An Unexpected Wedding

Early last week, our priest asked me if I would be able to witness a wedding he would be celebrating at one of our mission churches. 

This church, to be specific.

He needed two witnesses to sign the official paperwork, both for the church and for the state. This couple was coming from out of state, knew no one in the area, and wasn't bring their own witnesses.

This meant I had never met the two people getting married. However! I love weddings, and I love this particular church, so I said I would be happy to attend and act as a witness. Another parishioner who lives near the church agreed to be the second witness, and we were all set.

I was very curious to meet this couple and to know how this wedding came to be at this particular church. I felt sure there was a story there. Indeed there was, and now I will share it with you.

Let's call the couple Henry and Jessica, in the interests of their privacy. They were very friendly and chatty, and very happy to share their story.

In 2016, Henry rode 4,000 miles on a bicycle from Florida to California as part of an initiative to raise funds and awareness for housing non-profits like Habitat for Humanity. Their route took them through our county. He has a picture of himself standing in front of that mission church's sign. He never forgot the church, or New Mexico. He told me that this was his favorite state of the ones he rode through.

Fast forward to now. Henry and Jessica live in Michigan. They have birthdays just one day apart in the first week of October and planned a trip to New Mexico so Henry could introduce Jessica to the state, and also so they could attend the Balloon Fiesta in Albuquerque to celebrate their birthdays. They were engaged, but didn't want the big wedding their families would insist on. 

Jessica is Catholic, and they did their pre-marital preparations at her parish in Michigan. But when they decided to make this trip to New Mexico, Henry showed her his photos of his time here and she saw the one of the church in the middle of nowhere. She suggested they get married there while they were on vacation. They didn't tell anyone they knew that they were going to do this.

They contacted our archdiocese, from whom they got the necessary approval and who contacted our parish priest, and there they were, with a wedding scheduled for 2 p.m. on a Thursday at a mostly-closed, remote New Mexico church.

And there I was, witnessing the wedding of two very nice people I met five minutes before their ceremony.

They didn't have a photographer, either, so I took some pictures of the ceremony for them with my phone, which I will not share with you because, again, privacy. But here's the altar just before the wedding.

After the wedding, they were continuing their New Mexico tour by going to Taos, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque. I'm sure they'll have a lot of fun and go home with a lot of stories to tell from those places, but I'm also sure nothing will beat the story of their wedding. 

A Different Branding

Branding is a big part of life in this cattle country that we live in. New Mexico takes brands very seriously, and everyone who has livestock needs a brand. We even had to register for a brand with our tiny sheep flock.

Because of the number of cattle ranches here, and the number of calves born on those ranches every year, every year sees a lot of branding. It's most commonly done in late spring, mostly May, and those weekends get very busy as every ranch brands all their calves.

Sometimes, however, there are summer calves that need to be branded in the fall. That's what happened for a small part of our friends' herd this year. I got a call on Thursday that they had about a hundred small calves that needed to be branded and they were hoping we could bring the boys to help flank on Sunday.

Flanking refers to grabbing the calf and flipping it onto its back, and then holding it, so the branding, vaccinating, ear tagging, and castrating (if necessary) can all get done. Flanking is a two-person job. The person in the back grabs one of the back hooves and holds on so the person at the head can flip the calf onto its back by grabbing the opposite front hoof. Then the front flanker pins the calf by its neck while the person holding the back hoof hangs on and leans back. In this way the calf is (mostly) immobile for the people with the branding iron, needles, and knife or bander (depending on if the castrating is going to be an immediate cut-'em'-out or a banding job) move in to do what needs to be done.

Flanking is very hard work. It's dirty, physical, and somewhat dangerous, especially with bigger calves. Mostly when the calves are bigger, the preference is to have draggers on horseback. They rope the calf around a hind leg and drag it to flankers to hold and flip.

These calves were very small, and this ranch doesn't use horses, so these calves were just grabbed and dragged by the flankers. This process is known, amusingly, as "mugging."

This ranch is owned by a family we know fairly well. Their son is just a little younger than our youngest son, and he wanted to try flanking for the first time. He wanted our youngest son, who is now almost 12, to try for the first time too. Our older two boys have flanked already, although always with horseback draggers. So we brought everyone down to the ranch right after church on Sunday to help.

This ranch is waaaay out on a dirt road. We drove 40 minutes from the village on a dirt road before getting near the branding pens.

Adventure Van has a very dirty windshield.

Our son's friend came to meet us on his four-wheeler when we were close to the turn-off to the pens, so he could lead us there.

Follow the four-wheeling leader.

The pens were just in the middle of the range off a dirt track.

Good old Adventure Van, still adventuring.

The calves were split into two groups of about fifty each, in separate pens.

The second group waiting their turn.

There were a lot of people in the work pen. Besides three teams of flankers, there were two older men who helped with the more frisky calves, and about six women and girls who did various jobs like vaccinating, a nasal spray of some kind of medication, castrating, ear notching (to identify steers and heifers at a glance), and ear tagging.

Crowded in there.

Because there was no electricity there, the branding iron was heated by a generator. What with the bawling calves in the pens, their mooing mothers outside the pens, and the generator, it was very, very loud. Also very dirty and smoky, as the crew working in the dirt pen kicked up dust and applied the smoking brand.

Our older two boys worked as a team, younger at the heel, older at the head.

Workin' hard for the money.

The youngest boy and his friend worked as a team, too, with the smaller calves. They learned how to grab and flip the calves pretty quickly, but they were too light to hold the calves themselves. The older men stepped in to help with that. Weight is important when one is wrestling and holding an animal.

Poppy got conscripted into notching ears. She could only do this with the heifers, who apparently had thinner skin. The bull calves were harder. A slightly older girl did those, along with the ear tags.

A. and I were pleased to stand outside the pen to watch the action and hand over water to the children at intervals. Until just after the second fifty calves were in the pen and the eldest son got kicked in the hand by a calf. The hoof hit right at the base of his thumb, and then he couldn't move his thumb at all.

Dang it.

Injuries are not uncommon at brandings. Almost everyone winds up with a bruise from getting kicked. Some people get broken bones. We were really hoping this wasn't a break, given the small size of the calf that kicked him, but of course, the only way to be sure was an x-ray.

A. stepped in to take his place as flanker while a lady who does wilderness search and rescue splinted son's thumb with a cleverly cut piece of a water jug top and some bandages. By the time we got him splinted, the branding was almost done, so we waited until the last few calves were done before driving to the hospital to get his hand x-rayed.

Of course, driving to the hospital was not as quick as it could have been, given our location. We had to follow that same dirt road another forty-five minutes in the opposite direction before getting to a paved road, which we drove on for another forty-five minutes before getting to the small city that has an ER.

A. dropped the patient and me off at the ER and took the other kids to the Sonic right next door for lunch.

The hand was duly x-rayed.

On a nifty mobile x-ray machine.

It wasn't broken, just sprained. Thank goodness. He got a brace and a pain pill and we were out of there within an hour. 

Despite the unfortunate injury, everyone had a good time. Brandings are actually pretty fun. Kind of like a work party. The kids love them, and I'm sure we'll be going back there again in the spring for their bigger branding.

We'll just hope there aren't any high-kicking calves with good aim next time.

Magic in the Air*

Another county fair has come and gone, and we have covered ourselves in glory once again.

Or at least got some ribbons.

Lemme show you!

The first day of the fair is just a day for entering the projects in the community building and dropping off animals for showing. We don't show animals, so for us, it's just bringing in our projects.

This year, that was gingerbread, a purse, and a watercolor painting from Poppy. 

Please enjoy these awkwardly-cropped photos that got rid of the names of our county and the children.

She actually sewed this just randomly for her best friend (by hand, with no pattern or anything), and then when she needed a fair project, I suggested she enter it before giving it to her friend.

And her watercolor.

As you can see, her gingerbread won grand champion in the child's baking category. She was very proud of this, particularly because my buckeye brownies only got first place, not grand champion.

Not-champion brownies.

It was kind of funny that the judges' notes on Poppy's gingerbread included the comment that it had a strong molasses flavor and she might consider substituting some honey for the molasses. We do not agree with this. It's supposed to have a strong molasses flavor. But to be fair, it's also supposed to be eaten with whipped cream, which we could not give the judges, so that affects the flavor, too.

Anyway.

I also always enter whatever I can get from the garden. This year, that was leeks, carrots, and garlic.

All prettied up for judging.

The leeks won grand champion in the agricultural products category.

I also always enter something canned. This year, the only thing I had was some rhubarb jam. I brought it, but it was literally the only thing entered in the canned goods category, so they didn't bother judging it.

(I should probably note here that our county is very small, which means our county fair is very small. Like, VERY small. I think there were only a dozen entries total this year in baked goods, and only a few people entered vegetables.)

One boy chiseled a cross into stone.

This didn't really place, but I feel like that's because the judges have no idea how difficult this is to do.

And another boy did a collage from "Fur, Fish, Game" magazine.

Featuring many dead animals, because that's what the magazine is about.

A. entered a watercolor flower, too, which got first place.

So! Very successful, yay us, etc.

The second day of the fair is most of the animal showing. We don't show animals, but many of the children's friends do, so we always go to watch them manhandle goats and steers in the ring. I didn't take any photos of that this year, though.

The third and final day of the fair is my kids' favorite. It starts with the parade. This year, the older two kids were on the FFA float, so it was only the younger two picking up candy. There was a lot of candy this year, thanks to the many political candidates who were campaigning.

Never any chocolate, though, because it's way too hot at the parade and chocolate would just melt.

The next exciting thing is the rodeo. Before the riding events, which my children do not participate in, they have a couple of fun activities for any kid. This includes goat dressing, which is catching a goat and getting a t-shirt over its head. Also the calf scramble. This is in a large pen where all the kids go and they release several calves in with them. The calves have money rubber-banded to their tails. The kids chase the calves and pull the money off their tails. This is actually really hard, and somewhat perilous, as the calves have been known to kick, or to turn and run down their pursuers. I've never seen anyone get really hurt doing it, though, even the littlest kids.

The dance at night is the last fair event. I always take any kids that want to go. We only stay a couple of hours, because we have church early the next morning. They always get a live band, which I particularly appreciate. Everyone knows how to two-step, so everyone, from little kids to elderly people, dances. Parents dance with their children, brothers dance with their sisters. It's fun.

It takes place in the same pavilion the livestock are shown in. Properly cleaned up, of course.

And that was it for this year's fair! It's always a very tiring three days, but they are some of my kids' favorite days of the year and they're already looking forward to next year's fair.

* Lyrics from this Chris LeDoux song, which we always have to listen to as we drive to the county fair.

Embattled Collards

Last year's exuberant collard greens were an unqualified success in the garden. A. was delighted and declared we will grow collards forevermore. Accordingly, he bought six collard starts in April and we planted them out.

Then it didn't rain. Like, at all. 

It's interesting that not all water is created equal for plants. Our garden plants will, grudgingly, survive when watered by a hose with well water, but they don't really thrive. They want rain water. I'm guessing this has something to do with the minerals in our well water? I don't know, but I do know that there are definitely some seeds that won't even germinate on well water (notably, root vegetables like carrots and beets), and that the garden doesn't grow well until it actually rains.

The collards were displeased by the well water and just kind of sulked there, waiting for rain.

Then it started to rain! Hooray! 

And then the harlequin beetles showed up, right on cue.

Behold, the destroyer.

The harlequin beetles arrive in great numbers at the beginning of June every year, and brassicas are their favorite plants to eat. They're not that hard to get rid of, it's just that there are so many of them. When the infestation is the worst, I use a bucket of soapy water and drop them in there to drown. Thereafter, I just inspect the plants whenever I'm out there and squish the ones I find.

Incidentally, if you ever have to hunt harlequin beetles, it's helpful to know their habits. When they sense you hovering, they'll scuttle to the underside of a leaf to hide. If you grab at them and miss, they'll drop to the ground, where they can be squished quite easily. They never fly, which is helpful.

Anyway.

The rains also came with two separate nasty hail storms, about a week apart, that were particularly detrimental to the big, spreading leaves of the collard plants.

The end result of all of this is, well, sad.

Not a picture of health.

However! The nice thing about collard greens is that they grow new leaves from the center, so even when they look like that, there is healthy new growth coming. 

Of course, I'm also starting to see the first small grasshoppers coming as well, which will be the next wave of attack on these hapless plants.

Will we ever actually eat any of these collard greens this year? Stay tuned to find out.

Mission Complete

Poppy and I have been going to all the far-flung churches in our very spread-out parish for the past year. She wanted to see all of them. Most of them are quite old, some are very beautiful, all of them only have Mass once a month.

This past Saturday, we went to the final church. It's not that far from our house--about thirty miles--but it's in quite a dramatic location.

After turning off the paved road.

It's an adobe structure that was sheathed in local cut stone.

This is the only church in our parish that is privately owned. It is also the oldest church in our parish. The family that owns the ranch takes care of it.

Some of the older owners of the ranch are buried right under the church. Their tombstones are under the statue of Jesus there in the center.

Poppy and I climbed up to the rear choir loft, from which we had a good view of the giant pieta at the entrance to church.

Most of the grave markers in the surrounding old cemetery were hand-carved sandstone.

It was a good thing we had time to look around the cemetery before Mass, because this was what was coming towards us as we were going in to Mass.

Dramatic.

The storm hit during the Gospel reading. It was mostly over by the time we left, thankfully, and the dirt road was still passable.

And that's it. Our tour of the parish churches is concluded. It was fun, but I appreciate only having to drive ten miles to our regular church.

The Christmas Pilgrimage

Last December, on a very bright, moonlit night, we took a walk to the unused church I can see from my kitchen window that our neighbor spotlights every Christmas season.

Poppy remembered this and wanted to do that again. Right before Christmas, however, I was disabled with a pinched nerve and wasn't walking anywhere. Right after Christmas, A. was hunting with the younger two boys. Then it was really windy.

But finally, Saturday night it wasn't windy, it wasn't cold, and everyone was here. So we walked to the church in the dark.

Well, there was still a little bit of light in the western sky, but it was mostly dark.

We started out using flashlights because of the clouds, but about halfway to the church, the moon rose above the clouds. Just like last year, it was bright enough to turn the flashlights off.

Nature's flashlight.

Getting closer. (The brightest light is the church. The smaller light to the left is our neighbor's house.)

We stayed at the church awhile, playing shadow puppets on the wall.

Yet another Christmas tradition observed, and just in time. Today is Epiphany, the feast commemorating the visit of the Magi to the newborn Jesus. This is the last day of the Christmas season for us. The kids all get one more present under the tree, as well as a few more Lindt truffles. I'm making a lasagna and Poppy is making brownies, and that's a wrap on Christmas 2025. The decorations will be put away tomorrow.

How about you? How long do you leave your Christmas decorations up?

Christmas Tree Hunting

Per tradition, we have cut our Christmas tree for the year. It's also a tradition for me to take photos and post them here so you can come along on the adventure with us. Let's go!

We always go to a friend's ranch to cut our tree, as the good trees don't grow near our house. I have now discovered the best area for the trees, so we walked right to that area and found a tree within about two minutes.

Camouflaged by nearby trees, but I still saw it.

We left the saw there so we could cut it on our way back to the van and went down the hill to the dirt tank to play.

Also a tradition.

This year, the younger children also climbed this tree.

Poppy is in there somewhere.

We brought the dogs with us.

After suitable play time, back to the tree we went.

Sawing away.

At home, the tree was, as always, deposited in a galvanized metal bucket and anchored with rocks before I started putting the lights on.

I discovered to my dismay that of the four strands of lights I had, one of warm white lights only half worked, one of multi-colored lights didn't work at all, one of bright white lights worked all the way, and I had one strand of multi-colored lights that were fully functional.

Sigh.

Luckily, we get small trees and we put them up against a wall, so I didn't really need to wrap the lights all the way around the whole tree. I wound the bright white lights around the trunk, so the branches would soften their glare a bit, and then used the multi-colored strand and the half-working warmer white lights to kind of zig-zag across the front of the tree.

The children added the ornaments, and . . .

Tree!

Now all it needs are presents under it. Only nine days and counting . . .

Tumbling Tumbleweeds

Tumbleweeds are so iconic of the American West: blowing about on the wide-open spaces, a fixture of western movies, almost as recognizable as the cowboy.

They are also awful.

We live in the land of the tumbleweed, which is actually an invasive plant called a Russian thistle. They grow big, plentiful, and prickly, drying in the ground and then getting uprooted by the wind to blow about and disperse their seeds.

Still firmly rooted and biding their time.

They are wretched plants. They are stiff and sharp, embed their prickers into the sheep's wool, and this year, they are EVERYWHERE.

We must have gotten rain at just the right time for them, because I've never seen so many. Even the one year when they formed a solid four-foot-high bank of tumbleweeds against the garden fence, I don't remember seeing so many in the ground. They're currently still rooted, but in the next month, they'll start blowing free, and then we're really in for it. 

All the dark patches in this field are Russian thistle.

There's really nothing to be done about them at this stage except wait for them to build up against fencing and then pitch-fork them into piles to burn. And hope that next year isn't such a banner year for them.

(Not) Free Falling

My sister was here visiting over the weekend with her boyfriend, who is a climbing enthusiast, as well as a climbing teacher. He happened to have a children's harness and all the equipment for climbing with him, and we happen to live near(ish) a canyon with lots of rocks and cliffs.

This was inevitable.

A couple of children weren't feeling well this day, so only Poppy and the middle boy went. The climbing in this canyon is too advanced for kids, but they could rappel down in some places. So that is what they did.

This started, of course, with lessons in safety equipment, how to tie off the rope at the top, and the proper form. I was reassured by how professional and clearly experienced my sister's boyfriend is, not only with climbing instruction in general, but specifically teaching kids. 

My sister rappelled down first, so that she could hold the rope at the bottom for the kids, and also encourage them from down there. Her boyfriend was at the top, getting them started and instructing them as they went.

Small girl, big rock.

Poppy was initially very nervous, but she made it all the way to the bottom and declared it so much fun after her first attempt that she wanted to do more. Middle son was extremely enthused about it all from the get-go.

They rappelled down the same place twice, and then our personal climbing instructor found an even bigger cliff that we could easily access for rappelling*. 

This one was . . . well.

That's a big cliff.

Nothing daunted, down the boy came.

Starting the descent.

He ran the harness back up for Poppy, and she started down.

Not quite halfway.

Poppy had a problem a bit more than halfway down when she got her hand too close to the metal device on the rope that will stop the rope from moving if you need to brake entirely. She got the skin between her thumb and forefinger caught in the device. All her weight was on the rope, so she couldn't get enough slack to get herself free. My sister had to free-climb** from the bottom up to the ledge closest to Poppy, balance with her knee up to set Poppy higher, and then free Poppy's hand.

Super-aunt saves the day.

Poppy wasn't hurt and continued down. Despite that little mishap, she announced that rappelling was the most fun thing ever and she wanted to go the next day. Her brother agreed. We were busy with other things the next day, however, so they didn't get to go again, but it was fun to watch them try something new (and initially scary) and enjoy it so much.

* Being able to get to the top of the drop safely and back up is just as important as being able to get down it. For obvious reasons of not leaving children in the bottom of an inaccessible canyon.

** If my sister hadn't been able to get to her, Poppy could have also been pulled back up to the top, but as she was closer to the bottom and reachable, this way was faster.

A Canyon Birthday Adventure

Poppy's birthday happened to fall on a Saturday this year, which meant we could celebrate on the day itself in a more satisfying way than happens when the birthday falls on a school day. Especially since, miracle of miracles, there was nothing else going on that day.

Poppy loves to hike. We asked her if she would like us all to go hiking as a family in our (relatively) nearby impressive canyon.

She was of course enthused about the idea, so I packed a picnic lunch, A. packed a fishing pole and bait, we both packed the two dogs into Adventure Van, and away we went.

We hit a bit of a snag at the very beginning of our hike, which requires us to go across the river. The point at which we cross typically has many rocks above water for a dry crossing. This time, there was no way to get across without getting wet. No way for me, anyway. I took one look at this situation and said out loud to A. "I am going to fall in this water."

Well, the boys found one spot a bit further downstream where they jumped about three feet from one rock to another, downward-sloping rock. They tried to convince me that I could do this. I, however, have no delusions about my complete inability to jump even short distances, so I declined.

A. and Poppy crossed at our usual spot by removing their shoes, rolling up their jeans, and wading across. A. offered to carry me across, but I didn't want to consider what a bad scene it would be if he fell while I was on his back, so I declined this, too.

I took off my shoes and waded. And sure enough, I was the only one to fall. Much to my family's amusement. 

I just fell back into a sitting position, and all that got wet was my bottom. I didn't get hurt or anything, so I continued on to the other side and spent the rest of the hike with a soaked seat. Good thing it was a warm day.

Also by the stream were some nasty burs that got stuck in the barefoot children's feet, as well as in the dogs' paws. But once we took care of that, we were all set to hike.

Birthday girl hiking. And some gnarly Russian thistle plants that lined the path.

This trail leads to a very nice shady spot under a cliff that only requires maybe a half mile walk. The river where A. wanted to fish was about a hundred yards further down the path. 

We stopped at the cliff in the shade to eat our lunch. This included Poppy's birthday taste test: Pringle flavors.

Cheddar, sour cream and onion, ranch, and pizza.

The pizza-flavored ones did taste surpisingly very like pizza, but it turns out this is somewhat disconcerting in a Pringle. These were not universally enjoyed. More popular were the ranch and sour cream and onion flavors. I personally liked the ranch best. Pringles are pretty tasteless in the original version, so the addition of flavors is a good one.

We had other food, too, of course.

Biscuits (made that morning because I was running low on bread), tuna salad, and not-pictured cookies and beef jerky.

A. left after lunch to fish. The children elected to stay and climb the cliff. It's one of their favorite things to do.

It looks much bigger in real life.

The older two boys made it all the way to the top there at the right. The younger two were about halfway when A. yelled "Fish on!" and they went scrambling down and away to the river to see the catfish A. caught.

The dogs stayed with me.

In the shade. Smart Jasper.*

The younger kids fished for awhile themselves before we decided it was time to head back. We of course had to cross the river again. I elected to keep my shoes on this time, and had no trouble at all. I guess I just can't balance well on rocks in bare feet.

The slippery algae didn't help, either.

The children, unsurprisingly, wanted to stay in the water for awhile.

And since we were about to go home, I didn't care if they got soaking wet. Which of course they did.

After a thorough soaking, they all piled their wet selves into the van and we headed home for a birthday dinner and presents.

It was a good day. We should do it more often.

* Amazingly, Jasper doesn't smell at all like skunk anymore. I guess maybe the dry climate keeps smells from lingering? I don't know, but I appreciate it.