I looked in my “Why I Love New Mexico” file from five years ago to find this story out of Clovis.

A completely naked man was found standing in the middle of a busy Clovis street, ranting about the state of the world. A policeman with his body camera on stopped his cruiser and stepped out to try to persuade the man to move out of the street. The naked man seized the opportunity and jumped into the still idling police cruiser and streaked (yes, pun intended) off in the vehicle, leaving the dumbfounded policeman and body camera watching the car fade into the distance. The man eventually showed up at a local hospital where, hopefully, they put a gown on him that at least covered his frontal region.

I’m not sure what eventually happened to either the “streaker” or the police officer, but I can speculate. I’m sure the streaker was charged with resisting an officer, stealing a police vehicle and impersonating an officer without wearing a proper uniform (if there is such a crime). The officer, no doubt, was admonished for leaving his vehicle unattended but maybe given a medal for his role in removing a public eyesore.

A good friend of ours recently commented about the current sad state of affairs where just about everything we choose, do or say can be judged on some kind of constantly shifting political scale. As she pointed out in her sage observation about the turmoil, “soon the New Mexico Question ‘red or green’ will become politicized.”

For those of you readers not familiar with the odd things that happen in New Mexico, we are probably the only state in the nation that has an “official state question,” passed by the New Mexico Legislature and signed by the governor several years ago. The question, “red or green?” has to do with providing your waiter at a restaurant your choice of red or green chile on or in your enchiladas, burrito, tacos, chalupas, steak, pizza, tamales, huevos rancheros, etc.

And it’s not a question to be lightly regarded. Next time you’re in a Mexican restaurant anywhere in New Mexico, observe someone who has just been asked that question. You may be amazed at how much time it takes many of them to come up with an answer — which they often change immediately after making their initial decision. In fact, entire tables have been known to shut down while someone dithers for minutes over the proper response as they consider heat levels, location where the chile was grown, reputation of the restaurant for accurately evaluating what is “hot vs tasty” and observing what the guy at the next table has just been served.

So let’s reflect on the question and its political ramifications. At first, you might want to assume that if someone orders “red,” they’re likely to be Republican. But I know Democrats who order nothing but red. And is “green” a sign that someone is on the left edge of the ledger for their beliefs about environmental issues? Of course, chile turns from green to red over time — possibly signaling a slow movement to the right because of age? And how do you interpret someone ordering red chile enchiladas on blue corn tortillas? A blue dog Democrat? A Republican for Biden?

What about my Republican friend who uses green chile in some mushy concoction he calls posole? How wrong is that? Red only for posole, thank you. And how about those who insist that red goes only on one type of dish and green on everything else? A one issue voter?

Full confession — I’m actually one of those who has ironclad rules on what goes with what. Red chile should never, ever, be ordered in the morning for huevos rancheros, breakfast burritos or anything else breakfasty. I mean, what kind of conspiracy weirdo wants red chile on their huevos rancheros? In my opinion, you can only order red for lunch if it’s in a carne adovada burrito. Well okay, I have had red enchiladas for lunch but only because everything else on the menu was frightening or insipid sounding. Either green or red are okay on most anything after lunch and for dinner. And don’t get me started on corn or flour tortillas. I mean really, corn tortillas on huevos rancheros are just dumb — it’s just like having enchiladas but calling them something different. Flour only for huevos rancheros!!! And when my daughter in Austin, Texas, orders “breakfast tacos” (Texas-speak for expensive mini breakfast burritos), they can specify corn or flour tortillas. Honestly, Texans telling US how to make real Mexican food??? And then they introduce all sorts of snooty, trendy ingredients to try to make a simple burrito into haute cuisine!!! Just tell ’em to stick to canned chile — and they can’t even spell that right!!!

Well, as you can see, I have launched myself into a downward spiraling rage over a subject that clearly is not as important as those issues which have unfortunately turned friends against each other and politicized our view of the world. I certainly have my opinions on red, green, flour and corn and while I firmly believe that I am absolutely correct — maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t be as judgmental and not get so wound up about these and other things. A good conversation over enchiladas between friends who listen and don’t taunt the other’s views might do us all a bit of good. And maybe have a sip of cold Corona beer to go with it. WHAT??? You like Dos Equis???!!!???

*For those out-of-staters, Christmas style is having both red and green chile in or on your favorite dish. I think it could be a sign that a person who choses this combination is a Libertarian. Or maybe they’re just wishy-washy. “:^)

This sheep, in a pen behind the historic Wortley Hotel in Lincoln, NM, has a guest on its back, which according to the owners of the hotel, spends a lot of time there. The chicken, which is one of several that provides eggs for guest breakfasts, apparently gets along fine with the sheep, which seems content with the arrangement as well. I guess you could call the combination a “sheepicken.”

The Wortley is an excellent base for a couple of days of exploring Lincoln County and historic old Lincoln, where outlaw Billy the Kid staged a shootout in a daring escape during the Lincoln County War. Unfortunately, it is temporarily closed because of the COVID-19 pandemic.

https://wortleyhotel.com/

My wife Margo, our dog Chester, and I completed a day trip to the Gila Wilderness last week, with my goal to finally catch an elusive Gila trout on one of the streams where they have been re-introduced.

Thanks to very low water, failure to venture far enough up the stream and my dog’s need to investigate every hole before I could sneak up on it, I didn’t catch anything. I think I spotted a couple of very small Gila trout, which was encouraging.

But the trip was far from a failure. I renewed my appreciation of this first designated wilderness area in the United States and forced me to think about how much it is “on the edge.”

https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/gila/recarea/?recid=4826https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aldo_Leopold_Wilderness

Why is it “on the edge?” First, it’s one the very western edge of New Mexico, far away from population centers and largely forgotten by many in our state who have never ventured south of Socorro to that “drive-though” part of the state. It’s on the edge of catastrophic destruction from wildfire, thanks to climate change and already challenging meteorological, geographical and geological conditions. And for me, it’s “on the edge” of my ability to understand how such a complex eco-system exists in such an arid landscape.

It’s easy to love the wilderness areas with snow-capped mountains, lush meadows, lakes, roaring rivers and dense forests. At first glance for many, the Gila is probably not easy to love — too rugged, too dry, too far away, not enough big mountains, too few rivers, hardly any lakes and maybe just too ugly for some.

But if you take time to explore it, you’ll find it fascinating and spectacular in its own way.

I think the thing that amazes me most is the incredible contrast in the eco systems of the rugged slot canyons on the western side of the wilderness. Small streams wander though narrow solid rock walls towering hundreds of feet above you. In the bottom of the canyons is an unbelievable variety of lush vegetation, including giant sycamore and walnut trees, flowering bushes, vines and grasses. But if you glance up just a hundred feet above you, the canyon walls sprout cactus, yucca plants, stunted pinon trees and mesquite bushes better suited for a high desert landscape.

Our trip took us up Mineral Creek canyon, and I’ve included some photos. Some parts of the canyon make you fear a delicately balanced rock formation is about to fall on you. Other sections look like someone took a giant ice cream scoop and carved a trough through a layer of pumice and volcanic rock. Remnants of mining activity a century ago are everywhere — rusting pipe, iron anchors in the stream bed and canyon walls, slowly rotting timbers from a mine shaft or a mill. I’ve seen spectacular waterfalls tumble off the overhead cliffs following summer thunderstorms. I’ve encountered elk and other critters, thrashing through the underbrush. But I only occasionally see another human in these places.

Mineral Creek Canyon is very similar to nearby Whitewater Creek Canyon, which was my favorite place in the entire world for fishing and solitude until the 2012 Whitewater-Baldy Complex fire transmogrified it. The horrifying blaze destroyed the watershed and subsequent thunderstorm-induced flooding wiped out virtually every fish in the stream. The fire, the largest in New Mexico recorded history, burned 465 square miles of forest. At least, finally, native Gila Trout (I’ll post a blog on Gila Trout later) are being re-introduced to populate the stream, but I fear it will never be the same as when I discovered it more than 20 years ago. I remember noting in my fisherman’s log that day that I caught more fish in one day than I had ever caught in a single day before. All were tiny 6-8 inch hybrid Gila/Rainbow trout, feisty for their size, colorful and all were returned alive to the beautiful waters of that spectacular canyon.

I hope you’ll forgive my rambling. It does my soul good to go to places like the Gila, and I hope you’ll consider going there yourself and discovering why it’s such a significant and spectacular place. And I hope someday it won’t be “on the edge.”

P.S. There are many wonderful books written about the Gila, much more eloquent in their description of the country than I can do. And be sure to note the contributions of M.H. “Dutch” Salmon to preserving the mystique of the Gila. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._H._Salmon

You’ve probably seen videos of the strange ice wheels that form in streams during colder months in northern climates. They spin slowly and mysteriously on top of the water, apparently formed by just the right combination of temperature, speed of the current and shape of the stream bank.

This morning, on our daily walk through the neighborhood and farmland surrounding our home, we found an unusual sight. It appears that the Rio Grande Irrigation District had been mowing weeds and grass along the Laguna Lateral which bisects our Mesilla Park neighborhood. As the grass and weeds fell into the ditch, they flowed with the current and through a culvert underneath McDowell Road. Just below the culvert, two eddies of water gathered up some of the weed and grass clippings and formed these two “weed wheels,” slowly spinning in the water.

There is a neighborhood Mexican restaurant/carryout in our neighborhood that is much beloved for many reasons. Their carne adovada burritos are tops, rolled tacos were once voted best in the city and their folded tacos come with double crunchy shells (probably to prevent them from dissolving from the ample grease — er, I meant juice that drips from the ground beef. (probably 60-40 at best). And of course, it’s pretty cheap.

Perhaps its most interesting culinary feature is the shredded cheese-like product sprinkled liberally on just about everything edible at the restaurant. Affectionately known as “mystery cheese” by the locals, it is heaped on tacos, rolled tacos, burritos etc. from a large metal pan at the end of the food assembly line. Yes, it’s yellow and kind of looks and tastes like cheese, but I question whether a cow was ever involved in its production. It does have some good melting properties, but so does shredded plastic. I still love it.

I won’t name the place for fear it will be “discovered” by trend-seeking outsiders, and more likely because they might take exception to some of my descriptions. But what they serve is extremely tasty (if not always healthy) and I’m sad to say that I haven’t been there is several months because of the COVID-19 situation.

Late last year, however, this humble eatery moved into the modern era with the announcement to customers that they now have their own wi-fi hotspot. The best part of that high-tech advancement is the password to gain access to the wireless network, as shown below:

I grew up working around my father and mother’s weekly newspaper in the New Mexico resort town of Ruidoso. I’m not sure what my first gig on the newspaper was, or when it started, but by the time I left for college I had delivered papers, poured hot lead “pigs” for the Linotype machines, inserted advertising flyers, folded papers, ran an engraving machine and even set type. I’m sure there are other things I did, but one of them was particularly memorable.

My father had written a feature story about a Ruidoso resident who owned race horses that ran regularly at Ruidoso Downs. The story was added very late to the paper’s feature list this particular week, and because of time constraints, it never was proofread.

The newspaper usually had two sections in the summer, sometimes with additional pages having to be inserted by hand. The feature story in question was printed on one of the pages that would be inserted in the first section of the paper.

After it was already printed and awaiting insertion, someone took a quick look at the layout of the page and glanced over its contents. And there it was for all the world to see.

The story identified the subject of the article as a “local hore owner” — the “s” apparently dropping out of the line of type when it was set. My father, understanding the gravity of the error — even though the implied offending word was not spelled correctly — knew he had to do something to avoid a libel suit.

There wasn’t enough time to reprint the section, and the cost of doing so would have been prohibitive. So he did the next best thing, put his 12-year-old son to work to fix it.

Of course at that time, I knew what the misspelled word implied, and even knew how to spell it correctly. I decided to press him on the issue of why we had a problem with that word, in hopes of forcing my father into a embarrassing explanation that would lead to a more robust and graphic discussion about the birds and the bees. But he delicately deflected my question with an ambiguous response, never giving me the embarrassing conversation I thought I wanted.

So my job became taking a black crayon to every one of the 1,800 insert pages, and drawing a smudgy line through the word “hore.” I tried to add a bit of creativity to the process by making my black mark appear as a blob of ink that had dripped on each of the pages during the printing process.

It took me several hours to complete the project, just in time to slip the page with the almost titillating story into the main section of the newspaper. As far as I know, there were never any repercussions or libel suits filed over the incident. But I do know that my hand cramped up for several days following my furious scribbling.

I spotted this advertisement in an edition from the Albuquerque Journal last year. It’s seeking candidates for the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Posse queen. But if you’ll notice, it was published in the “LIVESTOCK, MISC” section of classified ads. Now I get that a cowgirl/4H/FFA kind of candidate (or her parents) might be inclined to look at that section of the classified ads on a regular basis. But I think if I were a fetching young lass, I’d be offended by the suggestion that I was just livestock on the auction block, especially of the “miscellaneous” kind. And I hope the contest winner’s name wasn’t “Patty.”

As a marketing director for most of my working life, I was always amused when someone introduced me as a “marketing guru.” It was a buzz phrase that sprung up somewhere as a compliment to someone who had true genius in the area of marketing, but undeservedly became applied to almost anyone who worked in that field. Given some marketing blunders I pulled, I certainly wasn’t deserving of the title.

In one promotion I created, I saw a chance to boost sales of a particular product by tying it into the “green” movement. The idea was that if a customer bought that particular product, they’d get a small pine tree to plant in their yard. Good for the environment, good for the customer, good for the company — right? I even went to a local greenhouse to buy an eight-inch pine tree in a planted in a six-inch diameter pot to demonstrate the promotion to the store managers, who praised me that it was evidence of a “marketing guru” at his best.

I found a supplier of small “eight-inch” pine trees and ordered several hundred of them to be distributed to stores to hand out to happy customers when they bought the targeted product. But when the trees arrived, they were clearly not what I had expected. Yes, they were eight inches, but instead of eight inches above the top of a six-inch diameter pot, they were eight inches of long-skinny weed-like trees — including long bare roots — packaged in indivudal clear plastic bags. Store managers, some of whom had borrowed large pickup trucks to haul the trees back to their stores, looked on in stunned silence when they saw what they thought were just weeds in a bag.

Needless to say, I hadn’t thoroughly investigated what I had ordered, and the thing turned out to be a big bust, with most of the trees ending up in the trash can.

On another occasion, a group of marketers for a larger region came up with what all of us “gurus” thought was a splendid idea. We concluded that we could help increase sales by sending a “Fiesta in a Box” to help already overburdened employees get excited about an otherwise uninspiring promotion.

The “Fiesta in a Box” that would be sent to each store included snacks and other inexpensive promotional items and props to carry through the theme. One of the snacks was a jar of salsa, to go along with some tortilla chips included in the box. One of the props was a tiny box of Mexican jumping beans that you find at those cheesy curio stores throughout the Southwest.

The first problem occurred when the “Fiesta in a Box” items were being flown in an un-pressurized courier plane to some store locations in far West Texas. Somewhere over the vast emptiness of that region, the salsa jars began exploding because they had been sealed at a factory at sea level, then subjected to thin air at 12,000 feet. Some of the bags of chips may have loudly popped open as well. The pilot of the aircraft, made an emergency landing for fear his aircraft was disintegrating or that he had picked up a cargo of terrorist bombs. Needless to say, we quickly cancelled delivery of the remaining boxes and were left with an endless supply of salsa and chips for our future team meetings.

Now imagine if you are the manager of the U.S. Post Office in Post, Texas, (yes, there is such a place and it was named after the guy who started the Post cereal brand https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Post,_Texas) and you suddenly hear something ticking inside of a box scheduled for delivery to a local business. Yes, the Mexican jumping beans had awakened, and were twitching like crazy in their tiny plastic boxes. Convinced that the ticking was the timer on a bomb, the postmaster called the Fire Department, Police and nearest bomb squad while the building was evacuated. After the careful extraction of the suspect package from the post office, it was gingerly opened, only to find the jumping beans happily leaping around their plastic box and oblivious to their perceived role as agents of destruction.

I had a colleague who did something similar, which also resulted in a post-office shut down. He had dreamed up a beach theme for a promotion and sent small packages of white beach sand in the promotional box. This was at the same time that a number of national political figures and news anchors had received envelopes with anthrax-laden powder in them. So when white sand began leaking out of the promotional boxes, postal officials feared it was part of the anthrax conspiracy, shut down the post office and contacted those responsible.

Gurus indeed.

Located just east of Alma on the edge of the Gila Wilderness is this half-mile row of classic farm tractors of just about every American make, many no longer manufactured. It looks like the tractors just grew out of a big garden. I also noticed, like a weed poking up between your rows of vegetables, there’s an old Jeep.

The New Mexico state flag, officially adopted in 1920 from a design submitted by Santa Fe archaeologist Harry Mera, has won many accolades over the years for its elegantly simple design. In 2001, the North American Vexillological Association (no, I didn’t know there was such an organization either: https://nava.org/ ) rated its design as the top state or territorial flag in all of the United States and Canada. It’s also the only state flag in the United States which does not have blue or white as one of its colors. You can look up more information on the New Mexico flag on wikipedia or other websites but here is the most important thing you should know about our flag:

It’s dummy proof — you can’t rally hang it upside down or backwards. It always looks the same.

Earlier this year, a female undercover police officer in Albuquerque, posing as a prostitute, was approached by a man seeking her “services.” The man explained that he wouldn’t get his paycheck until Friday and wondered if he could make a deal. Observing that the man had just purchased a hamburger, the officer suggested a trade — a Big Mac for time in the sack? Or maybe his “Whopper” would do the “trick?” Or if the burger was a “Double” or a “Triple” from Wendy’s, he might knock in some extra runs. At any rate, before the deal was finalized, she revealed her true identity and promptly arrested him for soliciting. It’s not known if his tater tots were part of the deal, in which case he could have traded a “Tit for a Tat(-er tot).” (Okay, I admit that was pretty lame).