Roadtrip to Truth or Consequences
It was my birthday and I wanted nothing better than to go see the crane migration at Bosque del Apache, followed by a soak and thrift-shopping in Truth or Consequences.
No matter how many times one has traveled to the Bosque, the fell of dark effects that essential humbling to one's own small existence. As humans on the planet we have a sacred trust to protect the flights of birds and the world private unto them that the Bosque becomes during the dark.
At sunset, as Conrad and I stood watching a northern harrier hawk, and the dead branch where earlier a bald eagle had endured the ubiquitous crows, I also had occasion to consider the trust of the government in the people that was the New Deal, and specifically the Civilian Conservation Corps.
The CCC was responsible for building the Bosque, as well as Elephant Butte Lake, Hyde Park, some 795 bridges, and 698 dams and reservoirs nationwide. Vicente Ximenes, a New Mexico citizen and WWII vet, went on to found the New Mexico Youth Conservation Corps patterned on this federal model of public works, taking on future significance. 2008 had marked the 75th anniversary of the CCA's formation in 1933. In '33, of course, FDR was president and getting the New Deal to work in the country was a sign of cooperation between the citizens and the government for the good of the polity. How pertinent that all feels now, in view of the Democrats vote for cloture in the Senate, to attempt to get health care legislation passed.
Last year at Thanksgiving time, Conrad and I were among friends overjoyed and giving thanks to have seen Obama elected president. We had canvassed in our neighborhood and seen more of it than at any other time in 15 years. I had registered two new citizens, previously Mexican nationals, to vote, and had gone into classrooms to get students to sign up. The idea for this Website was still on the boards.
As we stood reflecting last Thursday amid the cacophony of birdcall I tried to take in what I had just heard from a wildlife photographer about the crane count being way down this year from previous levels. Even in encroaching dark we were all wearing light jackets,observing what we could of the sandhill cranes, such tall skinny birds, and the many many ducks, which the hawk sent flying periodically. Incoming geese making a big racket broke into arcs swooping widely as if to consider whether this was the spot on the beach they wanted, or some other clearing.
At Truth or Consequences, which remains a town with a past if a neon question? future, we have our own favorite hotsprings, which stand in a group that I can loosely identify as including La Paloma, Riverbend, Blackstone, Firewater, and Sierra Vista. The fashion of renovated bath houses opts for private tubs in the room -- but I like the communal experience of soaks near the river, as at Riverbend, or those old rooms with ropes at La Paloma. Hippie wisdom is everywhere, from the handlettered signs about all waters on earth speaking one language, to people wearing mullets and tattoos and traveling by venerable Airstreams.
I love TorC even as I construe myself unable to live there, and possibly a tad less so now that my favorite thrift store, word has it, has decamped to Madrid. Closer for me, one fewer storefront for them.
Similarly, La Hacienda, one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, has changed ownership and I didn't trust the looks of things. So that found us repairing for dinner to La Pinata, where years ago, when I had gone south with my friend Nancy Sutor to see the Delmas Howe Stations of the Cross paintings, I had my first unforgettable red chile there. The red chile at La Pinata is the same (excellent), the Black Cat Bookstore has some terrific reads for real bargain prices (and good strong coffee to boost your attention to the Tarot card weaver/reader), and it can't hurt to read the real estate signs. Running along the strip of Riverside Drive that parallels the skinny Rio Grande, now, are signs for New Mexico Meth Watch, a very sad reminder that even in retirement paradise or the Lourdes of New Mexico lie a scourge of meth labs supplying cheap doses of forget to those probably in the most need of public help to remember their own potential for flight. But who can they ask for sanctuary? These are indeed troubled times.
So, it never hurts to eat.
With the best word on the subject coming from friend and Webmaster Jeremy, we had my birthday meal a day late, at Buckhorn Tavern in San Antonio(left, the napkin holder). A Food Network throwdown found Bobby Flay enjoying his burger from Buckhorn. GQ magazine, I believe, rated it seventh best in the country. I'd sure love to be there for the live music some Tuesday night. It was a great freakin burger. Excellent lettuce to tomato to green chile to bun ratio. Good slick cheese over the toothsome meat. And the bun gets slathered with the special sauce mix at the end and laid down on the grill that you can hear the cook scraping off to make every new order fresh. It rocked.Good birthday. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
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