Cocoposts

Liminal Forest

The electric utility guy came to visit today. Hard hat man in a bright jacket. He eyed the fat cottonwood that's precariously close to a transformer.

That wasn’t her choice. The tree and forest were there before the land was divided up. And that’s only one in a series of abuses, and relatively minor. The whole Bosque was cut for firewood - multiple times. Now people treasure the cottonwood around here, right? Right?
So many places are named for it including Spanish: El Alamo, Alamogordo, Alameda....

I suppose it once must have seemed there were too many to count. Trees didn’t matter. The street, utility lines and houses were worth more than the forest. Profit-wise.  Sort of a way of honoring the dead.  Naming things for them.

Some big monster trees remain on the ditch banks and edges of fields - places the chainsaws haven't reached for whatever reason. Or they are prized yardfeatures whose soft wood must be monitored and radically trimmed lest heavy branches crash onto cars and rooftops.

The big mother tree survives on the liminal edge between this subdivision and that. She attracts attention only from admirers, with the possible exception of the electric utility guy. She is guarded by neighbors who watch, including noisy crows.

The kind of tree that makes you want to be a better human.

 

Mice Are Back

It’s like I thought if I killed two or three … or eight they'd get the message. But NOOO. They know “No cat,” and have ventured in again - into the underspace where they make nightly forays onto the counters and into the cabinets. They’re safe from Mr. Coyote and his cousins who thrive, polishing off the last roaming cats, hens and pheasant in the neighborhood.

Last night I heard the snap. But the sound of flopping went on too long and in the morning I saw the poor thing firmly snapped in half and very much alive. And angry. About the only thing worse than taking a dead mouse out of a trap is taking a mad mouse out of a trap. Maimed mad mouse.

I suspect them of some form of coordinated vengeance now. 

 

 

How History is Destroyed

 

The Ancient Pueblo village of Ghufoor was sketched by Adolph F. Bandelier in 1882. By 1931 pothunters had already begun destruction. It was excavated in 1934 and then destroyed in the 1950s by gravel quarrying. In 2006 all of the land over and around the site was mass-graded for a subdivision. Even without the known prehistory of the area, the total obliteration of the place is shocking.  This is a routine method of grading for large housing development.

For more on Ghufoor, also known as Santiago, see Dennis Herrick's  History of Santiago Pueblo -The Lost Tiwa Village.

History of History

The architect, designer, and well-traveled Chan Graham is featured in a recent TACA story.

He describes the adobe church, All Nations Assembly of God at 1119 Menaul Boulevard, as his favorite project. 

Birders at Coronado Historic Site

…which would more accurately be called a prehistoric site are encouraged to look for a variety of species including wild turkeys that inhabit the bosque.

New Mexico Game and Fish just announced they’re proposing to delist the rarest turkey species existing in the state today - Gould’s wild turkey. (Article in Current Arghh) Because. Reasons.

Also read about how the trump cultist down there has introduced legislation to “protect” the oil and gas industry from species conservation.

Most of the photos of turkeys in New Mexico online are people posing with dead ones.

Game and Fish has more on protecting, and not, Gould's and other turkey types here.

 

 

Ancient Pet Turkeys

My idea of what ancient pueblo villages looked like did not include so many birds.

The excellent lecture series by Archaeology Southwest on Avian Archaeology is ongoing and past talks are up on their YouTube channel. The next on Turkey feather blankets will include blanket maker Mary Weahkee who replicates them using ancient techniques. The research Cyler Conrad presented is here. Upcoming topics include birds of Chaco Canyon, turkey burials, depiction on pottery and macaw and parrot keeping.

(Image from Archaeology Southwest)

The widespread evidence of domestic turkey management by ancient people indicates that they were managed in different ways and kept for different purposes. They were tethered, penned, housed in converted room blocks, and allowed to free range. Every part of them was used - eggs, feathers, bones. Maybe they provided pest control.  Maybe they provided companionship.

Judging affection for animals from the archaeological record is impossible, right?  But it's clear turkeys were valued very highly and there seems to be little evidence that they were raised as a primary food source. They were more valuable, for whatever reasons, alive.

There's a broken wing splint artifact in a display case at the Coronado Historic Site. I saw it years ago and think about it frequently. It's not the only example that's been found. The turkey's wing was broken, reset and healed. You don't do that to just any old bird you want to eat and make flutes out of.    

 

 

Tale of the Unvaxed

Fairy Door

Monty

Angel and Monty had a special relationship. The horse trainer bought “Momma” at a horse auction where she was bound for the killers because of a leg injury. He hadn’t known she was pregnant. She died after giving birth to huge healthy Monty and Angel nursed the orphan foal.

Monty grew and then grew some more. He became an extra-large specimen of the whatever shire-something breed. Angel tricked-out Sadie’s barn for him. He combined three stalls and outdoor runs and doubled the size of the wash rack. He had to get rid of Alva’s bulldozer, snowmobile and ATV to do it. That broke exactly no one’s heart.

Monty and the burros (or donkeys) were star attractions at the Cozy Y.  For catered events Monty pulled a hay wagon full of kids. For parades, the burros were dressed up in various costumes and loaded into the wagon where they pretended to be driving.  Angel, dressed as a dog, held the reins. It was a promotion for the ranch and the wagon was covered in colorful canvas banners advertising its motel, restaurant and curio shop.

During their last parade, as one reporter described it, the burros “freaked out.”  Some idiot kid threw a soda can at Monty. How could he miss? The horse was a giant. It hit his hip and bounced into the wagon landing at the donkeys’ feet. One of the donkeys who was dressed this day as a nun, must have seen the kid do it. She jumped out of the wagon and went straight for him. The other donkey, dressed as a priest, followed but became tangled in a banner. 

Monty, meanwhile, was unharmed and unfazed. He kept up his steady slow parade pace up Central Avenue. Angel, in dog suit, jumped down from the wagon to try and catch the nun and priest donkeys as they charged around after the boy, black cassocks flowing. The kid was screaming and yelling his head off, running up and down the parade route, climbing trees and telephone poles, circling around and under the wagon to get away.

As this mobile drama moved on, some thought it was all part of the show. They laughed at the boy pleading for help as the nun donkey charged at him, ears pinned and teeth bared. If she got close she'd strike with a front right hoof, aiming for his head with laudable accuracy. 

According to those interviewed, the priest donkey interceded on the boy’s behalf, stepping in between them several times to let him get away. Then she would run after them again, braying loudly. The crowd cheered her on. She trailed a banner that read: “FOR A RELAXING RETREAT VISIT COZY Y.”