The Gatherer

Wasn't that old when I  started contemplating what I  might do when I  was. Been frequenting dumps and landfills since childhood when Jane, Robin's mom, drove us to the Idyllwild town dump in her old Model A Ford pickup truck, out on the Hemet side of the San Jacinto mountains, amidst great islands of majestic smooth as a baby's butt, deep dark red bark that defied the term bark, more like the skin of an exotic temptress; manzanita groves.  Jane always had a silver bell leather strip tied to one of her flesh side out round toed cowboy boots, jingling to scare off rattlesnakes, maybe or maybe just to be different.  We were the two poorest families in town and so scavenging was a survival skill.  More fun for me and Robin. Sometimes we even hiked down there through the manzanitas, unchaperoned. 

Later, in Palmer Lake and Colorado Springs, Colorado; Tesuque, Santa Fe and Eldorado, New Mexico , I continued that habit, building my first house around an old 30 foot trailer that I wrested out of a tight location where they kinda built their house blocking egress of the temporary shelter they called the 'Pink Palacio', gathering all kinds of scrap plywood,  pine boards and odds and ends from the Tesuque dump, commingling with Joe Blea and the Tesuque Pueblo governor, and also found other cull sources like old 2x10 fence rails and cottonwood short, round stove lengths for insulation. By the age of 24, had my own passive solar house for under $2000 and it even made it into a color glossy book on solar homes.

In those halcyon days, before transfer stations and the like, there were often old codgers, scarecrows that sort of were Mayor Domos of the pits and we helped them put out occasional spontaneous fires and the like, sort of like old geezer greeters who sat in their old pickup trucks while not conducting dump activities and directing people around.  I figured I might be suited to end up one of them in old age...or sell kindling on the side of the road; one or the other; if worse came to worst.

I am now approaching 70 and have a little ranch in the PJ/ ponderosa/gambrels oak/cottonwood bosque along the Galisteo creek and have scavenged all these years, creating a sizeable boneyard, hoarding boards and wire and trucks and what have you and making me feel like I overdid it all a little. I had also converted the cool custom donkey shed into a quintessentially funky casita made from repurposed and recycled materials from the boneyard and shop and shed; that was the design criteria; had to be repurposed or recycled; earthship style rammed tires, strawbale, cables and old steel, roots and sticks, paper and stones.

They don't have dumps any more and young ‘kid’ sit in air-conditioned guard houses at transfer stations so that leaves me out of a scarecrow job. 

So now I was decluttering the kitchen after Belle 'passed' or died, actually, and, of course I kept her too and buried her out here, which is another story. In the process of decluttering, decided to unclutter the old antique chrome, cast iron and sheet metal wood cookstove still in the kitchen since the early days on the homestead and actually use it again...to cook with!  So I jolted and started and was amazed today as I  found myself casually and instinctively gathering sticks from everywhere on the ranch floor, for the woodstove which thrives on kindling, as I  poked around doing chores and trompsing about and around the boneyard and realized that I  had many lifetime's supply of kindling lying all around the ranch, just everywhere, in little shanks and branches, just begging to be garnered off the land,  fulfilling my first and second choice of geezer occupations,  except that I  was the scavenger, the employee,  the boneyard mayor and the recipient/ best customer for the kindling...and the cook!  What a success story; reducing the wildfire 'burden’ as they call it, and cutting down (love that term) on the electric bill and getting good body stretches and heart healthy exercise, for the rest of my life!  Come on over, sit by the warm kindling-fed fiery cookstove and drink Cota herbal tea, ('Indian tea', Hopi tea,Navajo tea, Zuni tea, Greenthread) that grows wild out here on the land. Happy Gatherings !!

When Marta Raised Her Hand

When Martha Raised Her Hand

Tonight I sat down to a tasty modified migas concoction, inspired by a Texas/Mexico bordertown friend who, I have come to see, is highly conscious of the colonization of  what she calls ‘The Divided States’, or, ‘Gringolandia’, putting out massive amounts of powerful information on indigenous and women's rights, abuse and attitude issues on social media, every day!  The protests that occurred recently regarding the not-having-really-disappeared, deep, entrenched and insidious racism that is “the air we breathe” and cuts off other’s breath as my very Anglo late wife, Belle, said, along with her tongue-in-cheek, “You know I just really don’t like white people very much!”.  We just don’t get it sometimes! The culture of colonization rationalization that continues with the corporate welfare system and invasion of our culture, has continued the collective dysfunctions and it takes mass protests to shift the consciousness, even a little.

Here is an example:  The other day, during national peaceful demonstrations, there was an outside dinner party of adult friends.  One mentioned that he had recently given his version of the civil war event where, at the base of Glorieta Pass, at Apache Canyon, the Union soldiers snuck over Rowe Mesa and clambered down the steep western side of that landform, surprising the sleepy supply train attendants (as it was so cold the previous night that they could not sleep well) and….well….kinda won the war for the Union side, the ‘Gettysburg of the West’, stopping the rebels from reaching the newly discovered gold fields, which were often on ancient First Settler land; one of the contributing factors to the Sand Creek Massacre; the Colorado Gold Rush encouraged thousands of people to move across the plains, seeking their fortunes in Colorado's gold fields; moving over Cheyenne and Arapaho tribal lands.and others.  

The orator mentioned that there were 200 people attending this history session in Albuquerque.  After the rendition, an historian said, “Well, that seems like a good version; raise your hands if you go for it.” He said they all did.  Well, my activist and aware friend ‘raised her hand’ , “Were there any Native Americans there?” ( ‘there’ being double entender; the war or the history lecture?)  He said, “They didn’t have anything to do with it”.  She said, “Were they invited”.  He said it did not involve them and that there were none there. Well this started some lively conversation and I said, “Why don’t you listen to her?  She is ‘of color’ and it's about time we just be quiet and listen to another perspective, even though we are ‘experts’.  She said, “Wasn’t this their land?....  Why did they not come...  This land was stolen from them, no?”   

So here is what unfolded in my mind:  This land was Native land, for thousands of years, and was stolen by the Spanish colonists and then the US government.  The location of the supply train was at Apache Canyon.  The Union leader of the surprise attack was none other than Colonel Chivington who led the Sand Creek Massacre, up in Colorado a little later, where is the site of the only national monument in this country entitled with the word ‘massacre’  because there was one; perhaps 200 defenseless Cheyenne men, women and children were killed, mutilated, raped, creating a storm of controversy at the time!  It turns out that the civil war and the war against the plains Indians was nearly concomitant!  This is when plains First Settlers were chased down, killed, rounded up; buffalo populations were being decimated so as to take away Native’s sustenance and culture!  These are the wars that the monument on the Santa Fe plaza commemorated and referred to the ‘savage’ Apaches! In the same breathe. During the National Indigenous Day holiday time frame, protestors literally pulled down the obelisk with ropes and chains to the dismay of the city government which was stalling on that action and the police pulled away, to their credit this time!  Arrests were made, though, and part of the ironic poetry is that there were claims that the Union soldiers used ropes etc to get off the mesa, but anyone from around here and other accounts at the time said differently; no need to repel; just makes for drama of the fairytale (my word).  

Now why would Native Americans go to a civil war history meeting celebrating the leader of a massive massacre and who led the war against plains Indians during the civil war; same soldiers?  Why would noone raise their hands and say, “ This was native land previously; it was stolen”. It is now incumbent on whites, especially experts, to shift and listen very carefully to people of color who raise their hands; there may be something they can learn even though they think they are being preached ‘to the choir’. History (or, as Belle used to quip ‘Her-story) needs to be rewritten and challenged daily, as the narrative angles are changing.  Just go to the plaza and see for yourself.  Great things are in store for all of us!  Happy Historia Revisiting!