First day at Libre as is our wont the walk was short [albeit, at a taste over 8000′, breathless], punctuated with visits to our nearer neighbors; Mary Ann [not shown, hosting her sister from sea level Florida] and Dean, still insanely active in his studio at 82…

Our second day we made it far enough up the creek to see trees had fallen on the trail from a late heavy snow and later our seldom seen soldier son pulled in, on leave from Fort Hood, Texas, inspiring a walk up the knoll…

Third day, in search of more radical acclimatization, we drove to 11,000′ and plodded to the top of Cuerna Verde, aka Greenhorn Mountain,

[15 year old dog @ 12,000′]

…a rolling rocky knoll overlooking Kansas [not shown] from over 12,000′ in the sky.

After some hail on the descent we returned via the Gardner Road, less life-threatening than the nearly vertical six-mile shortcut explored coming up, which wouldn’t have worked in the mud anyway. Later that afternoon Mary, last seen leaving Wall Spring a month ago, arrived on her way from Wisconsin to California via New Mexico…

First thing first of July we were up the creek with Bryan, Mary and a bowsaw to dispatch two of the more egregious deadfalls before she moved on to Ojo Caliente and he surprised us by announcing he’d be picking up a lady friend in Alamosa [or Salida] on her way back to Austin from Denver, bringing her home for two dinners and a day wherein we treated them to the ‘Gardner Trifecta’ [El Depot, USPO and Farmer’s Market] followed by a return to the base of the mountain, where just before the Gardner Road begins seriously climbing up Greenhorn Mountain Mission Wolf nestles…

Mission Wolf’s mission and creation myth involve a guy named Kent and his wolf retreating fifteen miles up a dirt road twenty six years ago to make a sanctuary for themselves as far away from people as possible [fifteen miles?] whose eventual fame attracted more wolves, more people, educational outreach [taking wolves into schools, colleges, legislative bodies and Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood – though not Pee Wee’s Playhouse] and a whole elaborate infrastructure.  Given the evidence on the ground that initial isolation-from-humans ploy hadn’t succeeded; soon after reaching an overflowing parking area we were intercepted, greeted, treated to an intro as to the mission and creation myths very like those revealed on MW’s website and encouraged to await the noon tour.  Soon after that Kent, the cult’s originator, came up to meet, greet and present slightly more personalized variations of the Legends as well until around noon we and assorted others were taken to a scenic patio and regaled with elaborate and entertaining cautions about how to behave around the wolves [and wolfdogs and, um, wolflike dogs, it will turn out] interspersed with variations of…yeah.

Once assembled there we were handed off to perky Lidia, who regaled us with…yes; by this time it’s obvious they’ve all been drinking the same kool-aid, and, like politicians, keeping to the script. After one more iteration for the benefit of late comers we set off around the enclosures, where the creatures, caught between two worlds, live out long healthy lives, their best option [according to the completely plausible if endlessly reinforced MW belief system] since, although partially domesticated and therefore unsuited for life in the wild, they are totally cool with being stared at by herds of ogling humans orbiting past their cages; seems like purgatory to me…but with free medical care and ample meat what’s purgatory to a wolf?

We are introduced to several and told their stories, my favorites being one female, kept as a pet by vegetarians and raised as such [do we sense a Portlandia sketch here?], stunting her growth until rescue intervened and another, Max, whose life-as-a-pet featured not only the correct carnivorous diet but a personal trainer until a neighbor’s chihuahua wandered into his compound and…well, the neighbors sued. He was fortunate to find a home here, as were the others; wolves, wolfdogs or dogs people mistook for wolves.

Max was the last wolf on the tour, which then exited through [no shit!] the gift shop.  From there we made it back to the truck and, deciding maybe it wasn’t worth hanging around for the chance to go nose to nose with the “Ambassador Wolves” following Kent’s Saturday Talk, were about to eat and run when the man himself came ricocheting through the parking lot luring everyone down to the firepit for it…we gave him a slice of foccacia and followed, but his exposition had no new news, just expanded variations of all we’d heard before as well as some curiously clueless observations about dogs, so after gauging the weather downstream as well as contemplating what getting in line behind the slowest common  denominator of all those weekend warriors’ SUVs for fifteen miles to the pavement would be like we discreetly headed south…

…to Libre, slippery from recent rain, for a quiet afternoon and, the rains continuing sporadic, an eventual dinner in.

Sunday morning up the creek, slapping mosquitoes;

 

then Bryan and Janelle laid a pie on the back seat of his Honda and with a trunk full of weapons and ammo – good insurance for travel through Texas, I guess – headed for the Sand Dunes, leaving us alone in the country

…for an afternoon of rains torrential, which we hoped didn’t catch them on some mountain.

The Fourth of July inspired me to search out a video of the Blasters’ “Fourth of July” to send around in honor of the day, which was spent quietly up the creek and around the home…

After an all-American dinner of chicken, corn and potato salad I unearthed a better rendition of the song, sure enough, by Dave Alvin’s band The Guilty Ones which led me down an internet rabbithole of live performances culminating in The Guilty Men’s totally sick rendition of “Out of Control” [“…scored some speed out in San Ber’dino so me ‘n’ baby could get a little bump…”]. Not evil, per se, but definitely Bad.  So enough for the Fourth of July, already…

Next day, Tuesday, more of the same; creek, home, studios…

and another dinner on the porch….wondering what the hell that tower is across from Farisita; hell’s cells…

…at least it isn’t the f-ing frackers..

Until later…

M