tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76484493033765769812024-03-05T11:44:13.235-08:00Sidetracked CharleyRamblings of a poet, painter & photographerJBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.comBlogger942125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-90881916764339404202023-07-30T03:56:00.005-07:002023-07-30T04:01:56.476-07:00Polyethylene Packaging - a Dark Times Journal entry<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg849z4Ig7kmatFIqCqDMDqfGi7UCAKJ5li-IPsO6IWaJdzs4M3qfF6Teh5g6eQG2NG3rYyfCyZzYJINyRvyZBClGRBSfDthPMQ84a4b170xOVUpWOxWahWJPnG4o25YaXz_uVobf-Od372BIQMPHsFasEXVBduwkdOXcEfAhymF8oPWsH2x-vJadQUotMQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="870" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg849z4Ig7kmatFIqCqDMDqfGi7UCAKJ5li-IPsO6IWaJdzs4M3qfF6Teh5g6eQG2NG3rYyfCyZzYJINyRvyZBClGRBSfDthPMQ84a4b170xOVUpWOxWahWJPnG4o25YaXz_uVobf-Od372BIQMPHsFasEXVBduwkdOXcEfAhymF8oPWsH2x-vJadQUotMQ" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>I was in the fourth grade when our family moved from El Paso, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico. We moved because I could not breathe the air there. I want to say they cracked petroleum there. But what did I know beyond the sky was sometimes yellow and I could not breathe. Mom was pregnant with Debbie, and Gary and I rode in the backseat separated by a round tank full of Dad's tropical fish.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Dad had a job with Sealright, Inc which made paper milk cartons. Sealright was a polyethylene packing subsidiary of Phillips 66. The petroleum company. I was rather proud of myself for learning to say that, and to not laugh when adults would stare at me not knowing what to ask about that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Albuquerque smelled better. Then. Before all the freeways were built and the shape of the valley trapped the exhaust down near the ground in the winter months. We lived in the foothills. I could breathe. I learned that if I could see the air I could not. Still it was better than El Paso though I missed our trips to Juarez for Sunday dinner out. And the waiters who could fill our water glasses from three feet above them without spilling a drop. You could still drink the water then. There was still water in the Rio Grande which we walked over on those Sundays. It still looked like water.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Simpler times. The milkman put the glass contained milk in the box on our porch. Little did I know that the company Dad worked for was trying to replace those glass bottles with paper covered with polyethylene film. He did a good job at that and was promoted to a management position and the family moved to Denver while I moved into Hokona Dorm on the University of New Mexico. President Kennedy had been assassinated and there were more important things to think about than polyethylene. I just had to remember where my folks lived so I could go home for summer and Christmas. I was a military brat. I was mobile. Glass milk bottles were going away. Mom could still buy Coke, her addiction of choice, in glass returnable bottles, but that wouldn't be for long because plastic was the new miracle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It wasn't until Dad was vice president of that polyethylene packaging subsidiary of Phillips 66 that I found out polyethylene is a waste product of cracking petroleum. Dad worked for a company which made it impossible for me to breathe in El Paso. And by extension guilty for all the plastic non-recyclable waste in our oceans. He was dead by then. In the end he couldn't breathe because he had a form of Rheumatoid arthritis which attacks the lungs. My sister and I were tested to see if we had the same gene. Thankfully no. I just know I cannot live comfortably in cities.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And I miss glass bottles. </span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-6881332968344398262023-07-27T05:04:00.003-07:002023-07-27T05:04:43.677-07:00Is This the End of Days/<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pSSR4FUIzohMTy7Ezi6mEkfFKQEbWO8e8n1Tia0W83vun2mvvnQ6cNylA48BnLQ7kBjUDoDQOJfboFwgekE7zZTHWfNEhnthfzk5mKfr5w8dFEL5Ujurl3EoCNxo_UkOo_6qVySkwJzcVE32HDI1p3TxDYOlPZijREE5DN1ZYsODltM33zRVDZfCgn-E/s4867/5C4213F8-A6C3-45DC-B598-3A4A87493848_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3874" data-original-width="4867" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pSSR4FUIzohMTy7Ezi6mEkfFKQEbWO8e8n1Tia0W83vun2mvvnQ6cNylA48BnLQ7kBjUDoDQOJfboFwgekE7zZTHWfNEhnthfzk5mKfr5w8dFEL5Ujurl3EoCNxo_UkOo_6qVySkwJzcVE32HDI1p3TxDYOlPZijREE5DN1ZYsODltM33zRVDZfCgn-E/w640-h510/5C4213F8-A6C3-45DC-B598-3A4A87493848_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Fall of Stars<br />20 x 30 Mixed Media on Artists canvas<br />$1350</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Next to last of the End of Days series? When did the series begin? Is it even a series? Maybe it is really a period like Picasso's Blue Period. What binds these paintings together? I sat down in my studio to play with doing an interview on video and while working on framing, how to put a painting into the frame with me, where was the best lighting in my studio, an incredible dryness in my mouth making talking difficult, what came out after a sip of water and swallowing was the End of Days series. Now with a friend coming over to interview me I am struck by what to say.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I have thought of a group of paintings I began after I dared to not paint churches. They are largely canyons, my cathedrals, though here and there is a pueblo or ruin of the before people. There is nothing special about those really. I have always been drawn to the architecture of ancient ruins and yes, canyons. And old mission churches in New Mexico which I saw as man's attempt to imitate the canyons.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I have my favorite missions. Collectors have theirs. We do not always agree. And when I decided to end my participation in art fairs I stopped painting what did not interest me. I retreated back to my canyons and arches and, as a friend calls them, my ladies which I see in canyon formations. In that open space the end of days began. There is even one painting with that title but I do not know if that is the beginning. Canyon March to the Moon might have been.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmJjaJC6gwPCrsmg6TgzV1zmGsiwFqzyKFs7gbam6g9b0tRo_I8eP2QdLR_qnjjOAr1onIKtP6N4gM4-mui_81Ee6JYi9pD8RyqtSEgbMtflmyZuPxRkWGm9Mtma3qzbpO3p8gvQsQmktivgRcNq4K5GyibTgyn4eLmZVRai-R2aACt1FogSl8QkhzFTo/s2100/ECDDD275-2942-493C-814F-F2F0214ED255.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1663" data-original-width="2100" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmJjaJC6gwPCrsmg6TgzV1zmGsiwFqzyKFs7gbam6g9b0tRo_I8eP2QdLR_qnjjOAr1onIKtP6N4gM4-mui_81Ee6JYi9pD8RyqtSEgbMtflmyZuPxRkWGm9Mtma3qzbpO3p8gvQsQmktivgRcNq4K5GyibTgyn4eLmZVRai-R2aACt1FogSl8QkhzFTo/w640-h506/ECDDD275-2942-493C-814F-F2F0214ED255.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Canyon March to the Moon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sold</div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I did this one so early in my days of painting canyons it does not even appear on an inventory. And it is also before my playing around with oil sticks and other media. But it has the lonely quality which appears in other End of Days works. They have always been on the studio walls. Randomly. Always just a moment of solitude away. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EnNF9D_Ws4Hpl26EiFjQbKqgKTb3tR-gKrNkieSxE5Znsa6WZpxx7BSz575JfrcA29fjfavvggwJb_yJT73KkpMnvgI0nsf4rrziPCwdCRYi-UFpsUuh-yuePRjU7-1pfgpQTXJHLzTtDO0MZUpjMyQ7LEGdk2tLLhX7xRy2O0H-Fbp-H6bG-QUWHxLF/s4662/D8CC3454-391D-4248-AAD9-DD92DC5E502E_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3475" data-original-width="4662" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EnNF9D_Ws4Hpl26EiFjQbKqgKTb3tR-gKrNkieSxE5Znsa6WZpxx7BSz575JfrcA29fjfavvggwJb_yJT73KkpMnvgI0nsf4rrziPCwdCRYi-UFpsUuh-yuePRjU7-1pfgpQTXJHLzTtDO0MZUpjMyQ7LEGdk2tLLhX7xRy2O0H-Fbp-H6bG-QUWHxLF/w640-h478/D8CC3454-391D-4248-AAD9-DD92DC5E502E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Over the Edge<br />18 x 24 Watercolor on Artists canvas<br />$975</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">They seldom lingered long until the pandemic. With the studio closed by order of the governor for two years they seemed constant companions. And more frequent. Now they have stars and comets.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaJCb4X62g5tNH9qO37lShkgTXXL3iqsCJmuV5Ic_bg7XYtyuomMExzJWTmppXVHYrh96Elvu6Si6pugjQvlkI_oUwU258nZbGcuzw0Rd2C1nB0sGuHWxbNCT5qbumq5V8BHGckLfiSmvqY_wLhaPD4jLaxx3oKOKFJEylGw97GM1o5uXk5_iSWYKEVjU/s4853/C9FDD0BF-0F48-4599-BFDB-1B7D096A07D0_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2558" data-original-width="4853" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaJCb4X62g5tNH9qO37lShkgTXXL3iqsCJmuV5Ic_bg7XYtyuomMExzJWTmppXVHYrh96Elvu6Si6pugjQvlkI_oUwU258nZbGcuzw0Rd2C1nB0sGuHWxbNCT5qbumq5V8BHGckLfiSmvqY_wLhaPD4jLaxx3oKOKFJEylGw97GM1o5uXk5_iSWYKEVjU/w640-h338/C9FDD0BF-0F48-4599-BFDB-1B7D096A07D0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Return of the Yei<br />13 x 30 mixed media on Canvas<br />$1500</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I thought Return of the Yei would be the last but it wasn't I think it just heralded the take over of my studio.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span> </p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-30029919741337530792023-02-23T03:45:00.001-08:002023-02-23T03:45:24.258-08:00Careful What You Ask For<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigc94FeT4jkMkqiY9IxqV-8fwmK-uh3LirPRTI_l44il4Qc150rsyVmJXcRYdHc6WdEhXz2Sn4PskeJ7gEEe9RZAaOYsY5t2I2q_9fZ4Ai-8eFpRy1PgVFABokZcK7ViPlVMauSAwfZnHVLB-bmvKzxpOEs0CqiAEzHMrjYQE3wU1Gxsz_OIiE9eqYZw/s5568/C1503D4A-AE23-4585-B82E-61EEFC910CC5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigc94FeT4jkMkqiY9IxqV-8fwmK-uh3LirPRTI_l44il4Qc150rsyVmJXcRYdHc6WdEhXz2Sn4PskeJ7gEEe9RZAaOYsY5t2I2q_9fZ4Ai-8eFpRy1PgVFABokZcK7ViPlVMauSAwfZnHVLB-bmvKzxpOEs0CqiAEzHMrjYQE3wU1Gxsz_OIiE9eqYZw/w400-h266/C1503D4A-AE23-4585-B82E-61EEFC910CC5.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1942 Case Tractor</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The weather forecasts through December and January kept saying Snow Showers. And on those days we would get an inch or two. I wanted more. I wanted snow up to a Labradoodle's chest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiigtdgaOWFESm41SNVKC6CKyv8K8C_4FqU-xTUdgvvVN7ZFRNgkuBKcyLBuURLBsqrvY8U33gkEYzY0dVLUWxC1G-q3uR8rin5AtbiJls0JvKQRmh9NbKBjs3z28eq-FELwY8KyAcYV_vjl7q7uVERsUzBT0XttGQbFFSfy_CvNHvPRAjRpZf32d9YVw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="813" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiigtdgaOWFESm41SNVKC6CKyv8K8C_4FqU-xTUdgvvVN7ZFRNgkuBKcyLBuURLBsqrvY8U33gkEYzY0dVLUWxC1G-q3uR8rin5AtbiJls0JvKQRmh9NbKBjs3z28eq-FELwY8KyAcYV_vjl7q7uVERsUzBT0XttGQbFFSfy_CvNHvPRAjRpZf32d9YVw=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Magique hunting voles</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It would take at least that to keep us from sinking more into the drought and cause us to face another wildfire. And then it appeared in the NOAA forecast: Snow Shower, Snow Shower, and SNOW. Capitals are mine. But we got approximately eight inches combined from the two days of Snow Showers. And 18 on the day it called for SNOW.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic6wJJD98oy4nJ5Eq9u40vDdNloD_ktd5NIlmq_uWgf_9jjH8j6NSewWnsLLTu073v-hRWpUigOXNGKPw-YAg51dSk5P-DmFuofjqsixLfyoVrWQ5RkwosOiB_saqyQoI80tb2Wc8l0sOtx4RQoDMNycupGK9R40fZaAXh73Xt2x7i5wiVt5pJIeLOTA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic6wJJD98oy4nJ5Eq9u40vDdNloD_ktd5NIlmq_uWgf_9jjH8j6NSewWnsLLTu073v-hRWpUigOXNGKPw-YAg51dSk5P-DmFuofjqsixLfyoVrWQ5RkwosOiB_saqyQoI80tb2Wc8l0sOtx4RQoDMNycupGK9R40fZaAXh73Xt2x7i5wiVt5pJIeLOTA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wasn't over yet</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That was last week. I figured that was our freak weather event and we would slide back to La Nina weather of Snow Showers. But this Wednesday the Tuesday snow began early and stayed late. Melding into the major winter storm Olive. Unfortunately it was also a severe wind event. And included warnings for another possible Snow Squall like last winter. Snow Squall is the mountain equivalent of a straight wind tornado. With the 50 to 70 mph gusts of wind through the day I cannot say how much snow we got or where the snow we got went. We had periods of extremely heavy snow and complete white outs for hours.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbPqQ_bD5xlGzC9ZJIjAFAnvBkBIGuNTwZqECTFhWN1IdAJm3eu2r62jr6PxvGWOv-9xnOBhOd8u47gR4uGR5jfmINVntPtn-ghjAs9FfV3hesfc-Ej4Gl-q6bJWv1V6NVmPnPMEBf4n9Hi621K3L_xsSlqBEQkqWzaeyU3Ze0twBJBGYi9hVVl4y_Tw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgbPqQ_bD5xlGzC9ZJIjAFAnvBkBIGuNTwZqECTFhWN1IdAJm3eu2r62jr6PxvGWOv-9xnOBhOd8u47gR4uGR5jfmINVntPtn-ghjAs9FfV3hesfc-Ej4Gl-q6bJWv1V6NVmPnPMEBf4n9Hi621K3L_xsSlqBEQkqWzaeyU3Ze0twBJBGYi9hVVl4y_Tw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What was left on the Deck</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A careful examination would say 6 to 8 inches. But the front walk says ten. Snow SHOWERS today and Sunday. SNOW on Sunday night. It is beginning to look as if La Nina has ebbed and El Nino is taking her place. Which leaves us with the question of "is it enough yet" for the snowpack to ease the drought. I have had enough shoveling to be frank. And I could live the rest of my life without another Severe Wind Event. Once is enough on Snow Squalls.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-28019665416965149202023-01-02T06:22:00.003-08:002023-01-02T06:22:25.051-08:00Forgive My Absence<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkDK3gRNv2EIuiSobkqxoo6t6v0ZPlV9a8X1GoSqXma7kFKZDXiRZjcOp2d5xLACMa-Zb4jnbzRql6aSCrHMpY8ebVofMlpyWqiaOmqpjLMpGrYPKGtOwfTv23c1mCOy_0mhZhNj8jKQkT6Uu2Yc-GLbc_X4HI-UPp2FrSDTWbpQCZgrbl9mmt4_rSA/s3739/910EACB2-63DD-48D3-A1B8-6E4DC1B565A1_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2671" data-original-width="3739" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkDK3gRNv2EIuiSobkqxoo6t6v0ZPlV9a8X1GoSqXma7kFKZDXiRZjcOp2d5xLACMa-Zb4jnbzRql6aSCrHMpY8ebVofMlpyWqiaOmqpjLMpGrYPKGtOwfTv23c1mCOy_0mhZhNj8jKQkT6Uu2Yc-GLbc_X4HI-UPp2FrSDTWbpQCZgrbl9mmt4_rSA/w640-h458/910EACB2-63DD-48D3-A1B8-6E4DC1B565A1_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A funny thing happened on the way to recovery from the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire: I lost my way. I have been through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder before. And I just figured I was there again. I knew my way out. Keep putting one foot in front of another.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Replant all the seeds which were abandoned without water when I was yanked from my roots and put in an alien environment. Check on your neighbors like the Red Tailed Hawk, and Kellie across the street, and Leslie back from Guam. Plant a garden way late and paint. Survive.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But like head injuries, each subsequent episode of PTSD gets harder. Not easier. Denial stronger. I became obsessed with my garden. Things which are green and growing and close to the ground so I could keep my head down and not scan the horizon for any cloud which looked too much like smoke. All clouds looked too much like smoke. When my Angel Fire friends talked of fire pits and fire works I zoned out. I even began deleting those fire bugs which talked of such things too much.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon my friends were only from Black Lake or Mora or Chacon. We avoided talk of the fires and evacuation but became focused on wind, and water, and rain, and wells. And Weather. Weather forecasts. Long range forecasts. Promise me spring and summer of 2023 will not be like the same period in 2022. I built new raised beds and bought twice as many seeds as I would need to fill them. Meanwhile I left the final demolition of the hoop house undone.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijCJYPIpbiA-0Swt9XilHV51NciF_GPjC8D32QmuoOm3S2HMW0rNbT9cvuNzsKgKH7_ftayHfzs-ixhJAC3MACMdi_1uA1J5IMov68qE0jlsle1zqHrbAW9ucbcD08EgiYCQjcinaC9H-oHzDzOmfSCGrgScybcQ4i84LBtFt0izDgRt4Rgngtg7jIhw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijCJYPIpbiA-0Swt9XilHV51NciF_GPjC8D32QmuoOm3S2HMW0rNbT9cvuNzsKgKH7_ftayHfzs-ixhJAC3MACMdi_1uA1J5IMov68qE0jlsle1zqHrbAW9ucbcD08EgiYCQjcinaC9H-oHzDzOmfSCGrgScybcQ4i84LBtFt0izDgRt4Rgngtg7jIhw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And the painting on the easel undone for months and months. I found it hard to plan for a future; a path out of the track of the fire.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVbFlpNyI8g7ohUR2WgnDAGFlnpdxazJ5XSm9oY4Ie_YWJfWeOL_AdQzZCPw28ViAwcf7H2uqNUVglhE3r3tzKE98-9nFQ_VmraZv5MWy1k2cuca7UU2SJvsdXrpZhbK3hJDJE8P8rSv49J8CnhpgQQF4p4P8AKtTQTUt7896IonSZn-D0PHqP0nUYhQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1037" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVbFlpNyI8g7ohUR2WgnDAGFlnpdxazJ5XSm9oY4Ie_YWJfWeOL_AdQzZCPw28ViAwcf7H2uqNUVglhE3r3tzKE98-9nFQ_VmraZv5MWy1k2cuca7UU2SJvsdXrpZhbK3hJDJE8P8rSv49J8CnhpgQQF4p4P8AKtTQTUt7896IonSZn-D0PHqP0nUYhQ=w325-h640" width="325" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The fire crews preparing for the challenge of another fire worked on roads and barriers. They knew our fire could have been worse. Could still be worse. It was so hard to fight because they could not get to the front lines easily. And they knew as big as it was it could have been twice the size or more. The minute they finished the work on Forest Road 76, the containment line and access road, I had to go. I had to see the road my sister and I so often went traveling on in the jeep. I had to see if there were trees left. They made it more beautiful for photographers.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixccXXw7JuEor-HlOKgjh_xB61CWffX52vQqGk7UeKx--V3pJs0j1t8Px6ugRUeLB8Vdb9dTNnMMpeHstn0zUFwQ01rSd7lgnogSHwyLDg-TUnwV30XZQoXxlvxJHuIpnlMsPuw-Gkxxhz412px6yu79VCTlpf6DycPD4PK8Y9e6aWUAeXDP4D1IVwpw/s6000/2FCC4572-9EDA-4D5D-B37B-2BF838A3ECC4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixccXXw7JuEor-HlOKgjh_xB61CWffX52vQqGk7UeKx--V3pJs0j1t8Px6ugRUeLB8Vdb9dTNnMMpeHstn0zUFwQ01rSd7lgnogSHwyLDg-TUnwV30XZQoXxlvxJHuIpnlMsPuw-Gkxxhz412px6yu79VCTlpf6DycPD4PK8Y9e6aWUAeXDP4D1IVwpw/w640-h426/2FCC4572-9EDA-4D5D-B37B-2BF838A3ECC4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Those of us in Black Lake now talk about how we feel about the fire and the evacuation. Not a formal 12 step recovery group. It happens when we bump into each other. A few minutes of acknowledgement of the damage done to our souls. I urged my friends to drive up FR 76. Some have. But I have not driven to Mora even with friends there. I hope by fall I can go to Pescos and see the damage there.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But I did make it back to my easel and the painting there. The Sisters done, but not yet signed. Baby steps.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC3uzxwCr3oHwZ2lV1R4wmRlAFy5L-O62uRxC8Irfk3FUQVrBCq85iCVUQLisNlg-dXvjwfMWYRbUBx1TpaBtEABTyyTiufgY_1s0CzYyAnuEEzg5tAePhZ_Z6gwN6XThKXz3X5qP-VmYzNmu_78UzydxHR2_MWvIZQXRBMObc0XMXoLUVsXeREadlLg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1110" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC3uzxwCr3oHwZ2lV1R4wmRlAFy5L-O62uRxC8Irfk3FUQVrBCq85iCVUQLisNlg-dXvjwfMWYRbUBx1TpaBtEABTyyTiufgY_1s0CzYyAnuEEzg5tAePhZ_Z6gwN6XThKXz3X5qP-VmYzNmu_78UzydxHR2_MWvIZQXRBMObc0XMXoLUVsXeREadlLg=w347-h640" width="347" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-53935219031292772632022-08-28T04:57:00.004-07:002022-08-28T04:57:27.668-07:00Climate Change<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEamHZSxcc3xTcUH_yKjJqhj2ZbtvOyrF5R4ilpWzQ5U4xFDWHb2W7ay-KeFo1xufdEPyUbSwz3utnMphcSAtsdFHNZ3biWAEJMTqmwpI3SGTaw-BLvy374zSm91Cvwx4k7A65NMBRzc7UhWpr4M13djrFulpZ3dtYgZk61pPUQG22ZGuypXbpfY-aQA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEamHZSxcc3xTcUH_yKjJqhj2ZbtvOyrF5R4ilpWzQ5U4xFDWHb2W7ay-KeFo1xufdEPyUbSwz3utnMphcSAtsdFHNZ3biWAEJMTqmwpI3SGTaw-BLvy374zSm91Cvwx4k7A65NMBRzc7UhWpr4M13djrFulpZ3dtYgZk61pPUQG22ZGuypXbpfY-aQA=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hoop House 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When I first moved to Black Lake it was a zone 3 and had only about a 90 day growing season. I wanted at least 120 days so I could grow lettuce. At that time the local market only sold Iceberg Lettuce. I do not call it lettuce. But it seems the Moreno Valley was famous for it at one time. Some old timers even claim it developed, raised, and popularized it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And so began my experiment on how to stretch my growing season. The use of pvc for hoops to support 6 mil plastic over raised beds promised to give me ten days on either side of summer. In its last season 2021 I planted in the beginning of May and continued to harvest through September. Essentially I had lengthened my gardening season to 150 days. But not without trauma. As in late heavy spring snows which required going out and pushing the snow off the plastic every hour all night long.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcF6SEb3OtSwLZxThkVDqhFKX7PHlrabE3Zienw6xmLCGZKi06zFI0VONq8DbIpO0AW5iTHp_2F2TE54gZGY1IWzgzBhFp6y3Ycap7ewnfVKsPOgoX6scLElvft-mujA7mbWZf6VL2t9bs37CzPRcYpfGj7FQ6sDYaJOpsxtQPO_RrvvrisWusAnqf0A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="2048" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcF6SEb3OtSwLZxThkVDqhFKX7PHlrabE3Zienw6xmLCGZKi06zFI0VONq8DbIpO0AW5iTHp_2F2TE54gZGY1IWzgzBhFp6y3Ycap7ewnfVKsPOgoX6scLElvft-mujA7mbWZf6VL2t9bs37CzPRcYpfGj7FQ6sDYaJOpsxtQPO_RrvvrisWusAnqf0A=w640-h460" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When the snows begin the plastic came off</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This year we had the snow squall in December. It overturned the garden shed. And then the violent spring winds which gave us the Calf Canyon and Hermits Peak fires brought the hoop house to the end of days.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsZzM3nHhbK8MRSqHS2tgVO0mmM5hy-lgxxbtIpeNJou6GijZuTEkTF9TlMV-E6-yCsllOdGaLY4ByWvVJwpA3TGXNPBJhq8kUZikS9Suf8mV0qGGG52jNfgzudJcVGm7vGlZ8I4WKjUmC0DdhKQOrzX3uoJj4rUIRhWnZl20n38Izq2o70KrwPznhuA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsZzM3nHhbK8MRSqHS2tgVO0mmM5hy-lgxxbtIpeNJou6GijZuTEkTF9TlMV-E6-yCsllOdGaLY4ByWvVJwpA3TGXNPBJhq8kUZikS9Suf8mV0qGGG52jNfgzudJcVGm7vGlZ8I4WKjUmC0DdhKQOrzX3uoJj4rUIRhWnZl20n38Izq2o70KrwPznhuA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The End of the Hoop House 2022</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Friends suggest rebuilding and even offered help. Others recommended spending a small fortune on an industrial model. When I should be making some decision for the garden the fire raged and we were evacuated to Eagle Nest. Friends even suggested moving to the fishing village because it had a longer growing season. With nothing else to do I researched. Eagle Nest is actually a zone 3. And Black Lake had morphed into a zone 5A. I had a 120 day growing season without a hoop house. And the market now sold organic greens I liked to eat.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">After my two weeks in exile I came back and out of force of habit or a need to find my heart I planted seeds. I squeezed Bibb, Romaine and Bloomsdale Spinach around kale, and broccoli into a 4 x 4 raised bed. I shocked myself at how much I can grow in how small a space. I have eaten a salad almost every day from my little fire garden. Yesterday I harvested potatoes out of one of the small beds in the hoop enclosure. The chicken wire base keeps the dogs out. And the door I constructed stands a a memorial.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I will still garden but it does not have to be as difficult as it once was. The fire proved that. I planted sunflowers twice and they are now just beginning to bloom. And I found another seed company to order from as Amazon and the USPS are not working well together with the new Postmaster. I have more or less divorced myself from Angel Fire and Eagle Net. But not gardening is not an option. I need a full day or more with my garden journal to develop a game plan for next summer. <br /><br />Meanwhile <a href="https://www.rareseeds.com/store/vegetables?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=17447991820&utm_content=137174660523&utm_term=baker%20seed%20company&campaign_name={campaignname}&gclid=CjwKCAjwpKyYBhB7EiwAU2Hn2dhsl2YIa9YhIqNuXep0vZhs8llvhWC5IvFwo6IajM3nBnViGcgmlhoCFBkQAvD_BwE">Baker Creek Seed Company</a> has enticed me with a mini romane among other things. And so many vegetables are as beautiful as flowers so why be a segregationist. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-4453702859470664372022-08-25T01:20:00.003-07:002022-08-25T01:20:28.132-07:00When Sleeping is Work<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheepxiYNJNSnz_BjZZxQSmpXywWaPEsM1BfH8eSHMDLzWLFmUkkiyc3oGrQzhHTAo-BHZQDlapqFdHSKDib7635irsEygAP2TxlMNckjEAuGCM0-HKoO3Aj7ZIhP0rvFApGLa62xIVM0p3afUm5Xe-i61FQB24O9PwTGjbEB5kYt6FK7ewqTOuT6OM3A/s6000/99C1191E-D0D0-4D47-83F6-32D88EC5D664.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheepxiYNJNSnz_BjZZxQSmpXywWaPEsM1BfH8eSHMDLzWLFmUkkiyc3oGrQzhHTAo-BHZQDlapqFdHSKDib7635irsEygAP2TxlMNckjEAuGCM0-HKoO3Aj7ZIhP0rvFApGLa62xIVM0p3afUm5Xe-i61FQB24O9PwTGjbEB5kYt6FK7ewqTOuT6OM3A/w426-h640/99C1191E-D0D0-4D47-83F6-32D88EC5D664.jpeg" width="426" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The Calf Canyon and Hermits Peak Fire is at last contained. That does not mean out. It means that the perimeter is 100%. Crews are not trying to restore areas they rearranged in an effort to establish that containment; put fences back and erase some dozer lines. And then there are the containment lines they put in for the fire which did not get there. Sounds silly but when you know the extent of the sickness of our forests due to drought it is necessary. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This far and no further lines are out beyond the established perimeter and are based on preventing the worst case scenario. Some nights that is where my goes, out beyond the perimeter and to the worst case. Even with all the wonderful rain I know the drought is not over. We need more than one good monsoon year, more than one fantastic year of snowpack. But while it does no good to obsess about that it is silly to not do what you can do to make things better.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The sunflowers are a last blooming. They are a month behind. Everything seems a month behind. It took a month for my mail to catch up with me. Not sure it totally has. But my replacement debit card made it. Renewed driver's license has not. But the studio tour is a month away and the ArtUp website was hacked and vanished. I am still trying to catch up with the summer I missed and fall is just around the corner. There are things which need to be done. Besides photographing every slowly opening sunflower or studying the progress of raspberries on my three new plants.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You cannot do everything. You must choose and I chose a repaired driveway. One which could be hassle free in a heavy winter even if we do not have a lot of snow. But the old timers say we will, while the doomsayer meteorologists warn of a third La Nina winter. If it was just me I would stay home but there are the vacation rental guests to consider. And if it is a good snow year they will be here. So I called Land & Home services and ordered a driveway I would love. With ample space for parking during that upcoming studio tour.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgmNflHTYcp61f0lRRQBe3qyzZ4IZ13OA3jrxe9jHBbpEEehG4N50OH8E0HwJoMiNhAc5EoZBhbp8u6yLoUxcMjNPhBBUGS5xf7oFlP0rTv3kqeMl37X_fFPlG1IiXRCWm3FP0_Bbjm3AsJVCk-bLP73GyLIr5bqNqN4RYCl0-8PRsggt3HFnSD_ODCA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgmNflHTYcp61f0lRRQBe3qyzZ4IZ13OA3jrxe9jHBbpEEehG4N50OH8E0HwJoMiNhAc5EoZBhbp8u6yLoUxcMjNPhBBUGS5xf7oFlP0rTv3kqeMl37X_fFPlG1IiXRCWm3FP0_Bbjm3AsJVCk-bLP73GyLIr5bqNqN4RYCl0-8PRsggt3HFnSD_ODCA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The North End of the drive</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijX2Sacfx7KcXyQhDxgyIAdUzKjbuKgAWJOl63PZo6MaEleYMkp3YUFOHw7m8sIZCic2ZiL5VrRe-dflMtFyKuS64CkjTobHL-TcB12H8-QpiSbBmNNGlGUipwUalAQJDjMXOWSNpvRgpuUJdKyz6YEhQs5rANtg4sKIPHIW4nWggLZQ_H4NS2RO0JEA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijX2Sacfx7KcXyQhDxgyIAdUzKjbuKgAWJOl63PZo6MaEleYMkp3YUFOHw7m8sIZCic2ZiL5VrRe-dflMtFyKuS64CkjTobHL-TcB12H8-QpiSbBmNNGlGUipwUalAQJDjMXOWSNpvRgpuUJdKyz6YEhQs5rANtg4sKIPHIW4nWggLZQ_H4NS2RO0JEA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The south end of the half circle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">No more worries about the monsoons flooding out the drive. Or the road grader raising the lip to the county road too high for even my explorer. Last time the road bed was tended to was 2017. Hopefully this will get me at least another five or ten. Nothing to worry about. So why at midnight did I suddenly stare at the ceiling and worry about my antivirus protection? Because our website was hacked but will be repaired? I have a Mac at last. They do not get hacked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But what about my cell phone which I have been on almost constantly through the hack, and the grant, and the prep for the studio tour, and lining up the driveway. I sometimes wonder if the internet can read my mind (speaking of hacks) because I no sooner had that thought and an app showed up for McAfee. I even was able to recover my account which I believe was renewable but not the top of my concerns during my evacuation in Eagle Nest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">By then I was too awake to go back to sleep. I even tried listing everything which went right. My version of counting sheep. The raspberries are past blooms and into what looks like berries forming. Though I had realistically not set my dreams on them do that this their first year, planted late and all. I am still missing my red butted bumble bees.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisy7VUyhn2RohYEFfxBC7Hs1hy8VF4th_bqbpM6HUdFNMgSpiS_FZ-PHkAmZoBs1CLSAi9NHLR92Q5WOScvdf76WvjgvkCqewoUW4FTJ2lNYd7mw3W1vhPTPMWACo8gbUD6OtNk1p_4-aAIAkIw_VnBMyvC2Jg2vjbX-k1xrnMZo_SH5NH2s7R9DH1Uw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="526" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisy7VUyhn2RohYEFfxBC7Hs1hy8VF4th_bqbpM6HUdFNMgSpiS_FZ-PHkAmZoBs1CLSAi9NHLR92Q5WOScvdf76WvjgvkCqewoUW4FTJ2lNYd7mw3W1vhPTPMWACo8gbUD6OtNk1p_4-aAIAkIw_VnBMyvC2Jg2vjbX-k1xrnMZo_SH5NH2s7R9DH1Uw=w493-h640" width="493" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Sunflower and Bumble 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Hopefully there will be a late afternoon monsoon rain and I can get a nap.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-85820280635775616252022-08-03T06:02:00.002-07:002022-08-03T06:02:55.928-07:00Still Out of Balance<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2_QPYZEupjw9k_amWGDqMx-pDfWrY-vL7K4Ybr7sMOYaLGkbVdZ743cIswm9WyFvoWmCCyARWNq1kLIngZfBx8OPHr_IXNZNtfMjmxOw9FxaJ2DNFo9C6lUAciahwRmYqnAseBFOqCbWdIyBi969TyEek02zlbHHvbI04EVRn7jYDLQWvK2uqM3-1g/s4867/5C4213F8-A6C3-45DC-B598-3A4A87493848_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3874" data-original-width="4867" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf2_QPYZEupjw9k_amWGDqMx-pDfWrY-vL7K4Ybr7sMOYaLGkbVdZ743cIswm9WyFvoWmCCyARWNq1kLIngZfBx8OPHr_IXNZNtfMjmxOw9FxaJ2DNFo9C6lUAciahwRmYqnAseBFOqCbWdIyBi969TyEek02zlbHHvbI04EVRn7jYDLQWvK2uqM3-1g/s600/5C4213F8-A6C3-45DC-B598-3A4A87493848_1_201_a.jpeg" width="600" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fall of Stars<br />20 x 30 Mixed Media on Gallery Canvas<br />$1350</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Been trying to get my studio, my yard, and my life back to normal, whatever that is. I seem to bounce from project to project. I complete them but without a sense of satisfaction.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">In the last month I finally got the above painting finished. The canvas had been on my easel for almost a year. But with the but with the studio tour looming the end of September it had to be done. Flower beds and yard rescues seem to draw me away from what needs to be done inside. Maybe it is because of Ernestina Pacheco. Any excuse to go to her nursery and cheer myself up. She and her family are from Chacon, near the heart of the fire.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">They have survived though at the moment their well is contaminated. It does however have water. Their house is okay but they are living out of trailers on the nursery property. She makes me smile. I have visited her too often and bought entirely too many plants. I waste too much time watering them, but their flowers make me smile. The monsoons have at done most of the watering recently which is good. But the grass grows and all the wildflowers have come back at once and I cannot make myself cut them down even if they are in my path.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I just walk a different way.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I finally got around to figuring out what tree to plant in memory of my sister. It is a group of three aspens. One day it will be a grove I hope. Just one stately blue spruce didn't seem to be who Debbie was. I look out at the quaking leaves at the end of the row of Nine Bark bushes and I think of her.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday, a friend from last year visited and asked after her, and the fire and what it was like being evacuated. I was standing in the studio by the cache of go-bags stashed there after returning from evacuation. And it hit me that in part I am still on Set. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">She died the same day as the snow squall.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Obviously I need another visit to Pacheco's Nursery.</span></div>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-20564707712854262982022-06-07T09:42:00.006-07:002022-06-07T09:42:48.031-07:00Times are Changing<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8AOImyXkfD2tSoSnyJIx1_vPfaam-C2FEr2Or2OJPOn_0eAyILbXMOCQ6LFnmh152A6C0lLhtJtATz3l0whSc11HtVxbuESPIHofaNVuLKL6LfI6K5KUVHJGnVVUwFen4w5t_Pkul_-AI_UK3oj5hCWLWW-PPJddbCXsLQsM7nHX2xXOunJ4g33V5dg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8AOImyXkfD2tSoSnyJIx1_vPfaam-C2FEr2Or2OJPOn_0eAyILbXMOCQ6LFnmh152A6C0lLhtJtATz3l0whSc11HtVxbuESPIHofaNVuLKL6LfI6K5KUVHJGnVVUwFen4w5t_Pkul_-AI_UK3oj5hCWLWW-PPJddbCXsLQsM7nHX2xXOunJ4g33V5dg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Once Great Hoop House</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I read just today that the Taos Pueblo has not reopened since it closed at the beginning of the pandemic. I believe I fully understand. The Calf Canyon and Hermits Peak Fire and dozen day evacuation has me radically re-examining my life too.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am thrilled my home was not burned down. And no doubt the residents of Taos Pueblo are thrilled their community and its lifestyle survives the two year pandemic. They may even be very glad to not have to cater to the visitors. Living in the home of a friend for 12 days gave me a chance to see how others live. And living in another town as not a visitor but not a resident allowed me another view of that town and my neighborhood.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Initially I just became overly involved with my house now that I was back in it. I had left it in a horrid mess. Running from room to room finding everything you wanted or needed to take aways from the fire with you leaves the house a total mess. I was shocked. Putting it right seemed so overwhelming especially since it was a back and forth thing. Somethings were never going to be right again like the hoophouse. No fire damage but the winds which drove the fire were damage enough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">With it all being so overwhelming I instead avoided the issue. I obsessed with my flower beds instead. Even planted some vegetables in between the decorative. Inside the house I combined straightening up with decluttering. I have taken several boxes of stuff to Angel's Attic because they were so nice to evacuees. I have kept my mail forwarding order with Eagle Nest because they were nice. I have a list of places where I will never step foot again. Sadly I hate my own county because they were so horrible.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The fire has been a line in the sand. This far and no farther. That line is still being adjusted. But I believe it will be more rigid and not less. The Hoop House will not be rebuilt. I won't be able to dismantle it in a day or a week because I am more involved in the positive - the redefining of my property and life going forward. Epiphanies.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-49854066004148101972022-05-31T16:29:00.003-07:002022-05-31T16:29:50.673-07:00How Can They Not Know?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJiBUkfLhkb9zUh3zZ9fn5mNAwOaF_KtgkBzz5lQ8MRPGey6wAbUKROHAv6PiYh_EDMv5m100UKLo9OuFjTTP0p8krQd_VifxLMaPRkMdXdTAJuwsbbYYNAuOzODpn7cJ1YWPVKJu_tcedVjncR5rKtAs_KQtiXF2TSB5tcRPWr9M-jLUZvtNrH9v4Q/s6000/E844D93C-D1ED-4E2B-A579-86F59CD9D53F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJiBUkfLhkb9zUh3zZ9fn5mNAwOaF_KtgkBzz5lQ8MRPGey6wAbUKROHAv6PiYh_EDMv5m100UKLo9OuFjTTP0p8krQd_VifxLMaPRkMdXdTAJuwsbbYYNAuOzODpn7cJ1YWPVKJu_tcedVjncR5rKtAs_KQtiXF2TSB5tcRPWr9M-jLUZvtNrH9v4Q/w640-h426/E844D93C-D1ED-4E2B-A579-86F59CD9D53F.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I watch no other news but the fire brief twice a day. And the fire weather brief between those. I cannot walk outside without scanning the horizon for smoke. Question every cloud that it might be lying to me. I have traveled no further than Eagle Nest, and can feel the anxiety build as I near Angel Fire. Some part of me knows the Calf Canyon and Hermit's Peak fire will make it to West Angel Fire or Taos Canyon or both. Because I know how very hard 3000 fire fighters have fought for that not to happen.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Today in an Eagle Nest store the new owner asked me where I was from and I said Black Lake. And she said, "I bet you are happy that fire is over."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"It is not I said. Won't be over till after the monsoons."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Another friend thinks it is under control. Fifty percent contained is not under control. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I now know more about wildfires than I ever wanted to know. I know you can burn a pile of downed logs, put the fire out. Let mother nature bury it in three subsequent snow storms. And have it emerge as a forest fire and join with another they thought was out and grow to 315,627 acres. That is worse than the clown in the sewer in Stephen King's novel IT.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I know you can go to a log lying on a mountain 10,000 feet up and cut it with a chainsaw and expose the fire within in it. When friends ask why haven't they just put it out? I do not know how to answer them. It is now burning on the scars of two other wildfires. I thought once wind backed it up on a burn scar it would starve to death but the old scar feeds it. And if it is not extinguished in the right way it will feed the next spark.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">How can anyone not know it isn't out. I see the haze and smell the smoke. Every night they fly over with a special plane with infrared sensors that can spot the hot spots behind the containment line, inside the logs, or blown off from behind the containment line. They think they are just milking the government. They should go home. All the heavy equipment is in the way of the tourists. The lights of the fire camps kills our dark skies.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">How can anyone not know this fire is not out. It is not under control even. Just takes an a spark and it will make another run.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-50019621192241652912022-05-30T07:52:00.003-07:002022-05-30T07:52:47.562-07:00It Won't Be The Same<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86hCDX1KKZZm1KJhT8Y5JTMnWN_Ev3fhigTTPBDrOLKTtcsYnWkCYBom_9jy9nD7YOhAWhSZyKu2YBUvfXumafhT1RdC6VAl9828GZASsSzmMrWCQoHRmgrxlsyLYS-jTq6Ti-qjJf8vjAp6I3dFUb5_LB3UeDWNl8nvZH98RVV7PT7mCQw3x06NswQ/s6000/F39C14FB-2FD6-4387-8CB5-7A8C90FA5628.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86hCDX1KKZZm1KJhT8Y5JTMnWN_Ev3fhigTTPBDrOLKTtcsYnWkCYBom_9jy9nD7YOhAWhSZyKu2YBUvfXumafhT1RdC6VAl9828GZASsSzmMrWCQoHRmgrxlsyLYS-jTq6Ti-qjJf8vjAp6I3dFUb5_LB3UeDWNl8nvZH98RVV7PT7mCQw3x06NswQ/w640-h426/F39C14FB-2FD6-4387-8CB5-7A8C90FA5628.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In the middle of January I began leafing through the garden catalogs. But the Calf Canyon fire erupted from beneath its burial under snow April 9 and joined with the Kermits Peak fire inadequately put out and awakened by wind. It was clear this was not going to be a normal spring. The flowers, wild and domestic, seemed in a rush to bloom and die. No spring rains came over the mountains to moisten the ground.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was not yet May and the snow no longer graced the top of the mountains. And days when the sky was adorned with smoke instead of clouds. I put aside the garden and seed catalogs, looked at the damage the winds had done to my hoop house, and ran my fingers through the powerery soil in the beds. Then came up with a much downsized plan for gardening in 2022.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5a6dbi3OF7Xn8qY6hW49lYJOunfgNRGoK1npVOv8DXdC_YxnKLKY94U3MfO2tU-K2E1-xKXnEUWB845-84cTpiynxb4r0_596IQrT-wqUuAqPGYzEVnRMeTnXGK69SAMHVJkz98SptMbbkhfprl90-ffHT420fTOhsRTrIyslIi-Vq94xQyOhruv7g/s6000/C2BEF75C-E005-4595-977B-DB656C38A3EE_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5a6dbi3OF7Xn8qY6hW49lYJOunfgNRGoK1npVOv8DXdC_YxnKLKY94U3MfO2tU-K2E1-xKXnEUWB845-84cTpiynxb4r0_596IQrT-wqUuAqPGYzEVnRMeTnXGK69SAMHVJkz98SptMbbkhfprl90-ffHT420fTOhsRTrIyslIi-Vq94xQyOhruv7g/w640-h426/C2BEF75C-E005-4595-977B-DB656C38A3EE_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had just sown the sunflower seeds in one bed, and begun an assortment of starts for lettuces and greens when we were evacuated. Eleven days of no water or rain and only wind put quit to that effort. Back home I found the oriental poppies and Colorado Columbines had made a brave start. I took hope and began watering where I had laid down seed before leaving. There sunflower seeds are up. I planted one 4 x 4 bed with bedding plants from the local nursery. And this morning divided up some potatoes which had sprouted while I was gone, and dedicated one small bed to them. Of the five raised beds in the hoop house I will maybe plant one more. Will not brave the winds to cover the hoops with plastic. What I plant and water will have to be tough.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Tough like those who have moved back to their valley homes south of us.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-66188059515184317372022-05-27T02:59:00.002-07:002022-05-27T02:59:48.314-07:00Looking for Home<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xkVs6cq1LHrJCJVNjlwYvgneIJB0E5st9LbBq5LofbZ9NF9uSUB0xnoEA1rRfWbxr7LqqPXk8TFvOUSZIb_DWNIpz5DRKDkFQU6MmAh-e9yxJ6brhumh2yyOhFsKv8Dw2tElTCDi1Ikf5BXVg_hr6jFS9wWhmxPJ0EJZuZX-XhYaDlh17SOlrchnDQ/s6000/A5251DE5-C90F-4198-B113-0F67FA1BF15D_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xkVs6cq1LHrJCJVNjlwYvgneIJB0E5st9LbBq5LofbZ9NF9uSUB0xnoEA1rRfWbxr7LqqPXk8TFvOUSZIb_DWNIpz5DRKDkFQU6MmAh-e9yxJ6brhumh2yyOhFsKv8Dw2tElTCDi1Ikf5BXVg_hr6jFS9wWhmxPJ0EJZuZX-XhYaDlh17SOlrchnDQ/w640-h426/A5251DE5-C90F-4198-B113-0F67FA1BF15D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sangre de Cristos</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I drove to the market yesterday for avocados. It was Thursday before the Memorial Day invasion. The tourist season comes on Harley Davidson motorcycles decked out in their leathers. Supposedly they are "celebrating" a war I marched to end. I usually just hide away in my Black Lake home and try to shut my ears as they roar down Hwy 434. The rest of the tourist season will be quieter but also not welcome.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This year I feel like a tourist. I have just returned from exile in neighboring Eagle Nest. I have been an evacuee for 12 days. I have been glad to be back in Black Lake on the land I love but it has not yet felt like home. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. Thicke, my cat, has settled in better than me. I stand in my studio and pace trying to figure what to do next. I come up with a plan to unpack this or rearrange that. Move a few things then abandon it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had planned to go to Taos and stock up with groceries for the invasion, and go by Ace Hardware Nursery and get some starts for the garden, maybe some chalk paint to decorate the three stools and three chairs I have acquired over the winter. But I am afraid to go that far from home. But I needed avocados so I got in the Explorer and went into "town," Angel Fire. Once it had the Valley Market owned by a local but it was bought out by a Texas (tourist) company. It stocks things the tourists want. I think of it as a liquor store (four aisles of booze and coolers of beer that take up half of one wall) where I try to find things I eat. Avocados. They market good Mexico avocados. And I have figured out how to buy four and ripen them one at a time with the help of a banana and an apple. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I got my avocados and got back in the Explorer, still partially packed for a quick retreat should we get evacuated again, and cruised down main street looking for home. The home I left two weeks ago. And there was an open sign on Pacheco's nursery. I could not believe it. Pachecos was open. I could look for flowers to bring home. But most important the Pacheco's were there. They live in the off season in Chacon. Chacon is in the heart of the fire. It is the name which pops out at me on the fire map. How could it still exist? How could the Pacheco's survive and get here to open their nursery like always. This year of all years.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I may have stopped for flowers, especially pansies with their beautiful colorful faces. But what I really needed was the Pacheco's. Especially Mrs. Pacheco. I always have such wonderful talks with her and this year she had stories of Chacon and its survival. My sister and I accidently stumbled into Chacon on a off road exploration through the forest now in the heart of this fire. I needed to know Chacon still existed, but more that the residents of Chacon still existed. And in almost an hour of animated conversation and shopping for garden shops I found out they did. The people have made it. The Pachecos made it. The land and the people have survived. We paused at a point in our conversation and stared at the spine of the Sange de Cristo mountains which bound us. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I still had a home.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-28391928543786348392022-05-26T04:29:00.000-07:002022-05-26T04:29:33.866-07:00Forest Fires are Alive<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQbfLcLBlj98SEPBcgj4Xgb9tEsorGfFYT10J_d3cvAysa8J_tijC9jFU3DqgF4_9McRuA26S2TzQs8P4Mb5k_cSiqXoSRD2d3mA1V9U8fb9SOa5weeYklEEQ4STR5_Fg5mrtozyRDYptwYi6bkvoJnnfRn08nCrNma9UUVEchaFMDVT5d_bhxhPHUg/s6000/4D5D9A04-45AC-4393-B329-C8DF140402AD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQbfLcLBlj98SEPBcgj4Xgb9tEsorGfFYT10J_d3cvAysa8J_tijC9jFU3DqgF4_9McRuA26S2TzQs8P4Mb5k_cSiqXoSRD2d3mA1V9U8fb9SOa5weeYklEEQ4STR5_Fg5mrtozyRDYptwYi6bkvoJnnfRn08nCrNma9UUVEchaFMDVT5d_bhxhPHUg/w640-h426/4D5D9A04-45AC-4393-B329-C8DF140402AD.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calf Canyon/Kermits Peak Breathing</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I am home now. That does not mean the fire which chased me away is out. There are times I think I can hear it breathe. I know where it lives. Where it sleeps when the winds are still. I watch the horizons in the morning as the winds begin to pick up. Every white puff in the sky gets queried. Are you a cloud? Or smoke.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Forest fires lie down at night but they are alive in the pine needles covering the forest floor. Alive in the huge log emerging from the melting snow. And alive in the roots of the burned spar above the snow. All it takes is wind to bring them out of hiding and wake up the fire. We have had a quiet few days but the Fire Weather begins again today.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A forest fire is not like a house fire on your street. It cannot be drowned out with a pumper full of water. It isn't easily surrounded and watched. The perimeter of the Calf Canyon and Kermits Peak Fire is 600 miles. It covers portions of five counties. It has compromised several state roads including Hwy 518 and 434, where I live, and US 120 which has to be traveled by my mail carrier. The crews are doing everything they can to prevent it closing US 64 to Taos.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A total of 311,148 acres has been burned. The black line around the red marks where the fire is deemed contained. The red lines are the fire. My home is that blue star below Angel Fire. And the green lines to the left mark the "go no further than here" boundaries. Believe it or not there is another set of hoped for boundaries even further out if it breaks through those. The boundaries are based on the fire crew's knowledge of fire behavior and hope. They are working on containment lines closer in. Wise to note half of Angel Fire is within that first boundary. And US 64. That canyon has scared those of us who drive it to shop in Taos for more than a decade.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhya192Qc8f63ycm3_grY9CtsMOYYg1I1SP5qVo4SHod3LN-sYCY3bHrVUHUromH17G-LeWNwlbYvzQ2QNY99p9Mi2H8X_Xr1Olnrkm4CafsZ8GLHx6D1nL49VTnhZnX9b2qRS27RNqvSyoE3qrL7fqaxVdqyFBotBTyquZngeAmf0oSbcPdoJQmFJjHQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1325" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhya192Qc8f63ycm3_grY9CtsMOYYg1I1SP5qVo4SHod3LN-sYCY3bHrVUHUromH17G-LeWNwlbYvzQ2QNY99p9Mi2H8X_Xr1Olnrkm4CafsZ8GLHx6D1nL49VTnhZnX9b2qRS27RNqvSyoE3qrL7fqaxVdqyFBotBTyquZngeAmf0oSbcPdoJQmFJjHQ=w413-h640" width="413" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;">They would like to hold the fire to just exactly where it is this minute. But the .01 inch of rain most of the fire received did not put it out. But the moisture in the air and the lack of fire winds gave everyone some breathing space and time to work on the dozer lines to hold the fire if it breaks where it is today when the fire weather begins again.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, I am safe for now or I would not have been allowed back into my home. But the fire is not out and lots of other homes are still at risk. And lots of beautiful land which has been neglected and abused by people on ATV's without spark arrestors. The mission of this combined Fire Management Crew is not merely to put this fire out but to fix the land so the next spark does not start an even bigger fire. And to be sure it is out this time. Really out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Note: In the course of this fire five spot fires were started on US 64 by a vehicle.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMHX7Jap_IH4Q1th8I9nnImD3etIpkQ62PpECiXPSK0b99HAkrfHUL6XhG5eZc7ipi4KJKwvDj0DVAIfL782SQAhVkEj_4XLaJlxYYnttD1tu0eq1z3DUDJV_UF13RhLpLgihWIfZvV15EvAexrVUzytmQq7_-b5DopS_UnJG1yAuoNgLlERa6i0EVQ/s6000/45522E18-7B63-4A7F-96A4-DB4A8EB5D96C_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMHX7Jap_IH4Q1th8I9nnImD3etIpkQ62PpECiXPSK0b99HAkrfHUL6XhG5eZc7ipi4KJKwvDj0DVAIfL782SQAhVkEj_4XLaJlxYYnttD1tu0eq1z3DUDJV_UF13RhLpLgihWIfZvV15EvAexrVUzytmQq7_-b5DopS_UnJG1yAuoNgLlERa6i0EVQ/w640-h426/45522E18-7B63-4A7F-96A4-DB4A8EB5D96C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Endangered Sangre de Cristo Forest Lands</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-19286495361068908952022-05-24T07:57:00.003-07:002022-05-24T07:57:39.281-07:00Both Sides Now<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSkc-sW5WyXAlBXWZwj0TWTYgYQ8kvsXbQtKXZv5IiR0mPcTjmkt4aJyHbvAzHkvvI7yNTY92LuzDyM87Y1kCL35z2EmU9mp32XPXocjkEx_ZGbwlzBRqCB7Fd25VhZyx8jQjoFjxZ9fGHLOqVbmXbjG3XEHOdPXN2lyB_v5q9y7AhrEnnRPORJ6fJnQ/s6000/E3D85DD2-7057-4F7A-BE79-D8A6D0D1462D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSkc-sW5WyXAlBXWZwj0TWTYgYQ8kvsXbQtKXZv5IiR0mPcTjmkt4aJyHbvAzHkvvI7yNTY92LuzDyM87Y1kCL35z2EmU9mp32XPXocjkEx_ZGbwlzBRqCB7Fd25VhZyx8jQjoFjxZ9fGHLOqVbmXbjG3XEHOdPXN2lyB_v5q9y7AhrEnnRPORJ6fJnQ/w640-h426/E3D85DD2-7057-4F7A-BE79-D8A6D0D1462D.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Someone said in the last couple days that the Calf Canyon and Hermits Peak wildfire has been going on for 48 days. So let's say 50 by now.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is actually Hermit Peak unless you are from Mora in San Miguel County where it stands. They call it Eagle Peak. The Anglos renamed it for an Italian religious recluse Giovanni Maria de Agostini, who lived in a cave on a narrow ledge on the southeastern side of the mountain about one hundred feet below the summit rim.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Regardless of what you call it that is where our massive wildfire began on April 6th. It was declared contained but winds spread it to Gallinas Canyon to begin the Calf Canyon Fire. I get rather confused about then because there was the Cerro Pelado Fire, Scott's Ridge Fire, and the Cooks Ridge Fire. All the same fire with different names? Or all wind born spawn of the Hermit Peak fire. What I did know was Mora was evacuated and I had a friend who lived in Mora. I invited her to stay in my vacation rental which I wasn't going to rent until the fires were under control.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My friend arrived with family members. Charley's Hideaway sleeps five. This fire, whatever you wanted to name it, would be over soon. I have been wrong before. Discussions of the fire's path became scary as town after town was evacuated. Kate had more relatives who took flight to Eagle Nest. She wanted to go back to Mora against all orders to the contrary. I had another friend, who had recently purchased a home in Eagle Nest, offer me shelter if Hidden Lake was to be evacuated.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On May 11th, 34 days after it had begun, Hidden Lake was ordered to evacuate. Kate had been my guest for 30 of those days and suddenly we are both homeless. The fire was spreading every which way, and the newly homeless scattered to the four winds. All except the second home owners, who could flee back to their state of residency, wanted to stay close to their houses.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is not easy giving shelter or taking shelter. We are all out of our comfort zone with no idea how long that will be.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-75760399260512450962022-05-23T09:28:00.000-07:002022-05-23T09:28:06.600-07:00Bugging Out<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7iIKFNUCUZwoMJRiqvz4vU197Ge_TJhyO78scMRxL4yfTKfC-qXNxbQP6DLSkD2AujD95CfmkkJG2SEDWQgzC-2zE2jbhbxjtwX3SrhkZosFTQej3tnfRNPhkK17ScKUky79UGRX1umL422vw3VQ2DIE0LDXxdidch3TWP6l0P6d_s_G4_DLGW4cqQ/s6000/E3D85DD2-7057-4F7A-BE79-D8A6D0D1462D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7iIKFNUCUZwoMJRiqvz4vU197Ge_TJhyO78scMRxL4yfTKfC-qXNxbQP6DLSkD2AujD95CfmkkJG2SEDWQgzC-2zE2jbhbxjtwX3SrhkZosFTQej3tnfRNPhkK17ScKUky79UGRX1umL422vw3VQ2DIE0LDXxdidch3TWP6l0P6d_s_G4_DLGW4cqQ/w640-h426/E3D85DD2-7057-4F7A-BE79-D8A6D0D1462D.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A friend of mine just stated she had put her bug out bag in the hallway just in case. Bag? Just one bag? I returned from evacuation last night and began the unpacking of the Explorer - a full sized SUV. First out was the 15 Orchids.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Okay I will admit they were not a necessity for life. But happiness. Definitely a necessity for happiness. And of all the things I packed in a rush to get out of the fire's path they made me the happiest and that is definitely important. Maybe the most important. I have seen numerous lists of things to pack when evacuated (none of which fit in one bag) and nothing listed as for your happiness. In fact most lists do not ascribe a value for items.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And in this modern digital era most are now unnecessary if you bank by computer. Insurance papers, mortgage documents, tax records all can be obtained on line with your smartphone or tablet. I also brought my laptop because, well, because I have one and find them more comfortable to blog on, and as it is older is likely to have more historic files. But it was the cellphone which never left my hand. It was quite handy as a connection to my "real life" beyond my temporary location.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here to fore it was my digital camera which was the first into the vehicle. This time I forgot the "lifelines" which connected it to the other players. Still, it took the best photos and held them safe until I got back to base and the MAC. But it was the smartphone, chosen for its ability to take photos, which played best with the orchids which produced tableaus marking time in exile. This one was for day 10.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMFhwvAqUfggHBrG4mKoAOjZCmmYimCr0GAA33t590qaeo3xScTakP_0kiEZTHWDCCnBYdOpilsvov3mbq9Gqno1FnNFVnqZ34FXq4SCALelRAcZMVmT5KLJ_tzU8l3JON8iQ3yRWFw4p87aUmcapYlmeitesQmdTN2ZMMMBDXskdggP-gcFghWWK5Hw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="505" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMFhwvAqUfggHBrG4mKoAOjZCmmYimCr0GAA33t590qaeo3xScTakP_0kiEZTHWDCCnBYdOpilsvov3mbq9Gqno1FnNFVnqZ34FXq4SCALelRAcZMVmT5KLJ_tzU8l3JON8iQ3yRWFw4p87aUmcapYlmeitesQmdTN2ZMMMBDXskdggP-gcFghWWK5Hw=w504-h640" width="504" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And this one for Day 9. Yes, I played with my orchids and they are not delicate as I always assumed. They were loaded into the back seat and traveled ten miles, unloaded and then reloaded. And unloaded again back home. All in very high winds. One day they had to all be huddled together and subjected to 50 f weather. Would I do it again? Absolutely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj55Iq36vBhDWWOdQD0qWQjy8qc7e40og7S4WFE67LDdXg27QA5wK42o0akKGuDlxyzD7-t4Oh73x7PNAS6MWjtZ-vlWZqkmwpTOe_aWysQi5QmeSMz12fnrthY1wCUyifikTgoBgWtBQigkceblQnGdgNYUWBJaNmFA4lTsc0F-jIToWhuEL0IZqdnNQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj55Iq36vBhDWWOdQD0qWQjy8qc7e40og7S4WFE67LDdXg27QA5wK42o0akKGuDlxyzD7-t4Oh73x7PNAS6MWjtZ-vlWZqkmwpTOe_aWysQi5QmeSMz12fnrthY1wCUyifikTgoBgWtBQigkceblQnGdgNYUWBJaNmFA4lTsc0F-jIToWhuEL0IZqdnNQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I did not use the sewing machine and while I had brought watercolor pencils and paper I did not use them. But I did carry them downstairs a couple times to be used on the dining </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">room table. My tablet had several books I was in the process of reading, and computer games that hypnotize me but I only picked it up when I wanted to see something larger. The laptop was handy when paying bills, contacting the insurance company and writing a couple blogs about the experience.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So minus orchids maybe I could have bugged out with one bag if it had not been for clothes, bedroad, cat and dog good and supplies, cat and dog, all the chargers and connectors needed for the electronics and the card reader and charger needed for the digital camera, and of course the camera. And the three seasons of weather in 12 days and the appropriate clothing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I should mention returning to my house required two trips.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-46113699933456612652022-05-17T04:03:00.000-07:002022-05-17T04:03:08.017-07:00In Exile<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4rtSVhVbe3hFL8deqLZEeitp767ewlMAGwUKUkJ2E9jyiYjcb3cHLYvL-czCeg0q2Gr5tKXo_5j_AwcWRhuyVZ_BvNzzwv90hiOqyEWE5F8PRhxnxn9FGJ0L1EQGlJBVOzty8-bTTy6Xn23d9OivDb7xgbXIY_WiJGPLn4gZjofYdYhazVF0juV9fw/s2977/20211212_112933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2977" data-original-width="1809" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4rtSVhVbe3hFL8deqLZEeitp767ewlMAGwUKUkJ2E9jyiYjcb3cHLYvL-czCeg0q2Gr5tKXo_5j_AwcWRhuyVZ_BvNzzwv90hiOqyEWE5F8PRhxnxn9FGJ0L1EQGlJBVOzty8-bTTy6Xn23d9OivDb7xgbXIY_WiJGPLn4gZjofYdYhazVF0juV9fw/w388-h640/20211212_112933.jpg" width="388" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Thicke and I in happier times. Before the Cafe Canyon and Hermit Peak fire. Before we had to leave our happy home. Before Facebook once again banned us from communicating with our friends.</p><p>Zuckerberg needs to change his policies and also care about the status of the people he hosts. At a time when it really matters that we connect he bans posts and connection. Facebook on the front lines of a fire, in an emergency is a necessity and he blocks communication. After a careful analysis of key words I have determined being thrown in Facebook jail is dependent on only one word with total disregard of context.</p><p>I have been evacuated from my Black Lake home for my safety and exiled from my Facebook page because of Zuckerberg's community standards for one word used in a comment meant as a joke.</p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-36187481957699630922022-05-15T04:00:00.003-07:002022-05-15T04:00:26.401-07:00Stay Safe<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40SAYew6kgwCvIf_LY71RAZ6B9sfwQJMaL4H_2sJIsBaRDhCYupioxNXQrtAAUwQyN0CbSkxQlIhkojatvv0AqzwLV32z0vb56h1RGg5TE_gDdgloZfH-tX_NGy3WC_iGxwX_R-2GoJG5_w3c0JeyvHwUwfP2h7aCUALOMWkwD1fZphW5KSrKERPuhA/s4032/20211214_065525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40SAYew6kgwCvIf_LY71RAZ6B9sfwQJMaL4H_2sJIsBaRDhCYupioxNXQrtAAUwQyN0CbSkxQlIhkojatvv0AqzwLV32z0vb56h1RGg5TE_gDdgloZfH-tX_NGy3WC_iGxwX_R-2GoJG5_w3c0JeyvHwUwfP2h7aCUALOMWkwD1fZphW5KSrKERPuhA/w480-h640/20211214_065525.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This was where I last felt safe! I cannot go back there now because the Fire Crews are trying to make it safe again. I do not know if it ever can be safe again. But it could be home again? Can it?</p><p>I joined a group for evacuees and that is a question I want to ask but they are all still so very angry and have already hired lawyers and are screaming money. I do not think money can make me feel safe. And I know for a fact anger cannot do it. Not ever. Anger takes away your well being. Sitting at this table surrounded by my art would make me feel home. </p><p>This morning in my home away from home am trying to make Thicke feel comfortable by typing a blog where he is safe but not at home. Part of me wants to go to the kitchen of Carol's house and make coffee, and sit with my friends here but that would leave Thicke alone. Divided,</p><p>It is all so fractured. My home in Black Lake where soon the sun will rise and dawn will rise, here in Carol's studio where Thicke has settled on a couple hiding places, the great room of Carol's house were friends are with coffee, or here at this desk where I try to make new routines which will make me feel at home, and Thicke at home?</p><p>One of those people on that FaceBook group to make us evacuees feel as if we belong, or form a class action group to sue. Initial ask was 10,000 a month for every month we are out of our homes. THEY started it. The forest service and their safe burns. But not totally. It is four or five fires. And a ranch owner started one. The boy scouts is at fault for another, and the oil companies indirectly for climate change, and our greedy population who must have their creature comforts basically not innocent.</p><p>And just what does stay safe mean anyway? As the safe part of the population was blessing us evacuees as we walked their streets the smoke of that civilization rose behind us. And they wanted us to blend in and forget what we lost. And Stay Safe. While they tried to knock down the fire restrictions so they could have fireworks on the 4th of July.</p><p>Stay safe my ass. </p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-78678757660703594022022-05-13T20:14:00.000-07:002022-05-13T20:14:13.186-07:00Adulting is Knowing Sorrow<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWU5O9jN4pIjoAo1usxbmB4oncOcghWJTR6-UWQ9EX2-d-EFJnbmm5az0eW04hzDeWwGh0PhRjyJV3NP7nj6KWw_gm5IwBQku-PHjNvHJybXLz71ThLIUDCp0RgOStaWEOa8cFhG6v9wjLzgVdPfJUHtquVyIGYvSbkrYOL6ImzpECuW6rpTi6G07LqA/s4800/DSC_2166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4800" data-original-width="3200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWU5O9jN4pIjoAo1usxbmB4oncOcghWJTR6-UWQ9EX2-d-EFJnbmm5az0eW04hzDeWwGh0PhRjyJV3NP7nj6KWw_gm5IwBQku-PHjNvHJybXLz71ThLIUDCp0RgOStaWEOa8cFhG6v9wjLzgVdPfJUHtquVyIGYvSbkrYOL6ImzpECuW6rpTi6G07LqA/w426-h640/DSC_2166.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><p><br /></p>So many improvements and memories. So many losses. This the deck I built and standing on it is Magique who I lost. The lost pets are many. Google and Facebook remind me constantly. Some memories are good. Some so sad. I was just beginning this gardening year when the fire began on Kermit Peak.<p></p><p>It was to be my second vrbo year and but beginning slowly. I was happy to have ample time to work on the gardens when Mora was evacuated. I invited homeless friends to stay in the empty rental. A frolic. Soon they would be able to go back home. Two weeks later I was ordered to evacuate. Kate had asked how long before she could go home and I didn't know. I did not know how long before I got to go home.</p><p>I had a place to go. To stay with a friend in a near by town. It would be a lark. Soon I would be back here in my home of 30 years of memories. Today it hit me it would be more than a weekend when I had to fill out a temporary change of address. Suddenly I was discussing all the truly difficult questions like what if there is nothing to go back to? What is next? What if this town with all the evacuees has to be abandoned.</p><p>I have so long skipped from on thing to the next - next job, next state, next marriage. And suddenly, as my temporary hostess was selling me on how great this little town was, I found myself at NO. And by no means a gentle no, but a solid NO. But it is a good town, I love it she said. </p><p>But you chose it. I have not. </p><p>I was very happy where I was. Sure I wanted a new bathroom, but just that. I had my gardens, my vacation rental, my studio, my Dog Gone Park. I was happy.</p><p>And I did not want to move.</p><p>And there are so many unanswered questions and no free choice. </p><p>I went back to my rather comfortable mattress on the floor and wrapped around my cat, Thicke cried. We both agreed we did not want this choice.</p><p>I did not want to adult another day.<br /> </p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-21818409344695162112022-05-11T05:00:00.002-07:002022-05-11T05:00:46.241-07:00How Long?<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyJVVqIsNu1I2xBTAv-x-DPVeGIgESjbmn5EUExB2bA2A8IG6V7bD_ThkH460QwAUiGf_Z5s1PNIfMUeSDmChFi09EbUYMiGRStTDv4aUZSqwQSMOPkphUp_7ndZ_7n3O9pBrHABeLdvPBdyhvsvwj6NoDHt1MQpDP6WElrXBm_TDe5VjjWrhAPMHOA/s5956/D60D9577-08CD-4838-BB16-D6CFDAEA04BB_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3731" data-original-width="5956" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyJVVqIsNu1I2xBTAv-x-DPVeGIgESjbmn5EUExB2bA2A8IG6V7bD_ThkH460QwAUiGf_Z5s1PNIfMUeSDmChFi09EbUYMiGRStTDv4aUZSqwQSMOPkphUp_7ndZ_7n3O9pBrHABeLdvPBdyhvsvwj6NoDHt1MQpDP6WElrXBm_TDe5VjjWrhAPMHOA/w640-h400/D60D9577-08CD-4838-BB16-D6CFDAEA04BB_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Lake, NM</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This view welcomed me home in my traveling days with art fairs. This was my view as I emerged from Guadalupita canyon, home of Coyote Creek, and I am sorry to say I do not know this mile marker. I always know mile markers. I was the navigator when my family traveled. I had a notebook and kept important notes. Maybe not always for my family but important for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Other kids had to memorize their address and telephone number incase they got lost but in the beginning for me, living in the Missouri countryside or the a New Mexico air base it was the turns I would have to make to get home or my father's name, rank and serial number. I discovered when accidently abandoned outside of Liberal, Kansas during a trip at Christmas the license plate number was important. The highway patrol officer was impressed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Also important for me when we traveled about the country was how long. How long would we be at this base, this camp, this trip, this school. When I moved to Black Lake I wanted to be there the rest of my life. I was done with moving. I had done too much of that. So once in Black Lake I only did "vacations" or fairs or short trips. So as I have packed up to evacuate if I must I performed my assignment but with tears and tried to avoid the question, "How long?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9aj_zaQy_vOnKhxsUvLLxp4EDDXKVMG8SaHlC3hAl72qCT-8zBzGDQSiTrlBtDQBcen_I8LGrEvn3M-gHMPB2EbxVDD4--z94lcaBNc8utiAP4Uy3rZMduA8DWP9R58VvjtlzxFrXmDX2_TcGeOyJP5ZxtGtlp5-NkzgpRFpIHTY8EEVI4rFqujtZnQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1913" data-original-width="1238" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9aj_zaQy_vOnKhxsUvLLxp4EDDXKVMG8SaHlC3hAl72qCT-8zBzGDQSiTrlBtDQBcen_I8LGrEvn3M-gHMPB2EbxVDD4--z94lcaBNc8utiAP4Uy3rZMduA8DWP9R58VvjtlzxFrXmDX2_TcGeOyJP5ZxtGtlp5-NkzgpRFpIHTY8EEVI4rFqujtZnQ=w413-h640" width="413" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The Hermit's Peak/Calf Canyon Wildfire complex now sits uneasily at the base of Black Lake. It is threatening to crest that hill at the end of my valley. It has been creeping along the 36.843 mile state highway 434 since middle of April early April. It is at approximately MM 8 and I am at MM 29. I have been studying the maps because they contain so many names where my family hiked, fished or camped. I know all the little towns that are being evacuated. Now I am on SET to be evacuated. My Explorer is packed with all but my camera, my dog and my cat.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last night the critical question finally popped into my brain: How Long? And if I leave will I ever get to come back? Will I ever see Black Lake again? I have been giving shelter to a Mora friend and her family. I have tried to bolster their spirits. They are at times like trapped animals roaming a cage looking for escape back to their home. Like me they have lived other places. And like me they are deeply rooted to this part of New Mexico. They are afraid they will never get back to their home. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I do not want to leave here for fear I will never get back. All the rational and reassuring things I have told them about this process have vanished. I know now the total terror of those who would not leave their homes during Katrina.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A friend asked me yesterday if I was taking my orchids. It was such a silly question. How do I put twenty orchids in an Explorer with a cat, a dog, the important proof of my life, clothes . . . clothes for how long? Nobody answers that question. Can I take my sewing machine and material, my paints (I did pack sketchbook and pens). And of course the camera comes. . . the peonies are coming up. And the iris look so healthy. An the trees look so good all pruned up to be firewise.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Maybe I won't go.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-68062524932438481822022-05-10T05:19:00.002-07:002022-05-10T05:19:41.218-07:00As the Front Lines Move<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtia0-EjUtUiyOZUuflpfUCwqkfOJdy_MJMRrU6ZPFOGMXLkx_Lv67znxH0Yqqn45PwkQk4PVrs9QTb7iDcRyaBfxXLoNIoiGvPjfGAoX5ikycJ4PO0Wyu-_oPUJ7QE9OX5jvH3U-zYiris0z1x7VNcuaDCc1yvRkN65tlhqcQ3zr63dui9Xd7AL6TCw/s4771/D2F2CE33-71CA-4E51-BDFF-16BBE818AD7F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2977" data-original-width="4771" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtia0-EjUtUiyOZUuflpfUCwqkfOJdy_MJMRrU6ZPFOGMXLkx_Lv67znxH0Yqqn45PwkQk4PVrs9QTb7iDcRyaBfxXLoNIoiGvPjfGAoX5ikycJ4PO0Wyu-_oPUJ7QE9OX5jvH3U-zYiris0z1x7VNcuaDCc1yvRkN65tlhqcQ3zr63dui9Xd7AL6TCw/w640-h400/D2F2CE33-71CA-4E51-BDFF-16BBE818AD7F.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Unstable Air Mass</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday evening the winds laid down and the world was silent. Even those under the skies were quiet. We were exhausted not just because of the winds in their ceaseless blowing but of the agitation of the people because of contradictory messaging from demagogues seeking center stage. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The one good thing about being a big fire, the biggest fire in the United States, one which at least in part was the fault of a part of the United States, is all the big guys show up. The professionals. And one thing we owe climate change is we have gotten very good at dealing with wildfires. They have learned not just how to battle the flames but how to herd them. And make no mistake herd the people the fires are chasing. And message about it. They travel with their own dog and pony show which gives two major performances a day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">No room for those that first found the fire when it was a little thing which will be over soon they thought. And yesterday on day 34 they wanted it back. Hey, it was almost licked. Right? Wrong. And we have been worshipping at the footlights of the daily briefing of the pros. They first stringers haven't been. Some haven't even stayed in town. Some are not near the fire but form a consensus and issue a directive they did. And they have lied to us before. So when they lied to us again it seemed we checked our resources and rebelled. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So we went from a very unstable air mass on its worst day, to a very unstable population. I personally was not going to obey anyone not with the professionals on this. I do not believe your claim you have control of huge helicopter or two. You cannot fly them in unstable air masses. You cannot delete the ready/set/go established protocol. I am not packing one single go bag in my Explorer until the right person goes back to the right steps and says get ready.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Evacuation, even if it is the right thing to do, has to be done correctly and in proper order. We learned that so shut up and leave us alone. But they didn't fast enough and rumors began flying as fast as the wind. The best was that all OUR top flight guys were being moved to Los Alamos because they have nuclear fuel in bonkers under the ground. (How that gets united by a surface wildfire is a mystery? But hysteria defiles logic.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We had gotten to that point where foxes start chewing their legs off to get out of traps when suddenly the big guys looked up from the fire long enough to realize the Colfax County ad hoc coalition was destroying the carefully and professionally established order. The fire was four hours from our doors when the real evening briefing gave us good news. Our cars, never smaller than an SUV, were packed. And suddenly we noticed the wind had gone missing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Fire personnel said it laid down. It is something most fires do every evening and ours had not for days, or was it weeks. Neighbors came out of their houses holding cell phones (a necessary appendage) and stood on their decks and lawns and in some cases the middle of the street as if looking for wind.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And the people were speechless. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Note: the wind is back but not due to be unstable to close to noon we are told by those we trust to know.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-20268499087132894602022-05-09T05:52:00.000-07:002022-05-09T05:52:10.269-07:00Life on the Front Lines<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTl7eBABFzeosD9Zx_ACBGEpPSjNHnoGOSj5R4T_EyWtNQtgke3fjtvYSjha9iuh9mDd98Xq7Sj5IBqwP9W7X8HuYw7h9CkyTNj0CNsQTiDqPrIe56eGzl_jjhAuA5Eqy6TFEmmj0CCPXta12RcO9MnWvlfIOA_OZr7HQ_QtuCpnL5DaDv8XUrPIkag/s4095/76EDC07F-7DC4-42EA-BEC5-6B2F646A177A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2983" data-original-width="4095" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTl7eBABFzeosD9Zx_ACBGEpPSjNHnoGOSj5R4T_EyWtNQtgke3fjtvYSjha9iuh9mDd98Xq7Sj5IBqwP9W7X8HuYw7h9CkyTNj0CNsQTiDqPrIe56eGzl_jjhAuA5Eqy6TFEmmj0CCPXta12RcO9MnWvlfIOA_OZr7HQ_QtuCpnL5DaDv8XUrPIkag/w640-h466/76EDC07F-7DC4-42EA-BEC5-6B2F646A177A.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of Canyon Days</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Day 33 Calfs Canyon/Hermit's Peak Fire, containment 21%</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Acres burned 172,284, Firefighters 1,535</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Yesterday I learned how to make mobile deposits on my corporate account. Just enough different from my personal account to be utterly confusing. First big tech cell phone thing I have done without my tech support. I miss my sister for that and morning talks over coffee.<br /><br />Then I decided all the beds around the house needed watered. I am not sure I am gardening this year. The Fire Winds have close to destroyed the hoop greenhouse so I am gardening in raised beds and protecting best I can the bees and red butted bumbles and all I planted last year. Besides having the vegetation around your house wet and healthy is best. <br /><br />I love my two blue spruces in the front yard so after mastering the mobile deposit I began pruning the branches up off the ground and away from the house. My Mora friends sheltering with me joined in the sweeping up of all the pine needles and picking up all the pine cones. Saturday I had begun the day going to the Dollar stores to secure water jugs and bottled water in case the winds brought down the power lines. Then gone off to Angel's Attic to meet friends. It was part fun and part battle planning if you will. It is wise to consider your options if the worst happens. If nothing else it makes you feel less helpless.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And I have been sharing the fire news with friends who care, and those with some investment in the outcome. I have become more and more part of the Black Lake contingent, and less an Angel Fire person. Having evacuated Mora friends staying in my vrbo was very natural. The fire map is witness to every place I camped or fished in my youth. This is where I grew up. I know the hills, and campgrounds and the trails of this land.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk9VtpLumeUD24OJ5NwY_99Tma0wsHws2G2p-JzViGPiPO5C1WMyIeo2uSpaO6Vn7SLxXpaGx_dOwG5ZTrC240YYvLM5LnoXP5RYjgnCyxIJudf0OTQ23Pivmv3LidIWNPQec_DqOt2_JSxS0YdQ8gtw6FZy52dVt5sBVtIizFK99oDZxFxdyceUJbHg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="526" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk9VtpLumeUD24OJ5NwY_99Tma0wsHws2G2p-JzViGPiPO5C1WMyIeo2uSpaO6Vn7SLxXpaGx_dOwG5ZTrC240YYvLM5LnoXP5RYjgnCyxIJudf0OTQ23Pivmv3LidIWNPQec_DqOt2_JSxS0YdQ8gtw6FZy52dVt5sBVtIizFK99oDZxFxdyceUJbHg=w413-h640" width="413" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And this is where I live now - North Black Lake. I am one of the study areas they are preparing to fight if it becomes necessary but the Fire Wind event. BTW the spelled Moreno wrong. But basically all the people from somewhere else who have been helping defend us from this fire have done really well with the language here. Last night Ocate, my post office, just below the Cooks Peak Fire (there are about five different fires) was evacuated again. In the days ahead I may write about the little towns. I used to camp with my family in Holy Ghost down in the lower left. Good ghost story about that camp ground in the Pecos. Chacon has three ghosts.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEMCjizumXMqs2lJFwIMO4rkOtCaxGQ2zEv_akyZVYb9doT55UuEi3mn98_dOpkyVJfothTnMziWUom7nz6lCQEKPKkZgLe-Yh_3onLqYPZsWJgtgz78bhE8epRv_hYZkwVhqzRrxeGufb-sWs26gZ6XHfCaI9NH5Iyq6_vHCmjNnaVDoDM4Sa5FX9TA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="516" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEMCjizumXMqs2lJFwIMO4rkOtCaxGQ2zEv_akyZVYb9doT55UuEi3mn98_dOpkyVJfothTnMziWUom7nz6lCQEKPKkZgLe-Yh_3onLqYPZsWJgtgz78bhE8epRv_hYZkwVhqzRrxeGufb-sWs26gZ6XHfCaI9NH5Iyq6_vHCmjNnaVDoDM4Sa5FX9TA=w517-h640" width="517" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><p>Be safe, be prepared and above all be kind to your web footed friends as the song went.</p><br /></span><p></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-70879254293235669112022-04-10T04:52:00.003-07:002022-04-10T04:52:54.176-07:00What is in a Name?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0fXiVspIqVt5Wc93LGaAJIuRCzQW1TuglyirEJIoHOEGD5rvkKfXn4gPivhy5--jK3EWtLjdYpG3hA-iUdypTR7Y8i30pHMgK3WaWsXc2AevdaMoraWzwGKfOU22W4ph-sDKytASPXsMFLqc7HlgBG-QqwjQAFF9jjskvnA39s-zddrfvsQUn4dg5qA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="666" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi0fXiVspIqVt5Wc93LGaAJIuRCzQW1TuglyirEJIoHOEGD5rvkKfXn4gPivhy5--jK3EWtLjdYpG3hA-iUdypTR7Y8i30pHMgK3WaWsXc2AevdaMoraWzwGKfOU22W4ph-sDKytASPXsMFLqc7HlgBG-QqwjQAFF9jjskvnA39s-zddrfvsQUn4dg5qA=w568-h640" width="568" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I live in an unincorporated area of Colfax County. Black Lake is a recognized area of that county and the farthest from the county seat of Raton. In fact I am closer to Taos and Mora. I routinely get summoned for jury duty in Mora and have to deline. I do my grocery shopping in Taos. I have been assigned the Angel Fire Zip Code. And get my mail on my rural route through Ocate which is in Mora.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My legal address is Black Lake, NM 87710 and because of that Angel Fire Zip code designation everyone from my short term rental agency to UPS and Google tags me with Angel Fire. That actually works in my favor when it comes to short term rental occupancy because nobody books vacations in Raton. Since the coal mines closed they have been slowly dying. The current population of Raton is now 5734, down from 9000 and still declining. Its current source of income is county offices. We drive two hours to respond to jury duty of apply for licenses. Which is what they want me to do.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The whole county of Colfax only has a population of 12,369. For the four decades I have lived in northern New Mexico there has always been a campaign too divide the county between the flats or high plains of the eastern half and the mountains of the western half. We are constantly counting voting populations. Both halves have their disadvantages. Most of the voters in the east half are ranchers. Most of the homeowners in the eastern half are residents of another state entirely and refuse to register to vote.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But there is no avoiding the conclusion we are unhappy with this state of affairs. Voters or not, their property taxes in a rising market provide all the money for those living in an area of declining property values. Raton wants us to be the replacement for the income from their dead coal mines. We would like their half of the county to go away so we can use our monies for our part of the county. And not have to drive four hours round trip for every little thing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have no doubt my vacation rental gets occupants because of the mountains and the ski area and the name Angel Fire attached to it. And the </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">advertising the town and resort do. So why am I paying even more taxes to Raton. And maybe it is time for Black Lake to loosely incorporate? We live here and register to vote. We could swing the balance on a vote to divide the county.</span></div>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-26051510456793256262022-04-09T10:35:00.000-07:002022-04-09T10:35:01.756-07:00Agonizing Reappraisal<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuzsZzE1fBdUwT47PIMARrRQb6OR9rhjSLbmz1qhuBl9MBPMuvCFyreEKvtjqs93dqqQTymDOd9Etm6cKeyaWhljG3UpsM_FIa6t2NfDGDRCMvyEDAO3oictvh1AGRVHvGjq9XIq1_xowZwEzsbmzyNoyRHi0WrXOtDQ-ySYvavPZOTFI525ILPqLzg/s6000/9C00C6DF-1705-42EE-A586-272C70D69F55.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuzsZzE1fBdUwT47PIMARrRQb6OR9rhjSLbmz1qhuBl9MBPMuvCFyreEKvtjqs93dqqQTymDOd9Etm6cKeyaWhljG3UpsM_FIa6t2NfDGDRCMvyEDAO3oictvh1AGRVHvGjq9XIq1_xowZwEzsbmzyNoyRHi0WrXOtDQ-ySYvavPZOTFI525ILPqLzg/w640-h426/9C00C6DF-1705-42EE-A586-272C70D69F55.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As frequent readers will know it has not been an easy 2022. First there was the incident of black dog one followed quickly by tripping over black dog two. Followed by the snow at last. Fortunately I discovered Bob and Brad on YouTube. And I have learned to sleep on my back. At least for half the night. But they are not as good with thumbs as they are with backs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I decided to redo the decor in the upstairs of the vrbo, went positively manic about decorating beds with pillows, and stupidly did not count how many screws had to be removed to be over the bunk beds. This aserbated my skier's thumb big time. I do not remember it took 30 days to recover before but it did this time even if they called it Mommies' thumb. But that long not using your fingers, thumb and wrist take a toll. So when I went to lift my battery out of my Corolla I had to ask for help.<br /><br />Bought a new battery and guess what? They are as heavy as the old ones. And you cannot drive a batteryless Corolla to the mechanic, even if it is just down the street. And a week of using hand weights is not going to be a full recovery.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I need to learn to beg.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But that has not worked on dropping a size. And guess what six pounds less is not one size even if losing weight was the up part of not being able to open food packages. I gave in and ordered a couple fat lady shirts for summer. Number one is they do not have buttons I cannot do until all my left fingers are well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can use my camera. And I have been able to use my iMac for photos. But it is going to be a while before heroic photo editing and long blogs. </span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-22112838144315065032022-03-29T04:43:00.000-07:002022-03-29T04:43:07.784-07:00The March of My Discontent<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLaEsFXAs994mf3qD0NM3l1byAUcsgUVjk5x490ggI9SSZn-FFwrqBvtcSC6X8qmz5dpQH5sx0KaYg8SHx5vlOeELRWzvDAa6178_TAShuRgSQOL8WynAcMp-AF3HmuBTmT61htCYnJJVzjQFonl_vA6N_NX1zcUuNLKcJ0srkATR-HyRsLh9Qt1oeKg/s6000/6BF78F0D-B09F-4519-B1C9-2F706A0C9F4A_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLaEsFXAs994mf3qD0NM3l1byAUcsgUVjk5x490ggI9SSZn-FFwrqBvtcSC6X8qmz5dpQH5sx0KaYg8SHx5vlOeELRWzvDAa6178_TAShuRgSQOL8WynAcMp-AF3HmuBTmT61htCYnJJVzjQFonl_vA6N_NX1zcUuNLKcJ0srkATR-HyRsLh9Qt1oeKg/w640-h426/6BF78F0D-B09F-4519-B1C9-2F706A0C9F4A_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Winter really never came, but also seems to not want to go away. We got all the ugly parts of winter: high winds, snow squalls, subzero nights. And very little or none of the pretty parts: the angel soft snows, the fairy frost on the trees, the silence of a gentle blanket of powder.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We got the spring breakers who would rather be at the beach, and the families who found the snow not nice enough, and the prices too high. My vacation rental, on its first winter, had good attendance but most seemed happy to not ski, but thrilled with the hawks soaring over the fields and hills, and the birth of two new calves behind my property.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But not a good March for me. I developed a horrible case of inn keeper's thumb (skiers' thumb with a vengeance) which had my left hand and wrist not merely totally useless but terribly painful. Not only could I not use that hand but could not sleep and barely dress myself. As if sensing my disconnect my Microsoft Windows 10 computer failed. That was fine by me because I could not type, hold either camera to take photos, or make anyone understand what I could not do without screaming. And it is to be noted I have a very high pain threshold. But there was nobody to call to take over my obligations. They were all too busy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The hand is better after three weeks but not back to normal. I am, however, typing this, can text with both thumbs and yesterday wore jeans for the first time in three weeks. I dared to order material and plot (in moderation) a couple sewing projects. I am ignoring all the things on my todo list for the month of March. If I go there I will just cry. I have done enough of that for the year. In pain, contemplating surgery if this does not get better, grief caught up with me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My sister was my triage consultant who answered all my questions about injuries. MedLine is just not the same. My sister always made me laugh in the face of despair. March was full of despair. And very little laughs. And so many people angry with me because I mentioned my limitations. Daily I had to drive through the tourists who could not drive in snow (yes it snowed), and do it without a seat belt because you cannot fasten it without a left hand. My macabre mind placated myself with lists of who had it worse, and how it could get worse. Fortunately t</span><span style="font-family: arial;">here were some bright lights in the darkness. People who understood and helped out with little things which became huge like stacking wood on my front porch, showing up to make beds, sharing stories of their thumb from hell. Coming to the studio and buying paintings. Wanting photographs of Angel Fire which were all hidden on the dead computer but forced me to ask the computer guy if he could get them off there and on to an external hard drive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I know this is too long but it is way shorter than a list of the trials and tribulations of March. Next year I am just going to close up for this month. Oh, happy heavenly birthday Mom.</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-73163196571714305172022-03-27T03:39:00.000-07:002022-03-27T03:39:07.662-07:00Why?<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgRmRDVQ3yj2RklBZNF90GUUxZIhzNUo-06v7wqaOPj9VzIK0317cKX21Ua95RAuHAVTq0tCu0sS74e1q0P6334JX8ut33oJ3i9Hx9KUNeCytXaEJwl-tRXNTbLe6UPRU8izS3TLtgTEzkRNegDpDN7mBNtAFwEhwESIAhntAHN90FU07vPR0z4xgVg/s2246/20211204_165637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1717" data-original-width="2246" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgRmRDVQ3yj2RklBZNF90GUUxZIhzNUo-06v7wqaOPj9VzIK0317cKX21Ua95RAuHAVTq0tCu0sS74e1q0P6334JX8ut33oJ3i9Hx9KUNeCytXaEJwl-tRXNTbLe6UPRU8izS3TLtgTEzkRNegDpDN7mBNtAFwEhwESIAhntAHN90FU07vPR0z4xgVg/w640-h490/20211204_165637.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Heading Out</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My last Microsoft ten computer crashed. I still have my laptop and I have been surviving with it while I made up my mind about trying an iMac. And figuring out whether I wanted to transfer all my old photo files once again from the cloud to McMac. Meanwhile I casually asked the local computer guy if he could just copy the hard drive to an external one and he did.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was then I remembered the trunk of photos in my mother's basement. Of all her age relatives she was the one with the space for storing the family's history. And it was there my sister and I discovered the trunk after Mom's death. It was too heavy to lift and locked. We managed to pick that and found it full to the brim of Kodak black and white prints of complete strangers.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My mother once had photo books she had carefully arranged photos in. Attaching them with those cute corners you licked in exactly the right place to slip the image into. And she would use a white or silver ink to label under each photo on the black paper the pertinent information: Jack and Jill Christmas 1955, etc. But not these in the trunk. Mom had no hand in these. Nor were they any Dad took. He did slides so they could be theater on family gatherings. My brother took the family history in carousel after carousel of slides and the projector. His wife promised to go through them and copy the best for the rest of the family. That never happened.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I doubt the slides exist. An artist friend shared that her kodachrome slides faded to green and then a pale pink and then vanished. All her European travels vanishing into ether. I have boxes of slides kept in a cool spot upstairs I have not looked at for years. Same era, different travels, but they are probably the same. I should go look. Debbie and I looked at the photos in the trunk. Just tossed there. Helter skelter in no order. On some Kodak furnished a faint date of processing. On most even that was not apparent. Before color. Or at least before black and white film became more expensive and harder to find than color. Debbie summed it up by saying, "the Beverly Hillbillies before Beverly." Obviously it was not just my father who had a history we never talking about. So why keep the trunk and all those ghosts in the basement.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The estate sales agent wanted them. She said there are a lot of collectors who pay for a fake history. Given the real estate where the trunk resided we paid a lot to hide it. I have paid a lot to preserve my images in the cloud well past the time I knew I would never be Ansel Adams or R.C. Gorman. The expensive cloud did not even preserve it correctly. I cannot find 2021 or 2022. I hope they are on the hard drive sitting beside me. My trunk. And most of them are unlabeled, and if those in the cloud are any example, not even dated correctly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So why keep that trunk in the basement or mine in the external hard drive?</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7648449303376576981.post-41697080117619495432022-03-19T07:00:00.000-07:002022-03-19T07:00:16.936-07:00How Important Is It?<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgp4PKoyyjXBmLhFPCGLRL6Y34QZV4PmI580ChU2Sg6SpljA8k-mFa4gGjqnOSPuKcE_9c4Imvdx2I4yjkiyYtuz9Xq6QYBvEnd56KPMir-nM5UeUy9_TNMoVjClSrb6iz7rd4eePqu_VH6l_Aq3IZh3MCcLc1mQMjLtZPULRwIBJXrmWaAhKVdOzI14g=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgp4PKoyyjXBmLhFPCGLRL6Y34QZV4PmI580ChU2Sg6SpljA8k-mFa4gGjqnOSPuKcE_9c4Imvdx2I4yjkiyYtuz9Xq6QYBvEnd56KPMir-nM5UeUy9_TNMoVjClSrb6iz7rd4eePqu_VH6l_Aq3IZh3MCcLc1mQMjLtZPULRwIBJXrmWaAhKVdOzI14g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making a selection among many</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Test day. Testing hand on repetitive motions like typing. Testing iMac on what of my routine computer things I can do without more software. All while considering how important is it to have all my cloud data downloaded to McMac or an external hard drive.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Since 2010 when my computer, in the care of a recommended nerd, had its drive completely wiped, and the external hard drive failed. I have been obsessed about not losing photos or documents. Memories and also inventory as I am a photographer and a painter. Insecure about my backups I have subscribed to an cloud service. And when my beloved HP Windows 7 failed I transferred its brain to my Acer Windows 10. It took days. And since then I have taken important to me things and put them on jump drives.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I knew I had 30 days from the crash of MS10 on the Acer to transfer files to a replacement computer. I discovered there are a lot of them on my HP Laptop. And with the increased capacity of scan discs none of the photos I have taken in the last year have been deleted. When I open Blogger I found Google had cellphone photos from February 2021. Have to figure out why that date. Middle of the pandemic?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Since Trump took office I have been keeping a Dark Times Journal here. Him and the pandemic has made me examine just how important are all my memories. Or not. I am obviously not Georgia O'Keeffe or Ansel Adams. And the passing of my baby sister in December made it clear nobody is going to be fighting over my collections, or the four unpublished novels on the top of the bookshelf upstairs.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Facebook and Google seem to have kept memories they believe are important so should photos from 2018 to now be allowed to vanish into the ether? Should McMac be a new beginning - the new normal?</span></p>JBinford-Bellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14293248281473648182noreply@blogger.com0