Image: Pepe, Credit Brooks Coe Shea
By Hilda Joy Reprinted from December 2018 Abiquiu got to be a better place when Diana Coe moved here from Colorado. She quickly became an integral part of our community and was loved by all. Among Diana’s horses and donkeys was Pepe, a miniature donkey whose forebears originated on the Island of Sicily, off the coast of Italy. This breed of donkeys is known for its gentle disposition and for having a cross on the back of the animals. Pepe certainly was gentle and often gave rides to children on his cross-marked back at community events to which Diana took him and donated his services. “Pepe is a celebrity,” Diana would boast as she fondly scratched him behind the ears. Pepe immediately came to mind when fellow mayordomo Ray Trujillo and I learned that we were in charge of the annual Christmas posadas that started out each year in Abiquiu’s church, Santo Tomas el Apostol. We learned of our responsibility from our pastor, Father Joseph Vigil, just a few days before the first posadas, and the very first thing we did was to call on Diana, who happened to be home, to ask if we could have Pepe carry the young girl, who would portray the Blessed Mother in the procession before Mass. Diana thought it was fitting that this breed with the cross on its back would carry Mary, and she said, “Yes.” Our second step was to recruit young parishioner Christina Crim to portray Mary and to ask her to ask a fellow student to portray St. Joseph to accompany her during the procession. She did, but he was a no-show, so Christina’s mother Erma pressed into service another young man, Matteo Garcia, who asked, “Do I have any speaking lines?” The third step was to call a number of people and to ask them to bring food for the after-Mass potluck in the gym, which we quickly set up with tables covered with green cloth and red ribbon and pots of poinsettias that someone had donated to the church. Father was so thrilled when he learned that we would have a live donkey carry Mary that he asked us to have the procession go throughout the church plaza before evening Mass. The night of the first posadas, however, turned brutally cold with a strong bitter wind sweeping across the plaza. Father Joseph said that he did not want anyone to get ill and directed us to walk only a few feet from the library across from church. Diana parked Pepe’s trailer there, and, when he emerged from it, we could tell that he realized that something special was about to happen. He stood patiently and proudly as he awaited his passenger. When Christina got close to Pepe, she became frightened, saying, “I don’t do donkeys.” Her dad Allen stood on one side, and on the other side Ray picked her up and set her on Pepe, who immediately made Christina feel so much at ease that with a smile she said, “I can do this.” With silent St. Joseph at her side and with Diana leading and Ray following, the group processed to the front door of our church. Inside, the church was dark, lit only by the altar candles. St. Joseph knocked on the door, and the choir outside sang the traditional request for a room in the inn. Pepe cocked his head and looked at the choir and listened. Then the congregation inside sang its traditional denial. When Pepe heard the singing inside, he lunged toward the church door as if he wanted to enter. The choir outside and the congregation inside repeated the request/denial verses about a half-dozen times, and Pepe paid attention to each group, again lunging toward the door each time he heard the singing inside. Finally, the innkeeper opened the door, the congregation changed its tune to one of warm welcome, and the church lights and the Christmas-tree lights were turned on. Pepe immediately felt that he needed to be a part of this celebration and charged into church and headed toward the main aisle with Diana holding Pepe on one side and Ray securing Christina on the other side of the happy animal who then fell into a dignified gait as he headed to the front pew. Surprised congregants were saying, “Look. . .that is a real live donkey!” Father Joseph and I were the last to enter, and I said to him, “Father, this was not planned,” and he replied with a laugh: “It’s okay. It’s wonderful.” And it was. Amen. Another time, Diana brought Pepe to our parish’s annual Fiesta de Santa Rosa de Lima, which occurs every August, so that Pepe could provide rides for delighted children. Thank you, Pepe. Thank you, Diana. May you rest in peace with our heavenly Father. Hilda M. Joy April 2016 Posadas Afterword: My first Christmas season in Abiquiu, I attended my first posadas in Canones with Agustin and Merlinda Garcia and with Alfonso and Ninfa Martinez. It was a very cold, clear dark night, and the stars were enormous. After the church service, we were welcomed to a dinner of posole, which really took off the chill, and other posadas delights in the gaily decorated church hall. On the way home, Agustin asked, "So, Hilda, what did you think of your first posadas?" I replied that I thought it was all wonderful except for one thing---NO LIVE BURRO! He said they were hard to find, and I said that if ever I were responsible for a posadas, I would find one. In Pepe, I did.
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A 2.5 Magnitude earthquake occurred on the Santa Fe National Forest in the Cuba District around 3:00 p.m. yesterday followed by a 3.5 magnitude around 4:45 p.m. If you are interested in learning more about the magnitude energy release, and other interesting facts about earthquakes from the USGS please visit the attached links:
https://www.usgs.gov/programs/earthquake-hazards/earthquake-facts-earthquake-fantasy The larger was Mag 3.5 (orange dot) and a smaller one of Mag 2.5 (yellow dot) in the afternoon of Wednesday, December 20th. Both were a little east of Cuba in the Nacimiento Mountains, just south of the San Pedro Wilderness area. Faults in this area trend SW to NE, so these earthquakes are likely connected, and more earthquakes might occur as stress and strain is released by these 2 quakes. This is ludicrous. I know it. The tree knows it. The woodland creatures know it. By Zach Hively When I was a younger man, I had a grand vision for my future: I would buy (or otherwise acquire) some land, and with this land I would grow a Christmas forest, planting a pine tree each year to create homes for woodland creatures until enough of them became my friends that I could dispense with human interaction altogether. I have grown and matured, though, and so has the vision. Namely, I am less certain that the forest is a Christmas one. I might more honestly call it a solstice forest. Or a Thanksgiving forest, since that is closer to when I buy the trees. Or a January forest, because that is when I plant them. Or, perhaps most accurately, I could call it a money pit. Regardless of cost, this is one dream coming true. I may not be a world-famous paleontologist ballplayer with a commercial pilot’s license (yet), but by Jiminy Christmas I have a forest. It is five feet tall, four trees large, and counting. Mostly it seems to be counting up. It almost counted down last year, when one of the trees developed an infestation of some kind--not the type of woodland creature I hoped to befriend—that made me abandon, with prejudice, my no-chemical kumbaya approach to winter forest management. This tree also had a comorbidity, a second infestation, that I could not identify despite my four years’ experience in forest stewardship. I showed a picture to a man at the nursery. “Looks like bird vomit,” he said. In hindsight, I question if he actually worked there. These are the difficulties that confound my annual tradition. You see, growing a magical EOY forest is less simple than picking up a tree from a lot and strapping it to the roof of any ol’ car. It is predicated on several factors, chief among them that picking up living trees is really, really hard. Living trees require dirt. Dirt is heavy. It is also notoriously difficult to strap to the roof. If we are perfectly frank—and why shouldn’t we be—half the reason I keep the registration current on my thirtysomething pickup is so that, once a year, I can drive it to my tree dealer, and he can direct two much younger men to hoist the tree into the bed, and I can drive it home where I unload it by my much older self. This is relatively easy to do; I have the advantage of gravity. The real trick is sliding this half-ton or so of wood and soil from three feet high to ground level without seriously injuring the tree, or myself, or my pride. If we are still perfectly frank—why stop now—this moment, usually taking place in dwindling daylight and encroaching cold, when I must navigate this living being and its dirt to the earth without the aid of an advanced pulley system, this is the moment I use to assess the state of my physical health. In short, it is my annual exam. When getting the piñon to the ground goes well, I am also doing well. When it is a struggle, or I throw out my back, or I wonder legitimately at any point if I will be spending the night pinned under a root ball, this motivates my exercise regimen for the next twelve months. I say this in earnest: other people train for beach bods or lower cholesterol. I look at a pull-up bar in May and think, “Better try to jump and touch that—I got a tree to unload this winter.” This is ludicrous. I know it. The tree knows it. The woodland creatures know it. But I can make myself think that I can indeed transform my body and my physical capabilities from one winter to the next. It sure seems much more plausible than transforming my body in a month, which is about how long I have to enjoy the tree, festooned with white twinkle lights outside my living room window, before I need to put it in the ground. This requires an even greater feat of strength than dragging the tree out of my pickup truck. Because I cannot get the tree back into the pickup truck, I have nothing but my wits and my muscles—mostly my wits—to walk the tree, all while battling friction and pine needles to my face, from my living room window to the Yuletide forest and the too-shallow hole I tried to dig after the ground had frozen.
Still, somehow, I have survived this odyssey every year, and so have the trees. We will more likely than not survive it this year, too. The forest will not be any taller, but it will be one tree bigger, and I will swell with pride every time I gaze upon it instead of doing a workout. In the spirit of frankness—in for a penny, in for a pound—I sure hope the birds don’t hurl on it. Zach’s Substack is free. The free stuff today will remain free tomorrow. Someday, he might offer additional stuff. Zach+, as it were. You can tell Zach that you value his work by pledging a future paid subscription to additional stuff. You won't be charged unless he enables payments, and he’ll give a heads-up beforehand. You can subscribe for free to Zach's Substack to receive weekly short writings -- classic Fool's Gold columns, new poems, and random musings. Republished from 12/2019 By Hilda Joy Christmas and cookies go together ofcourse. I have many happy memories of cookies sweetening this year-end holiday, but my favorite is of a woman with whom I worked who took Christmas cookie baking seriously. Every December 1, she bought 20 pounds of butter. Every day after work, she would make a light dinner and go to bed early. Then she would awake about two o’clock in the morning and bake a batch of cookies. These would be packed into candy boxes she collected throughout the year at the office, where we had a custom of celebrating our birthdays by buying two pounds of chocolates, passing them around after lunch, and then giving my friend the empty box. These boxes of cookies would be stashed in her freezer to be shared at Christmas, especially at her annual Christmas open house. In addition to all the Swedish recipes she learned early in life, she made Mexican besos (kisses) and a shortbread cookie so rich that she cut the dough into half-inch cubes, sprinkled with red and green sugars. Another woman, with the help of two of her friends, gathered all of her grandchildren into her large kitchen on a Saturday early in December for a full day of baking and decorating cookies while their parents had the day free for serious Christmas shopping. When their parents returned, each child offered them a tin of Christmas cookies. My all-time favorite Christmas cookie is my Mother’s unusual butter cookie, which is offered here for you to try. Please do and remember to leave some out for Santa Claus. EnJOY Christmas Eve in our Unger household always was scented by pine from the Christmas tree, furniture polish in the living room, the fishy smell of tuna salad (the only time in the year that this meal was served due to a meatless vigil), and the best smell of all---Christmas butter cookies. My Mother’s Christmas butter cookies are like no others due to their 1/4-inch thickness and primarily due to the inclusion of sieved hard-boiled egg yolks, which affect the texture and enhance the yellow color. The cookies should be golden yellow, not brown, so one must watch the baking carefully (my Mother would pull up a chair to the oven with its light on to watch color). This recipe was lost for many years until a happenstance long-distance phone call with our long-time next-door Illinois neighbor, Laverne, gratefully brought it to light. On Laverne’s recipe card, this recipe was attributed to another neighborhhood baker with whom my Mother shared it but who claimed it as her own. I still use my Mother’s five old Christmas cookie cutters; they are willed to my children, Lisa, Sheila, and Patrick, and to my granddaughters, Haley and Zoe.
Bringing fresh blood to old things. Zach Hively My dogsitter leaves me surprises every time I return home. A book to read. My dogs’ poker winnings. Streamers and empty wine boxes from the dogs’ wild parties (which reportedly keep him up too late). One time, he left me an axe. This axe was not a new axe. Its head was rusted over. The handle, washed-out gray. You couldn’t swing it without the head sliding four or six inches. It was perfect.
“Found it on a hike,” he wrote in the welcome-home note. Where? I asked. “The dogs swore me to secrecy,” he said. “Better ask them.” I figured this axe would make a perfect wall-hanging. It had that rustic feeling that city folks pay big big dollaz for. Plus, if my home ever stumbled into a slasher flick, the axe head would come flying off riiiight when the masked lunatic went to swing it at me, throwing him (or her!) off balance and giving me my window to pee myself. But I didn’t hang it, because of course I didn’t. I let it sit by my firewood rack all winter. Then I tucked it in the shed. Then I pulled it back out this fall. Was I ever going to do something with this? Or should I just toss it back into the desert for someone else to find? Because I had big projects that required a solid reason to procrastinate, I said, I’m a-gonna re-handle this axe. So I am. It’s not done yet, because it turns out that a distinct lack of woodworking tools and general axe-shafting knowledge is a detriment to successful (or even unsuccessful!) axe restoration. But I am falling in love—deeply, madly, Christmas-movie-level in love—with bringing new life to old things. This undoubtedly has nothing to do with the fact that I am careening toward forty and looking to make certain I am both relevant and useful. Nope. It might have something to do, however, with making something tangible with my hands. Hands that are increasingly knurled from using the wrong wood file and trying to open a dried-up bottle of wood glue. Could I buy a new handheld wood-splitter at the hardware store for under a hundred bucks? Absolutely. Am I likely to spend more than a hundred bucks on this project with a reasonable chance of ending up with a handle-shaped piece of kindling? For sure. Could I, though, grow as a human being, developing skills that bring me closer to my forebears who knapped their own flint and smelted their own iron and probably, at more than one point, cut off their own fingers? Perhaps. But my ancestors aren’t likely to get too close until they’re reasonably certain this antique axe head won’t come flying off the handle. Zach’s Substack is free. The free stuff today will remain free tomorrow. Someday, he might offer additional stuff. Zach+, as it were. You can tell Zach that you value his work by pledging a future paid subscription to additional stuff. You won't be charged unless he enables payments, and he’ll give a heads-up beforehand. You can subscribe for free to Zach's Substack to receive weekly short writings -- classic Fool's Gold columns, new poems, and random musings. By Tamra Testerman Image Courtesy of Andri Mae Romero Bode’s Mercantile and General Store, the Abiquiu landmark known for providing “service to travelers, hunters, pilgrims, stray artists and bandits since 1893” has (relatively) new owners at the helm. Established in 1890 as Grants Mercantile, Bode’s has always been more than a roadside store. It operated as a post office, stagecoach stop, and even a jail on the eastern end of the Old Spanish Trail, a historic trading route connecting New Mexico to Utah and Los Angeles. In the early 1900s, the Grant brothers sold the store to local ranchers, and by 1919, it was purchased by Martin Bode. This signaled the dawn of a new era for the store, and it has since transformed into a pivotal community hub and tourist attraction. Adding to the bodega charm and an eclectic inventory, the proximity to Abiquiu Lake makes Bode’s a destination for anglers and campers. And there is a small ‘grab-n-go’ kitchen famous for its breakfast burritos and green chile cheeseburgers. Hot coffee is always available as is a warm and friendly welcome. Throughout its long history, Bode’s General Store has not only been a place of commerce but also a cultural and social gathering place, embodying the spirit and evolution of the Abiquiu community—It is the oldest General Store In New Mexico.
I was employed with Bode’s for 6 years before my husband Andy and I purchased it. Hired as the assistant general manager, then being the general manager the three years before the purchase. I have always been in management and worked in retail. My husband worked and still works at the Los Alamos National Laboratory.
What inspired you to take the reins and how did you prepare for this role? Dennis and Constance Liddy were ready to retire. They offered Bode’s to Andy and me, and we accepted. I had already been running day-to-day operations, so the only thing was to get Andy up to speed when we took over. I worked with the crew for 6 years; we offered them their same positions, and they all stayed! How do you see Bode’s role in the Abiquiu community, and how do you plan to enhance that? I was born and raised in Abiquiu, so this is my home. My family and I have been part of the community for many generations. My husband grew up in Chimayo, which is about 30 minutes away. Supporting the Abiquiu community is important to us, so we employ many locals and choose local options for dining and gift certificates. Both churches receive donations from us for their events. We donate for as many events as possible for Abiquiu Elementary, even if it’s just school supplies, and we have donated to the Monastery and Ghost Ranch. Even Santa appeared at Bodes, in a free event we host for the community. We will continue supporting our community and do more if needed, which brings happiness to our hearts! Can you share a challenge you’ve faced since taking over and how you addressed it? Being short staffed – And the only way we can address it is by both my husband and I working long hours to cover shifts. We have some outstanding employees that help in covering shifts as well. In what ways do your personal values and approach influence the store’s atmosphere and customer experience? Great customer service is important to me. And safety for our staff. To me, this goes hand in hand.—Having great customer service, happy employees and great music all contribute to a great store atmosphere! What are some unique aspects of managing a general store in a place like Abiquiu that might differ from other locations? Living so far away from a town I have learned there may be a need for items when other big chain stores are closed, or in an emergency.—So we 1stock a good mix of items. From plumbing, to feed for animals, to grocery produce (organic as well.) And just having a great variety of munchies for when our school buses stop for a visit. How do you balance respecting the store’s history and traditions while implementing new ideas or changes? We have great respect for Bode’s. I love seeing the older pictures from the way I remember it as a little girl. Updates happen, so of course we will adjust what needs to be modernized—but we have no plans to change anything. What are your long-term goals? Just keep doing what we are doing! What is the most rewarding part of running Bode’s General Store? Getting to see everyone that visits us. From our daily customers to new faces just making a pit stop—And being able to donate the way we have. You can find Bode's General Store at 21196 US 84 in Abiquiú. |
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