New Mexico in the rear view mirror
November 5, 2009

Woohoo! Departing New Mexico, nice as can be, but it’s not Arizona, my native state that beckons just down the road. For stopping in Las Cruces only two nights/one day, it seemed much longer because of our activities.

Beginning with the last, we enjoyed a wonderful rare visit with my uncle Gene and wife Barbara. They are longtime El Paso residents, so we bopped backwards to that city to meet them for supper and a super conversational evening. Interesting trying to catch up on life and families, but we did our best. At age 81, Gene continues still to do some ballroom dancing and occasional competition, one of his enjoyable ways to stay in shape. I think the last time we saw them was when they and their Chino Valley friends dined at our home enough years ago that none of us recalls the date.

Our parking spot at the KOA in Las Cruces was spectacular, not a description I typically use for RV parks. It is perched 300 feet on top of a hill overlooking the Rio Grande Valley and the city with a million-dollar view across to the impressive Organ Mountains, so named because their series of tall spires reminded the namers of organ pipes. Sadly, I was not in residence in the evening when I could get a photo of that view. Maybe I’ll borrow one for the blog; they’re very impressive.

A frustrating drawback was the wifi service that rejected my mail program, so I spent an inordinate amount of time fiddling-diddling around trying to get that stupid blog post out via webmail. If I’d been watching someone else in that comedic struggle, I would have had to laugh.

First, I copy and paste the blog into webmail, then I try to figure out how to do the link. By the time I search that out, the service has shut down so I have to copy and paste again. Now I can get the post and the link, but I forget how to get the address list over there. A couple of false starts with that and the thing shutting down and starting over . . . and on and on and on. In the end, I didn’t think the post was worth posting anyway and I don’t think the link worked, but what they hey . . . the mountains called so I let ‘er go.

While I fussed and mussed, Chris did a bit of research and was standing by with a plan, so away we went to the mountains. He adjusted our route through town in an attempt to traverse anything historic - commercial or residential - but such was not to be. His reading indicated that Las Cruces is a boom town, going from 2,000ish in the 1920s, now 95,000. No idea where they might have been hiding whatever exists of older sections; it will be a mystery to us until our next visit.

I seem to be having a little rebellious fit, somehow brought on by a radio news bit saying someone or other was out of swine flu vaccine; more was said to be coming but there was no way of knowing when it would arrive. For crying out pete’s sake, how hard is it to tell when something will arrive? One finds out where the package is located and calculates the time for transport. It’s not like it’s randomly rolling across the plains wrapped up in a tumbleweed and its time of arrival is based on when, how hard and which direction the wind blows. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d surmise that this type of pronouncement is designed to accustom us to the idea that we have no control over our lives and that all is randomly occurring. We should maybe just stand here picking our noses until someone tells us where to line up. Okay, I got that off my chest, so will move on to the day’s activities.

The Organs, ghost camps . . .































































We climbed up into the Organ Mountains at a BLM site called Dripping Spring. The trail took us from Las Cruces’ 3,900-foot elevation to 6,000 feet, and was spectacular every step of the way. The only wildlife we encountered was a tarantula ambling across our path. As I observed it, I had to wonder how they obtain their food. It’s a cinch that no bug is going to hang around waiting while that thing lumbers over to it - another must-research item.

The natural grandeur of the towering lichen-colored rock peaks above us was enhanced by the interesting historical aspect of the site. Of course any spring in the desert has been host to men and animals, visitors and settlers, for as long as it and they existed, and this one is no exception.

Winding around various ways at the foot of the cliffs, we saw the ruins, some very well preserved, of a 19th century resort complex, a mountain camp and a sanitorium; one of











































the buildings still has wallpaper remnants and tatters of ceiling muslin. Interpretive signs along the way helped us to know what we were seeing. As always, I took a zillion photos, can’t seem to help myself in circumstances of ruins, water or any places of spectacular natural beauty.

At their heyday, the abandoned complexes were fairly grandiose and extensive. The spring feeds into a small reservoir perched in a precipitous canyon. A perfect weather day for hiking and we were lulled into resting by the reedy reservoir and marveling at the distant views thus afforded.

Our trusty binoculars allowed us to add quite a few birds to the trip list: roadrunner, Gambel’s quail (those two make me wonder if the numerous ones at my house have abandoned me for better accommodations or if they’re waiting to amuse me with their antics), cactus wren, loggerhead shrike, canyon towhee, western scrub jay, white crowned sparrow and white winged dove.

Redtails fighting . . .

Walking back down, I remarked that we hadn’t seen a hawk all day when suddenly we heard the cry of one nearby. We were astounded when we located two red tail hawks fighting. One had a meal firmly clutched in its talons and the other was diving and jinking, trying to snatch the animal dangling from the other’s claws. It seemed the attacker was the one making all the racket; the battle went on easily for five minutes before it was conceded. We were thrilled to get to watch the show. I had no idea that a hawk would even attempt such a thing.

Time travel, Mesilla, Rio Grande . . .

We have been given back the three hours that was taken from us as we traveled eastward. I always think it should be returned with interest when it comes back, seems only fair to get a bonus day or two for giving up those hours during the past four months.

I have long been interested in the Las Cruces area, and want to do much more exploration. We had thought we might spend our day there checking out the charming little historic town of Mesilla, but opted for the boonies instead. We did eat at La Posta in Mesilla, housed in a 130-year-old building and interestingly decorated with 20-feet-tall trees, caged tropical birds including a scarlet macaw and large aquarium fish - even a piranha complete with an admonition not to dangle any fingers into the tank.

Extensive agricultural pursuits fill the valley: there are many hundreds of acres of pecan orchards and cotton fields, all kinds of fruit and vegetables, with many vineyards and wineries. One back road we drove was beautifully arched by pecan trees reaching across and over the roadway, giving us a leafy green tunnel to drive through.

It was surprising, though, to see that the Rio Grande has been reduced to not much more than a trickle wandering serpentine through its sandy bottom from one bank to the other.

I’m sure I will be jumping into the swimming pool when we get to Far Horizons today after going from the sweater-cool morning of Las Cruces into the forecast 90 degrees in Tucson. We had hoped to lunch and visit with brother and sis Frank and Pat on our way through Benson but couldn't get connected with them in time.

Tucson . . .

How fun to be greeted by Sam upon our arrival at the park. He is simply one of the nicest guys ever; we got to know him during previous stays and he was one of those who put so much energy into Chris' house concert/wine & cheese party here last year - what a great time that was.

Norma and George came to call after we got set up. Norma and I go way back to nerdom/childhood. We had a hilarious evening here and going out to dinner at Picacho Peak steakhouse. Seems to be typical when we get together with them that we have an all-around great time. Sara still talks about the time we visited here many years ago and the fact that Norma and I cackled and carried on pretty much the whole entire time. There are those special friendships that are unaffected by time and distance.

I would try to explain about how George got us special seating at the restaurant but then couldn’t seem to get all of us rounded up in the same place at the same time, but it was so complicated that we couldn’t even figure it out at the time. Ah well, at long last we settled down to a fine meal with excellent service.

We awoke in a most leisurely manner to a perfectly pleasant morning. The three of us watched a steady stream of birds coming to our feeders: we’re back in hummingbird country; we already got three species - Anna’s, broadtailed and black-chinned, in addition to verdins, Gila woodpeckers and house finches. Chris and I identified them; Rowdy drooled.