The Articulated Man...

In a departure from the usual subject matter, in this post I am writing about a visit from the youngest member of the Crawford Family.  I will get back to my usual posting next week.

Three days ago we received a call as we were leaving for church.  Our youngest son was bringing his wife and our grandchild up for a visit.  Because of our busy schedule we haven't seen our grandson very often in the past few months.  This promised to be a happy day, and it turned out that way.

Dom, our grandson, was uneasy with the strangers, G and I, in this very strange place.  Cats, big dogs, lots of new and unusual things surrounded him.  Dom just starting walking last week and he immediately used his new skill to explore this interesting new place. 
He passed by model cars and trains on shelves as they were just not

quite shiny enough to warrant attention.  As our place is far from child proofed, In the years that follow I suspect a lot of the transitory treasures upon the shelves will wind up on the floor in many pieces, a fair price to pay for a healthy curiosity - but, what are such things for?  Better the victim of of a child's curiosity than a trinket gathering dust high high on a shelf.  

As a child I recall interesting objects on the selves of my Grandfather Crawford's home.  He was the proprietor of a steel erection company and had interesting pictures and mementos accumulated from a lifetime of his construction projects.  I especially remember two objects a figurine - an Articulated Man - made of nuts and bolts with arms and legs that articulated and a painting on the wall of a Steel Worker on a Beam high over a city below.  My folks separated by my eighth birthday and with my Mother, two older sisters and I moved west from Ohio to settle in Colorado.  Over time the memory of the two cherished objects grew dim and finally vanished.

My Mother, Beatrice Connor Crawford, was raised in a poor family in the hills of western Pennsylvania along the Allegheny River.  Many children raised in the section of Appalachia came to an unfortunate end but Mother's family, though poor, was proud.  The five "Connor girls" had a well earned reputation of putting any man in five counties in their proper place.  As a child they used to teach me to say, "The only thing a man's good for is to light a ladies cigarette" and they meant it.  In the end all of the six children, five girls and a boy, managed to live productive life's and pass along the best of the family heritage to the next generation. 

Mother never remarried.  Through the years that followed and, until near her death, she served as a bookkeeper for numerous small businesses.   When we moved to Colorado she worked full time meaning that my two older sisters and I had to learn to fend for ourselves.  With the move west I became a "latch key child" long before anyone used that term.

Breakfast was easy and Mother would pack a lunch for school the night before.  When she arrived home a simple dinner would be prepared.  Pancakes, being quick and very cheap, were a favorite and as a result to this day I can't stand the things.  We ate a lot of other odd things that were cheap and easy to prepare, beef tongue and pickled pigs feet among them; we always had a meal on the table.  Delicacies were bananas, canned deviled ham, Vienna sausage or the rare package of dates or figs.  I still don't readily eat bananas because they were so cherished in my youth that they were reserved for the adults.

Odd how things learned in youth habituate into advancing age.

Over time I learned simple cooking and baking and how to take care of my own washing and ironing and, I taught myself how to sew which brings us to this days story.

Just after our son, Josh, and his family arrived he asked if we had a sewing machine.  I told him where it was stored in a small cabinet in a corner of the kitchen floor next to the range.  On his hands and knees, he promptly  he emptied most of a cabinet onto the floor insisting, "There is not a sewing machine in here."  I told him to look again and he pulled everything else out of the cabinet still insisting, "A sewing machine is not in here."  Finally I pointed to a cardboard box in the back of the cabinet and said, "Try that."

"I knew it was in here and I was only testing you."  - Sure thing. Asking if he knew how to use the machine he answered, you bet. Now, sewing is a near universal skill of the Crawford men - I wonder why - so I was not surprised at his answer.  The next hour brought his true skill level into sharp relief.

We wound up with sewing machine parts all over the table.  Thread unwound on the floor and a fair amount of unusual language.

"What are you sewing?", I asked.

"Velcro tabs on diapers", he responded.

Lindsay, Mrs. Crawford, said, "Don't mess them up they cost $400."  We were to hear that echo for the next hour and more.

Try as he could all came to naught.  Finally, after and hour, Josh did finally manage to get one sewn on.  It was well affixed but not very pretty.

"How many do you have to do?"

"Twenty-eight!"

"This looks terrible you can't put something like this on $400 diapers!"  Exclaimed Lindsay.

We weren't particularly surprised at Josh's rusty ability to sew but at that point we found out the new Mrs. Crawford had the full spirit of the "Connor Girls."

When Josh said, "No one will see them", Lindsay pounced.

After a good tussle and a big laugh we put away the sewing machine and opened the wine.  Lindsay won and the diapers are going to a seamstress for new tabs.

After supper and great conversation we bid them farewell and elicited a promise to come back soon.

So ends our story for today with this after thought.

Steel worker on a Beam

After years of struggle, time overcame my Mother and she died in western Pennsylvania in 1997.  Separated by divorce in 1949, my Father died in Pensacola, Florida three weeks after Mother's death.  G and I went through some of his artifacts in a rental storage shed and hidden in the clutter of a failed life was the painting of a Steel Worker on a Beam high over the city below.  It is on the wall of our home, a memory salvaged from years of loss.  The Articulated Man?  He is lost to the ages and perhaps enlivens the curiosity of a youngster unknown to us.

Family is a blessing - all the trinkets we value so much have little meaning when compared to this. 

j


 

Wrapping-up....

It is remarkable how rapidly one slips into a "funk" when re-immersed in the everyday concerns of what we call "The real world" which were free from while in Chama.  The election continues in its dismal way with ongoing mud-slinging and lies, daily news of violence on American streets, war and terrorist actions, machination of our economic and political "leaders" all-inpall a general denial of the truly important things in life - nothing has changed.

In this case I am not exactly sure which of the worlds, in Chama or outside, is “real.”  There was a regularity, and simplicity, of life in Chama.  Conversations were polite as folks were focused on common goals while differences were set aside.  Life was intimately connected to the seasons, the slow rhythm of life and the comings and goings of the trains.  We have been told the winters are very quiet with the population shrinking to less than 1,500 in the 4,000 square mile surrounding Chama.  Only few businesses remain open: a convenience store/gas station, market/hardware store, one restaurant, a saloon and small primary/middle school. The snow drifts deep and temperatures plunge to below zero.  Life goes on at a very slow pace, so we are told. 

I think this must be the dream world but those living there are anchored to the reality of the seasons and the struggle of everyday life.  One cannot be in denial when events demand your attention.  Small things become a moment of joy.  Christmas comes and for a brief moment on a snowy Saturday the whistles sound and a train runs taking local children on  trip up to Cumbres over show shrouded tracks – then quiet until early spring.

I think our world spoils us.  We take trips to buy non-essential things and complain when things don’t exactly go the way we want.  Seemingly, we refuse to see the reality of a world in which the exact temperature in our house of place of work is of greater importance than the honesty and candor of a public official or neighbor.  When faced with a different path we too often choose the same regardless of the outcome.  We have forgotten the notion of a “mending wall” and the importance of binding ourselves to others for the common good.

Next year we leave again for our visit to that “other” world which is Chama.  Six weeks this time and the year following three months.  In the time between the visits I will be busy with docent study for there and re-organizing my tasks at work for my eventual semi-retirement in December, 2017.  Work to repair the trailer will be finished in a few weeks and it will be winterized.  During this time I will again focus on simplifying life in this world starting with a renewed effort to “Mend walls.”

I had forgotten when we first came to Calhoun and I was kindly asked by Paul to give a little talk at the Thanksgiving ecumenical service, I recited the following:

Mending Wall

By Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,

But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father's saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."

New RV.....

G and I finally got to laughing about all the goings on with the Chama Cabin.  We decided it would be fun to recreate a past we never had and do some sort of "Hippy" thing.  Since we were in Colorado, the pot capital of the world, this would seem a good alternative.  Sadly, this wasn't to be it was just too far beyond a broken down old banker and his sympathetic wife.

We then though to a really fun version from a movie called "Mystery Men".  How perfect a Herkimer Battle Jitney - "The most effective non lethal fighting weapon ever devised" - would be.  We actually have the plans for this one.  Sadly, all the non lethal battle equipment and armor would definitely lead to really poor gas milage.

We settled on the best of all alternatives, a Flxible Clipper.  This one is really cool and we could do real magic as its big, has a quirky design and super retro look.   

Think Curt would be into unfinished projects 25,000 to 50,000.

Bad idea.

Home....

On several occasions over the past two months I was asked, “Are you moving to Chama.?”  For as much as we love the place, the answer is no; home is where our family is and that is Calhoun County.   We have been in this place since 2006 but my memories of it go far back to my youth as do those of the Cumbres and Toltec Railroad.  How is that possible? 

In my early youth, before the age of ten, I spent summers at the home of my Mother’s family in Pennsylvania.  The five girls and their only brother lived with their Mother, my Grandmother Mamie Connor, in a tiny house a scant forty feet from the mainline of the Pennsylvania Railroad along the Allegheny River Valley.  They may have lived in Appalachia, and were certainly dirt poor, but they were proud.    

I remember summers there as in a dream, a place of warm summer days and endless fun in the hills and forests along the River.  Everyone would run down the steep hillside to the river and jump in to cool off on a summer’s day.  The oldest would swim across to the big rocks down from a stately old Queen Anne house where the grown-ups and older children would frolic.  

As in a dream in the evening we would drift in a row boat down the languid river.  We would holler to hear the echo when our every whisper could be heard along the river in the heavy cool air.

Holidays were special home-made iced cream with blackberry cobbler seemingly every weekend.  We would pick the wild berries in the afternoon and come back to the house covered with scratches from the thick tangle of the blackberry briar; then came the baking and churning of iced cream for the evening treat.  

Uncle Paul always did the fireworks and always seemed to mess them up. 

“Break off that stick on the bottom of that rocket” he would state with authority.  Sure enough when ignited they would fall on the ground and wind-up in the River below.  But sometime fireworks did explode over the river on the fourth of July and it was glorious.

As the evening darkened we children were sent to bed as the chatter and laughter of the grown-ups on the front porch extended well into the night.  Finally in silence I could listen to the gentle rustle of the leaves in the forest and hear the faint and steady “chuff-chuff” of a heavy freight laboring up the river valley.  

The whistle would sound for the village of Sarah Furnace far below our village of West Monterey.  Echoing off the hills we would count the number of times the whistle sound came back - one… two… three, but never more. 

The sound would grow in intensity and then the brilliant headlight and roaring sound of the locomotive would pass the house.  The whole place shook and then it settled into the steady slow rhythm of steel wheels crossing the joints of steel rails.  And, then to sleep and to dream of places far away carried along by a swift passenger express.

The railroad in Pennsylvania is now gone and our little home is rickety, decaying and will soon be lost.  That place is now only a fragile reminiscence in the mind of an aging man.

Calhoun is like that place in Pennsylvania and it keeps the fragile memories of my youth alive.  We sit on the porch and watch as the river mist slowly fills Kintown Hollow.  In Chama we hear the heavy beat of a steam locomotive and steam whistles echoing through Wolf Creek or Los Pinos Valley – one… two… three… and four, but never more.

Old Blue made it in good stead and Curt has the cabin repairs in hand.  G’s excellent organization made the trip home and eventual unpacking a breeze.  The winter will be productive as I work and plan for next year’s trip and the two of us plan next year’s adventure in New Mexico and Colorado.  

Curt was waiting as we backed the cabin into its parking place on the south end.  Trips away remind us that our real blessing is our family and where they are is home.

It is good to be home.

46 miles south....

I had a train from Chama to Antonito yesterday.  We had a 45 minute delay just 1 mile below Cumbres.  Due to heavy rains the slopes along the railroad have become a bit unstable.  A rock slide twisted one rail and broke another.  This is the second rock slide this year. All was well and the damage was quickly repaired.  We arrived back in Chama by Motor Coach from Antonito about 7:00pm.  We had little int he cupboard in the trailer so we stopped at the Boxcar Cafe across from the Depot.  Late to bed G slept well I didn't due to issues during the day among them the continuing mess with the water in the trailer.

After a late start this morning I made a simple breakfast for the two of us, eggs and toast.  The convection cooking we are using instead of the little propane range is terrific.  After breakfast G took clothes to the local laundromat and I went out for a 2 mile walk.  I picked up ten C&TS pins to give to the children on the train at the end of a ride.  This comes out of my pocket and I like to give pins to the youngsters who show particular interest in the train and spend time asking questions.  I had a particularly alert youngster travelling with his mother over to Antonito.  When we went over the the Boxcar for supper we found him and his parents there as well.  I took a pin off my shirt and pinned it on the young man's sweat shirt.  I was surprised when he came over to our table and said, "Thank-you Mr. John" - he could only see my first name on my badge.

We have been making short visits to several places

On a whim we decided to go to Ghost Ranch which is 46 miles south of Chama.  Along the way we visited a natural amphitheater about two miles north of Ghost ranch.  It is a beautiful but neglected spot.  Surprisingly there is no vandalism, trahs or graffiti but the steps are decaying and most of the interpretive data has been removed.  It is a remarkable place and I have many pictures of it.

At just past 1:30pm we arrived at Ghost Ranch.  I don't know much about and would rely on Paul to tell us the history of the place.  Georgia O'Keeffe was in residence for some time and we did see her little cottage which is near the Welcome Center.  Unfortunately, the Welcome Center didn't offer much in the way of information on the place.

It is all a bit confusing there as all sorts and styles of lodging seem to be available.  The crowd seemed to be composed mainly of several groups, older white liberal, younger white counter culture and, for want of a better term, new-age types.  Unfortunately we both must plead ignorance on the relationship of both the PC USA and other goings on there.  There are many well marked trails into the surrounding desert but we were ill-prepared for such a trek.

I look forward to learning more about this place and it is on our list of places to explore next year and thereafter.

Tomorrow another train which is being assembled as I write.  It will likely be double-headed up to Cumbres.  I will be with a very senior docent and will likely be answering questions as he give the presentation.  Monday is an off day and we will start organizing things for our trip home.  We are scheduled to meet Jerry and Sally, our long-time friends at the Chama Dapot at 4:00 that afternoon.  We will take the motor coach over to Antonito and the train westbound to Chama on Turesday.  Wednesday is my farewell trip on the Cumbres and Toltec as I docent the train from Antonito to Chama.  Thursday we will pack and depart around 10:00am.  First stop is Lamar, CO.  On Friday we drive aboud 450 miles to Salina, KS and then the final 450 miles home on Saturday.

It has been both rewarding and frustrating.  The issues with the trailer overshadowed what should have been a pleasant time.  Hopefully, that will never be repeated in the future.  Other issues remain unsettled but will be resolved one way or the other before our return next year - which is settled.

See you Saturday.