Mesa Verde

Oh! Did we hit the weather! Driving to Mesa Verde, we had rain and small hail. As we were driving through the park, a fantastic thunderstorm made its slow way across the broad valley. John parked on a side road, and we sat there watching the lightning and listening to the crack of thunder. Streaks of lightning struck the earth repeatedly, but there were also circles in the clouds and wavy bolts. It was fantastic. John read that in the summer there can be up to 100 lightning strikes per day in that area.

They make a big deal about this national park being one that preserves an archaeological heritage. The Pueblo people (Puebloans) lived on the high plateau and in the cliffs. Some of the sites were closed for the season, and others were labeled as strenuous. I knew I wasn’t going when they said the tours involved climbing ladders. We saw the informational video, looked at all the exhibits, drove around the area, and went through the museum. I learned that a mesa is a high plateau, and this area is full of them. The 3-D map made it look like there had been mountains there, with canyons, and that all the tops had been cut off at the same level. No one knows why these ancient people carved out and constructed their homes in the cliffs, nor why they left.

The exhibit that I enjoyed the most showed a kneeling woman scooping up water with a ladle. The Puebloans used seep springs to bring water into their homes. They dug small shallow basins in the stone to catch the water they channeled there. This system worked year round! What they didn’t explain is what happened if you forgot to empty the basin. Did your blankets get soaked?

We are trying to eat at local restaurants rather than chains, and today we hit the jackpot for me. In the park eatery there were several American dishes and more Southwest things. I ordered a Navajo taco and watched the cook prepare Indian fry bread and top it with chili, lettuce, salsa, cheese, and sour cream. Because all that bread wouldn’t have been good for me, I left the outer circle. What a treat it was!

Back in Durango, we walked to Main Avenue (not Main Street) to see the stores there. A black cloud came toward us, and we had another lightning show. We sheltered in the train station for about 20 minutes until the hail and heavy rain subsided to sprinkles. I wanted to duck in a shop that had local crafts, and the first thing that caught my eye was a display of owls made from gourds. We began to chat with the owner and stood there talking non-stop for an hour. Her family has lived in Durango for four generations. She lived all over the world, got a PhD in archaeology, worked at Mesa Verde, and now makes jewelry and operates that store. She had friends in Setauket (near our NY home) who taught something in the scientific field at the university. She pegged my accent as from NC, but when we said West Tennessee, she asked where. I said north of Memphis. She said, “You must know Dyersburg.” That town is about 20 miles north of my hometown, and she had a friend who lives there, one she communicates with regularly via the internet.

The best story came after she asked how John and I met. She met her husband because of skiing. She had been on the slopes and gotten drenched. Students offered to help her, so they took her to their fraternity house. They were all football players, so they went in the room of the smallest fellow and loaned her his dry clothes. She walked down the stairs as he walked up and did a double take at seeing his clothes on a woman. She talked as if he had been the love of her life, but she never said what happened to him.

We walked the main street, ate a light supper at a café, and walked down to the tracks to see the train come in from the day’s excursion. John wanted to see the engine once more, running between the streets. I’m sure he would never get enough train watching for a lifetime, but I think he was satisfied with all he saw in Durango.

Durango to Silverton

The train ride from Durango to Silverton lived up to its billing. John talked of this railroad for 50 years, and I saw pictures and videos of the train. He was concerned that he hadn’t bought tickets in the special car with all the amenities, but he needn’t have worried. The car was not full, so we spread out. The ride was long – 3.5 hours each way – but there was always something to look at.

The mountains were impressive, as was the rushing stream all along the route. That stream becomes the Animas River running through Durango. The peaks here were more rugged than ours. (What possessiveness!) Still, the Rockies had something special – snow covered peaks!

Durango is a large train/college town on a small river. Silverton, though, is very small and walkable. The railroad laid out the broad streets, which appear to be dirt. If there is an underlying support, it wasn’t visible. After the mining failed, tourism became its main business. It’s amazing that the town sits in a flat valley at 14,000 feet. John pointed out that the mountains rise steeply only three or four blocks from the center of town.

There were two amusing sights that I photographed. One was a public restroom where the two stalls in the ladies’ room had curtains instead of doors. The other was a bench made of skis.

We almost missed the aspen display. Occasionally we’d see a stand of bright yellow leafed trees, but most of them had lost their leaves. The shrub I loved may be a willow. There was a naturalist on board who looked at my photo and said it was a willow of some sort. A tree identification app suggested Bebb’s willow. The shrub had lost its leaves, but the branches were silvery blue, especially in sunlight.

We chatted with two other people, one from California and one from Arkansas. In general conversation, it was soon evident that John knew tons more than the other two men. They began asking questions and getting deeper into train lore. It makes a wife proud to see strangers admire her husband’s knowledge.

Churches in Durango

Before we got to the church John had picked out in Durango, we passed a very interesting one a block away. I saw a man with a big, black cowboy hat standing in the parking lot. He looked out of place to me, but then we saw the sign – Cowboy Church!!!

At the Lutheran church, two cars were parked there. I was wrong, but I figured the cars belonged to the pastor and the organist. Evidently Lutherans all over the US wait until the last minute to rush to church. When a few people had gone in, we walked to the front door and met the pastor. He was very understanding when John said we were there because of trains. If he thought we were nuts, he didn’t let on.

The service was a one man band! The pastor announced that because both organists were out of town and would be for another week, he would play his guitar for the hymns. My jaw dropped. That church had two organists and both were absent???? That never happened at our church. We had only one organist, and I was it. The man was good, playing and singing competently. John said he missed a prayer opportunity. He should have prayed for a musician and asked all strangers entering if they could play. The congregation followed the pastor’s lead in singing the liturgy. He was good. They were not. They will be glad to have their organist back to cover for them.

Turning Heads at Church

We were in a hurry to pack up from one train excursion to the next, going from Chama to Durango. A quick shower was all I allowed myself, because John knew there was a Lutheran church in Durango with a service at 9:30. In said shower, I thought I was clean, but when I turned my head in that small space I smelled something. Train smoke! Thick, black train smoke was trapped in my hair. Too late! If people turn their heads as I walk in church, we’ll blame Chama. Durango will have its own aroma, depending on what kind of coal the steam engine burns.

Ride on the Cumbres and Toltec Railroad

We ate at the Box Car Café in Chama, NM as the sun was coming up. John watched the activity of the steam engines while I went back to our room and wrote about pictures I took the day before.

We traveled on that tourist railroad as we’ve never traveled before. Instead of seats as in a school bus, John and I had a table to ourselves.

There was a hostess to bring us drinks (non-alcoholic) and snacks.

We had access to a gondola where we could stand outside to absorb lots of black smoke. You realize, of course, that inhaling that smoke adds tremendously to the train experience. Yes, I’m sure there are some that get high on it, no names mentioned.

John in he gondola as the train started up the mountain

The most modern thing about this ride was watching the drone take photos of us. A train buff in a car sent the drone at several spots. I didn’t get a photo of the drone, but I did take one of train buffs watching us. A road came near the railroad in many spots, and there were always cars parked to watch the steam engines. The people jumped out of their cars, snapped photos, and rushed to the next viewing spot.

Our car was toward the end of the train, so we had good views of the engines when there was a curve.

We had lovely views of the mountains, a huge dinner included in the price, and a souvenir travel mug. The real bonus was a lovely day when a nasty one had been predicted.

Chama NM

We threw our luggage in the inn and walked across the street to poke about the train station in Chama. I have no idea of the history of this place, but there is one steam train a day up the mountain. We walked through the yard, and John stayed to see the train come in while I ran back to the room and sent email messages to two of our children. We were hamstrung by poor internet service at the inn and no signal on my phone. Kate, Michael, and Lise found us on the website as we watched the crew begin switching cars for the next day’s run. That was really live streaming for our family.

I took photos of John in train heaven and liked the ones that show how massive the engines are.

John and I in front of one of the engines

New Mexico was new to us

We stayed in Tucumcari NM, a place John has known about since he was in high school because of its connection with trains. It was the end of the line for the Rock Island and the beginning for the Southern Pacific. Neither of us had ever set foot in New Mexico before. The scenery was really different – fairly flat with huge buttes jutting upward. We enjoyed seeing the wind farms, many right beside the highway.

I enjoyed the distinctive picnic shelters in rest areas. The ones in Oklahoma had three heavy poles put together as for a tepee with a wooden disk inserted halfway up to shelter the picnic table. We saw the first one, couldn’t get in the second because it was closed, and never saw another one. The Texas shelter looks like a free form cape topped by a flag with the lone star. New Mexico had adobe ones.

New Mexican version of rest area shelter

When we drove through Santa Fe, we noted that many buildings were what I call a Spanish style. Even a McDonald’s was adobe looking! Having seen photos taken in the Southwest, I expected that architecture. What took me by surprise were the road bridges. We missed several, but I got shots of others. They were decorated in a Southwest style, no two alike that we saw. We also enjoyed the retaining walls that were made for this area.

Everything OK for 24 Hours

Everything OK means we were in Oklahoma (OK) for 24 hours, and everything was wonderful.

The years seemed to roll away as soon as Perry opened the door. We hadn’t seen him or Martha in 51 years, but we felt an instant rapport. It was amazing, considering our backgrounds. We came from Missouri, Mississippi, Tennessee, and New York. Our religious affiliations began with Disciples of Christ, Baptist, Presbyterian, and Lutheran churches. We bonded in our college choir and madrigal singers, and they sang at our wedding.

Friend Sue in Kentucky mentioned that the national severe weather center was in Norman. Sure enough, Perry drove us right by it on his tour of their area. They live only a few blocks from the Oklahoma University campus. It is a huge campus, narrow and very long.

John asked about car tags that were unusual. Even while driving, John could read Cherokee, Muscogee, or Cheyenne Indian Nation on the license plates. The Indians don’t have reservations out here, but they have the name of nation and are entitled to special tags.

We went in the church where Perry was the director of music for 23 years. He didn’t have to move to retire, as I felt I had to. He retired and went to another church, making sure to give the new director plenty of space. The church was huge and beautiful. Perry pointed out the big Tracker organ, and we could see all the golden pipes. Only a handful of pipes are silent. Martha mentioned that after a change of ministers, the new clappy-tappy service involved long, impassioned sermons. Someone told her the sermons went on until many in the congregation were in tears. We noticed the tissue boxes, three to every pew. I had to get photographs of that!

I learned a number of facts about gardening from Martha. She tends the intimate garden area surrounding the patio. She has several varieties of hydrangeas, and the formula to boost their blooms is 1 tablespoon Epsom salts to a gallon of water. I suspect a mystery plant at the corner of our house is a hydrangea. If it doesn’t bloom next spring, I’m going to blast it. I also want to remember to look for Coral Bells, because hers were lovely.

Martha, Perry, and John chatting on the patio

We liked their water fountain, a large rock with water gushing out of the top, falling onto a bed of rocks. Perry showed us how he cleans it when leaves from the big oak tree get in the water. I always wondered how those water features were put together, and now I’ve seen one firsthand.

We brought up the names of as many classmates as we could remember. Sometimes they had recent news, and sometimes we did. We talked of all kinds of things and had similar views on most. The visit was totally delightful for us, but all too soon it was time to go.

Freddy’s Nickname

We met John’s cousin and wife Susan for lunch in Nashville. Freddy is an orthodontist whose main hours are in the afternoon, and Susan works from home. They are much more flexible than we were at their age.

Freddy can be serious, but we are more often treated to his lighter side. The subject of height came up, and Freddy asked if we knew what his nickname in school had been. Motioning toward his ankles, he said, “Highwater. My nickname was Highwater because I was always growing out of my slacks, looking like I was ready to wade in a flood.”

What I most enjoyed hearing Susan talk about was the neighbor who lives in the house behind them. His name is Igor, a Russian who is a portrait painter. I suspect many of us have seen his work at one time or another, because he has painted presidents and popes. The man’s studio faces their back yard. They’ve noticed he sometimes paints through the night, several nights in a row, judging by the light coming from the large windows.

All too soon it was time to go. It really felt odd to breeze through Memphis without stopping. When John began planning this trip, he put Uncle Howard’s name down for the evening. We would have had dinner with him and stayed the night if he hadn’t died. As it was, we opted not to go to the cemetery.

Arkansas was very flat and dusty. Tractors working in the fields stirred up clouds of dirt along I-40. We passed Little Rock before stopping for the night. A list of restaurants in the motel included a barbecue place, and we had a pulled pork sandwich. Of course, it wasn’t called pulled pork. I think that is a dandified name from someone who did not grow up in the South. We simply ordered a sandwich with slaw, a downhome delight!

Happy Birthday, Son

Son John ($ for short) received a silent birthday gift from me that he is not aware of. It was a sacrifice, too. A few days before his birthday, he came over for dinner. He got to choose the form of the meat – ground turkey burgers or ground turkey made into a pie. He opted for the meat pie, and we had a favorite vegetable that he wouldn’t prepare for himself, broccoli with Hollandaise sauce. His gift from me was not asking to take his photograph. I know he got a double dose of the non-photo gene, so we are blessed to have any pictures of him at all. He is passably photoGENEc; it’s just that the gene is a negative one.

Son’s gift to me was cutting my hair. He was making moves to leave when I begged him to curb my witchy mop. I know he would much rather have beaten a hasty retreat, but we went out on the deck for the barbering. I haven’t been to a hairdresser for over a year, ever since I asked who had given him such a good haircut. I reasoned that if he could do a good job on his own hair, surely he could trim the ends of mine. I should have given him a tip, shouldn’t I?

I was pleased with the result, knowing it saved me from being dissatisfied with my earrings. I would have needed a whole new wardrobe of longer ones to hang lower than the pesky hair.

I found photos taken when $ turned 5 and when he was 25, standing in the same spot in our dining room.