I love poetry. I have since I was a kid. I used to take books with me when I’d go walking out in the woods behind our house and sit beneath a tall oak tree and read. Elliot, Wordsworth, Thoreau, Service. I especially enjoyed the writings of Robert Service. He wasn’t very subtle in his poetry, unlike other poets who I think tried too hard to seem intelligent. What he wrote about, mostly, was wild men of the west, particularly the North West.
I was working in Alaska a few years ago, Cordova to be exact. One of the few days I had off, I strolled into Orca Book and Sound book store there and found The Illustrated Robert Service. It was costly as most things in Alaska are, but I bought it anyway. I figured I was making some good money and could spare a bit of change for something to read in my bunk between shifts.
It’s a nice book. I’m glad I bought it. It kept me from getting too homesick many a night as I lay there, the sound of floors creaking, seagulls squawking, men snoring and the ocean pounding the shore just outside.
If you never read Robert Service, might I suggest you go to a local bookstore and pick up a used copy of one his volumes? Google just isn’t the same as holding a book in your hands and letting the words seep into your skin. Simple, his poetry might be, but I think it strikes a cord with every man whose ever had fanciful dreams of striking out into the wild to see what he’s made of. That, and finding gold.
“I panned and I panned in the shiny sand, and I sniped on the river bar; But I know, I know, that it’s down below that the golden treasures are;
– Clancy of Mounted Police
‘Tis pale and grim by the Polar rim, but seek and ye shall not fail.’
“And lo! that night I too did dream of my mother’s sister’s son,
And he said to me: “By the Arctic Sea there’s a treasure to be won.
Follow and follow a lone moose trail, till you come to a valley grim,
On the slope of the lonely watershed that borders the Polar brim.”
Then I woke my pals, and soft we swore by the mystic Silver Flail,
‘Twas the hand of Fate, and to-morrow straight we would seek the lone moose trail.
– The Ballad of Northern Lights
Just a couple of snippets for your pleasure. I find it interesting that the first time I walked into to Collected Works bookstore and got a copy of The Thrill of the Chase, the first thing that came to mind was my copy of The Illustrated Robert Service.
I’d bet a dollar to a quarter that somewhere on Mister Fenn’s bookshelf lies some Robert Service poetry…
No Reason I think that… just saying.
Anyway, just some random thoughts for you. In other news, I finally landed a job and start training next week. My wife will be giving birth to my son somewhere around the 30th. Its likely I will miss it. We’ll see if I can convince my boss, to give me a day off, even though I’ve just started, but if not, well, as a wise woman has said to me more times than I can count, in my life, “Ya Gotta do, what you Gotta do.”
So there’s that. Treasure Hunting is on hold for the moment, but I wish the best to those of you out and about. Be careful. Watch out for Bears, snakes, and Reality Shows.
This weekend, the wife, the youngun and I set off on a great adventure into the wilds of the Jemez. Ok. Not really a “great adventure” so much as chance to get out of the house and breath some fine mountain air. While we were out, I kept an eye out for the Fenn Treasure as perhaps it may be laying by the side of one of the roads of which we were driving. Yeah, not really.
In case I haven’t mentioned it, which I’m pretty sure I have a million and two times, the wife is with child. She’s been feeling a bit of the cabin fever, especially with her recent battle against Kidney Stones and problems breathing, so I threw her in the car, strapped the kid to the top and headed north for a day trip of some New Mexico National Monuments.
• You may notice my wife’s face is blurred out. I assure you that is not a normal look for her. She just doesn’t go walking around blurried faced. She did warn me however that should I post a picture on the internets of her without makeup, I would one day wake up to find a horse head on my pillow… (She didn’t say horse head because she’s never seen the Godfather but you get what I’m saying…)
• My jeans are dirty like they are, because, these are my famous “treasure hunting” jeans. You may have seen them in previous posts. Autographs available upon request.
• My son is giving the dirty eye to the camera because the nice folks who offered to take our picture were people he doesn’t know and people my son doesn’t know and come within five feet of him, get the dirty eye. I dunno… he’s like that.
• Finally, that is not a subdivision behind us, it is in fact an ancient Pueblo village, where ancient folk used to walk around doing ancient things and trying NOT to draw pictographs of their wives without makeup… just saying.
In the entire time I’ve lived in New Mexico, I’ve never visited the Coronado State Monument. Considering it is only 15 minutes or so from where I live. If you stop by, make sure to say hey to Alex, the park ranger and ask him to give you a tour of the paintings they have hanging up there, made about the year 1300. Be sure to ask about the one of the “Egyptian” who visited the pueblo…. 900 years ago.
A better picture of my son at Coronado State Monument minus the Dirty Eye.
We didn’t spend as much time as I would have liked because the boy was getting hungry and cranky and apparently feeding kids is more important than ancient history… that’s what my wife said anyway..
So we got some grub at the local Blake’s Lotaburger, which was horribly overcrowded, then headed up 550 to San Ysidro, the turn off to the famous Jemez Ruins, which used to be the home of the ancestors of the folks living at the current Jemez Pueblo, which most folks like myself are not invited into…with good reason I suppose. It’s also the turn off to the famous hippy hangout, Jemez Springs.
Fun Fact: Jemez is a spanish version of the word hay mish. When asked by the spanish coming into the pueblo to dine with the folk at Jemez for the first time, they asked em, “Hey fellas, What do you call yourself?”, to which one fella of the Pueblo, presumably the Tourism Director, replied, “People”… Which is what hay mish means. Unfortunately, the Spanish and most of those coming after never really caught on that they were people rather than slaves and subjects… <—insert editorial.
Stopping on the road to Jemez Ruins
My wife slept on and off during the short trip up there and was only awakened by my many “Hey! Look at that! Did you know in (insert guesstimated time period) that (insert partly factual statement about said place)”. My son on the other hand, didn’t even pay attention to my many intellectual and historic oral spews. He slept the whole way.
She did get out to stretch her overly stressed legs and back when I stopped for a bit of a pee at the “Welcome Sign to Jemez”.
So when we got to the the Ruins, I left them to their own sleepiness and walked around oohhing and awing by my own self.
Old Spanish Church Ruins
Didn’t take too many pictures as I left my camera in the truck and only had my foggy phone with me. Just between you and me (or is it you and I?) I dig (not literally) old historic things like these. I tend to let my imagination fly in these places. The history of people who occupied the same space I am in at that moment, and what they did and how they lived is fascinating to me. Not even just the ancient people but folks from the 1960s back to 150000 years ago is an amazing journey of thought. 2000 years from now, I doubt there will be any mystery about us. We have labeled and stowed away so much information about who we are and what we’ve done that I can’t imagine any kind of serious interest by our descendants. Interest comes from the mystery not the facts. When our lives are so detailed in blog posts, and videos and pictures and books and tweets, who’s gonna really care? Archeologist will have to find a new profession in the future, because there won’t be any new thing to discover.
Sad if you ask me…as I write in my blog and post pictures of my life….
Anywhoo,
We rounded out our trip by stopping by the Valle Caldera.
The Valle Caldera is an old Volcano. It’s gorgeous. Amazingly beautiful. Unfortunately, the meal from Blakes Lotoburger caught up to me about then so we had to run down the road until I found a proper place in the woods to pay homage to the pulled pork sandwich. Was that too much information. Sorry.
We were gonna stop by Bandolier but by the time we got to the gate it was already 5 and we were all tired and cranky. Plus, if you have allergies, going into the mountains to get some fresh mountain air is not all its cracked up to be, so we just headed on home.
That, is pretty much the sum of our trip. A day in my life if you will. You’re welcome. I’m sure your awe inspired to take the trip yourself…
Just in case you get a chance while out here on vacation or treasure hunting or research, I highly recommend visiting some of the state’s monuments. The monuments are interesting, but the road trip itself is worth the time.
So there you have my addition to the State Tourism Machine. I’m sure they’re grateful I wrote it…
Be careful out there and I’ll see ya in the woods,
ABC affiliate, Koat-TV here in Albuquerque finally got around to doing a story on the Fenn treasure. Probably they were feeling a bit left out with all the NBC coverage of it.
They decided to go with the “It’s dangerous and against the law” tilt on the story. (I’m assuming they read my previous post and wanted to one-up me) Even bringing in a Forest Fella to say it on camera.
My question to the government and the forest service is; If I’m hiking out on Government land, and I drop my wallet on the ground, does my wallet and everything in there now belong to the taxpayers? Should I leave it there and notify the “authorities” that I found an artifact? Please come take it.?
Seriously Government People, relax, take a breath and stop being such dillwads.
Yes, I said Dillwads in reference to the government.
In other news, I think I just saw two men in dark green business suits with dark green sunglasses get out of a car in front of my house…weird, must be the Forest (Secret) Service here to question my use of the word “Dillwad”.
If you don’t hear from me again, just assume I’m locked in a wooden cellar somewhere in the middle of Yellowstone until further questioning….
I was looking at my old New Mexico Roads map that I’ve had for years and suddenly got an idea about the location of the treasure. It’s okay. You can laugh if you want too.
Anywhoo, I decided get permission from the wife and head the 3 hours up northeast of Taos to check it out. No heavy loads or lifting. Just checking. Well, Albuquerque traffic isn’t always fun. Read that as Never fun. This time I-40 east and I-25 North were both closed due to failure of people driving cars to.. well, drive cars.
I got out of town about 9. Drove through beautiful Espanola, New Mexico. (If you’ve been to Espanola, then I’m sure you can see the sarcasm dripping from that sentence. ITs not bad. Onate seemed to like it. Don’t think the Tewa’s cared for Onate though… just a guess.
I digress.
Once you get past Espanola, if you are able to get past Espanola, its a beautiful drive up to Taos though winding river canyons and a history that runs over you like a mudslide. You can see the rift to the left as you enter this ancient Pueblo.
I enjoy a good rift as much as the next guy but I had things to do.
From Taos, I took a hard right toward Angel Fire. Now, if you happen to be using a GPS type device, and that device tells you to take a hard right at Apache Canyon. First, slow down or stop and look to the right to see the snow packed and covered dirt road where your devil of a GPS is taking ya. Luckily I knew where I was going so I chunked the GPS out the window and told her I’d pick her up on the way back.
I’ll finish this post quickly as I got to get running here. I can already hear my wife calling my name. And not in the good way. What? The good way is when she tells me dinners ready. Ya dirty minded folk. Shame on the lot of ya!
My idea included the Vietnam Veteran Memorial State Park there in Angel Fire. Holy ground if you ask me. And you didn’t. I suggest everyone, Treasure seekers or not, go to see this monument at least once in your life. Especially if you’re an American. You owe them that much.
Anyway, the story of the memorial can be found here. Go. Now.
Ok. Here are some photos I took. After I had locked my keys in my truck and had to wait for a locksmith to show up and help me… thanks Chuck. If you’re ever in a need of someone to jimmy your door open. Chucks the guy in Angel Fire.
The people there are fantastically sweet.
Anyway. I checked what I came to check. Said a thankful prayer for everyone lost in war and the loved ones they’ve left behind, then headed out.
Hiking in the freezing sleet and snow is what God made us for. Well, I’m assuming that’s part of the reason…
I did take a moment to admire Taos on the way out though.
No time left to check out the Scout Ranch or Agua Fria Trail. Some other time.
The rest of my weekend was spent with this guy and his mama.
The other day a visitor stopped by my page and left a comment concerning the location of the treasure. He was pretty detailed in his descriptions and quite honestly, it sounded perfect. Of course, that’s coming from me, the worlds worst puzzle solver ever.
I was a bit concerned really, because it was so detailed, and most people when talking of their thoughts and ideas don’t usually give out exact locations. It’s one thing to talk of general area’s and possibilities but to give Longitude and Latitude of exactly where you believe the treasure is hidden, well, it’s a bit unusual. Most of the Fenn Treasure Seekers that I’ve had contact with are kind with their ideas, but highly protective of their particular spots, as they should be.
So I emailed him, thinking maybe he didn’t realize that I get a lot of people stopping by this page looking for clues to where the treasure is and that by leaving those comments someone is likely to get out there before he has a chance to find it himself. I’m very generous like that, and also I never want it to be said that I found the treasure by mooching someone else’s spot…
He emailed me back and gave his unwavering consent to leave the comments as they were and also for me to go look myself. He had his reasons and I won’t go into those here as they are his reasons though I might touch on them in a later post.
Anyway, it came about that I had some time this weekend, Saturday to be specific; so with permission from the wife, I hopped in the truck and drove the 3 hours up to Forest Road 151, just past Abiquiu, NM and Ghost Ranch.
I’ve been up this road a few times in my life, in fact one of the first times my wife and I drove to Durango for a weekend was by this route, as you can see from these very steamy pictures of her and I in 2007.
Irma and I – Ghost Ranch – 2007
I know, we’re like one of those hot couples from a Mexican Soap Opera…
Irma and I Ghost Ranch – 2007
Okay, enough of my excuses to put random pictures of me kissing and groping my wife in here…where was I?
Oh, yeah, driving up there. Forest Road 151 is just past Ghost Ranch on the left hand side. The particular spot specified was about 10 miles or so. I guess. I didn’t really pay much attention. The road itself would be a bit spooky for folks not used to driving down mountain roads, as it winds up down and around deep drop-offs. During winter, such as now, there is snow and ice cradled in the shadows. Caution is always advised and especially here. The Grey Ford that sped around me like his butt was on fire is proof enough to be wary of not just the road, but the other idiots on it.
River
Arriving at the parking area you can see the river rushing below. This is pretty well maintained area and is right on the route for the Continental Divide Trail, which winds all the way from Mexico up to Canada. It’s on my bucket list of things to do when I have the time, money and spirit to do so and I highly recommend reading some the trail journals, written by hikers who hike it. (The Appalachian Trail is also on my list..)
Continental Divide Trail
The previous mentioned commenter, Bill, suggested that the treasure would be on the Island just here. The google map of the location does not do justice to the sheer size of the tear drop shaped island.
Chama River Island from the Bridge
Looking the other direction
I hiked around a bit, looking for the best place to cross. Not as easy as you might think, given that there was iced edges, freezing water and an out of shape smoker involved.
A few pictures of the area for your enjoyment.
These tracks didn’t lead to the treasure….
Another River Shot
And another
And Another…
Ice on the edge of the River
More Ice
And still more…
And yet again, ice
My tracks in the snow
Looking across the river to the island
A short video of me singing “Islands in the Stream”. (With all due respect to Kenny Rogers)
I considered for a long time whether or not this was a good idea. In my youth, I have many a story of surviving things I shouldn’t have survived and many things done that I shouldn’t have. Husband, father and son am I all. Some of these relations may not appreciate me dying in a freezing river. I sat on a rock and considered this while throwing down some Big Red, chewing on some trail mix and huffin’ on a cigarette.
When I got up I half convinced myself that I’m too mature to be doing dangerous things, and while retracing my steps the way I had come I picked up a couple of good-sized walking sticks, punched my maturity in its large, red nose, said a little prayer to God for my own stupidity and stepped out on to a wet boulder. Not sure how long it took me to get across. I paid careful attention. (My maturity was hurt, but not dead)
There have been plenty of times I’ve limped out of the wilderness wondering how I made it off the cliff edge, away from that angry herd of buffalo or jumped into a snakes den and didn’t die. This may have been just a river, with minimal possibility of death and destruction, but if nothing else my experiences have taught me that carelessness and stupidity do not always go hand in hand. Point being, I took my time and didn’t just dive right in. Anywhoo, I made it to the other side.
From the island
Standing on the island looking toward the bridge
No reason
The first thing I did was do a perimeter check. I walked around the island admiring the view. Then I began a criss cross pattern, keeping a look-out for any type of something that might be considered a blaze. I mostly paid attention to the rocks. If there is gonna be a way to find this treasure in a thousand years, it won’t be carved into a tree. Though I did glance at the trees I passed by because you never know. The only sign of anything I found was a rusted coke can and an old fire pit.
The only evidence of a “Blaze” I found on the island.
Here’s a video of nothing but walking the width of the Island, just for the purpose of showing how wide it is.
More of the river
That’s pretty
Standing Tall on the Island with my river crossing sticks
I didn’t find the treasure and to be honest with you, I had no expectation of finding it. I’m sure, for Bill, this is the ideal spot, I just don’t see Forest Fenn putting his treasure here and or going here to die. I was glad to get away and back into my element again. I grew up in the backwoods of Texas and being out in the lonesome is treasure enough. Which I reckon, is Mister Fenns plan anyway, that, and as someone eluded to me recently in a not so subtle way, to stick it to the Feds by getting every warm body that has the heart out searching for lost treasure and driving the Federales nuts. That said, don’t use metal detectors on Federal Property unless you’re sure what the law says.
I may write later about the idea of some that Mister Fenn didn’t actually hid anything. I will state here, I believe that there is a box, filled with treasure somewhere out in the American Lonesome. I’ve never met Mister Fenn but I like to think that people have integrity in what they say and do. That may be naive on my part. I try to do that so I expect others to also.
Just as I expect someone who shares his life in writing and work the way Mister Fenn has and not discounting the fact that he is a Texan, to know what honor is. Just between me and you, if I had the money and resources Forest Fenn has earned, I might do the same exact thing. Hide a treasure then tell the world to get off their asses.
I don’t know that I believe any one will ever find it on purpose. This country is too high and too wide with too many places just out of sight. I may be wrong, but I think back to the kind of directions I used to get sometimes while living in rural Texas.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for, a jump and hop yonder way, just past the yella dog, then take a right where Ole Man Jones used sell his honey. From there it’s a snakes track to the Wheelwrights barn and if you aint found it after that, just come on back and we’ll have a glass of sweet tea and think it over a bit.”
Mister Fenn knows where the treasure is and if you follow that Poem you’ll find it too, but if you don’t know who Ole Man Jones is, or how far a jump and hop is or if the yella dog died, you’re gonna be out a while.
I’d suggest, like I plan on doing, have a glass of sweet tea, think it over a bit more and whatever your plan, whether you know exactly where it is, or are just out looking, enjoy the scenery.
This “blog” has turned into a Forrest Fenn, Thrill of the Chase, Treasure Hunting thought spot for me, rather than my usual mindless dribble. That’s probably better anyway. I’m not even interested in my mindless dribble and few others are anyway.
So the other day I have a conversation with myself, which annoys my wife to no end, and I say, “Self.”
Self says “Yes?”, in a British accent. Not sure why my Self has a british accent but ya know, I try not to question my Self to much. It gets confusing.
“Self”, says I, “Your never gonna figure out this poem. There’s just too many variables.” Let me interject here and state that I have the math skills of a 5th grader so using a math type word like “variables” is big for me… carrying on then…
Self takes a moment, scratches his chin, gazes blankly at the wall and then… well… that’s about all I got out of Self during that conversation. Once he zones out, there’s no getting me Self back.
So instead I sat down and did this:
“Uhmm.. why?”, you may ask. Well, when I get to thinking I like to do things with my hands and though you might not be able to tell from this particular graphic, I have a experience playing with graphic design applications.
During this process, I’m also thinking. Thinking about how I need a snack of some sweet sort but also about how to use my special skills to find the Fenn Treasure. It turns out after some deep thought that I have few special skills that would help me in this so I went and got a snickers.
My plan, as it stands, is to think like a Texan, since Mister Fenn is one. As things would have it, I am a Texan also. I spent a good deal of my youth walking the Texas woods, bypassing rattlesnakes and picking up Comanche arrow heads here and there, so I think as far as thinking like a Texan goes, I got that covered.
So, my first question, utilizing my new mode of thinking style is, where would an old Texan hide a treasure chest full of, well, treasure? I am not an “old” Texan, I am just a middle aged Texan who lives in New Mexico, so the answer I came up with is: An old Texan would hide his treasure close to where he lives. Since Mister Fenn lives in New Mexico, much like myself, I’m going with the treasure being in New Mexico.
Next step is to decide where in New Mexico an Old Texan would hide a treasure. Now I’ve seen all the interviews and read the book as much as anyone else and have come up with the clue that the treasure is close to…some sort of … water source… now I could be completely wrong about this, but this is what my Texan gut is feeling. Water.
Join me next time as I reveal the third clue of my newly found Texas intuition. Hint: It has to do with trees….
You’re welcome.
Here’s proof of my Texas genealogy, for any doubters out there wondering about my Texas credentials:
Old Texas Kin Folk
Old Texas Kin-Folk.
So, now you know you have no chance of finding this treasure before me. Maybe you use common sense, problem solving, and other such fancy skills… I on the other hand rely entirely on… uh… what was I saying again? Hmmm.. never mind, I think I need to go get a Snickers….
The Sandia Mountains are topped with a fresh coat of New Mexico snow and looking
This photo was taken by Angelyna Dale, a junior from Cleveland High School. 2010
mighty majestic this New Years day. I know that just north of them and me, Santa Fe got hit with a pretty good storm too, according to my sister who lives there, and thus I can assume that the mountains north of Santa Fe are wrapped up for the winter in a blanket of heavenly white.
Fenn’s Treasure, that elusive box of mineral deposits coveted by anyone who’s heard the story and read the poem, is no doubt laying unassuming, surrounded by a frosty forest and amid the litter of snow-covered leaves left from fall. Not far from it, an icy body of water, whatever type of water that may be, is trickling with icicles, frozen in time. The “House of Brown” surely has their fire going and the enigmatic “blaze”, looks down over the winter laden landscape, holding it’s secret close.
Winter has come and whether or not you think the treasure lies in Yellowstone or New Mexico or even Canada, it is covered up well until spring.
Each time I look north to the Sandia’s or drive up to Santa Fe, my thoughts are never far from Fenn’s Treasure and I ask myself would it be worth it, to battle the snow, and take arms up against the frost giants that walk through the cold, dark forests, to rescue, (yes I said rescue) this treasure from its cold penetrating prison…
“Your effort will be worth the cold…” so says Mister Fenn. The brave will find it, whether young or old, Just first determine to begin.
Find Browns house and knock three times Then set it all ablaze Drink from the water of the lukewarm well And you’ll solve the treasures maze.
Somewhere up there in those mountains is a frozen metal box containing riches and history beyond anything I’ve ever known…. but I won’t be finding it this winter.
It’s too cold and I’m too old to be falling into an icy grave. But should you try, live or die – I’ll dub thee mighty brave.
(or just stupid, depending on the situation…)
When springs rolls around though, and the dripping of snow runs down the mountain side, I’ll see ya in the trees.
Happy New Year. (also, you’re welcome for the poetry) Heh.
I am currently contemplating a trip up north of Santa Fe to do some treasure hunting. The Fenn Treasure is apparently still out there, waiting patiently, watching the bears, elk and squirrels ramble by, who sniff curiously at this odd rock sitting in their territory. I assume that’s it’s “sitting” and not buried or immersed in water. My assumptions are not aways correct though.
I’m still looking for work so time isn’t so much a factor, though perhaps it should be.
Resting in Old town with Little Ricky
Telling my wife, who works everyday that I’m gonna go up in the mountains for a day or so while she watches our 15 month old and handles the 15 year olds drama, is akin to walking up to a Marine and slapping him in the face… the effect may be less harmful but the intent to do great bodily damage to me would be the same.
Irma and I on our wedding day
I love my wife. Just want to put that out there.
Anyway, the point is that I am “considering” a treasure hunting trip”, whether that will happen or not remains to be seen. I’ve read the book, looked at the interviews, read the blogs of others out there searching, so I have an idea or two on where it might be.
My ideas though, go no further than the northern New Mexican border. Out of work fella’s with families can’t afford to be hopping all over the country looking for treasure. Since I hold no great credence to the possibility of actually finding the Fenn Treasure as it is, spending too much time on it would be in poor judgement. Not that I am opposed to using poor judgement as a general rule, poor judgement has usually gotten me in some horribly, exciting situations. As most would agree, those are usually the most memorable.
Speaking of poor judgement, I also started a business. And by “start” I mean got a business license. Not much has evolved from that though. Fish in a Tree is the name and I’m still working on figuring out what the business is. I hear smart folk write business plans and such… no ones ever accused me of being smart folk though. Smart ass, sure. Handsome, yeah. Gorgeous and charming even, but not so much smart.
The business will be something creative, but whether that’s doing graphic design work, as my past would assume or some other creative pursuit is yet to be seen. In general I want to be able to work in a job that is beneficial to my community in some way but also allows me to make a comfortable living. Is that too much to ask?
Eh, I dunno. I work hard when I work and believe that work itself is noble and should be given a 100 percent when doing it. Whatever that work is. Finding the work is another matter though. If you see me in McDonalds one of these days, you can believe I will make you the freshest damn Quarter Pounder that ever got made!
In other news, I’ve been doing local hikes here and there. Albuquerque and the surrounding area has a plethera of great hiking as well as history.
Once in awhile I’ll find some out the way place that hardly gets any traffic
Buried Knick Knacks
Cliff in the Ojito Wilderness
and I’ll dig a hole, drop in a container with some knick-knacks about myself and my thoughts. Mark the spot, then in 20 years I’ll give the hints to my son and let him go find em. In 20 years I’ll be 61ish. If I’m still walking the earth, and I want my son to get out and see the world. Maybe these kind of things will get him moving. 20 year olds are notoriously hard to get moving in case you have’t noticed. I hope at the very least, if I’m not around, it will give him appreciation for the outdoors. Hopefully I’ll be here, but God takes us in His time, not ours.
Finally, I am currently reading “Rio Del Norte” by Carroll L. Riley. It’s a fascinating look at the history of the folk who have occupied the upper Rio Grande Valley since prehistoric time. I have an idea for a novel that deals with this, which is why it’s fascinating to me. There i go again with my “idea’s”. One of these days my “ideas” will make me rich, handsome and famous… hopefully though that fame doesn’t involve prison time. Heh. I kid.
Kinda.
So, there it is. Another long post in the life of me.
that elusive box of mineral deposits coveted by anyone who’s heard the story and read the poem, is no doubt laying unassuming, surrounded by a frosty forest and amid the litter of snow-covered leaves left from fall. Not far from it, an icy body of water, whatever type of water that may be, is trickling with icicles, frozen in time. The “House of Brown” surely has their fire going and the enigmatic “blaze”, looks down over the winter laden landscape, holding it’s secret close.
Oak Trees and Mariachi 