Way back when I hung out with a geologist. Any of you ever met one of these types of human beings? Well, they wander around in the middle of nowhere, looking at rocks and bones if they do paleontology as well. This geologist studied what is called geoarcheology and I ended up with him in the middle of the Chupadero Mesa in New Mexico. I found him to be an interesting but a rather odd sort and I think he probably figured that most archeologists were interesting but odd as well. Anyways, we wandered for days on end based on maps he had built from a flyover in an airplane and we found all kinds of stuff incluidng major habitation sites, bear scat, coyotes howling, big cats, small cars, and a variety of ranching activity. One of the archeological sites we recorded perched precariously on a hillside of crumbling stone. The walls seemed rather strange to me since the direction of most prehistoric structures were east to west. This one was different and we looked at it for awhile. My research bud Tim studied the maps and the house a bit and whistled lowly under his breath. We got closer to the structure and for some reason someone way back when had physically moved it to this place. It was pretty obvious because the foundation pieces were simply not there and the house sat on pieces of recent wood planks. As we sat there looking at it, a group of ranchers rode up to us. We were on foot and they had horses. We had no weapons and they had 30/30 winchesters or Henry Repeating Rifles. We had no booze and they had bottles of liquid lightening. Without a better reason I guess they de-horsed and we all drank a bit and talked. These ranchers were a pretty tight-lipped bunch until they had a few touches. Then they started smiling and talking a bit and we were definitely entertained. They had stories of things and rememberances and Tim and I were transported to the life of a New Mexico cowboy. It was not this sordid world of bars and drunkedness they told us about; but a world of big hills and lofty mountains and a quiet that often lasted days. They would gather around fires at night and after a few “touches” drink some lightening. But in their eyes were the distances and the sunsets and cows and the golden eagles.
You know, dear reader, after you change a few times, it gets harder to remember some moments. Sometimes I labor a bit to remember these days what the air smelled like in the Eldorado National Forest during an early fall morning. I do know it was cool and wet and the leaves smelled a certain welcoming way. But I cannot remember its true essence or how it made me feel. Same as Tim and I that day I think. We had no stories to tell so we became good listeners.
All of these things are hierarchies of life and we live them, remember them, but often time intercedes and its good to have a weblog so I can jot down the things. Perhaps one day I’ll write a few things about a few other interesting events. I’ve fancied a story about what Linuxcare was like because people still ask; but more likely I would like to write about the summers and winters and springs in the desert and how those times went.
