Back in a bit

I'll be traveling for a few days and I'm not sure if I'll be able to post blog entries until I get back. Look for new entries before and during the holiday weekend!

Commercial Buildings in Van Horn - Adobe

Housing Survey - Animals in the Neighborhood

Mother Daughter Day!

Check out the new donations on the Van Horn's library book drive blog. Thanks go out to the dynamic mother-daughter team of Anne Remington and her mother, Rosemary Heilemann, and my own mother, Barb Nobles.

This makes our "Second Mile" readers responsible for 80 books, two magazine subscriptions, and $185 donated to the Van Horn City County Library. Your generosity is making a huge impact on the reading choices available to this small town. THANK YOU!!

(If you would like to donate to the library, check the original post on the link above, or mail your gift to me at: P.O. Box 277, Van Horn, TX 79855.)

Rumble

When I'm traveling, I miss the rumble of the train, especially when I have trouble sleeping. Inside the comfort of my adobe building, I hear the soft sounds of the train, but mostly I feel the bed shake a little bit. It is a good feeling, probably appealing to some distant memory of being rocked to sleep.

Outside on the street, conversations stop in mid-sentence when the trains burst through town. They're that LOUD. You can't hear anything over them, especially when the whistles blow. None of the trains stop in Van Horn, but the people of Van Horn stop for them many times a day.

Van Horn's history is all about moving people from place to place. First it was a passageway for Indians, then the military, then the railroad. Next came the highway, then the freeway (I-10) and now, maybe, space.

Tracks parallel many of the highways in the region, sometimes so far out in the distance the trains look tiny. Other places the rails are just adjacent to the road, so at night, you can get tricked into thinking a huge truck is barreling towards you without caution. But instead, the road inevitably curves and you realize there's been no danger of collision at all. You're on parallel tracks.

Housing Survey - Adobe

My best guess is a third of the homes in Van Horn are adobe, including my favorites which you see here.

Adobe is a great building material. It provides insulation from heat and cold and living in adobe is quiet because it insulates the sound, too. Because it is made of sun-baked mud, it has the feeling of the earth in it. There's a solidity to it that is comforting.

Adobe is extremely durable. Some of the oldest buildings in the region, dating back to the 1680s, are made of adobe. If you look closely, you can see one of these houses has seen some repair. A large crack made decades ago by an earthquake has been filled in, as has an unwanted window. Adobe has its weakness--it doesn't hold up against unprotected, sustained exposure to water. Since we don't see much rain, adobe is perfectly suited for our climate.

And no, I didn't transpose the numbers. I meant 1680 not 1860!

Housing Survey - Mobile Homes

One of my friends suggested I do an architectural tour of Van Horn, and here's the first installment.

When my friend Teresa visited me in Iowa for the first time, it struck her that we didn't have many mobile homes. Here, things are different.

In Van Horn housing is a major challenge, and mobile homes are very common. It is difficult to get a contractor to come to town to build new homes, so many people opt to live in trailers. Actually, builders won't come here; they feel they can't make a profit in this town. Wages are low, and most folks can't afford a large mortgage. My best estimate is that a third of the houses here are trailers. Out in the country, the percentage is higher.

Some trailers show years of disrepair. Other owners show great creativity in the alternation of their mobile homes, they spruce them up and make them look homey.

Later, I'll post entries on adobe in town.

Pronghorn Antelope Symposium

Yesterday I got back from a two-day symposium on pronghorn antelope, a beautiful animal that lives on the flat grassy plains. They were a source of meat for workers building the railroad, and have become a prized game animal, though it is not very sporting to shoot them since they are easily cornered. The development of ranchettes and new roads will endanger this animal as habitat shrinks and they won't move on to other grazing lands since they don't cross roads or railroad tracks. And there's a high mortality rate when they're captured.

Ranchers holding hunting permits, and private and state-government wildlife managers attended the workshop. We learned about habitat, anatomy, environmental and development issues and the impact of drought on this animal. Attending the symposium was a good way to learn more about ranchers and ranching, hunting, and the state and federal regulations regarding wildlife. It was also a good way for ranchers to learn I'm not as scary as I seem, but I understand their resistance to one of my organization's primary goals--to promote the region. Promotion brings tourists who want to move here, and the development of 5 acre ranchettes and the loss of habitat and grazing lands for antelope and cattle.

I'm sparing you the necropsy photos, but here's one a rancher took of me yesterday just north of Alpine, and a photo I took after the symposium on the way home. (click on the photos for a closer view)

Oh yeah, now I remember!

Last week a friend caught me sneezing and said, "I hope you're not getting sick!"

"No," I said, "I feel great, just a little sneezy." It was easy to dismiss the thought. I've been feeling terrific.

This morning I woke up with a quarter-sized headache in the middle of my forehead, and remembered....this feels just like all those spring and fall allergy attacks I used to have in the Midwest. We've been having so much rain lately, the weeds are sprouting up like crazy.

Just like, "dry heat isn't as bad as humdity," another cliche about the desert reveals itself to be true. Living out here is good for the allergy sufferer. A year without a sinus headache is a very good thing!

Dutch Oven Cooking

This weekend, I went to the rodeo at Sul Ross State University in Alpine, but arrived too late to see any of the competition in the ring. The Dutch Oven cooking competition was in full swing, though, with teams cooking from chuckwagons vying for the title of best meal. They cook everything from scratch right there out in the field, just as the cowboy cooks used to do, and they love to tell you about it. "Okra, organic, picked this morning!" The pie looked good, as did the beef stew, but I had to get groceries of my own and head home.

A closer look at the blimp

We had another stormy day yesterday, so the Border Patrol blimp was parked at its station between Valentine and Marfa. (See the "Border Patrol" entry below to read more.)

More Sunrise

Signs of Van Horn, part 6

Looks like a Day of the Dead figurine to me.

New Work

This piece is the first in a series called "Border People," based on my experience here in Texas and my affection for the funerary traditions I see in the Van Horn cemetery and elsewhere in the region.

The title "Border People: Querida Mama" was taken from a marker here in Van Horn, and it means "beloved mother." The series will grow into a community of remembrances loosely based on the structure Edgar Lee Masters used for "A Spoon River Anthology"--all stories about people in a fictional small town. As with Masters, there will be some interweaving of those stories. I want to convey the love and devotion the people here have for those passed and tell something of this small town life at the border.

The center of the piece is a hand embroidered portrait about an inch tall, based on a photograph of my grandmother from 1936. This was stitched on a field of silk, and surrounded by hand-painted artificial flower blossoms attached with french knots. I used a combination of commercially purchased silks, velvet, and acetate ribbon in the piece, with hand-embroidery added.

I am working on a piece now with a woman buried at the foot of the mountain with two guardian jackrabbits watching over her. It is challenging and fun work, getting the sentiment, respect, and the technical aspects just right.

This piece is also viewable at www.hibberdmcgrath.com I've been blessed with a great relationship with this Breckenridge, Colorado gallery. Marty Hibberd and Terry McGrath will be taking this piece and future "Border People" pieces to the SOFA show on Navy Pier in Chicago this November.

Pretty sky

Here's a sunrise sky from last week!

Border Patrol

When I drive back from El Paso or south of Marfa or Big Bend National Park, I have to go through a Border Patrol checkpoint. An officer stands under a shelter on the road, and waves you through or signals you to stop. An Iowa license plate seemed to be a free pass through the checkpoint, but now with a Texas plate, I get a few questions, “Where are you going? Where have you been? What were you doing there? Where do you live? How long have you lived there?” and always, “Are you a citizen?” It is a relatively benign experience, but I’m an Anglo. I’ve never been asked for my papers or pulled over for a search. Actually, I’ve never talked with anyone who has.

When I drive to Marfa, I pass the blimp station that monitors the region from the sky. The large white unmanned blimp was a more chilling sight when I first moved here than it is today. At first I felt the government was watching everything I did, but now I have mixed feelings, and some days--particularly hot days--I'm actually happy to see it up in the air. If it is up there maybe some poor soul won’t try to make the trek across the river and through the desert. Maybe it is a deterrent for some.

It is about smuggling people and drugs, and the sad fact is people die in the desert trying to get across--more people than you think. Every issue of the paper has reports of drug arrests and there’s a long list of vehicles, cash, and drugs taken by law enforcement. There are also reports at times of bodies found on remote ranch land, some with identification and some without.

I never feel particularly unsafe here. I’m as wary as I would be exploring a new urban neighborhood, and I keep an eye out, but I don’t feel at risk. Most of you know I’m not reckless with my safety, and that’s no different here. Smugglers don’t want encounters with ordinary folks, just as urban criminals wouldn’t want to force contact with tourists. Visitors are safe. Anyone involved with contraband would take a detour around tourists tromping in the desert. They just don’t want to be seen. Besides, Border Patrol trucks are a frequent sight on the road; they’re checking fences and obvious hiding places, and following up on suspicious sightings from the blimp.

Most of you know that I have feelings against the use of illegal drugs, and living here has solidified that sentiment. In Iowa, it was easier to hold a “live and let live” philosophy…you do it, and it is your business. But here, even though drugs are a significant part of the economy and if they went away this part of Texas would really be hurting, I see how involvement in the transportation network to get them to the U.S. results in people dying in the desert alone.

The National Guard is here now, and they say they’re building fences and other “support activities.” With new “National Security” mandates, Van Horn is due to see our Border Patrol force grow from 16 to 175 in the next few years. That’s a lot of growth for a town of 2,500 with no available housing at all.

In Presidio across the border from Ojinaga, Mexico (the safest border town, they tell me), they had to build a compound for the influx of Border Patrol families. Behind a tall chain-link, barbed wire fence sits a large neighborhood of brand new suburban houses with new children’s toys on the lawns of green irrigated grass. The rest of Presidio is very, very poor and living in crumbling adobe and dingy trailers on dusty barren land. A Chamber of Commerce person in Presidio said most Hispanics even those with legal status, are afraid to cross over to Mexico for fear they’ll never get back because of document issues. This is an ugly dynamic to set up in any small town—a relatively wealthy community with visible material goods living in a fenced compound in the center of frightened, poor people with no easy way to get home.

Twilight Zone

Maybe it is my affection for 1950s science fiction movies, but Van Horn has always inspired imaginings of giant spiders created by scientists at the spaceport, crawling over the mountains to devour Van Hornians. I cast myself, of course, as the girl scientist or the girl reporter in the story. It is just a fun way to entertain myself, these thoughts.

Yesterday was a weird day. My back was a little sore so I stopped to walk during my morning run in the cemetery. As I passed a grave, I noticed a strange radio transmission-like sound coming from the ground. I've been going by this spot 4-5 times a week for months and had never heard anything like it before but it was definitely coming from the grave itself. Not wanting to move the memorial objects, including piles of toys-it was the grave of a 14 year old boy-and artificial and real flowers, I didn't want to poke around. I came back to the grave a couple of times, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, and everytime the strange sound still came up from the ground.

So I left a sheepish-sounding voicemail with an acquaintance, a state trooper whom I trust. I couldn't wrap my head around what I was hearing, and I thought Bruce could at least tell me if he thought there was something criminal in nature going on at the cemetery. And I put it out of my mind.

Then a tiny older lady wandered into my office asking for "the person who could tell me about this town." She said she wanted information about things to do, and vacant lots because she was thinking of moving either to Van Horn or San Antonio. Okay, a little strange. I gave her some brochures, and then I noticed her feet. Bare feet. Calloused bare feet. She was perfectly normally dressed, and then I looked down and thought, "I've got a weird one here." I told her if she was looking for property she should check the Convention Center, and I'd be happy to walk her there. On the way to see Brenda and Andrea next door, she stopped for a full minute to rub her styrofoam cup all over the holly bush by the front door. "Holly isn't a good friend," she said.

Later Bruce called me back. He was patient with my crazy story and immediately assured me he didn't think the sound was related to something criminal. If it had been a drop point for contraband he said, the criminals would have done everything they could to make it unobtrusive and not call attention to the spot. He was stymied too, and I'm sure thought I was a little nuts, until he asked who's grave was making the sound. When I told him he said, "Oh, this makes more sense." Bruce's theory is that the family buried an electronic device, like a radio in the casket or above the casket sometime since the boy died in April 2005. With all the rain we've been having, water seeping into the ground might have affected the radio causing it to turn on. The boy had had leukemia for a long time, and the death was very hard on the family and the community. Knowing that families here feel a very strong connection to the departed, and knowing they still consider them as a living part of the family, this made perfect sense to me.

And this morning the grave was silent again.

Fitness Camp

Last week I was away at the Davis Mountains Fitness and Training Camp in Fort Davis, an hour and a half from Van Horn. Everyone sets their own pace and activities for the week, which accommodates people who like to sit on the porch and drink coffee all day or 88 year olds who want to train for their next half-marathon. All kinds of folks come to fitness camp to hike, bike, run, swim, do yoga or Pilates, or get a massage in this beautiful mountain setting.

My favorite day was Thursday. We got up before dawn to board a school bus that took us to our drop-off point, a picnic area. From there we ran 2 miles up the mountain to Wild Rose Pass, and then back down again for a total of four miles. Two and six mile options were also available. The bus took us back to a hot breakfast (with fresh biscuits!) and we dressed in our bike jerseys for the morning’s ride, a 40 mile roll back through Wild Rose Pass (photos above of the aid station and view at the pass) and down to Balmorhea State Park, a natural spring-fed cement pond.

The support you get from the staff inspires you to push yourself at your own pace. The running staff will videotape you if you want, and offer tips on improving your style. They’ll run with the pack each morning and accompany those at the back; a gentle supportive way to make sure everyone gets back on the bus in good shape. The bike staff will do the same--ride by you yelling, “looking good!” or if you’re not, riding with you for awhile to make sure you’re okay. And as you can see, they’re willing to fix tires for a small fee.

I get inspired every year by the folks at camp who range from doughy-looking folks in their 60s who attack the challenging 74-mile mountainous scenic loop ride with vigor, to sleek not-an-ounce-of-body-fat-on-‘em athletes. A happy combination takes place for me at camp--
I push myself and I relax simultaneously--which propels me through the year of workouts, deadlines and everyday stress.

Tomorrow begins Blog Week!

I've been occupied the past 10 days or so with our Texas Mountain Trail board meeting, giving a public presentation, and then taking off for fitness camp! So to get back into the swing of things, tomorrow I'll begin posting daily entries for seven days straight! There will be something new to read every single day!