.45 calibre Anniversary

Jayne and I observed 45 years of married life yesterday with a drive with our friend Steve to Sierra Vista, a nice steak dinner, and a visit to the Coronado National Memorial, a lovely park situated on

the Mexican border immediately southwest of Bisbee. This is supposedly near the site where the 1,500 men expedition of Francisco Vázquez de Coronado crossed the line into what today is known as the United States. It is a good thing they made the trip back then; today they would have had to contend with a russet-colored steel-slatted barricade that extends as far as the eye can see. Back in his day, Coronado made it all the way to Kansas before he realized there was no gold among the native inhabitants of the plains, but at least one of his lieutenants managed to stumble upon the Grand Canyon. The Coronado National Memorial is also the site of a hidden geocache which we found easily (once we asked the ranger where it was) and a visitor's center with dress up clothes for kids. They had helmets, swords and even a heavy chain mail shirt. Of course the two biggest kids on this trip had to participate but Steve is a bit camera shy.

I began the day with presenting a card to Jayne to observe the date properly, and designed by myself in TrueArchives style. The inside joke on this one concerns my periodic threat to open

a tourist stagecoach ride concession in Tombstone with my brother, an idea crazy enough on its own but even more so when you consider the town already has TWO coaches competing for the tourist dollar. I had so much fun thinking about Tombstone while designing this card that I almost forgot that this Memorial Day weekend was also the "Wyatt Earp Days" festival in Tombstone. I drove over on Sunday to observe the intersection of myth, memory, and mayhem that constitutes the gunfight reenactments in the middle of Allen Street. A very surreal touch was the addition of a belly dancing club from Sierra Vista performing an interpretive dance to the music of "Ghost Riders in the Sky" which seemed curiously appropriate.

That Which Divides Us

After almost two months in residence, I have finally reached the summit; the summit of Mule Pass, anyway. My morning walks up Tombstone Canyon have steadily lengthened as the days have gone by, and I have gradually pushed myself to ascend the rather steep Divide Road by about 100 yards more each day. Yesterday I realized that I was so close that I made up my mind to go the distance this morning, a walk that was not as hard as I had first envisioned. The total distance from my house to the summit is actually only 2.2 miles, but it involves a steady climb of 627 feet, steeper at some points more than others. The walk back is, of course, easier.

The view from the divide is very nice. To the east one can see the Huachuca Mountains, and to the west the dim outline of ranges in New Mexico are visible on the horizon. A strange monument sits just off the roadside which proclaims the point is at 6,030 feet above sea level (which seems about

right to me) but also proclaims the pass to be situated on the “Continental Divide.” This is patently false since the actual line is more than 130 miles to the east, but it struck me this morning as I perused the names of all the local and state politicians listed on the obelisk that it is a three dimensional metaphor representing today’s political climate.

First, the false claim of being the Continental Divide represents a lot of the erroneous information flooding our news broadcasts and Twitter feeds which has earned the monkier “fake news.” It only seems authoritative because it is literally chipped in stone. Second, the listing of all those political leaders who, we can safely assume, were entirely male and white, represents the current power structure in a country where this same demographic is making decisions on how women may use their own bodies and what complexion an aspiring immigrant must have to enter the country. Finally, there is the shocking testimony that the road itself was the product of prison labor.

One can only imagine the slave-like conditions those incarcerated souls endured as they sweated under an Arizona sun moving earth for the highway. With those who presently clamor for more arrests and more prisons and harsher sentences, we ought to recognize that the United States already has the highest rate of imprisoned people in the world. In fact, a whopping 22 percent of the worlds prisoners are right here in the land of the free, hardly the sort of statistic that would make a contemporary political conservative confident in his assurances that our society is based on individual liberty. And so this simple monument suggests to me a cultural and political divide more than a geographic one, and while it is my present goal in morning physical exercise it should also stand for a contemplative destination as well.

Mother's Day Sturm und Drang

While Jayne continues to sojourn in the Arkansas Ozarks, I remain behind in Bisbee tending to the old white dog and doing household chores. Today is Mother's Day, and while my own mother has passed to the great beyond, I still called Jayne to wish her the compliments of the day since she, too, is a mother. I picked a rather unsettled day for my greetings. A rare spring thunderstorm has

blown into southern Arizona from the Sea of Cortez and the dark skies above the mountains to the south have been periodically crossed with impressive lightning bolts. Some rain fell prior to my daily walk, but I was able to complete the nearly four miles up the canyon and back prior to this latest outburst. This photograph from our front porch gives a hint of the storm above the canyon sides, but I was unable to time my shutter to include a lightning strike. Take my word for it; it is impressive.

Post-Retirement Contract

One of the factors that influenced our decision to move from Bozeman was a desire on my part to not become another ex-academic hanging around campus hoping for some sort of recognition. Some professorial dinosaurs have held out for a post-retirement contract, a way to earn a few shekels without having to attend faculty meetings, but I simply could not see myself doing that. What I have discovered, however, is that retirement in Arizona is a full time job, with chores upon chores to perform in order to whip the Scott headquarters into shape. No contract necessary for these labors.

Jayne has gone to Arkansas to attend the graduation of her niece, Emily, from the University of Arkansas while I stay home and babysit the oldest dog in Bisbee: Willie. Also, just to make sure I have enough to keep me occupied, Jayne prepared a list of accomplishments she would like to see done prior to her return and I have faithfully addressed it. I spent today building a box to raise our refrigerator one foot off the ground and it took me hours to complete the task. Today's picture is not that interesting, but that wooden box represents a considerable effort on my part, not to mention the grunting it took to mount the fridge on top of it. Behold my triumph!

Copper and Iron Men

Much work and many hours have been expended since my last dispatch. We drove to Phoenix one weekend to retrieve our little travel trailer, and then went back with a Uhaul truck to retrieve the balance of our worldly goods from their sweltering storage nest near the Sky Harbor airport. It was a driving feat on both occasions that I heartily wish never to repeat.

Bisbee’s history is full of tales documenting the extreme physical endurance of both man and beast. In the early years of the copper camp, burros were used to haul water, building materials, and firewood to the cabins scratched out on the canyon sides. Even today when viewing the seemingly endless concrete steps that lead to some of these dwellings one wonders how anyone gets furniture or even groceries from the street level to their home. In October the town hosts an “Iron Man” ice challenge where racers schlepping huge blocks of ice bound up a number of these flights in a timed competition. Having puffed my way up the 181 steps from downtown to the top of the Castle Rock twice now I realize I will never be a contender.

But endurance of another kind is also celebrated in Bisbee. Down the street from our house is the Courthouse Plaza Miners’ Monument , a statue of a bare-chested copper miner holding a hammer and a drill. Erected in 1935 to honor those “virile men” whose labor extracted the wealth from the Mule Mountains, the statue is actually made of copper-coated concrete. To make matters more confusing, some locals refer to the statue as the “Iron Man.” Yesterday we took a short walk to St. Patrick’s cathedral and the adjacent Cochise County Courthouse and paused at the statue on our way home. If nothing else it serves as an inspiration for me to continue my daily morning walks up the canyon.