John’s Tax Day (with Bighorn)

bighorn ewe

Has nothing to do with the stories below, but what a cool damn photo.

Oh yeah, that time again. And now I’m TurboTax-free! After several years of spending more on the software and filing fees than we owed in actual taxes—is that crazy or what—the final straw was Intuit raising prices once again and also dropping the formerly included state return. So this year I spent pre-emptively, using approximately half of what I would have spent merely for the privilege of filing our tax returns to buy a new printer instead. Oboy!

For the record, the HP ENVY Photo 7155 is a screaming delight. The Canon Pixma 620 (?) it replaced was nothing but a pain in the ass for its entire life, artificially extended with new parts, Googled voodoo, and manual cleanings of the printer head in the kitchen sink to print a single page. The reason I don’t remember the Canon’s exact model name for certain is that I recycled it the other day. Please note that I have never once recycled any electronic devices, due to being very stupid and afraid I’d never be able to buy another damn whatever-it-was. In any case, it’s gone, and I feel oddly lightened. So today I’ll print the forms, do the calculations, and drop the pages in the mail.

Oh yes, the mail. But first, the water. At the beginning of the week, the Llano Quemado Water Association, a private community water utility, decided to put in a water line to a lot across the road where a fine ambitious fellow wants to “build a house,” right next to two tall water towers festooned with all manner of telecommunications gear and scary signs that say to keep away because of dangerous radiation. He dropped by our house once to tell me his plans. I said, “That’s a terrible place to build a house,” but he was undeterred. If I lived that close to those things, I might grow another head.

Be that as it may, the water association guys couldn’t remember where the water line was and had to dig trenches up and down our little dirt road to find it. One of these came close enough to our community mailbox, one of those NDCBU pedestal things (Neighborhood Delivery & Collection Box Units), that the mail lady was afraid to stand behind the unit to put mail in the boxes. (“I might fall in…”) We only discovered this after receiving no mail for three days and checking in at the Ranchos Post Office, as no one had bothered to put up a sign. The kicker was that we had outgoing bill payments gathering dust in the same NDCBU and were told there was nothing the post office could do to retrieve them.

Nothing???

Nothing. Not a damned thing. No mail, no pick-up, sorry.

I had a yelling fit with both the mail lady and the supervisor, right there in the lobby, and drove back home to see if I could stand behind the mailbox safely, which of course I could. I posted a complaint at the USPS national website, which directed it to the very post office I was freaking out about and that’s the way that goes. New Mexico wins all the time, in any case.

Mail service is now restored. Progress marches on.

Next Phase

apricot tree

Wild apricot tree with mesa cow scapula wind-bonker

Oh man. Time for a change! I hope there’s a next phase. Well, I mean, there will be, but I hope I like it. In the meantime, here’s the apricot tree by the wood pile.

Easter Bighorns

bighorn ewe

Behind her is at least a 400 ft drop

Over the bridge and up the cliff, basically. The narrow, rocky road with no guardrail climbed halfway to the Carson road before we saw them grazing quietly in a sheltered ravine no more than thirty feet away. A buck and four ewes. We stopped, of course, and stayed a long, long time. I got out and slowly walked around the truck without them getting spooked. They’re fairly placid creatures, anyway. Speaking of the Dakota, this road is yet another I would normally avoid in lesser vehicles, but just look what we found there. Finally the right tool for the job.

This was our Easter getaway, twenty minutes down the road. It’s astonishing how therapeutic hanging out with bighorn sheep, Canada geese, mallards, and buffleheads can be. There’s a greater mystery here, too. Just look into those eyes. The intelligence and spirit. I’ve stared at this off and on for what must add up to an hour, easy. My reluctance at breaking the connection is profound.

Circle in the Clouds

Rio Pueblo gorge

Looking south out of the Rio Pueblo gorge to the canyon of the Rio Grande. Rio Grande del Norte National Monument.

A few years back I had a vision in a dream. We were standing outside in the night. A glowing ring shot down from a storm cloud at UFO-speed, hovered, checked us out on all sides, and zoomed silently away. I took this as a benediction. Later there was a storm and dark gray water overflowing from a flagstone-lined ditch, but we were safe inside. The house was Mexican or Mediterranean with stone floors. Rain that did blow in through open windows ran harmlessly away.

The other day I took this picture high above the Rio Pueblo. (That’s the Rio Grande is in the distance.) When I opened the file later on my laptop, the thing jumped out immediately. It kind of shimmers and you don’t quite see it but it registers.

Found It Again

Rio Grande view

No one here at all

We were half an hour down the road at 10 to 15 mph except for crawling over black volcanic boulders. The Dakota’s V-8 chugged happily enough that in the smoother stretches, I had the brief sensation I was piloting a boat at low speed in the vast high desert sea. And then we saw the cliffs.

The route out there was utterly unmarked. I’d researched it online, however, and found a hiking website with an entry by a fellow who’d measured the distance to each turn: .3 mile, 4.5 miles, and so on. Dead accurate, as far as I could tell. No way in hell would I have ever made it on my own.

I pulled off the road—not to get out of the way of non-existent traffic, but to turn the truck 90° to face the river. We ate lunch in the cab and marveled at the quiet and the intensity of the sun. The wind was brisk, the temperature 58°F (14.5°C). I had to walk about 100 feet to find the view you see above.

The wildness, though. The terrible beauty that doesn’t need you. The “emptiness” is crazy wrong. Of course you pay attention. Why else are you here except to be burned up with spiritual fire?

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