Sidetracked Charley

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. 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. 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 t...

Hoop House 2018 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. 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. When the snows begin the plastic came off This year we had the snow squall in December. It overturned the garden shed. And then...

  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.  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. The sunflowers are a last blooming. They are a month behind. Every...

The Fall of Stars 20 x 30 Mixed Media on Gallery Canvas $1350 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. 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. 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 flower...

The Sangre de Cristos   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. 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.  I had planned to go to Taos and stock up with groceries for the invasion, and go by Ace Hardwar...

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. 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. 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 ...