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I’ll never be fully comfortable calling these wee Placitas souls — this one photobombing my bluebird session this morning — Texas antelope squirrels.

My trusty “Field Guide to the Sandia Mountains (edited by Julyan and Stuever) notes, “The Rio Grande serves as a barrier between the Texas antelope occurring east of the river and the white-tailed and Harris’ antelope squirrels occurring west.” But I guess I’m still happy to be an eastsider. And this is certainly among the more benign examples of possible New Mexico-Texas tensions.

In case you’re wondering, as I always do, Sandia-area chipmunks are said by field guide mammal author Paul J. Polechla, Jr. to be “the only members of the squirrel family with eye stripes.”

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Colorado chipmunk. nps.gov photo

I looked up the binomial credit for the Texas antelope squirrel, or ammospermophilus interpres, suspicious to see if the namer was perchance a Texan. No, Wikipedia says, “Clinton Hart Merriam (December 5, 1855 – March 19, 1942) was an American zoologist, mammalogist, ornithologist, entomologist, ethnographer, and naturalist,” born in New York City and leaving this life in Berkeley, California.

At this point, I decided to bag my regional prejudice tendencies because I also read that Merriam was appointed to be a naturalist on the Hayden Geological Survey of 1872 at age 16. I usually have found myself fascinated with anything or anyone affiliated with the Hayden survey.

And I will say for the record that I always will welcome Texas antelope squirrels.

Here are those more broadly referenced Western bluebirds, by the way:

Dentistry has come a long way and even a root canal is no sweat, but it’s still nice to have a sympathetic soul waiting for you at home.

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Though we both know I warrant only short-term care. I’m not saying he’s fickle, but having made sure I am OK, or bored with my self-pity, Cowboy’s attentions today turned to sunshine and impeachment.

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Maybe he likes Adam Schiff. I can’t imagine that it’s Pat Cipollone. But the truth is we’re watching with the sound off. I watched almost all of the House hearings and I  can’t see how they’re ever going to get 67 votes to convict in the Senate. Fifty-one to dismiss seems more likely.

I won’t live long enough to produce meaningful tree ring data, so I’m not spending much time making a milestone out of 2020. I am trying to see things as seamlessly as I can.

The sun rose on Redondo this morning as it usually does while there is still so much work to be done in Washington. My knees started aching last year, right at age 70, but I still walk in the hills. My good fortune is: My routine still flows, knots and all.

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The xmas cactus by Cowboy’s food bowl has withered a bit, but morning coffee and breakfast are still good.

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I did not take pictures of Cabezon this morning because it looked like smog had settled near its base. It was clearer yesterday, as Cowboy saw, and the storm forecasted for tomorrow probably will push today’s dirt away.

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Coyotes and bobcats came with the territory and remain.

The not-so wild horses have nice winter coats and there appear to be plenty of people to feed them.

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There were some grand sunsets at the end of 2019, but I can tell you from living just north of the Sandias for 30 years — this plus my previous Placitas place — don’t bother keeping count: There is some kind of rock and roll here every night. There is a new house in my Sandia view and the BLM may be thinking of trading off the 197 acres between us. Even so, I have walked with four dogs on this little chunk of public land at least 10,000 times and hope like other other quiet, resident walkers here that it remains home-free.

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Despite fears of development, I got past sunset melancholy years ago.

Now I await moonrises and dawns only a sleep away.

I reach the five years since treatment mark for my second cancer on March 25, but it seems the landscape of cancer is changing. I still hope for moonshots for kids, but for adults I am less often hearing words like cure. Treatments have improved and “living with cancer” seems to be edging out “battling cancer” in everyday terms. But I take “living with cancer” to also mean that cancer is a chronic disease.

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What I am most sure of at the brink of 2020 is that I have been lucky for 70 years. Every day I see Cowboy and mountains, blue sky and birds, I know I am still.

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I woke with only a sore knee and realized as I sorted dreams from feet on the ground that I started too many of the past 1800 mornings thinking about the next.

IMG_0580Cancer can do that to you, if you are lucky enough to live and not hurt too bad. I have had it twice but, while fortunate, I am a slow learner. A ticker tape of my status through both cancers would read, at least through this sunny day, “No evidence of … No evidence of … ”

As I drank coffee and watched for winter birds,  I grasped the malignancy of my thoughts. I have been here before but the awareness was clearer today: My thoughts, like mutating cells, too often misdirected to the five-year cancer “cure” mark instead of being grateful for the day at hand. IMG_0214

I winced when I opened the local newspaper obituaries on my laptop, a regular Sunday morning exercise. After 40 years as a newspaper reporter and editor in an area where I delivered newspapers as a boy, and now 70 myself, too many names are familiar.

I felt sinful: Alive but preoccupied with death.

I knew it too as I took photos of birds through the window glass. The morning cold should not keep me inside.

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I am drinking coffee in my kitchen and see out the window the first mountain bluebird of the season.

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It’s morning, but for some reason I think of the Nick Adams dinner scene as night fell after a day of hiking in “Big Two-Hearted River.” Nick packed some heavy stuff to his fishing spot, but neither a Kuerig nor an Instapot. And he did not fish until the next morning. IMG_8507

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My brother, Pat, is the only person I know who shares my affection for the Nick Adams’s special of canned spaghetti mixed with canned pork and beans.

Morning, coffee, bluebirds and Big Two-Hearted River? It’s all crystal clear to me now.

I’m a day early on the fall equinox but waking this 50-degree morning and seeing after the sun rose a couple of blossoms on my un-irrigated autumn sage, I decided to start celebrating.

The pictures aren’t perfect, more fall is coming — cottonwoods, aspen and migrating birds — and I’m sure there is plenty to see in your neighborhood. (Just wait until David Roybal weighs in from Cundiyo). But in my backyard, even the snake weed is glowing, helped by the softer light.

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Sunflowers, purple asters and Perky Sues (I think) bloom by the roadsides.

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Blackfoot daisies flower again after a later summer rain. Prickly pears ripen.  Blue berries dangle from green juniper boughs, beckoning coyotes, birds and blue heelers.

Things in general seem to move more slowly.

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Rain walks around Cabezon.

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Contrasts seem sharper.

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I see signals in the sky.

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Seventieth birthday preserves arrive from sister Hope in Montana.

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A young coyote tries to stay dry in State Fair weather.

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A duck shows up while open season on lizards continues.

And my partner for all seasons reminds me it’s time to get out.

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Time might cloud understanding of news reports from over 140 years ago, but items from the pages of the 19th Century Las Vegas (New Mexico) Gazette still catch my eye.

Hiding today from the 21st Century heat, I resumed my occasional research on croquet in territorial New Mexico. This was related to my ongoing interest with the Billy the Kid croquet controversy of 1878, or at least the Billy the Kid croquet photo controversy of 2015. (See previous posts. Links below).

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Photo blowup from original photo shown by Kagin’s and National Geographic special in 2015.

I did not find the advertisement I was seeking, reportedly offering croquet equipment for sale at Chapman’s general store in Las Vegas, New Mexico, in 1878. But I did find evidence that croquet was being played in the rough-and-tumble territory even before The Kid and fellow Regulators allegedly were photographed with mallets and balls — and a dandy striped cardigan in the Kid’s case — a couple of months after the Lincoln County War.

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For example:

“The person who picked up the glove on the croquet ground, west of the Catholic Church on the first day of this week, can have the other by calling this office,” the Las Vegas Gazette reported on June 19, 1875.

And, in Cimarron, 90-some miles away, gunplay at the St. James Hotel apparently wasn’t the only game in town in 1875. “Three full sets of croquet are kept constantly running at Cimarron,” the newspaper reported without much other explanation on July 24.

I discovered that the Las Vegas Gazette of the late 1800s, under editor J.H. Koogler, is full of other remarkable information.

If you are curious about the effect of historic land use practices in Sandoval County, for instance, you might find this July 24, 1875 item of interest: “Judge Otero, of Bernalillo, has just finished shearing 140,000 head of sheep.”

Without attribution, and with no clear context, the Gazette also reported that day that, “San Francisco, Cal., confirms one-third more liquor than Chicago .”

There were other notes that now offer historical insight:

“John D. Lee of Utah has turned states evidence and will make a full confession of all he knows in the Mountain Meadows massacre.”

“The wives and children of 60 Kiowa and Comanche Indians, captured on the Staked Plains, are to be transferred to St. Augustine, Florida, at government expense, where their husbands and fathers are now confined.”

The most curious report in the July 24, 1875 edition might be this one-line and possibly libelous statement under the heading General News:  “Robert Dale Owen is crazy.”

A few years later, the famous New Mexico lawyer-politico and reputed land acquisition specialist Thomas Benton Catron made this appearance in the July 13, 1878, edition.

Catron offered a $150 reward for a trunk that fell off a stage between Cimarron and Las Vegas, on the way to Santa Fe, sometime before April, 1878. He said the trunk weighed between 70 and 80 pounds and was stamped with his name and the words “Santa Fe, N.M.” The reward notice continued with Catron — in a possible precursor to the 21st Century Forrest Fenn treasure hunt — saying the trunk contained just a “number of deeds, of conveyance, Notes, Drafts &c.” that were “only of importance to me and my clients.”

I have not dug farther into the pages of the Las Vegas Gazette following the  loss of Catron’s trunk, but I’m guessing it probably was not returned, especially the deeds it contained.

There are many ads for general merchandise retailers, as well ads for lawyers, doctors and dentists. My favorite might be the ad for J.H. Shout, M.D.,  “wholesale and retail dealer in Drugs and Medicine.”

“All classes of fine liquors constantly on hand,” Dr. Shout’s ad noted.

Terse but dramatic reports from the chaotic Lincoln County War, father south, pepper the Gazette’s 1878 editions.

“The Dolan and Riley party seem to have the upperhand in Lincoln County; the McSween party has taken to the mountains.” the Gazette reported on July 13.

“Hell is popping around here,” said a letter to the paper, dated July 5, 1878. “Peppin is sheriff by appointment of Gov. Axtell. Buck Powell is duly appointed deputy sheriff, and is out with 13 men. McSween is in the field. He and some 15 to 20 men are at Chisum’s ranch … Numerous shots were fired; nobody hurt.”

Neither item mentioned that a bunch of people had already been killed, including Lincoln Sheriff William J. Brady and Deputy George W. Hindman in what have been called assasinations on Lincoln’s main drag on April 1 — one of the gunmen in the mix, the ubiquitous Billy the Kid.

The Kid also was around for the conclusive, five-day Battle of Lincoln, starting on July 15. Things had quieted down enough by September 1878 for the Kid and pals to supposedly pose for the croquet photo at the Tunstall Ranch, but other reports have them selling stolen livestock about the same time several hundred miles east in Tacosa, Texas.

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By the way, the Las Vegas Daily Optic, continuing today as the Las Vegas Optic, was founded in 1879, the year after the Lincoln County War.