1/28/2011

Bob loves Taco Bell!

If you don’t like Taco Bell, don’t eat there!

What the hell is the matter with people? Some person or organization filed a law suit against Taco Bell claiming their beef mix is not really beef. Well, what is it then, kangaroo?

If you have concerns about the quality of the food served in a place, then pass it by and leave the rest of us alone with our choices. It does not bother me in the least that Taco Bell’s beef mix has spices and fillers in it. Anyone who tries it can see and taste the meat in it. The fact is, when I make taco filler at home, I put other ingredients in it here as well. These do not diminish the quality of my taco – in fact, they are so tasty I stand over the stove and eat them as fast as I can fry the tortillas. Of course, mine are better than Taco Bell's.

I happen to like their food -- they don't claim to be a 5-star restaurant, you know.

It's fast food... and we already know that fast food isn't nutritionally optimum, right? Obviously, I am not one of those nimrods that worry about that all the time. But if you ARE, you don’t have to eat there. Just go on down the street to your tofu restaurant and eat that tasteless crap with some wheat grass or something.

All kidding aside, those folks who file suit for every little perceived injustice or misdeed, or accident, are destroying the quality of life in this country, our ability to compete, our ability to get anything done. These idiots are not enhancing or bettering anything. Don't get me started. So stop it already! Let’s put some of the damned lawyers out of business, hey? We’ll all be better off.

Voy a Taco Bell para un taco ahora.




The very tasty beef-light Nachos Bell Grande at Taco Bell!
All right, so I didn't get a taco... but I did have this plate of nice nachos! The beef looked like it was somewhere between 0% and 100% pure beef. It was hard to tell with all those fillers you know.

What I am really concerned about though is whether the sour cream was all pure COW sour cream, or maybe was there some Jack-Ass dairy product in there too. Oh... and the frijoles... I dunno... there could have been a bit of field dirt in those, quizá, you know how beans are; they do grow in the dirt. Oh well, I ate it all anyway. When I was finished there was only a small package of hot sauce left on the table.

I'll probably die tomorrow.

You people suing Taco Bell? GET A LIFE!



1/15/2011

Jim's Birthday


Jim Melian and Molly on his 42nd birthda
Yesterday was my friend Jim’s birthday. Jim is like me – we celebrate our birthdays. None of this “oh, no, poor, poor pitiful me, I’m another year older” garbage! If it’s his birthday (or yours) it's time to have a party – even if it is just me and you! I had to work today but Jim is still out there celebrating his birthday. We believe in birthday months, not just one day. You can’t get enough fun into just one day, you know.  That's what makes us different from most of the rest of you. Jim is a pretty cool cat!

He's one of those people who is still excited about life – he’s a car guy who loves Chevies and he likes to drive. I enjoy spending time with him – I give him a hard time – and he’s a lot of fun because his attitude is always “what’s next?” I never see him moping around. He even likes getting out there and washing his pick-up! I try to get him to wash mine too, but he doesn’t do Dodges, only Chevies. I don’t like washing big old pick-ups much (no matter what kind they are), so Jim’s is clean and mine is… not.  We both like camping too, although our ideas about camping are a little different.  I am a tenter, but Jim likes to take his "luxury" with him -- he camps with his family in a deluxe little travel trailer.  He likes to set it up when they arrive and tinker around with things until it is "just right."

One of the things I like best about Jim is he gets focused and can really pay attention to details – if you see him on the job, he really doesn’t have time to talk to you too much. He's in the "retail-services industry" and when he’s working, he’s working. He’s relentless! That’s where he devotes his energy. That, and to eating of course. He and I could be REAL brothers the way we both like to eat! So that’s what I gave him for his birthday – I gave him some peanut brittle! It’s only yesterday and I’ll bet he doesn’t have any left! (That peanut brittle in the photo down below?  That's Jim's birthday present!)

He’s always got a smile and is always happy to see me. He’s a good friend.

So… Happy birthday, Jim! 

Many more! Thanks for being my friend (and remember, MY birthday is coming up soon...)

Why John Wayne? A view of 20th century masculinity and American character, as portrayed in film.


All of my life, I have loved John Wayne. I recently bought a couple of books about him – memoirs written by his wife and by his daughter, Aissa. I had never thought before to read about him or his life, although I don’t know why as he has always fascinated me.

When I was a teen, Duke had a couple of ranches in Arizona, and bred and raised championship Hereford cattle. About every year, he would show up at the Arizona State Fair to “inspect” his entries – but knowing the Hollywood mindset to some degree, I figure it was more to enhance his image and publicity than for any other reason. That may sound cynical but I do not mean it that way – he was, after all, a business man and his business was promoting John Wayne. There’s nothing more John Wayne-like than a champion Hereford bull. So when I had a chance, I'd hang around that stock barn at the fair, hoping he'd come by. He never did though, while I was there.

Later on, as a young working man, I met a man who claimed to be a personal friend of Duke – who was an employee at the same factory where I worked and who said he worked for Wayne on his ranch – I assume at Stanfield, Arizona. I have no clue whether this was true (I have no reason to believe it wasn't, but you never really know), but I always used to tease Norm Stewart about getting me an introduction to my idol; that never happened either.

The books written by Pilar and Aissa Wayne, written from the viewpoint of family who saw him as he was, husband and father, warts and all, have not diminished my respect for the man despite their not-unkind portrait of him as a somewhat flawed man. Anyone who has been alive past their youth or even middle age knows this to be true of all human beings – we are all a combination of human traits. Duke Wayne was no exception; why would anyone think otherwise?

So the thought has occurred to me, why do I hold John Wayne in such high regard? I think that is worth exploring. Of course, this goes straight to the myth – that John Wayne the actor was the man, not the less-than-perfect person who created and then “lived” the image. I think that in every way, Marion Michael Morrison created the persona he wanted to be. This was the character he valued, and America agreed. We love John Wayne because he represented what we like most about ourselves – he represented what we want to be and what we value. I think Duke knew full well he couldn’t live up to the image any more than any of the rest of us could. He was too honest to think otherwise.

John Wayne said “Conflict is made to be won; heroes are created to be the uncommon man sans imperfection… I stay away from nuances…" I suspect that is the place from which some of his personal conflict stemmed. Duke Wayne portrayed simple characters, in films writ in black and white. But he was not a simple man. In most of the rooms of his life's "house" he couldn’t be himself, but for his fans, felt he had to live that idealized, simplified image. That must have preyed on his soul. It is his own fault for requiring it of himself, but perhaps we can understand it.


It occurs to me that maybe that’s how we think of our country as well – when we talk about what America is, what we are doing is confusing reality with ideal. What we think America is, is instead what we wish it to be, want it to be – our own highest ideal of fair play, honesty, opportunity, integrity and strength. The reality falls short, but we see beyond that to the promise. America, too, can appear simple at first glance but underneath you find complexity and twisting currents. This has never been more true than today. Perhaps "John Wayne" and America have a connection and a sameness and maybe it was natural that men and boys of my generation still think of them together – John Wayne, American man.

Recent years have seen a swelling tide of inclusivity in American culture – not that we have accepted that as inevitability. Much of the hatred and fear that dwell in and sometimes inhabit the thoughts and words of angry men and women in this country have had their birth and generation in the recognition that nothing is as we want it to be – and, for some, nothing is as we think it once was. John Wayne became an image of what we think once was, something we now think we’ve lost.  But that thing never existed in this imperfect nation of ours – nor anywhere else.  Still, we long for the simple picture of life that he created for us, where right and wrong were clearly separate - and discernible.

The gender lines that defined human culture and civilization have become blurred beyond recognition. Men do not know what they should be – and neither do women. I think in many ways we have gone too far in the destruction of roles that developed over eons of time. Those masculine and feminine characteristics that are so disdained today may be a foundation of what permits us to survive at some future time – just as they did in the past. Equality is one thing, and a very good, righteous and necessary thing, but ignoring what makes us unique and generally complementary is quite another and underscores our ignorance of larger issues. Gender is more than skin deep; it is part of who we are. Our survival may depend on our coming to terms with and acceptance of the realities that at present we deny.  Do not misunderstand, nothing in my thoughts on this indicates any belief on my part that any girl or woman shouldn't be able to do or to achieve anything her heart and soul lead her to. I believe in total, unequivocal equality.


What you cannot deny is that Duke portrayed men and their gender role very clearly; he was not at all confused about what a man is supposed to be. Whether you agree with him or not, at least you could respect his blunt honesty about his opinions. When I look back at John Wayne, while the image I see is simplified, I also see what I want a man to look like; I see the tool-kit of the ideal American man. Duke was, as I came to “know” him, the ultimate father-figure (remember, we are discussing the celluloid-engendered image, not the man).  In "Rio Bravo," you see him looking out for Dude, fathering him (even though Dude is no youngster), as he tries to overcome a debilitating bout of debauchery -- brought on by his failed dealings with a woman, of course. These father-traits are even more clearly apparent in “The Cowboys,” in “The Shootist,” or as he grows to care for Mattie in “True Grit.” His father image isn’t brought forth in words, as much as in actions; he doesn’t sit around and talk about it for hours on end. But in film after film, he teaches, he scolds, he upholds and he shows his “children” how to learn and grow up.


These are not simply American characteristics, even though we like to think honesty and straightforwardness are an American domain, even an American invention. That’s just more myth. But with Duke, the good guys and the bad guys always knew where they stood when things were at a critical juncture. If he was about to drop some bricks on your head, you knew from where and how many. “Rio Bravo” is one of my favorite movies – and in one scene Duke tells the heavy, Nathan Burdette, just what he thinks of him; and then, he backs off and waits for the man’s next action. That’s classic John Wayne, isn’t it? You let ‘em know where you stand (if not what you’re going to do), and then you leave the next move up to them. If there’s going to be a fight, they start it, you finish it, but you let them know without a million words that you will be there at the finish. I don’t think much of a man who is all loud talk; but quiet, straightforward strength and competence - I eat that up.

In life, and in the movies, Duke was always at his best in the company of other men. Women played a huge part, but like some of us, he was often a bit awkward around them and maybe a bit uncertain of what they are all about. Women confounded John Wayne, just as they do many of us. Oh, we figure it out eventually, perhaps, if we’re lucky. I cannot identify much with a suave Richard Gere romantic lead, but I sure as hell can identify with Duke’s confusion about what to do with Maureen O’Hara when she unloads on him with all barrels, or when Feathers constantly goads him over at Carlos’ hotel in Rio Bravo.

But when you see friendship, even if restrained by class-lines, demonstrated by Duke and Ward Bond, or Victor McLaglen, Robert Mitchum or Pompey in “Liberty Valance,” well, that is something we all wanted to be a part of and all is well with the world. Heck, we’d even let Chen Lee beat us at cards – when you could see the tangible warmth between Rooster and his landlord. The good-natured hazing and practical jokes, even the drinking and the fighting, all made us want to be there. Duke had these kinds of friendships in real life too, in abundance – it is perhaps the realm in which he was most comfortable and I think when he portrayed those male friendships and camaraderie onscreen, his personal relationships with the real friends in his life informed his acting. It was natural and warm and good and in our deepest heart, we long for that. Duke Wayne’s friendship wasn’t acting – you could see it was genuine.

Along with his intrinsic honesty, if Duke made you a promise, you could take it to the bank. Isn’t that the basis of the American character myth? That we are always honest and we keep our word? Heck, we don’t need a contract; let’s just shake hands on it. I don’t believe that is as much a myth as people might think today; that is the way business was done in communities where you were born, grew up, lived, worked and died among the same people. It isn’t as common perhaps where anonymity is easily maintained, or where people move around as much as they do today. But 150 years ago, community was all-important and necessary for survival. A man had to care about what the people around him thought of him. The same went for the women.

No one has ever portrayed that kind of integrity like John Wayne. It is who he was and who he intended to be. John Wayne’s brand of loyalty wasn’t unseeing; he’d jerk you up short, friend or not, if you got out of line. He’d make you stand responsible for your sins, while showing you forgiveness at the same moment. But no matter what, you knew that if you needed him, he’d be there for you. You knew that he was on your side. At the end of “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,” Duke’s Captain Brittles finds a way to get back out to his troops, now left alone in the field after his retirement, to show them how to get through the predicament they are in. Captain Brittles’ loyalty to them, even against “orders,” helps them get back home again. There’s nothing we value more.


Similarly, in the first of the John Ford "cavalry" films (Fort Apache), Henry Fonda's "Colonel Thursday" leads many good men to a tragic and violent end, through his own ignorant arrogance. But Duke's character, having later taken command of the same unit after that disastrous defeat, refuses to dishonor the man's memory and shares nothing but respect and loyalty, having recognized Thursday's bravery and integrity (even if misguided and flawed). In doing so, he reaffirms his own integrity. We see that same brand of loyalty again and again, as Duke rides to Robert Mitchum's aid in El Dorado, for Dude in Rio Bravo and again in Rio Lobo for his old comrade. It was a consistent theme in Duke's world.

I don’t agree with every single piece of John Wayne’s opinion politic. I am much more openly critical of my nation's people and government than he ever was, publicly. But his honest and genuine patriotism were a product of his times and many of us were brought up to feel and believe that way. My present rather critical opinions do not mean that I do not love my country, in case you were wondering, but I believe we should be talking about our national mistakes, acknowledging them and working to better ourselves and our country -- not kicking them under the rug.

As for Duke, I don’t think he was the far-right-winger most people think he was, although many of his singular positions placed him in that corner. Rather, Duke’s politics were those of honesty, of right-doing, of real conservative values, while understanding that conservatism isn’t necessarily just a GOP prerogative and that its meaning has been twisted into something almost obscene by some folks in more recent years.

John Wayne was unabashedly pro-American. He believed that no matter your personal feelings on, for example, a war, that you didn’t do or say anything that endangered the morale or well-being of the men and women you sent to fight it. I think he was absolutely right about that. He felt that if the nation believed in a cause strongly enough that we would send our troops to die for it, then we should fight to win and not squander their sacrifice with nothing to show for it. He thought that it was essential that we support our government, since we elected it to represent us, and that support was an expression of our integrity. He was absolutely right about all of these things. The words duty, honor and country mean something – they are our right, our privilege and our responsibility. Duke understood that, I think both publicly and personally. In this age of self-above-all-else, too few of us understand these responsibilities.

I have read the writings of others who say that Wayne's portrayal of the Vietnam war was all lies and deceit (in The Green Berets). That's garbage from people who don't know their ass from fat meat; the truth about Vietnam was much more complicated than that. Wayne's view of that conflict and its realities was his honest point of view -- and it was a point of view shared by the majority of Americans at that time. We both feared and loathed communism. America lost its way in that war because we lost our stomach for it and we lost sight of our objective. There were realities in that conflict that we did not understand at the time -- but our national "heart" was in the right place.


We embraced John Wayne's character traits because it is our feeling that this is who we are, that these traits and characteristics embody how we became who we are and they are rooted in the frontier era (and the roles) that Duke built a career on. Our thoughts of self-reliance, that we will do what we say, that we will solve our own problems, came straight down to us from the 19th century American west. They came down to us through stories of pioneers, of cowboys, of plainsmen, of soldiers (and sailors), of miners and farmers. They came to us through stories of hardships, of fights between good and evil. They came to us through the laughter and friendship of people that we could see were just like us (or that we wanted to be like). They came to us through the stories and characters that John Wayne and his films brought to us.

One author said that “[John Wayne] has become the essential American soul that D. H. Lawrence once characterized as ‘harsh, isolate, stoic and a killer.’” I don’t know that I would state it quite that bluntly. There are more nuances in the typical Wayne character than that stark assessment permits, more than even Duke himself perhaps realized. Stoic and isolate, perhaps (like Ethan Edwards). Harsh and a killer, I wouldn't judge that strongly without qualification. A John Wayne character could be harsh because that is what was demanded of him in order to prevail and protect the lives of those around him. He had to be meaner and harder than his adversary if he was to win -- and his character knew that without reservation. He knew that when the critical moment came, you could not hesitate; you had to have the immediate will to win.

A killer? Duke killed when it was deserved and necessary. More than once, I heard a John Wayne character say "I never killed nobody that didn't need killing." In Duke’s movie world, if you blinked you didn’t always get a second chance. All of these traits that were mentioned by Lawrence lived as the offspring of necessity and their immediate goal was simple, biblical justice. Still, in almost every case, there was an offer of clemency, a chance to avoid retribution before the violence was unleashed. There was an alternative that could be chosen; the bad guys just never chose it. In softer moments, Duke's love and compassion, his tolerance and forbearance often shone through; it was always understated and subtle, but clearly evident if you had eyes to see. Duke also occasionally showed that he was capable of recognizing when he was wrong; that he could learn and change.

That harsher world does exist and it will likely always be there. We fool ourselves if we think that somehow the fundamental nature of the universe has changed; it has not. If we intend to survive, we cannot forget that good and evil both exist, whether a person believes they are the creation of a higher power, or simply part of our very human nature.  Life’s choices are sometimes hard, sometimes unforgiving and sometimes they must be dealt with straightforwardly and without a blink. At some point, you must decide what is important and where you stand. Sometimes, you have to fight. Perhaps with no initial plan to do so, John Wayne showed us how and when to do that. His approach to a problem, and to life, was righteous and came from his heart. I think at gut level we still know that Duke got it right, even if it was an act. If Duke Morrison and John Ford hadn't invented John Wayne, someone else would have had to do it.

1/13/2011

Uncle Bob's Old Fashioned Peanut Brittle

Crunch, crunch, crunch...

If you like an old-fashioned candy treat, try my peanut brittle…

You’ll need:

½ cup light corn syrup
1 cup white sugar
¼ tsp salt
¼ cup water
1½ generous cups peanuts
¾ tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
2 TB butter
A candy thermometer


First, take a pat of butter and generously grease a half sheet. Set it aside where you can get to it quick.

Soften the 2 TB of butter a bit. Pre-measure and set by handy the baking soda, butter, peanuts and the vanilla.

Add the sugar, the corn syrup, water and salt in a heavy 2 qt sauce pan. Set burner on medium heat. Set a timer for 15 minutes. Heat and stir until the sugars are blended and mixture begins to boil. Add the vanilla and peanuts. Stir frequently and watch the mixture carefully. At close to the end of the cooking time, check the temperature – I would start checking at about 15 minutes or so. I stir constantly from about 10 or 12 minutes on (although I do not ignore it before that point either). While you cook it, the texture will change as the water boils off (it gets thicker and gooey-er). The temperature will level off for a minute or two at about 240-250 (or so) but it will eventually start to rise again, and once it does it moves up fairly quickly.  Total cooking time for me, in a medium saucepan on medium heat, approaches 25 to 30 minutes.

When the mixture reaches 300 degrees, add the softened butter and the baking soda, stirring all the while. Stir while the butter melts and the fizzing stabilizes (the baking soda will cause the mixture to fizz). Remove from the heat. Working quickly, dump the candy out onto the prepared sheet and spread it out with two forks (or I use the back of a wooden spoon). Spread it out quickly so that it is a thin layer across the entire sheet.

Set the brittle in a place where it can cool off – after about 20 to 30 minutes, lift and pry the brittle from the sheet with a thin spatula (this is where you find out if you were generous enough with the buttering of the half sheet) and break it up into the desired size pieces as you do.

Sample the product to make certain it is OK. Do this several times. Send me a sample and I’ll check it for you…You hafta be sure, you know… Store what's left in an airtight container. Great stuff, and it will keep a week or two probably. If you let others try this, they're really gonna like you lots.

Notes: I have tried this with Spanish peanuts and regular or light-salt cocktail peanuts; they all turned out fine.

This is not a recipe you can ignore while it cooks -- hang out and stir so it doesn't burn on you.

I have changed this recipe back to all-white sugar -- it can be made with brown sugar, or a mix. Most people who have stated a preference have said they like this with all-white sugar best -- so I have modified the recipe to reflect this.

1/09/2011

Seeing Chimney Rock - Life on the Oregon Overland Trail

My family and I are on the road to Oregon and we will pass by Chimney Rock today. This is a long journey and it seems like our old life is just a dim memory, even though we left New Jersey only three months ago. We have been seemingly lost for days in a sea of desert, prickly-pears and soapweed, except for this well-traveled and dusty trail. 

I grew up on a small farm near Trenton. Things were hard there and my father has a dream that things could be better for us in Oregon where we can start fresh on new, good land and grow in a new place. But I already miss our home and the ease of life in a familiar place. I miss my dog, Josiah, who could not come along.

Father sold our farm to my cousin James. He got married two years ago and he has been looking for a place to make his own. Our place was right near his Father’s and they will work them together. We did not bring much with us. Of all the belongings we had, my parents left most of them behind. We brought a few little things for keepsakes, to remember our old life, is all. 

Father said he would not make the same mistakes others have made. He read all he could about how to make such a journey and the guides say most folks try to bring too many things along. We have plenty to eat and what we need for making camp and surviving along the way. They say it will get much harder as we progress, especially in the mountains that lie ahead of us. It has not been too hard for us this far so perhaps Papa is right.

We left Trenton on March 5 and it took us twenty days to get to the Ohio River port of Parkersburg. We used our two old wagons to get that far and those roads were mostly good as they are well-worn and the weather was pretty good, mostly. We found a little mud at the top of the Cumberland but not too much. Old Dan and Bertie, plus two other mules Papa bought for the trip had no trouble pulling us through it. 

It took another month and a few days to get from there to Saint Joseph by poled flatboat and steamboat. Some of that time, several days, was spent waiting for Papa to make arrangements for our passage, and packing our belongings into wooden crates he made from the planks of our wagons. The trip on the boats, three different ones, went quickly and before we realized it we were at the jumping off place in the west. It was an easy time, but our work began in earnest when we reached Saint Joseph.

In Parkersburg, we sold what was left of our rig and our faithful mules. I cried when the man led Bertie and Dan away, with the thoughts that I would never see them again. Papa had them on the farm even before I was born. I think that is when I realized that this Oregon journey would be no easy thing, that nothing of our life to that point would be left to us. 

Everything is new, and unfamiliar. That is the hardest part. Still, we have much excitement at the prospect of the new life that we hope and trust awaits us. The Holy Bible says "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." And so we rejoice in our trials, such as they have been. The good that awaits us in this new land is more than ever we could hope for. That is the promise and all our hopes reside in it.

In Saint Joe, Papa bought the rig and wherewithal that will take us to the Willamette Valley. We have a wagon, not a big one like you would see back east, but a smaller, lighter one that is more suited to this long and rough journey. It has a cover, but it is too small for all of us to sleep inside. So Papa and the boys sleep outside, underneath it. With us we have 6 oxen; four pull at any one time, the other two walk and “rest.” They are very healthy so far as there has been much spring grass and other greenery for them to eat. We have blankets and clothing and we have plenty of food, but little else.

Papa brought a gun for hunting such game as we can find, also for protection from Indians and the criminal elements that we might encounter along the way. That we now find funny. While we have met a few white folk with whom we would not have cared to share a bed, the Indians have been none but kind and generous so far. We have met Pawnees and Dakotas mostly and aside from some who beg shamelessly, most have been solicitous of our good health and well-being. We have not yet feared encounters with them but Papa is always wary at first. The most danger we have faced has been in fording streams and rivers and an occasional rattlesnake. The snakes were a surprise, who knew such things existed! Even those loathsome creatures will get out of the way if they hear you coming well enough.

Although there have been many, I should not neglect to tell you of the big thunderstorm we encountered! It seemed like the rain would never stop! One thing that has been most surprising here in the western lands is how much sky there is. It seems like the earth is twice as large as it was back home in New Jersey. When a storm comes, it comes from far away and thus gives us plenty of time to get ready. It seems like it will never get here, but it rolls along and you can see that it is coming because it grows larger and larger. Then it arrives with sound and fury. The winds lash at everything, the rain comes down in torrents. We have even seen a cyclone away in the distance, but it did not approach near where we were.

A little more than two weeks ago, a storm struck us as we waited to cross the Big Blue River in the Kansas territory. We waited for it to arrive and we hunkered down underneath any and every shelter we could manage until it passed. There was hail so large that it hurt the animals and turned everything white as far as the eye could see. It did not stay long, though. The rains washed it all away and melted it by and by. It rained then for several hours and turned everything to mud. We had to wait for the river to quell and for the mud to become more firm before we could cross. Waiting is hard for us because Papa says it is important for us to move quickly and not squander time along the way. The more time we spend, the more sure the troubles that can find us later on. After two days, the way was dry enough for us to move on.

But now, I suppose, some of us would welcome such a storm. For about fifteen days we have been in a dryer place. The grasses and plants are fewer and less, although along the Platte River there is still plenty of it for our animals. Papa says that is because we got such an early start, that later on as more wagons pass by, the land will be grazed bare. This road runs mostly along the rocky high ground, quite far from the river, but in the late afternoon we move back toward its banks and meadows so the oxen and horses can graze, and so we have trees and shade for our "roof."

It is amazing to see the changes in the land in these past weeks. After we left Saint Joe, the color of the landscape and the flora was green. There were birds everywhere, singing, and there were many hills and trees. The hills in that country were much like what we knew in the east – rounded, sloping, smooth. What a difference we see here! The land was flat for quite some distance in between – and other than right along the river banks, brown and arid looking. Once we began to see hills again, they are of a completely different character – they are stark-looking – with steep sides that not even a squirrel could climb. I don't see how they should be called hills at all, they have such rugged and steep forms. They are barren of any vegetation, except around their bases and that very scrub-like. It is not like Kansas. It is nothing like New Jersey. I only hope that Oregon is like they say it is, with green trees and fertile valleys.

We passed by Fort Kearny a few days ago and although we did not need to purchase any supplies from the traders there, it was good to see people and we had a dance in celebration. The days have become long and I despaired of ever seeing a civilized place again, not that you could really call that place civilized. It was bustling; a small island of Americans far from anywhere except this road.

The scenes we see stay the same and change little, except over time – at first it was green Kansas prairie, hour after hour. Now it is a great sandy desert, day after day. The place we camp in the evening looks very like the place we started from that morning. It seems like we are not going anywhere at all – except for a slowly changing horizon. 

It seems strange now that in the beginning we thought this was going to be such a pleasant adventure. Our day is a monotony of sameness, not only in scenery but in routine. We rise before the dawn and start preparing for our day’s journey. Papa tends to the animals. My brothers and I pack our bedding back into the wagon. Mama and Auntie Florence begin to prepare our breakfast over the small morning fire. It is my duty to help them as soon as the other tasks with the boys are completed.

Did you know that buffalo dung burns when dried properly? It seems an unappetizing fuel for a cooking fire but the food does not suffer ill effects from it and it burns well if dry. By the time breakfast is ready, usually cooked grains or pan bread along with some preserved pork, Papa and brothers have things ready to go. 

Each of us has a job to do and the familiarity of our activity is one thing that makes this feel as much like “home” as it does. Home and hearth are wherever we are at, as long as we are together and safe. We are comfortable with each other and with our trail “life.” We eat, then stow the cooking utensils. As it gets light, we are ready to pull out onto the trail. We are charged with being prepared when the “Boss” says, so as not to delay the other members of our party. There are 28 families of us altogether, although seven will not continue with us past Fort Hall, but will go southward to California instead.

Once on the road, we move slowly, steadily west. We travel every day except on the Sabbath. Our covenant says that we will always spend Sunday at rest -- some of our party would like to see that rule changed, but most of the others would not entertain the notion, no matter the reason. 

We have an experienced guide to keep us on the course – although at this time he is hardly needed. This path while rough has seen many wagons before ours. The road is wide and not difficult to follow but we are told that farther west it is not so easily followed. It is thought that by then we will have need of this rough, vulgar man who makes his own clothing from crudely tanned hides. He calls himself Old Charles, as if he is talking of someone else, and he has spent many years in this western country. He is not a Christian nor any other kind of a God-fearing man. The town Saint Charles in Missouri is most assuredly not named for him.

Most of us walk. Only those needing a rest or who are ill ride in the wagons so the load is kept as light as possible so the oxen do not tire and become weak; they must preserve the strength to pull us over the western mountains if we are to be successful in reaching our new home. 

We have not had much illness, although one old gentleman died suddenly some few days after we left Saint Joseph. Papa said he died of old age. Everyone talks about and fears the cholera, but we have not seen it. One woman has delivered a child so far, and another nearly succumbed to a fever. The child was christened Dusty, in remembrance of the nature of the trail where she was born. 

My brothers ride one of the horses occasionally but I am not permitted to do so. I keep hoping they will be thrown off and land in a cactus, but this is simply spite mixed with a small portion of bile and I pray about it each night, that I might be delivered from my human weaknesses and sinful nature.

This land seems barren and changeless at first glance, but on closer view there are some interesting things. There are prairie “dogs!” As we approach their "villages," they look at us and whistle! Their homes are like little mounds of dirt and in each “town” several of them sit up high in the hole in the top of their mound and watch for any dangers that may be approaching. I suppose they are watching for wolves, or snakes. Or perhaps a roaming coyote! As our wagons pass by, they duck down into their holes, and then they pop back up again for another look. Up and down, up and down!

Sometimes the coyotes get right in amongst us and walk along side – just like a dog. They almost look like dogs! They seem to like people, but in quick order some boy will take up a rifle and shoot at them, so they do not stay with us long. They are very quick and no boy has been able to hit one yet. Papa gives my brothers much trouble over this. 

We have seen no wolves, but they are around. I heard one howl one evening while we were sitting by our fire. I miss Josiah but we have picked up a new dog along this road – he followed us out from Saint Joseph and would not shoo away. I have named him Pete. I guess he must think we will need his wisdom and guidance later, as I think he must be a prairie dog too! I wonder if he would be as bold as he is if one of these coyotes tried to eat him?

We have seen no buffaloes, but they have been around where we are many times, for there is buffalo dung everywhere, especially along the river. Back in the Kansas territory, where it was green, we would see deer and antelope frequently. We saw enough of them that we had venison with our meals on many nights, even enough that we shared with some Indians once. After we shared our supper with them, they followed us at a distance for several days, seemingly watching out for us. After a time, they moved off in a different direction and we have not seen them again.

Papa is a good shot with his rifle. Many a rabbit along this road has suffered regret and serious misfortune in getting too close to Papa’s rifle. The rabbits that we see now though are not fit to eat -- in fact, they almost don't look like rabbits at all. They are taller, and rangy. They are all hind-legs and ears, and their meat is wormy and stringy. They look more like a cross between a barn rat and an antelope than anything else. As we approach, they at first try to hide in the brush, but as the wagons reach them, they change their minds about hiding and they bound away like deer on their springy hind-legs..

By late morn, we have usually progressed about ten or twelve miles and we stop for a dinner break and to rest the animals for a time. We eat our food cold at noon, usually a dry biscuit and some water – there is not time to make a fire. After this break, we continue on in the afternoon until it is time to stop for the night, usually four or five more hours. The scout has ridden on ahead to pick out a likely place for our night’s rest. The rain storms usually came in the afternoons back closer to St Joe, but now we don’t seem to get any rain at all. Perhaps I would not mind a little mud in trade for a nice cooling rain.

In the evening, we have another hot meal if we can and we rest and repair any of our kit that has broken down. We often sit around our cook fire and as it dies we can see the stars when the skies are clear as they most often are here. 

Many times, our “neighbors” in the train stop by our fires to visit (and we with them) and talk about the day, about where we came from and about our hopes for Oregon or California. We are all about the same, all of us are farm folk. A few times, one or two of the young men stopped by to see if they could spark me a little – perhaps they thought they could reach Oregon with a new bride in tow! But I am too young for such thoughts and I have no interest in them. They have become discouraged with their matrimonial prospects at our wagon and have taken their discouragement elsewhere. Papa teases me without mercy and threatens that I will end my days as a hopeless "old maid" but I think perhaps I can afford to wait a little longer.

This journey has become familiar to the point of weariness. Day after day the same and for many days, no change of scenery, not many trees in view, not even an Indian to add interest to it. I wonder if we ever will reach our destination or will all the days of my life be spent on a dusty, dry and rocky trail. The monotony of this desert admits no end – not even a horizon to speak of much – just a hazy smudge of yellow or blue far away in the dusty distance. It is too hot for words and I am bone-sore and weary. There is not a plant in this entire country that does not have a thorn on its end.

But yesterday, a new thing came into view. Out on the horizon, my brother William saw it first – a “spire.” It seemed like a church steeple at first view, but we knew that it was not. Many travelers along this trail have remarked on Chimney Rock – and we will pass by it before suppertime today, just as we passed by Courthouse Rock a couple of days ago. It has been within our view and seemingly our grasp all yesterday noon and all day today. We are making progress! My brothers say if we stop there they shall try to climb it. I have read about this place that seemed so far away and now we are here.

The view of it has raised my spirits, can you imagine? If we have gotten this far, that means we will see other things along this road about which others have written, sooner or later. If there really is a Chimney Rock, then there is a Fort John, a South Pass, a Fort Hall and a Columbia River. There will, after some lengthy and tedious walking, be an Oregon. With grace and a measure of fortune, there will be a new farm and a new life.

Perhaps tonight we will have a dance!

Rachel McLane Evans,
1847

1/01/2011

Bob's Resolutions for 2011

US Highway 50 -- Colorado
I do not usually make any resolutions, but perhaps I should.

So, for 2011, I resolve to...

1. Sleep more at night, less during daylight.

2. Eat more good food at home, less eating out.

3. Fly less, drive more.  And trains!

4. Learn to play an instrument.

5. Get rid of ten pounds.

6. Go camping at least once.

7. See a meteor shower.

8. Play in the rain at least once.

9. Take more moseying trips.  Slow down.

10. Make sure the people I love know that I do.

Perhaps you recognize the theme? 
"Life is not so much about the destination; it is about the journey."

12/28/2010

Fort Bowie and Apache Pass - A road trip report


Helen's Dome overlooks Ft Bowie
Apache Pass was a crossroads of human history at a place General George Crook once described as so barren “a wolf couldn’t make a living on it.” But there is a perennial spring here. The water just trickles now, but it was once a reliable enough source that travelers made it a point to stop; good water sources are few in the southwestern deserts. The spring at Apache Pass was an important resource and the Army built a post here in the 1860s to protect it – Fort Bowie. 

The location was a place where wildly different cultures came together, sometimes peaceably, sometimes not. The lush desert mountain setting was a favorite camping place for Apaches and others who were traveling past. Quite possibly, white Americans first met Cochise here. Teamsters stopped at the spring for water while freighting from the Rio Grande Valley to Tucson. The Butterfield Overland Stage, America’s first trans-continental stagecoach company, built a station there and at first, the locals and the stage crews got along fine. But (soon) the Cochise War began (and ended) at Apache Pass and many years later, the Apache wars were finally brought to a close altogether at Fort Bowie in 1886.  Today it is a peaceful ruin.

Fort Bowie is south of Interstate 10 in southeastern Arizona. To get there, Geneviève and I drove from Phoenix to Cochise, AZ, about 220 miles, and then took Apache Pass Road south about 15 miles to a trailhead. After a picnic lunch, we donned our hiking boots for the walk to Fort Bowie. The day was a dramatic one weather-wise, with a sometime-sun creating shadows and contrasts through broken clouds -- a perfect day for a hike. 

Genevieve at Apache Spring
Gen could tell you, I never tire of telling stories about Apache Pass. Along the trail, you pass the ruins of the Butterfield stage station. The foundations of the stone building, fireplace and adjacent corral can still be seen and the ruts of the stage road are still visible; Cochise himself reportedly provided firewood to the station personnel in the early days, before the Bascom Affair ended any amity that had existed. Farther along the trail, you pass the now-abandoned post cemetery and the ruins of Tom Jeffords’ Chiricahua Apache Agency (the Chiricahua's first reservation was established here with Jeffords as agent at Cochise's request). While some Apaches did not trust him, Jeffords and Cochise were close friends; it was a very unusual relationship considering the realities of Indian-White interactions in frontier America. Beyond the agency ruin, there are replications of an Apache wickieup and ramada, and then before reaching Fort Bowie, you pass the spring. Its trickle of water still creates a shady oasis.
 
 
Ruined walls of Ft. Bowie
What's left of Fort Bowie has not been “restored.” After closure in the 1890s, local residents came and stripped it of any useful building materials. Over the years, rains have washed away most of the remaining adobe walls. As a result of its ruined condition, there is a mystical or spiritual feel to the place – a feeling I’ve encountered before at a few places like the Gettysburg battlefield, the Greasy Grass battlefield and the Alamo in Texas. You can almost sense the history as a tangible thing. Because Fort Bowie is a ruin, you have only your imagination (and a few old photographs) to divine what it was like with hundreds of horse-mounted troops in residence or in review on the parade ground, and how the business of the Apache Wars kept things bustling. Or I suppose you could just watch one of John Ford's cavalry pictures...

We spent a few moments looking around in the visitor’s center, talking with the ranger and walking the perimeter of the ruins. You can see the foundation of the post commander’s home, and pick out stones still visible today and match them to the ones plainly visible in frontier-era photos of the house. You can pick out the exact spot where Geronimo stood for a photo, after his surrender in 1886. You can see the parade ground, the Stars and Stripes still flying over it, and imagine a troop of tired cavalry men – perhaps Buffalo Soldiers – as they awaited the order to “fall out” after a dusty, hot and tedious (and perhaps dangerous) patrol through the deserts of southern Arizona or northern Mexico.

After our visit, we trekked over the hill that stands over the fort to its northeast and from the top, looked down on the slopes where the Apaches staged the only “pitched” battle they ever fought against American troops (one reason the fort was later constructed here). The Apaches led by Mangas Coloradas, from their positions in the rocks above, had a commanding view of the soldiers as they approached the spring and firing down on them, were winning the fight, until the troopers deployed a couple of small field artillery pieces. Rather than risk heavy casualties from the bursting shells, the Apaches disengaged and disappeared, melting into the landscape like rainwater after a desert storm.

Butterfield Trail route near Apache Pass and Ft. Bowie
Back in the truck, Gen and I drove westward over Apache Pass, stopping to look at the old stage coach road and other sites associated with the Bascom Affair and the Cochise War, before heading back toward Phoenix.

This area was a favored camp site for many of the Apaches who were associated with the great Apache leader, Cochise.  So a little more about Cochise and his people is in order..."Cochise" is a white bastardization of the Chiricahua leader's name -- the name was actually closer to "Cheis" which I have read means something like "has the strength or quality of oak." Cheis was one of very few Apache leaders of these few related southwestern bands who could unite and command respect from all of them as a group (the basic groups were the Chokonen or Chiricahua; Mimbres or Warm Springs and Chihenne or "Red Paint people," the Bedonkohe, and the Nednai or "those ahead at the end"). They were usually separated into smaller, familial groups. Leaders of these groups (in their last days as free peoples) included Cheis, Mangas Coloradas, Victorio and Nana, Naiche, Geronimo and Juh. The Bedonkohe were centered in the Gila River headwaters area around present day Clifton, AZ. The Chokonen with Cheis were further south in the area of the Chiricahua Natl Monument and Ft Bowie; the Warm Springs, Mimbres, Chihenne groups were located around Silver City, NM; the Nednai considered the fastnesses of the Sierra Madres of Sonora and Chihuahua their homelands. All these groups ranged widely over the whole Arizona/New Mexico/Sonora landscape.

If you go: 
The road over and through Apache Pass is graded dirt, wash-boarded in a few places but easily passable for passenger vehicles in good weather. From I-10 at Bowie, AZ, take Business I-10 to the center of town and turn south on Apache Pass Road. From Bowie, it is about 12 miles to the parking area for the monument. After your visit at Fort Bowie, you can continue to follow the road all the way out to SR186, another 9 miles or so. This takes you through the pass itself and is the same route used by the Butterfield Overland Stage 150 years ago; you will be able to spot the ruts of the old trail still visible in the area, as it crosses and re-crosses the present road. 

Other attractions in the area include the Chiricahua National Monument, Cochise’s Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains, Tombstone, Bisbee and Kartchner Caverns. The best time to go is in the spring or fall when temperatures are mild, or in winter when the weather is clear. Lodging can be found easily in Wilcox, Douglas, Sierra Vista, Benson, or even Tucson.

Rangers have a permanent presence at the Ft. Bowie site and if you might want to purchase books at the visitor’s center, carry a small daypack for toting them. The trailhead area (and parking lot) has shaded picnic tables and a privy for visitors’ convenience. The ruins of Fort Bowie are reached by means of a moderately easy 1½ mile hike (one way). Time for a short visit is about 2 hours, but a more thorough look requires 3-4 hours.

Bob on the trail...
Wear sturdy hiking shoes or boots and carry drinking water; watch for snakes and other critters. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them, but you need to see them. Be watchful, conscious of your movements and don't put your hands or feet anywhere you cannot see. The return hike can be made on the same trail, or on the alternative trail over the hill (recommended, but much more rigorous). Accommodations can be made for persons needing assistance under the ADA (contact the rangers). Fort Bowie’s URL is http://www.nps.gov/fobo/index.htm.