On Friday, I took a jaunt out to my hometown of Corrales.
I parked the car near the library, got out, and walked La Entrada Road and the Old Church Road (the path of our school bus back in the day, but in reverse direction). Lots of interesting thoughts along the way. Approaching the old San Ysidro Church, I was drawn into the cemetery by two agitated roadrunners, and met a photographer named Richard Sanchez, originally from the Dominican Republic, taking pictures of veterans' headstones on behalf of a veterans' organization. Nice fellow!
After that, following my sister's suggestion, I travelled north, to the Romero Road access to the wooded 'Bosque', and took a pleasant amble across the 'Clear Ditch' to the Rio Grande riverside. A sign proclaimed that the area was an active coyote area. That figures: the roadrunners are all the way across town in the cemetery, so it figures the clueless coyotes are up here!
Perhaps because Cochiti Dam was finished in the 1970's, which diminished the sediment load, the river these days seems to be entrenching itself deep into sediments laid down in previous decades, The river bank is at least three feet deeper than it was in the 1970;s. The old, chronic problem of sediment buildup in the Rio Grande riverbed (leading to the formation of 'yazoos') seems to be yielding to a new problem of river entrenchment, which will eventually lead to the water table dropping, which could subsequently lead to the dessication of drains like Corrales' delightful riverside 'Clear Ditch.'
After that, I decided to head north and explore Santa Ana Pueblo. I had no clear recollection that I had ever been to Santa Ana before, even though it is just a few miles away from Bernalillo, which I have repeatedly visited all my life.
The Pueblo Indians (one of whose Pueblos is Santa Ana) have managed to retain their integrity, and even their isolation, despite calling the heavily-trafficked Rio Grande Valley their home for centuries. How do they do that? Clearly they have ways. Since this was the first visit I was ever making there to my memory, that could be taken as evidence of their success in repelling visits. But what was their method?
I drove through Santa Ana Pueblo proper on a paved road, but proceeded further north, along dirt roads deep into reservation land, under the misapprehension (aggravated by Google Maps on my iPhone), that more of the Pueblo lay ahead. So, I kept driving north, along ditchbanks and along the edges of farm fields, scattering what appeared to be gophers or prairie dogs as I went, trying to find a way to cross to Highway 85. No luck. No access. The roads deteriorated, to the point where I feared I would get stuck in soft sand, or get hung up on my axles. I kept going north.
Finally I found an access point! It featured a locked gate. So this was Santa Ana's secret: physical isolation, enforced by locked gates, to deter interest and keep strangers at bay. Google Maps suggested there might be another access point even further north, but by now I was distrustful of the app. Suddenly, I had a revelation: if north isn't doing the trick why not head south instead? So, I took a loop around, and after much tedious travel ended up back at Santa Ana Pueblo.
I returned to NM 44 and crossed the river, in order to investigate the west side of Santa Ana Pueblo land (specifically the road to Jemez Dam). Then, I returned to my sister Michelle's home for a shower.
My other sister, Marra, invited all of us to go to the Albuquerque Isotopes/Iowa Cubs baseball game Friday night. So, Marra, her husband Ken, Bruce Warren, and myself headed off to the baseball stadium Friday evening.
The game started at 7:05 p.m. By 7:20 p.m., the Iowa Cubs had already scored four points. It looked like it might rain, and it started sprinkling a bit. Ken pointed at me and said "I have it it on good authority that it won't rain." I smiled and reiterated my considered meteorological opinion that it wouldn't rain.
Suddenly, the skies opened up. People stampeded from the open-air stands into a vast huddle underneath the grandstands. An hour-long wait ensued.
The rain slowly relented, and the baseball stadium folks began removing the plastic sheeting they had hurriedly thrown across the field, preparing to resume the game. But it was not to be. At 8:50 p.m., kicking water across the field, the umpire pronounced his verdict: the field was too wet to resume the game. So, the game was suspended (to be resumed, with a score of 4-0, on August 31st).
I took Bruce home, ate dinner alone at the Frontier restaurant, and drove back to my sister's place on a circuitous route, so I could take some photos of some of Albuquerque's neon signs.
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