Alamodoso Magazine December 2018

INSIDE THIS ISSUE ● Discover Carrizozo Pg 4 ● Workin’ Out Pg 14 ● Ballad of Lonely George Pg 16 ● The Waterboss Pg 24 ● La Llorna Pg 54 ● Sacrament of Gold Pg 106 ● Local Advertising ● And Much More

Christmas Gifts & Décor | Stocking Stuffers | Wall Art Teacups & Tea Pots | Scarves, Slippers and Purses Old Fashioned Toys | Sugar Plums and More

913 New York * Alamogordo 575-434-6433 Open Tuesday thru Saturday

Discover Carrizozo’s

Art District

Deserving a place among the most interesting neighborhoods in New Mexico, 12th Street sits off the main thoroughfare. It’s been ignored by passing traffic and passing fads. From the playful sculpture garden beside Malkerson Gallery 408 to the stoic countenance of the old Carrizozo Gas Company building, which still advertises its phone number as 60, 12th Street is a crash course in Carrizozo. Behind the electric co-op building grow stands of carrizo grass, tall stalks that resemble bamboo, from which the town derived its name. Two blocks away are the railroad tracks, though the depot and roundhouse are gone and passenger service stopped in 1968. At the far north end is the old icehouse, now home to the Carrizozo Heritage Museum.

Story courtesy of David Pike

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Page 5 PHOTOGRAPHIC EXHIBITION The Largest Photographic Gallery in the entire State is in Carrizozo. Over 7,500 sq. ft. in size and featuring the images of over 30 Member Photographers who are all from New Mexico and all the photographs in the Gallery are taken in New Mexico.

Santa Fe comes to

The Gallery also has on display all the Winning 24 photographs from the Annual New Mexico Magazine Photo Contest.

This is a combination of fabulous photo images that you must see to believe.

Lee Manning

Tularosa Basin Photo Gallery The largest photo gallery in New Mexico

WELCOMES The Santa Fe Photo Eclectic Club Don’t miss the largest exhibition in the history of the Santa Fe Photo Eclectic Club. Featuring ten extraordinary, awardwinning Santa Fe photographers with over 200 images showcasing New Mexico— The Land of Enchantment.

OPENING RECEPTION: Saturday, Nov 3, 5–9pm EXHIBITION: Nov 3, 2018–Jan 31, 2019

The Tularosa Basin Gallery of Photography in Carrizozo is exclusively hosting and featuring the works of TEN extraordinary and diverse photographers from the Santa Fe Eclectic Photo Club from November 3, 2018 through January 31, 2019.

These Award Winning Artists have exhibited locally, nationally, Internationally, and have been featured in numerous publications throughout the preceding decades. Collectively, they have worked at their craft for over 300 years.

This will be the largest display ever in the history of the Club.

Members of this elite collective are, and have been, gallery owners, world travelers, Hollywood cinematographers, darkroom and digital professionals, and encaustic and montage artists.

The Exhibition promises a stunning variety of viewpoints and techniques,all showcasing The Land Of Enchantment.

Open all week except Tuesdays 10am – 5pm, Wed. – Mon. 12pm – 5pm, Sun. 401 12th Street, Carrizozo, NM

401 12th Street in Carrizozo, NM 88301 # 575-937-1489 www.photozozo.org Gallery is open all week except Tuesdays.

575.937.1489

photozozo.org

Wed-Mon 10AM to 5PM...Sunday Noon to 5 PM

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MALKERSON GALLERY 408 Contemporary Art & Sculpture Garden

Home of “The Painted Burros of Southern New Mexico” and work

by Lincoln County artists.

www.Gallery408.com 408 12th Street, Carrizozo, NM Open Friday–Monday 575.648.2598

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"WORKIN' OUT"

index finger into a board, producing an unusual loud scream, which brought my wife running out the back door, "I thought A short story by Junior Thurman of Artesia, NM you were dying", she said. But luckily she came out in time to witness my record breaking "claw hammer throw", along with As I told my wife, just the other day, beneath this, what seemingly appears to be a few choice "bleep of a bleeps, uttered flab on my body, lies a well toned muscled while hopping around with my hand up body that I try to hide from some of my clutched between my legs. Modestly, I must say, my claw hammer went thru two older friends to prevent possible cedar fences, and a swing set, landing embarrassment, and I suppose a fair amount of envy. World class athletes would embedded in my neighbors dog house, just shudder at some of the feats I've performed missing a plastic flamingo.......I'll confidently say, you won't beat that in the just in daily life, feats that unfortunately record books. aren't covered in the Olympics.

For instance, upon catching a glimpse of a possible poisonous snake in my back yard in Southeastern NM, a few weeks ago, thru the use of my peripheral vision, I jumped straight up in the air, and sideways, away from the deathly viper, an astounding record breaking amount of yards, along with a loud scream, accompanied with a few words like "holy bleeping crap!" Any gymnasts or Olympic divers would have been awestruck by the agility, twists, and turns I exhibited while airborne. Luckily my usually infallible peripheral vision had mistakenly confused a section of garden hose for a snake, but the record jump is still in my books. Honestly, I think my wife, upon spying a snake last summer beat my record jump, and scream, however, no measurements were taken, leaving my record intact on the "elevated, sideways, broad jump."

I know your next question will be, "Holy crap, considering your age, how do you keep your body in this top physical condition? There must be some secret to your conditioning." Nope, just normal everyday chores, I sometimes call "workin’ out." Everyday jobs like, takin out the trash, feedin’ the cat, waterin’ the yard, mowing the grass, for instance, I'll be "workin’ out", outside, when I get ready to mow my grass, a task I enjoy, "my wife encourages me, "when are you ever gonna mow the grass, it's getting pretty tall?"

If you cruise down my street and see a man with a potato looking body, mowing his yard, don't come to any quick conclusions, you just may be lookin’ at one of the next "Olympic medallists.".........

No previous training was involved in most of my unrecognized feats, another that comes to mind is one I call the "claw hammer throw," still unrecognized in Olympic Games. As with most of my amazing, record setting feats, the "hammer throw" was spontaneous, and totally unrehearsed........Constructing a dog house, while hammering, I tried to hammer my

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CHRISTMAS TREE an original poem by James Merrill

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The Ballad of Old Lonely George March, 1981 by Gloria Marie

Down in a valley where the wind doesn't blow, sits there a cabin all coated with snow,

George gave his wife long wavy hair that couldn't get ruffled in the ever still air.

And in the cabin lives old lonely George all by himself down deep in this gorge.

He gave her a smile to stay on her face, he gave her a gown he carved into lace.

Old lonely George, he lives all alone,by his own choice, no one's choice but his own.

Her eyes, they were open, her legs, they were crossed, on her hand was a ring that could never get lost.

He keeps himself busy carving things out of stone, 'cause old lonely George lives all alone.

He gave her a look of love on her face, so serene and happy that he called his wife Grace.

All the things George carved by himself are lined 'round the cabin on a cedar board shelf.

Life-sized song birds that never sing songs, giant stone ants all of six inches long.

A beaver, a moose, a bear with two cubs, a cave girl, a dinosaur, some cave men with clubs.

A candle and flame that gives off light, a real stone lamp he on all night.

no worked

of lived George snow that doesn't

And old lonely Grace 'cause on her face.

Old lonely

Some bowls and a basket he that he filled up with flowers one day.

made out of clay he gathered

These things and more on a cedar board shelf that old lonely George carved all by himself.

Gracie watched George carve thing out stone the way that he did when he all alone. loved his cabin all coated with sat in a valley where the wind blow George loved his little wife there was always a look of love George lived the rest of his life with little Gracie his lovely stone wife.

They lived in the cabin for many long years buy when old George died she didn't shed tears.

She sat with a smile of love on her face, still Around this cabin all coated with snow, down in this wearing the gown he carved into lace. valley where the wind doesn't blow Her eyes were still open, her legs were still crossed, The air is so still that not a sound can be heard for on her hand was the ring that never got lost. miles and miles around She still smiled at George with love on her face.

Except for the tapping of hammer on stone and the That was the reason he called his wife Grace. chipping and banging that George does alone Gracie still sits in the valley alone, Gracie will last, To make little things to line up on his shelf, 'cause she is made out of stone. old lonely George lives all by himself.

So will the things George carved by himself and Now old George's cabin is coated with snow 'cause lined 'round the cabin on the cedar board shelf. the little flakes fell for two weeks in a row.

The cabin is gone and so is old George, but there is But George stayed busy in his cabin alone carving still love down deep in this gorge. himself a wife out of stone.

Down in a valley where the wind doesn't blow sits there old Gracie all coated with snow.

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“YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS” Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’

Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON. 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET. VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little.

In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?

Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

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A TOUGH MONTH For SAGITARIUS! You need to extra cautious in term of your health as stars are not aligned in a favourable position. You are likely to get in nippers of some sort of chronic health issue. Staying active and fit is the key to thrive in this tough time. Exercise regularly. Any sort of negligence is strictly prohibited. You should start the medication at the right time before it’s too late. Find out more about what future holds you during last month of the year.

The last month of the year will start will a little disappointment at your love front as there will some sort of issues among you two in all likelihood. A proper and timely settlement of all disputes is highly required in order to save your relationship. However, the 2nd week will be good for you as there will lot of conversation going on. You will express your true feelings. Honestly, is the only way to make your relationship successful. Keep talking and keep expressing. You will surprise your partner with your kind and affectionate attitude. You might get a remarkable help from your partner in your work associated stuff. Try to end the year on a happy note.

This month will be little harsh on you in terms of money and finances. There will be a bleak possibility to gain remarkable profits and takings. Though you will be working hard to achieve your goals, it will hardly bear any fruit. It seems your hard work will not pay you off as expected or desired. A lot of pointless and fruitful travel will further increase your frustration and discontentment. You have to play safe during this month. Plan your expense well in beforehand in order to face any unexpected money crunch. Don’t ever think to put your saving in a new venture or do any fresh investment as it is not the right time for this. Stay calm and keep a low profile.

Well, the agony and strife are going to affect your family welfare in many ways. There is a possibility that you will be involved in a dispute with your brother. This spat will increase the tension in the house. It’s better to avoid any arguments to keep the environment pleasant. This tensed atmosphere will affect your children also. You need to pay attention to them as they will get diverted from their path. Overall it will be a tough month for you.

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TULAROSA After the girls headed off to school, Eilene started her morning routine of making beds, sweeping floors, doing up the breakfast dishes. As she went about her morning chores, she could not get her mind off ways to make money. Her mind was spinning with all sorts of ideas.

She thought of sewing, but she had done that.

Although it brought in some money, it wasn't enough. She could make and sell butter, but with one cow, it wouldn't be enough butter for many sales. Rabbits multiplied quickly, but there really wasn't much of a market for rabbit meat. Besides, she really didn't like rabbits.

Nothing really appealed to her until she hit upon the idea of chickens. She liked chickens and she could raise them for eggs, meat, and money.

"They grow fast and they're small enough for me to handle," she mumbled under her breath. "We can start getting meat in a few weeks from fryers and it won't be long till we start getting pullet eggs. They may be smaller than hen eggs, but they're still eggs.

I can buy chicken feed in patterned sacks and use them to makethe girls and me some skirts, blouses, and dresses. I can make aprons and cup towels from the pretty prints, too."

"I know I can make it work," she told herself determinedly. "I can do almost anything to get rid of that inconvenient, smelly, cold-in-the-winter, hot-inthe-summer outhouse and have a nice bathroom in this house."

When Eileen came back into the house, it was time to get the girls up and ready for school. She called to them just before starting to cook their morning oatmeal.

By the time Frank came in for his breakfast, she had pretty well figured out her strategy. As he ate his breakfast of sausage patties, eggs, and fried

Story continues page 28

potatoes, he listened to Eileen tell him about her plan.

"You know the kind I like best," he said, grinning broadly as he headed out the door."

"Sounds like a good idea," he agreed as he piled a biscuit with butter and jelly. "We can use that oneroom building that's out by the cow pen to start the first brood of chicks. I'll move it closer to the house.

I'll put down a layer of new sand and we can heat it with electric light bulbs. While the chicks are growing, I'll get another chicken house made for the laying hens since you're going to sell or eat the roosters when they get frying size."

Yeah, I know," Eileen called after him. "You don't care what kind they are as long as they are big 'uns."

He finished the biscuit, washing it down with the last of the black coffee.

"I've got to get back to checking the water. Wind like this keeps the weeds blowing in and stopping up the ditches."

He shrugged into his faded denim jacket, plopped the old felt Stetson hat back onto his head, and then gave Eileen a peck on the cheek.

"I'm going to make pies today.," she said. "What kind would you like?"

The day after the discussion about raising chickens, Frank moved the little frame storage house from the edge of the cow pen to a close proximity of about fifty feet from the house.

He covered the plank floor with a generous layer of fine sand for warmth, grit, and scratching material that baby chicks need. Later he would run an extension cord and hang an electric light bulb near the floor to provide more warmth.

Eileen was no stranger to chickens. She had been around them all her life. Her mother always had a few of them around for eggs and eating. But

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this time was different. This was more of a business venture she was thinking about. This time she wanted to make enough profit to pay for an improvement in her home. She was filled with determination when she opened the Sears catalog to begin her first chicken order.

She wanted White Leghorns. She liked their white color, but most of all she knew they made good laying hens. That’s what she needed if she was going to make money selling eggs. Very carefully she filled out an order blank for one hundred White Leghorn chicks of mixed sex.

Frank checked at the post office every morning when the delivery time was near. He need not have worried about being notified of the delivery. When he stepped into the post office one morning, he knew. The sound of cheeping reached his ears. The chicks had arrived.

Frank picked up the box of chicks, put it in the bed of the pick up, and drove straight home. Eileen had picked up a sack of chick starter the day before, the last thing on her list of needed items. He didn't know if she was more excited to be getting her first sack of chicken feed or if it was the fabric sack with

a design she adored. At any rate, she would be excited to get her order.

When he drove into the yard and pulled up beside the building that was to house the chicks, Eileen rushed out to join him. The biggest smile he had seen in years covered her face.

"Oh, they're here!" she almost yelled. "They are really here!"

After placing the box on the sand in the middle of the room, Frank carefully removed the lid. Tiny baby chicks filled the straw lined bottom, soft balls of yellow fluff moving about on their tiny legs as best they could in the crowded condition. Their loud cheeping filled the room with sound.

Eileen and Frank carefully lifted each chick from the box and placed it near the three water feeders Eileen had put out, knowing they would be very thirsty. Miraculously, every chick had arrived alive and well.

Eileen bubbled with enthusiasm, overjoyed that all had survived. She counted the number twice and both times came up with 101 chicks.

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To add to her delight was the one tiny black chick among all the tiny yellow ones. It showed up bright in contrast in the sea of yellow.

"Someone must have accidentally put this little Dominecker chick in with all these others," she exclaimed. "I wonder how well it will survive among all these White Leghorns."

"Looks like it has done okay, so far," Frank commented.

Eileen gently picked it up and held the tiny black cheeping ball of fluff in her cupped hands. She inspected it closely.

"I can't tell for sure," she said, "but I hope you are a little girl. I don't want to have to put you in a frying pan in a month or so." She looked over at Frank. "I don't usually name chickens, but this little Dominecker is the only one. It will stand out from the crowd, so I'm going to name it Dommie."

Frank made no reply as Eileen put the chick down close to one of the water dispensers. He was simply pleased to see his wife happy and smiling.

Betty Jo Chops Cotton The Waterboss Chapter 7

March blew into April with its chill, dusty, grit laden breezes. Life went on as usual. Frank doled out water according to the rules and regulations set by the Rosita Ditch Company. Eileen tended her beginning chicken flock, pleased at their progress.

Betty Jo, the older daughter, concentrated on school assignments of subjects in her last year of high school. Laura, the younger sister, stayed busy with her classes and entertaining herself with her childhood games.

On the more calm days, farmers began planting the upcoming crops of the season, cotton being the primary one. Frank leased his twenty-three cultivated ground to Ollie Ander to farm.

The waterboss job didn’t leave him enough time to farm it himself. In addition to lack of time, a lightning bolt struck and killed one of the work horses in his team, leaving him without a means to do the work. He had not invested in a tractor like

some of the other farmers had, so farming was a slower more laborious process for him.

When it was cotton chopping time, Betty Jo, worked in the field on afternoons when school was done for the day and on weekends. Saturday morning she balanced her hoe over one shoulder by draping her right arm over the long handle as she walked along the upper edge of the cotton field.

In her left hand she carried a quart jar full of water. Scuffing her feet as she walked, she half listened to the exuberant song of a meadowlark.

"How can that bird be so happy this early in the morning?" she muttered. "How can anything be that happy so early in the morning?"

When she reached the first cotton row, she found a place to put her jar of water in a clump of weeds lining the ditch bank near the head of the field. The weeds would shade the jar and keep the water a little cooler. She stood, eyes partly closed, and felt the dry, clean coolness of early morning air. It was not an easy thing for her to awaken early.

The sound of voices came to her and she opened her eyes to see other workers walking across the field. They laughed as they talked. Betty Jo sighed tiredly, wondering once again how people could feel so happy so early in the day. She took off her straw hat and laid it beside the water jar submerged in the weeds.

"I won't be needing this till the sun is higher and hotter," she mumbled. Then, shifting the hoe in her hands, she took her position at the beginning of the first cotton row and began to work.

Precisely, she fit her hoe beside a small cotton plant, pulled back and took out all the plants between the distance of the hoe. She lifted the hoe again while the tight, sore muscles in her arm screamed in protest as she brought the long handled hoe down sharply, severing a bluish-green weed from its stalk. Brown clods of dirt rolled away. She began to feel the first real stirring of awakening in her body.

She nodded and spoke to the other workers as they approached, watching from the corner of her eye as they placed their sack lunches and water jars in the grass of the shallow ditch. She then turned

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back to her cotton row, looked at the hoe in her hands and began to work again.

She raised the hoe up and swung it down repeatedly. Within fifteen minutes, before she was halfway down her row, her arm muscles relaxed and the pain was no longer noticeable. The row behind her looked clean. Tiny cotton plants were evenly spaced in the dry, loose soil.

Ahead was a large clump of Johnson grass. She turned her hoe sideways so the metal would dig deeper into the soil. Swinging the hoe higher than usual, she brought it down with force.

The hoe buried deep in the earth behind the grass root. Using the hoe handle as a lever, she pushed it back to expose the long, white-jointed roots of the Johnson grass.

She picked a root up to examine it. If you magnified the root on one of my jaw teeth, she thought, it would look like this. She threw the root to the ground and continued to pry the weeds from the tight grip of clay soil.

She chopped and pried, digging out the stubborn roots of this tall, green, sharp leafed weed. She was Story continues next page

pleased when she pried the last root from the clump, leaving the uprooted weed exposed to dry in the hot air.

The sun rose higher and grew hotter. Its heat beat down on her back. Dirt spurted up in little clouds as she labored on. It flew in tiny sheets, sending small particles and fair-sized clods inside the wide loafers she wore, caking in her shoes beneath her bare feet. Occasionally she stopped work long enough to empty loose dirt from her shoes before resuming the chopping of small weeds while thinning the tiny cotton plants to six inches apart, ruthlessly cutting the extra plants away from those she left.

fit her pocket so the next day she could look at it and commit the words to memory. All the while, she raised her hoe and swung it down, raised and swung, raised and swung, hoeing rhythmically as the day progressed.

BETTY JO CHOPS COTTON THE WATERBOSS CHAPTER 8

The lid popped as she opened it and warm air spewed out. She smelled the odor of the rubber seal as she tipped the jar and gulped the warm liquid, letting some of it trickle from the side of the jar to run down her chin. She let out a long sigh after taking the jar from her mouth.

"Sorry, you pretty little thing," Betty Jo said to the wild morning glory as she bent over to unwind its tenacious runners from the tender cotton plant, "but you're just too close to this cotton plant. If you live, the plant will die, so you have to go."

She reached down and manually pulled the morning glory out by its roots, leaving the extracted weed in the middle of the row to wither and die in the hot sun. She continued on down the row, swinging her hoe, taking out the knots of weed growth that she thought resembled tangled yarn needing to be removed. When she finished, she left behind a smooth ribbon of tiny green cotton plants stretching the length of the field.

Her thoughts wandered aimlessly as she worked in silence. She entertained herself with thoughts of her last days in school, questioning the uncertain future, listening to the bird chortling in the distance.

Sometimes, the night before, she wrote the words of a poem she liked onto a sheet of paper, folded it to

Betty Jo left behind four cleaned rows before stopping for her first drink of water. She dropped her hoe at the beginning of a new row and went to the ditch where her water waited. Reaching through the weeds, she pulled her jar from its weedy shade.

Already the water was lukewarm. Beads of water had formed inside between the top of the water and the jar lid.

It was then that she saw Able Ander coming across the field, hoe in hand. She put her water jar back into the weeds, picked up her old straw hat, and stood waiting for him. She hadn't seen him sine school let out.

"Hi, Able," she called out, a smile on her face.

"Hi, Betty Jo," he replied.

"How come you're not cultivating today?"

He stood beside her now, his own straw hat pushed back from his forehead as he leaned against his hoe.

"The damn tractor's broke down and Dad's fixing it, so I gotta help hoe till he gets her fixed."

"At least I'll have some company now," Betty Jo said lifting her hoe to begin work on the next row.

They fell in together, working row by row. t first there was only the dull thud of hoes against loose earth, tearing out unwanted weeds. At time the metal of a hoe hit sharp and clear on a submerged rock. Always there was the smell of dry dust

Story continues next edition

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farm. Another claimant to the land sued him as a “trespasser.”

Tom Lincoln won the suit, but was haunted by the fear that he might someday lose another property.

Abraham Lincoln was born in a meager, one-room cabin on the Big South Fork of Nolin’s Creek near Hodgenville, Kentucky.

There was enough talk of land titles, landowners, landlords, land laws,land lawyers, and land sharks to make him unsure of his title.

It had a dirt floor, one window, and a sticky-clay chimney. Lincoln’s father, Tom, had paid $200 for the cabin and 300 acres of unproductive land. It wasn’t much, but it was home and the young family’s only chance for a decent life.

After all, Daniel Boone, the first pioneer of the Kentucky wilderness, had lost every inch of his once vast landholdings because he had “the wrong kind of papers.”

After four years of fighting mosquitoes, heat, and hardscrabble land, the Lincoln's had to pack up and leave.

Tom decided to move his family to Indiana where there was rich, black land—government land with clear title and the right kind of papers.

There was a defect in the title. They didn’t have the right sort of papers and somebody else had a better claim to the land. With

Thus, Abraham Lincoln lost a second home to title problems .It was the anxiety and outright losses of the Lincoln's and other hardworking Americans that gave rise to today’s title insurance industry. The first land title insurance company was founded in Philadelphia in 1876 to protect buyers against the hidden hazards of real estate ownership;forgeries; faulty surveys; hidden liens; conveyances by a minor or mentally incompetent person; the false

three-year-old Abe in his mother’s arms, the family moved eight miles away to Knob Creek.

In less than four years, Tom Lincoln had to go to court to prove his ownership rights to this second

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representation of married person as being single; and many other title defects. Even the most complete search of records may not reveal them all.

Today, title insurance is just as important as ever.

The same potential flaws in title exist. A home is still the largest purchase most of us make in our lifetime .And, with escalating land values, the loss of property can still bring a family to ruin.

Consequently both buyer and seller should insist on the reliability they receive from a Casa De Tierra Owner’s Policy.

The unfortunate loss of the Lincoln family would have been covered by insurance had Tom Lincoln owned a title policy

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FREE WINTER CHECKUP CALL FOR DETAILS

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The Merchants of Lincoln PRESENT TO YOU THE STORY OF

La Llorona – Weeping Woman of the Southwest

The legend of La Llorona (pronounced “LAH yoh ROH nah”), Spanish for the Weeping Woman, has been a part of Hispanic culture in the Southwest since the days of the conquistadores. The tall, thin spirit is said to be blessed with natural beauty and long flowing black hair. Wearing a white gown, she roams the rivers and creeks, wailing into the night and searching for children to drag, screaming to a watery grave.

No one really knows when the legend of La Llorona began or, from where it originated. Though the tales vary from source to source, the one common thread is that she is the spirit is of a doomed mother who drowned her children and now spends eternity searching for them in rivers and lakes.

poor men of the area. She was said to have spent her days in her humble peasant surroundings, but in the evenings, she would don her best white gown and thrill the men who admired her in the local fandangos.

The young men anxiously waited for her arrival and she reveled in the attention that she received.

However, La Llorona had two small sons who made it difficult for her to spend her evenings out, and often, she left them alone while she cavorted with the gentlemen during the evenings.

One day the two small boys were found drowned in the river. Some say they drowned through her neglect, but others say that they may have died by her own hand.

La Llorona, christened “Maria”, was born to a Another legend says that La Llorona was a caring peasant family in a humble village. Her startling beauty captured the attention of both the rich and the woman full of life and love, who married a wealthy

man who lavished her with gifts and attention.

However, after she bore him two sons, he began to change, returning to a life of womanizing and alcohol, often leaving her for months at a time.

He seemingly no longer cared for the beautiful Maria, even talking about leaving her to marry a woman of his own wealthy class. When he did return home, it was only to visit his children and the devastated Maria began to feel resentment toward the boys.

night. During this time, she would not eat and walked along the river in her white gown searching for her boys — hoping they would come back to her. She cried endlessly as she roamed the riverbanks and her gown became soiled and torn.

When she continued to refuse to eat, she grew thinner and appeared taller until she looked like a walking skeleton. Still a young woman, she finally died on the banks of the river.

Not long after her death, her restless spirit began to appear, walking the banks of the Santa Fe River when darkness fell. Her weeping and wailing became a curse of the night and people began to be afraid to go out after dark.

One evening, as Maria was strolling with her two children on a shady pathway near the river, her husband came by in a carriage with an elegant lady beside him. He stopped and spoke to his children, but ignored Maria, and then drove the carriage down She was said to have been seen drifting between the the road without looking back. trees along the shoreline or floating on the current with her long white gown spread out upon the After seeing this Maria went into a terrible rage, and waters. On many a dark night people would see her turning against her children, she seized them and walking along the riverbank and crying for her threw them into the river. As they disappeared down children. And so, they no longer spoke of her as stream, she realized what she had done and ran Maria, but rather, La Llorona, the weeping woman. down the bank to save them, but it was too late.

Children are warned not to go out in the dark, for La Maria broke down into inconsolable grief, running Llorona might snatch them, throwing them to their down the streets screaming and wailing. deaths in the flowing waters.

The beautiful La Llorona mourned them day and

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It’s Always Time For Ice Cream!

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Merlot: A Very Drinkable Red Merlot, in French, means “the little blackbird”. In America, it is the second most popular red grape, just behind Cabernet Sauvignon. Merlot is known for being soft, ripe and elegant. Most are easy drinking reds that pair well with foods and are pleasurable to enjoy on their own. Merlot is often recommended as an entry red for new wine drinkers because of the low tannin levels, it’s softness and smooth finish, which make it very easy to drink. Merlot offers flavors of chocolate, plums, licorice, black cherries, blueberries, black raspberries and blackberries as well as jam. It is more fruit-forward and tannins are less prevalent than other red wine

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The origins of Sunspot as a Solar Observatory date back to the sudden increased interest of solar physics to the US military during the Second World War. In 1940, the High Altitude Observatory (HAO) was established in 1940 in Climax, Colorado, by Walter Orr Roberts and Donald Menzel. It was associated with both Harvard College Observatory and the University of Colorado and was incorporated in 1946. At the time it was the world's highest permanent observatory for astronomy, at an elevation of over 11,000 feet, and was designed purely for studying the Sun. Roberts worked with the Bureau of Standards, "forecasting radio conditions on the basis of solar observations". Such studies of the upper atmosphere were critical for predicting conditions for radio communication, guided missiles, and supersonic aircraft and, as a result, solar observations "became essential to the war effort". Suddenly the field of solar astronomy became an appealing goal for both astronomers and the military.

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winter, when it was not possible to make observations", and hence a second dedicated solar observatory should be established. The practical applications for solar research, as discovered by the military during World War II, regarding the impact solar activity had on radio communication spurred the US Congress to provide for a military-funded observatory. It became an important mission of the USAF to establish a solar observatory and "after the war, when the Air Force recognized the need to organize its own long-range program of solar studies, it quite naturally turned for specialized assistance to the recently formed High Altitude Observatory (HAO)".In September 1947, the USAF issued a contract to HAO and Harvard University to conduct a survey and thereby identify an appropriate site for a new solar observatory and to determine which instruments to install at the new site.

Any seasonal cloud cover at the new site needed to arrive in the opposite season to that at Climax, in order to then provide for year round coverage of the The Sacramento Peak Observatory was conceived as Sun. Similar to Climax, the atmosphere above the a complementary telescope to the existing facilities new site should be exceptionally free from haze and in Climax, as Roberts had realized that "there were dust in order to permit for the best possible long periods of cloudiness, especially during the observing. Roberts and Menzel examined the

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White Sands Proving Ground (an area used as a research rocket firing range near Holloman Air Force Base in Alamogordo, New Mexico). They "concluded that the section of the Sacramento Mountains in which Sacramento Peak is located would be especially promising for a solar research site. Further inquiries and inspection tended to confirm this initial reaction". Holloman Air Force Base could be used to supply the equipment and any supplies. Sacramento Peak was, at 9200 feet was also low enough to be more accessible to researchers than Climax at 11,000 feet and the thickly forested setting blocked interference from rising air currents up the mountain.

A small crew of 5 made the initial camp at the Sunspot site. This crew included Roberts, John "Jack" W. Evans (a student of Menzel's), and Rudy Cook (who had worked with Robert in Climax). Cook's companions soon returned home, leaving Cook and his dog Rocky to man the site.

By the end of 1947, Menzel and Roberts made the recommendation that Sacramento Peak be chosen as the solar research site for USAF. By April 1948, the Committee on Geophysical Sciences (then within the War Department's Research and Development Board) formally accepted this recomendation and a contract was written, mandating the Air Force to complete the observatory.

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Sacrament of Gold

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when Jim decided to strike off on his own, Gene was there to offer up a small stake and few head of cattle, on loan of course, to help Jim get established.

By Edward Woten

Jim had a small spread nestled in the western foothills of the Sacramentos and had made the trip Chapter One - Spanish Ghosts to Mesilla to file a claim on a rocky defile upslope from his ranch. He needed to secure the small spring Harsh alkali dust from the salt-pan playas there which afforded his place with a slow but further irritated his red-rimmed eyes and clogged his steady trickle of life-giving water, so crucial to nostrils even through the sweat-stained bandana making a go of it in an otherwise arid landscape. covering most of his face. With his Stetson pulled The spring was not big enough to attract the down low on his forehead, only the barest slits of attention of a big-time rancher such as Oliver Lee to his eyes were visible. the south who had tapped the abundant flow out of Dog Canyon for his larger holdings.

He could only imagine what Buttercup must be thinking of these conditions as she trudged across The March weather had been pleasant enough the seemingly endless miles of the Tularosa Basin. on the outward trek, but the west wind was kicking Luckily, the wind was behind them and not blasting, up a fuss on the return leg. Occasional dust devils full-force, in their faces. But the Sacramentos rose could be seen swirling columns of sand a thousand up to the east, just visible behind the swirling feet or more into the air. billows of white powder, and Buttercup was a sturdy mare who loped along at a even pace, eating The diversion of an overnight stay in Mesilla up the weary miles as they headed for the comfort of had afforded him some time to visit a few old home and a much-deserved rest. acquaintances, savor a good meal at La Posta and enjoy one night in a soft feather bed, plus the chance He was not a big man, but his lean whipcord to pick up a few odds and ends not to be had in the frame belied the power of someone comfortable in small general store in the village of La Luz to the his body, who could hold his own with either man north of his place. His legal business at the or beast. The dusty miles had disguised his true courthouse had been surprisingly easy to deal with, coloring, that of a ruddy, sunburnt complexion, with his improvements to the area confirming his dishwater-blond hair and moustache. The hazel ownership. James Elias Stark. That was a name color of his eyes were not noticeable because they seldom seen or heard, but it now graces the property were slitted against the sun glare. deed nestled in his saddlebag. The filing taken care of, Jim pointed Buttercup’s nose towards the pass at Jim Stark had worked for a few years for San Augustine and the old wagon road across the various outfits in the Mesilla Valley and around Tularosa.

DoĂąa Ana. He even did a little time as a wrangler for a small garrison posted at the ruins of Fort Driving winds abated some as they made the Fillmore. The last couple of years he had worked as slow rise up the broad alluvial fan on which his top hand for Gene Rhodes whose place covered property perched. The modest ranch house and three or four miles of the San Andres foothills. Gene outbuildings hove into sight, giving horse and rider was a good man to work for and learn from, and the easy satisfaction of homecoming. He could

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Alamodoso@gmail.com usually appreciate the view back across the lowlands to the west, but airborne sand still obscured both the Organs and San Andres Mountains. However, he was home and it felt good.

After Buttercup got a bellyful of good spring water from the trough, Jim led her to the tack shed, removed saddle and bridle and gave her a thorough rubdown. She made quiet work of a bagful of oats during the process. Buttercup was a trusty mount and deserving of rest. He left her to it.

As the sun dropped towards the western ridges, Jim contemplated the small flow of water which fed into the horse trough. It was carried downslope from the spring by an ingenious pipeline/aqueduct arrangement which Mr. Lee had helped him engineer.

The spring was now filed for legally and was his. Secure in this knowledge, he turned in and quietly drifted off to sleep.

Feeling fully rested, Jim set about his morning chores, but Juanito Lara, an old family friend and neighbor, had kept an eye on the place and there was very little to do on this fine, clear dawn. However, he had been thinking about his newly acquired water source, and considered various options for increasing its flow. He decided to hike up to the spring box and survey the surrounding area.

Packing a few dry biscuits and some jerky in his pockets, Jim started up the canyon. The way was narrow and rocky. The cleverly designed pipeline/aqueduct arrangement was a bit tricky to install, but luckily, it was only a short distance between the spring and the ranch. A sharp jog in the old watercourse had hidden the spring from below.

A few arrowheads and other artifacts testified to the fact that Apaches had visited and hunted in this recessed alcove in the past, but no traces of more recent use were evident.

Like most sources of water on the edges of the Tularosa Basin, what liquid did trickle down inevitably disappeared underground to collect and

Page 107 create one of the largest aquifers in the Western United States. Unfortunately, the underground water soon turned brackish from the overburden of mineral salts and was unusable. It was only on the margins of the basin that you could find clear, sweet water. That’s what made Jim’s small discovery a few years ago so precious.

He made short work of the trip and, while the climb was not so difficult as to be strenuous, Jim took a moment to catch his breath. There was very little leakage around the spring box, but he did notice another small trickle of water several feet higher up the cliff face that he had not noticed before. Just a few feet back brought him to the opposite wall. He looked up and traced the meager flow coming over the lip of a horizontal cleft in the face of the rock about twenty feet up.

The wall at his back was easier to scramble up, and when he was level with the slit opposite, he was surprised to see that the cleft was actually the opening to a low cave in the cliff. What was even more intriguing was the steel head of a Spanish halberd lying at the opening of the cave. The pike-like steel head would have been hafted onto a wooden shaft to be used as the weapon of choice by a mounted horseman of several centuries ago.

Jim recalled his history of the territory. He knew that Francisco Vasquez de Coronado led an expedition that had trekked through part of New Mexico, the first Europeans to do so, in the 1540s looking for Cibola, the fabled Seven Cities of Gold.

Sixty years later, Don Juan de Oñate had brought Spanish colonists up the Rio Grande to establish the first European settlements in the Southwest.

Jim also knew from talking to some of the old timers that the occasional piece of Spanish Armour had been found buried in the sands or hidden away in some remote recess. Could one of those intrepid Spanish conquistadors have come this way looking to slake his thirst? Jim needed to investigate.

Story continues next edition

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