In '94 I drove out to New Mexico with my 10 year old son to visit my sister who lives outside of a small town, Hurley, in the southwest corner of the state. Sis is kind of a family outcast and I am the only relative who has maintained contact, phoning her a couple of times a year and swapping occasional email in recent years. She lives on a green acre with the only real trees around and has gardens and lawn. Everything around her is desert. Her neighbors think she is a witch and she encourages that. Actually it is all because, unknown to the neighbors and to the authorities, she has water on her acre.
Ginny
is not, strictly speaking, a witch. She is an astrologer and an ardent
political activist though her activism is limited to mailings back when and the
internet now. She writes very well when she is not being strident and has got
some things published for free. She cannot imagine taking money for it.
The
day I arrived at Ginny's place with Bo, she announced that she was going up to
the San Francisco River for the hot springs there and that we should come
along. I had brought ten year old Bo to New Mexico with me to see a little bit
of the world so that sounded good and that night we started off with her gentleman
friend, they in his Chevy Van and we in our Plymouth mini pick-up truck,
northwards to the San Francisco River.
What
it was, was a Gathering of old hippies that congregate in the canyon every
summer to commune with Nature in the hot springs there and to celebrate a faux
tribalism. There are several bathing holes dug out along the river at points
where the hot springs gush or dribble forth into the main stream. Farther
upstream there is a large swimming hole where the little river that is mostly no more than mid-shin deep
fills a hollow at the base of a large
rock. Kids dive from the rock fifteen feet into the pool.
Bo
and I put up our pup tent and went exploring up the river. We had arrived
before ten o'clock and spent the day walking along the river with side trips up
the sides of the canyon where it isn't sheer.
When we came back to the campsite there
were many more campers and a dozen tents were pitched among the trees away from
the river and others were camping in their vans. As it got dark several
campfires were started and guitars and mouth harps appeared. By midnight
everyone had migrated to one more-or less centrally located site and there was
plenty of food. They were mostly vegetarians, alas.
Then
it all folded up and all retired to their own tents and vans to sleep. Bo was
worn out and was dreaming away in a couple of minutes. I read by the light of a
candle powered lantern.
As
I closed up the book to put it away I became conscious of a motor running and
it was moving. I rose out of the tent to look and saw three automobiles
descending the track that came from the paved road down into the canyon.
Curious, I watched. Some others had come out to watch, also. The cars drove rapidly to a spot in the
middle of the flat area and the lead vehicle's doors were flung open and the
radio was on loud playing western juke joint music. The other two cars followed
suit and woke everyone up except for Bo. Nothing would wake him until he was
ready to rise.
After
a few minutes of loud music and cowboy swearing and beer drinking one of the
hippies, Burkenstok, went down to the intruders and explained to them that
children were trying to sleep all around them and would they please reduce the
volume. The response was probably predictable. The driver of the lead car
loudly refused and announced in a louder voice that they had come down there to "kill hippies"
and "yall better get outa here 'fore I do you first!"
The
loudmouthed one had apparently been talking big in the saloon and others had
challenged him to show he was more than tall talk. So he led the procession out
to the canyon.
Burkenstok
backed off and for a little while the cowboys had the field. Then another
figure walked down to them. At that distance I could see that there was a long
skirt so it was a woman and probably a very small woman. She reached the first
car and angrily ordered "you damned cowboys" to get in their cars and
get the hell out of there. When I heard the voice I recognized the speaker. It
was Ginny. The saloon hero's voice got high-pitched in rage as he screamed in n
unnaturally high voice that he was not going to leave and in fact he was there
to, of course, "kill hippies." He advanced on her but she held her
ground and, in the tones of an angry mother, told him that he better not touch
her if he knew what was good for him.
At
this I became alarmed and went to the pick-up to retrieve a scoped Enfield .303
that normally cooled it behind the seat.
I loaded it with two rounds and went to a spot near another campsite
back of a screen of shrubs and trees. I aimed the rifle and held it there,
resting my arm on a log. The mistress of that site had also roused and came
over to me with shock in her eyes. She asked me if I was going to shoot
someone. I said, "If he hits her I will shoot him." The woman, who
was called Trolley, was horrified for a minute or two, then calmed down and
said quietly, "well, I hope you don't have to shoot him. He shouldn't be
so stupid and act so crazy."
Down
below, Ginny was goading the bad boy but just to the point at which his rage
was maximized and just before he had to actually do something about it. The other
cowboys were calling out things like, "whatcha gonna do, Roy? Gonna let
that bitch talk to you like you're a damned old mangy dog?"
There
is another group of people who gather in that canyon for the pow-wow. They are
mountain men of a sort that I thought had all died out or moved into the city generations
ago. They are lone survivalist types who
grow marijuana back in the mountains to bring down to sell to the
hippies. One of them at this gathering was called Rock'n'Roll and had a mule he
called Killer. He had long tangled curly hair and a wild bushy beard and wore just shorts and a headband.
He
liked to play his harmonica and sing.
Just
as Roy had worked himself up to taking a swipe at Ginny, Rock'n'Roll appeared
out of the woods. He was stripped down to a ragged loincloth and had twigs and
feathers sticking out of his hair and war paint on his face. He carried an exaggerated stage-play spear, a
large diamond-shaped point hafted to the six foot pole.
He
bounded out of the woods shrieking war whoops and waving his spear.
The
cowboys all got into their cars and closed windows and locked doors except for
Roy. Roy had his back to them and didn't notice their discretion. His voice
stumbled as he yelled threats to this new apparition. Rock'n'Roll stopped a few
yards in front of Roy and started dancing like he was an Indian in a 1955
formula Western movie. Roy shouted, "hell he don't scare me none, I'll
just scalp him!" and turned for reassurance from his buddies. He saw that
they were all in their cars and the last car was creeping backwards. A profound
understanding came upon Roy and he turned and ran to his car and got in and
slammed and locked the door and put his window up.
He
stalled it out trying to start the engine with the gas pedal mashed to the floor..
Rock'n'Roll
ceased his dancing and bounded up on to the hood of the car. He drew back the
spear as if to thrust it through the windshield. I could hear Roy scream. He
got the engine fired up and the horrifying apparition jumped off the hood as
Roy dumped the clutch and burned up all the tread on his rear tires, spinning
the car around to follow his friends back up out of the canyon.
Most
of the hippies gathered at Ginny's campsite to talk over events. I had put the
Enfield back in the pick-up but three other fellows, two of the mountain men
and one of the hippies, came up to the site carrying rifles of their own.
Trolley, shocked all over again, asked in a squeak why everybody had guns at a
Peace Gathering. One particularly scroungy fellow, the hippie, said quietly,
"I was gonna shoot him if he hit her."
"Yeah,"
said another, as he unloaded his 30-30.
Then
Rock'n'Roll came in leading Killer and carrying his fearsome spear. The point
was a foot long diamond shaped piece of not-very-hard black plastic duct-taped
to a length of grey PVC pipe.
The
other kids told Bo about the night's activities in the morning and, at first he
thought they were making up stories. Then he said he had dreamed about Cowboys
and Indians.
It
was as if I had taken him to see the very greatest Western movie and he slept through it.
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