Horse Enchiladas in the Chain Gang?
by Calendar Hacksaw
(Note: The target audience for this months column
consists of readers like me: weekenders and occasional visitors who might
not have had the opportunity to witness firsthand the destructive power
brought on by this years storms, and the impact the punishing
weather had on the area we all know and love so well. I thought you might
believe it better comin from ol Calendar, since I dont
stretch the truth nearly as much as the locals do)
Homecoming can be a bittersweet affair, even in the best of times. But
in the aftermath of el Ninos fury this past winter and spring, I
wondered what ol Calendar would find upon his eventual return to the
Basin of Dreams. For one reason or another, the weeks
stretched into months, and it was dang near summer again before I pulled
off Highway 58 and started that slow crawl into downtown Caliente. There
was no parade, no welcoming committee, no nothing. Seven long months had
passed since I last rumbled across those dang tracks; it felt good to be
back.
But then I saw the road.
Or, rather, the lack of road. What road? Where did the pavement go?
Where did it used to be? Where am I? Why am I driving across the front
yards of homes where folks live; people to whom I used to wave as I drove
by a quarter-mile away? Dang it; what the heck is going on here?
I hate change, but el Nino loves it. We dont see eye-to-eye; me
and that no-good eye-of-a-storm, spoiler of fun, beauty, peace, and the
gateway to weekend happiness, land of year-round enjoyment and clumsy
run-on sentences.
Well, I edged my way though the Canyon, always expecting things to get
worse around the next curve, and usually they did. The damage had already
been done. Caliente Creek flowed with the blood, sweat and tears of every
settler who toiled for the right to live off the beaten track. It looked
like film footage of war-torn Bosnia or Croatia; very un-American. I felt
as guilty as a gawker at a public hangin. I tried to look away, but
there was no away to which to look; the damage and destruction
were everywhere. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and for the
people who live here full time, it must have been a faith-shaking reality
capable of not only separating the men from the boys, but also the women
from the girls, the cash from your wallet, the bulls from the cows, and
the asphalt from the dirt.
Just as theres never been a seawall built that could withstand the
force of the mighty Pacific, there will never be a canyon road that can
survive the violent mood swings of Caliente Creek. Yes, the Creek took its
toll on a whole lot of asphalt, but its quite amazing to see just
how much roadway it left in place. So there is hope, and everywhere I
looked I found even more evidence of the optimism that first brought
settlers to the Basin, and kept them here in spite of the hardships she
posed.
Folks still wave as they creep through the canyon, the wildflowers are
abundant, waterfalls cast their gossamer spells, and the County aint
seen fit to dispatch teams of mental health professionals to provide group
counseling. Team Penning is still on for June, local crooks are still
appropriating property that dont belong to them (Warning: The
Dispensing of Roadside Justice is Doubled In Construction Zones), the Fence
Post is still being published with amazing regularity, and its
still possible to get a square meal in Twin Oaks if you time it right.
But those Road Closed signs that youll see up at the
Caliente turn-off on Highway 58 can put a damper on your spirit if you let
them. In my opinion, and the opinion of many, those signs have no business
being there. Caliente Creek Road is easily traversed by car, truck,
motorcycle, bicycle or on horseback. In four recent passes through the
Canyon, Ive encountered nothing that would suggest any need for
four-wheel-drive. But I would warn those traveling the road for the first
time since the storms not to make the passage during hours of darkness or
while under the influence of anything more mind-altering than a glass of
warm milk. The pavement ends abruptly, time and time again, and it only
takes one time for the unsuspecting motorist to experience what some call
the Express Lane to Lamont. So choose your time carefully
and--most importantly--take your time.
I think Walker Basin businesses need our help. The locals rely on these
merchants for daily needs. Karens Bar & Grill and the General
Store are not considered cute, out-of-the-way attractions for
local residents; on the contrary, they are vital to life. But without
tourists and us weekenders, business has been slow, real slow. So please
do ol Calendar a big favor when you get to Twin Oaks: spend lots and
lots of money. Many of the dollars spent in the community never leave
town; they just change hands. Keep the currency in good supply, and keep
it moving around. Eat out more often. If you cant visit, feel free
to stick some cash in an envelope and mail it to one of the proprietors,
just as a thank you for being there in the past, and hopefully
being there in the future. Running a business isnt a charity, but by
golly the business people of Twin Oaks have sure helped out a lot of needy
folks in good years and bad. I think its time to return the favor.
So there I sat, chewin my biscuits and gravy on a recent morning,
when a young lady approached this ol stranger and began her
well-rehearsed recitation. I knew the drill, so I cut her short, pulled
out my ol billfold and forked over enough dough for a handful of
winning tickets. To Megan Doherty and the other Penning Queen candidates:
youre our future, and were glad you are. Good luck. Now get
out there and fix the danged road!
Calendar Hacksaw's e-mail addresses are <calendar@usa.net>
and <twistedsisters@hotmail.com>
and hed love to hear from you, even though the correct Wheel of Fortune
answer was Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, as opposed to
the headline on this column. What a loser!
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