As we walk around the streets of T or C NM, we hear conversations all about the heavy rains and flooding that was here just last week. We see buildings with sandbags still piled against door bottoms to keep out the water as it rushed down normally arid lanes. Just as the conversation fades, so goes the rain. The Rio runs not so Grande and the water has mostly dried to cracking mud along the curbs.
Life is such a balancing act. Learning to live with the highs and the lows, somehow trying to find the comfort of the middle ground.
Enjoy where you are, and what you have today. It will most likely be more or less than you want. ††† en theos ††† jimwork
Ah, the signature plant of West Texas. There is probably no other weed, other than perhaps the dandelion, that has been paid so much attention.
I found that the tumbleweed has been used as the name for: bars, saloons, songs, movies, a comic strip, dance halls, newspapers, people’s name, commercial farm, a gymnastic club, musical group, restaurants, youth center, bookstore, and the title of a book. There is even a heath center in Arizona named after the tumbleweed albeit defined as “Arizona’s Premier Medical Cannabis Education Center” so perhaps it is a “twist” on the name.
Honest to God, as a child growing up in west Texas, my parents gathered them, painted them gold ,silver, green or red, then piled them pyramid stye in a corner of the house, hung decorations on them and we called it a “Christmas” tree. I thought we were just innovative, not poor.
They were either a cause or a product of the dust bowl. The saddest use I heard was in the Ken Burn’s documentary on the Dust Bowl. An older lady described that while growing up on a farm trying to eek out life in the bowl, she and her sister were given the painful task of gathering the weeds and then with their bare feet having to crush them for use as fodder for beast and family. Now, that was someone who was indeed poor, innovative and desperate.
Peaceout †††en theos ††† jlawrence
The recent rain are now just reflection of what is gone. Where there were puddles of life and wet, now there are cracks and void. The birds even breathe heavier, move less.
I tried to mow my weeds yesterday. Wearing a mask in a vain attempt to filter the air. I looked more like I should be holding up a 7-11, not holding a mower. The mower stalled with the weight of the grass, I stalled from the weight of the dust and debris in the air. One Zrytec later and a good night sleep, my eyes are swollen and my voice is harsh.
The ground still cries for wet and I cry for the loss of what I used to be able to do.
Do what you can while you can on your journey†nada te turbe†jim