At last I had time to read on my Fourth of July weekend. The trail seemed full of convergences but also roots and rocks and plenty of switchbacks. The big picture stayed over the horizon. Maybe the history of the West, as Wallace Stegner once defined it for Larry Calloway, simply is, One big real estate deal.”

Other things caught my eye and imagination today, swirling in day spent chasing one loose end after another. Still trying to figure how they might add up. Or maybe the gas pedal in my head just got stuck.

la-ca-jc-claudio-saunt-20140629-002—  Independence Day, 1900 miles away: “As America’s founders gathered in Philadelphia in 1776, two Franciscans named Francisco Atanasioescalante_expedition_plaque_thumb Dominguez and Francisco Silvestre Velez de Escalante began a journey west from Santa Fe, N.M., hoping to find a way to the Pacific Coast. Negotiating with Native Americans and faltering over harsh terrain, they had no idea that 13 colonies were at the same time declaring independence from Britain, asserting the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, creating a country that would one day encompass much of the continent.
“In “West of the Revolution: An Uncommon History of 1776,” historian Claudio Saunt evokes this shadow saga of America’s founding year in landscapes distinct from the 13 colonies. This is a history more terrible than wondrous, a necessary counternarrative to our enlightened Revolution.” —  from a Los Angeles Times book review.

250px-Great_sioux_war_summer_campaigns

The three columns of the 1876 summer campaign

Centennial, a very tough summer in 1876: “It is often said that the road to the Little Bighorn (June 1876) beganwith Custer’s Black Hills Expedition of 1874.” Nathaniel Philbrick, The Last Stand, Viking, 2010.

Meet us on the Rosebud: Sitting Bull’s message to followers as the U.S. Army and the Black Hills War pushed the tribes westward and a fateful redoubt. Nathaniel Philbrick, The Last Stand, Viking, 2010.sittingBull_0

And before the U.S. evicted the Sioux from the Black Hills: “By the 1770s, the Teton Sioux had overrun the Arikara, or Ree, on the Missouri River and made it as far west as the Black Hills, where they quickly ousted the Kiowa and the Crows.” Nathaniel Philbrick, The Last Stand, Viking, 2010.

The Long Walk, 1864: Kit Carson and history in the rear view mirror, in a commentary by Hampton Sides in the Santa Fe New Mexican. “History, real history, is messy and fraught with contradictions … a cycle of violence that the U.S. Army was seeking, in its own wrong-carson1headed way, to end … People who criticize Carson tend to be ‘presentists.’ That is, they judge the past by the standards and expectations of today.”

The long march, 1865: The long, foot-dragging history of U.S. civil rights in a timeline on propublica.org.  (I’m wrestling with U.S. treatment of Native Americans in comparison with African Americans).mlk

And in disjointed fashion, speeding into the future, technology changes the story: U.S. petroleum dependence turnaround. “The U.S. will remain the world’s biggest oil producer this year after overtaking Saudi Arabia and Russia as extraction of energy from shale rock spurs the nation’s economic recovery, Bank of America Corp. said in a Bloomberg report.

Raced home from work to greet these rumbling cells, barreling in from the west. Windows open now, up in the hills, to the smell of rain. Quiet but for thunder rolling north. For the moment, whatever else happened today doesn’t matter.

unnamed2

Precursor to the monsoons, maybe. Seems like those come from the southeast.

unnamed1

Cooper not as anxious as usual, despite the thunder and lightning. He’s in the office closet now, behind me, but not panting and staying put.

unnamed3

diegofire

Another fire in the Jemez: Diego

 

Random notes from an unfocused weekend:

Saturday, June 28

Realized the last ding I put in my que-macho four-wheel-drive truck was in the prescription drive-up lane at Walgreens.

— In a still mostly poor town, was the only customer in a shop whose offerings included $72-a-pound coffee.

— Crunchy dry underfoot on evening walk at 6,000 feet.

Sunday, June 29

— I can’t wait for the monsoons, predicted to arrive the first week of July. I plan to give my New Mexico locust and autumn sage a drink from the hose tonight. I feel like I’m torturing them with my soapy dishwater. Everything else I think will make it until we get a little more of those impoverished 11 inches of annual rain.

– Temperature reading Placitas at 3:10 p.m.: 102.6.

— Smoke plume in the Jemez visible from here Sunday afternoon. Fire folks says it’s a week-old, lightning-caused fire that grew to 200-300 acres today 13 miles east of Cuba in the Santa Fe National Forest. By evening, fat columns of smoke leveling out and flowing to the northeast. Looks like fire is lying down, or knocked down, or both, for the night.

— Outside at 7:30 p.m: Still warm, 94 degrees, and not much moving except for a sorry-looking cottontail, even the lizards seeming to lie low.  But a  thrasher sang loudly from the top of a juniper, sounding eloquent despite his ordinary-sounding name. I don’t think it was complaining about the heat. Just had something else to talk about and it sounded like favorable comment. Thrashers always have charmed me but this one seemed to have special talents. I got my binoculars and took in the show for as long as I could take the evening bugs.

What’s really a trip is when a thrasher perches on top of the chimney, turning the fireplace into the mouth of a megaphone.

P.S. Monday morning, June 30

I am not much of a plant-talker but I could feel the vibes this morning when I walked outside after watering a few of my most stressed native plantings last night. The ground was still wet under their leaves. I sensed a renewed conviction to grow — something like happiness.

Dreamranch, which I prefer to write lowercase, is mostly anecdotal and totally unscientific, except in cases where it cites true experts, like the Journal’s John Fleck, on matters such as water. It is part of my lifelong effort to be humorous. Of course, the bluebird often gets shot down, and that’s here, too. But overall, this is the refuge of a newspaperman who has spent way too many hours covering public meetings, increasingly to be seen gazing out the window if there was one.

Scan 42

Once upon a time in the Southwest, there was water. And my dogs, Sadie and Molly, loved it.

They were lucky dogs. A stream below our house in Placitas ran year-around. They could get wet and cool off there. But we would take trips to the mountains to find water this clear and cold.

A previous ramble through old family photos turned up a random but almost invariable inclusion of a rooster. My latest tour through the yellowing files shows that dogs might be even more prevalent.

There is my grandfather, Homer W. Robertson, relaxing with the famous Jan, who I never met but whose name I heard often enough that I remember it even today.

There is my great-grandmother with child and dog in tow.

Poor Aunt Barbara Carol Robertson never was able to speak but it made no difference to her friends.

And the only photograph I have my father, Bob Robertson, and stepmother Pat from their dogless Peace Corps days, shows that with the help of their assistant, Aydín, they found a friend somewhere in a dusty province of western Turkey.

And then, after retirement to Santa Fe, there was Mus, short for Mustafa, walking with Dad and Pat down the Rito Valdez toward Mora Flats in the Pecos Wilderness.

 

 

 

 

Scan 12

 

 

As I keep having more encounters with care of the elderly, this resentful observation from wheelchair-bound Lyman Ward in Wallace Stegner’s Angle of Repose comes back to me again and again:

“They keeping thinking of my good, in their terms.”

Today, fortunately, it set me off re-reading the novel, making it my best day of vacation so far.

Hemingway sentenceSign that I am slipping into vacation: I started thinking again about this Hemingway sentence.

“Big-Two Hearted River” is my favorite short story and the construction and effect of this sentence has fascinated me for years. It floats into my head whenever I’m able to escape the newspaper grind, and not just because I have it taped to the refrigerator.

The line that used to come to mind more frequently is, “I am monarch of all I survey,” which I remember discovering in Thoreau’s Walden, although I believe it originally comes from William Cowper’s poem, “The Solitude Of Alexander Selkirk.”

I guess, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more of a camp guy and less of a wanderer.

And as a matter of pure culinary interest, I still get a hankering every now and then for Nick Adams’ campfire combination of canned pork and beans and spaghetti.

“It had been a hard trip. He was very tired. That was done. He had made his camp. He was settled… Now he was hungry….He opened and emptied a can of pork and beans and can of spaghetti into the frying pan.”

But even as I get more sedentary, amused by Hemingway and tempted by pancakes, canned spaghetti and beans, I try to remind myself of the spirit of the bumper sticker tacked over the stove of my stepsister Susan Harper, same age as I:

photo-1

P.S. The canned spaghetti and beans were Nick’s first meal in camp, after a long hike in. “I’ve got a right to eat this kind of stuff, if I’m willing to carry it,” he added. And he does catch a couple of nice trout for his next meal.

First day of vacation at home a work and neighbor-related wreck. Shooting for clearing my head today. But only a newspaper guy involved with politics, Coop waitinghobbled by the election calendar, would choose to take time off in mid-June. My tri-color but mostly black “Aussie X” guy gets hot to the touch after moments in the sun. And he doesn’t like getting his feet wet, so trips to mountain streams don’t work — and most are down to a trickle anyway. So, we’ll try to do our best with walks at dawn and dusk. I splurged and had central air conditioning installed last year, mostly for my pal’s benefit. This afternoon, I may take advantage of the new comfort, too, and watch my first World Cup soccer match on TV — U.S. versus Portugal. Even though it’s vacation, I been trying to catch up on the rest of world: So, immigration issues this morning and the most popular sport this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll get around to all those chores I planned to do.