphosis she'll soon have a new chapeau (roof rack). Estimated date of departure is 10/13. In the meantime Smith is plotting tricks.
I have, for many years, made attempts at the accordion. Here's one from the oughts...you know -- ought one, ought two, ought seven.
The video was crafted by none other than Ms. Michelle D. Cook, cat-wrangler extraordinaire. I'm playing an expensive -- $40.00 -- toy that died an untimely death when it was put in storage. Heat melted the bees wax that held the reeds in place. It was in Port Orford, Oregon the other day that I was inspired --- you know who you are -- to once again search for an instrument. Smith and I drove to Jemez Springs to look at one seen on Craigslist. The Fall colors are just getting going and the afternoon light gave truth to the phrase Land of Enchantment. If you're touring on highway 4 you might enjoy the side trip on 485 to The Tunnels. The accordion was too big.
In the olde days it was a dangerous place. Passersby would throw bottles and share their local humor. An example: Wanta lift? Stick a jack up yer ass! (H'yuk, h'yuk, h'yuk.) Times have changed. Now they welcome people from all over the world. Well, they welcome their money, anyway. The Indian Market at the exit beyond the east end of town had a new paint job so I stopped to check it out. After the five minute tour of the China-made tommy-hawks I strolled out into the sun to be met with a pleasant, "Nice day isn't it?" Raymond Clark, Sr., an artist, offered to show me another gallery. I followed to the Love's Truck stop/Denny's where the quality was better but boring. I think he must have been testing me 'cuz the next one was it! Some of the most original work I've seen. Over 40 artists. Arizona Indian Arts is small but the quality is astounding! 202 E 2nd Street, on the corner of Williamson Ave and 2nd St. (the one-way (Rt 66) going east). Ph: 928-221-1950 (closed and gone when I passed thru in Oct. 2023)
Lawrence E. Melendez, owner/artist (above) knows everyone personally and can answer any question. I bought this 4 1/2 inch by 3 and 3/4 inch, inkjet print by Joe Maktima for $20.00. This is a terrible photo, it doesn't show the depth of color, but I didn't want to take it out of the cellophane. My collector days are over, but the gifts may sit around for a while before finding homes.
