"If it doesn't bite, stick, or sting, it is probably a rock"

There is a great article about Big Bend National Park in the current issue of National Geographic magazine. Here's a link to the online article. http://www7.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0702/feature2/index.html Don't you deserve a little vacation? Do yourself a favor and take a look at the photo gallery. Or better yet, plan to visit!

A Loss

This afternoon, I learned of Judy's death. She'd traveled the roads here on her burro, sleeping on the side of the road under a tarp for more than 30 years. I'd see her every few months in town or on the road to Marfa. I've been told many stories about her, and am not sure any of them were true.

She was wary and reluctant to speak to others or talk about herself, but I was told she was a registered nurse who'd developed a fear of small spaces and chose to live outside. At one point, she'd had a Cadillac with a trailer to haul the burro behind it, but this was many years ago. Postmasters in the region would let her family (somewhere far away) know when she stopped by. She didn't like her photo taken, and there were several stories of her defending herself, pulling a gun at anyone who would interrupt her sleep.

She was silent in our exchange at the laundromat a year ago, when I helped her get her crumbled dollar bills to work in the change machine. She was tiny, and what bulk she had was really just multiple layers of clothing. As she did her wash in the warmth of the laundromat, she smoked silently while her burro cried for attention outside.

I've wanted to write about her many times, not knowing how to respectfully talk about this woman, whom I would probably never understand and possessed little right to assume anything about her life.

She was found Thursday, between Van Horn and Sierra Blanca, though closer to Sierra Blanca. Apparently someone passed by her and she was sitting against a tree, and later she was seen slumped over. The EMS was called, and took her body away, but when they tried to pick up her things, the burro tried to root around and was looking for her. I guess the Judge in Sierra Blanca has the burro now, and she'd known the burro lady fairly well. I doubt the burro will ever know that kind of companionship again.

She was an icon in the region, a symbol of strength, toughness and independence. Whether illness drove her to her life on the side of the road, or if it was just an odd determined nature, I don't know, but I know she will be missed. She offered color, depth, and pathos to the region. She was the grit it takes to live here.

YIPPEEE!!!!

Just received word that the entire state heritage trails program, including my funding, has been approved through August 31, 2008. This is the result of the state agency finding unused funds (how they found an entire year's worth is curious, isn't it?) and our coordinated state-wide lobbying efforts directed at the state historical commission and the state department of transportation.

More later, but for the first time in almost two months, I feel as if I can breathe. Obviously, we've got lots of work to do building and implementing a sustainability plan for the Trail.

Roads closed

I-10 closed again last night for at least the second time in a week, leaving travelers stranded. The Convention Center next door to City Hall opened as a shelter, which became apparent to me when I arrived at work to see three Greyhound buses and a dozen cars parked in front. This snow is a cinch for me, but I'm used to driving in a little bit of snow, but it is comforting to know that the state of Texas will close the freeway when it gets treacherous. Most people don't know how to drive in it, and there are long stretches of uninhabited land between towns, where if you had trouble in bad weather, it might take a long time for help to get to you. Closing the road at a little bit of snow seems like a good idea here.

I recognize the look on people's faces, having spent an uncomfortable night on a church pew in a remote Iowa town nearly 20 years ago as a refugee from a quick moving snowstorm. The normal visage of the Greyhound patron--tired and stressed and unhappy to be traveling by bus--looks hardened by a night on the Convention Center floor. Van Horn has put out a spread for them, and brought in a television, but it looks as if everyone had a difficult night.

Most in need is the Japanese man who apparently doesn't speak English or Spanish, and no one in Van Horn can speak Japanese. We think he probably needs to let relatives know that he's safe, but no one has been able to communicate with him so far.

And looks as if the road for at least 100 miles in every direction will be closed until at least early afternoon.

Update: 4:05 pm. Earlier this afternoon the road cleared and everyone got in their vehicles and drove out of town, including our Japanese visitor.

Today's photos

Cooking for Jack Lemmon

If you've been thinking about seeing Van Horn yourself, make your travel plans soon.

I wish more of you could have been able to make the journey. Being here is a real lesson in looking at things more deeply, and it has been a privilege to learn a few things from Van Horn.

On first sight, most would say this is a depressing little town. It is all too easy to see only the truck repair places and the dumpy little motels. At dawn and dusk though, there is nothing but shimmering color against the mountains. Many nights I stand slackjawed at my small window taking in the sunset, and I feel calmed and comforted by the light. I'm not just an extra human being taking up space in a crowded city. I'm a part of life.

It took a year to break in here. I suspect it came sooner than that, before I recognized it. Maybe it took the newspaper article about my artwork, claiming me as "our own" to get it through my thick skull that I was accepted. I know it took awhile for folks to trust that this quiet woman from another place--who surely had other options in life--would want to live here. I know they want me to stay. Now when I tank up the car, they ask me, "what are you up to today, going hiking?" and, "well, Beth, drive safely and be careful." I know there are conversations happening now, "how can we keep this girl here?"

My friends are mostly 15-20 years older than me. They opened up to me and once I let myself, I opened myself to them. Gun-toting, conservative cowboys have a great deal to teach me about grace, faith, acceptance, and fun. Maybe they're learning from me, too. I think they are.

Every day there is something new. The bare and beautiful geometry of pecan orchards in January. The flock of long-billed curlews, shorebirds nesting in the open range land. Quincenearas. Space scientists. Large ceramic dogs resting on new graves.

I've often wondered why my needlework is so tiny. Maybe because it forces me to focus and look deeply at the details. Maybe I need that. My experiences here make me look and learn from my own strength, my stubbornness and my own weaknesses. Van Horn inspires and requires a close look. If you consider it superficially, you miss the value and the beauty of the town. I learned that by living here, how to stop and listen to myself and how to see.

Last night I dreamt I was cooking for guests, but you... all my friends.... were missing. Only Jack had the opportunity to see the beauty of it all. That's a shame. This blog was an attempt to share it with you, but really, you have to be here to get the full experience.

The funding situation wavers daily between "utterly hopeless" and "maybe there's hope but it will take some risk and faith in others to get it together." I'm prepared to tell my board (as I told the president yesterday) that I will have to start dusting off the resume in March. My first choice is to stay here in this job (I don't like giving up easily and there's so much I want to accomplish), a strong second choice would be to find something else in the region, but I'm also open to new adventures in new places.

Back Home Again

Arrived home to my beautiful mountains and happy cat after almost two weeks away. All my visits were great, it was just the getting there and the getting home that was torturous. Most of Texas is socked in with an ice storm this week, thankfully I made it home ahead of most of that storm.

I'll write more later when I have something to say, but wanted you Weather Channel watchers to know I made it home safely!

Arghhh

Spending a long afternoon in O'Hare waiting for a return flight to El Paso. That will arrive late, so it will be early tomorrow morning before I return to Van Horn. But it has been a great visit, so I shouldn't complain.

But I will say other airports have more plentiful electrical outlets for computer user. A guy just walked by and said, "quite a work station you've got there, huh?" That's right. I'm sitting crosslegged on the hard terrazzo floor, laptop in, well...my lap.

At least I'm happier than the fuzzy little white terrier who was emitting a sound somewhere between a chirp and a bark a minute ago. He must have just gotten off a flight and is complaining about being toted around in a tote bag.

If I don't log in in the next few days it is because I'm back on the road again...this time on a long weekend in Houston. More later!

Thank you needleworkers!

Last week I had a dream teaching experience in the north suburbs of Chicago, with the most delightful group of ladies. The group attacked each exercise, each process and each new stitch with exuberance and good cheer. Usually there's at least one class member who's a little bit difficult or negative and the vibes they send out become an obstacle to the class, and I have to move into ultra-patience mode to bring balance to the group. But not this class. Everyone in the guild contributed in their own way to an excellent visit. I always learn so much when I teach, and it seems like a fair trade even without getting paid. But I like to get paid!

Because I spend so much time in hotels, I opted to stay with a host, a member of the needlework guild. Most teachers like the privacy of hotels, but I enjoy spending time with families and, I'm not ashamed to admit it, I like eating home-cooked meals. This time I stayed with Jean and Walter a half block from Lake Michigan in Wilmette. In their 70s and 80s, this couple is active and vibrant, and Jean and I ran one morning along the lake, watching the sun rise next to the Bahai Temple, which was just one highlight of a terrific visit. Walter shared some of his life history, fascinating since he was a teenaged German Jew refugee in the 1940s. After one dinner he pulled out his xeroxed copies of his own arrest record during the Kristallnacht, photographs of the 92 children he'd lived with in a farm building in southern Vichy France and books written about their group. They were terrific hosts, and I thank them for their generosity.

There were many interesting moments during my stay in Chicago. I'll write more later about it, as I'm in Bloomington visiting family for a few days, and will return to Texas on Tuesday.