Another February morning in old Mesilla, New Mexico. I awake to the soothing sound of the mourning doves, cool, crisp air, and bright sunshine. Temperature might even reach the 70s, about time as I only have another day before heading back to Wisconsin's tundra.
It's finally warm enough to do some writing in that adobe guesthouse. Those thick adobe walls moderate the temperature like a flywheel moderates motion on a machine. As the temperature outside warms up, those adobe walls absorb heat, keeping the inside cool. At night, as the temperature cools outside, the walls gradually release heat, keeping the inside warm.
Before the onset of air conditioning, those adobe structures were effective in making that climate more livable. Even with modern technology, adobe construction saves energy and is aesthetically pleasing. As I read and research the background for the atomic vets series I keep running across interesting stuff, not all of which I can incorporate into a series of newspaper columns. Although having occurred in the mid-1940s, some of it would affect my own life in the 1950s and beyond.
I was especially struck by the irony of the tragedy of Ira Hayes, the Pima Indian involved in the flag raising on Iwo Jima in February 1945.
He died in January 1955, shortly after the Iwo Jima Marine Corps monument was officially opened in Washington D.C. On the very day of his funeral, "Battlecry," the movie based on the novel by Leon Uris, premiered in Washington. Out of a combination of nostalgia and curiosity, I googled "Battlecry," sort of observing it from a half century later.
I took a break and drove over to Las Cruces to run a couple of errands and grab lunch: some great Mexican food, of course. Mid-afternoon, the pleasant sunshine beckons me to the trail along the irrigation ditch that I had jogged many times during the eleven years I lived down there.
The ditch is dry in late February and early March, but in another few weeks Rio Grande water will flow to the adjoining pecan groves and fields of chile, cotton, onions and alfalfa.
The trail along the irrigation ditch is ideal for jogging: hard packed soil, not too hard on the body. It's good to be on this familiar trail again. I start jogging, but don't get very far. I knew I was out of shape, but this is totally depressing, far worse than I thought. Of two eternal battles, against boredom and sloth, I'm definitely losing the battle against sloth.I think I'll give up on the battle against sloth. From now on, if it isn't Mexican food, it will be nothing but cheese, pizza, brats, and beer, and malted milks for desert. Doctors Kaza and Lance, you don't really read these columns, do you?
Since I'm too out of shape to jog, I settle for a leisurely stroll along the irrigation ditch.
The late winter afternoon sunshine, the cloudless blue sky, and the scent of the hard packed dirt and dust along the trail are good for the mind and soul. The pecan groves are still in their winter dormancy and the fields are fallow. But the gentle late winter sunshine feels good as I walk along, trying to figure out how I'm going to organize that atomic vets series.
That morning when I googled "Battlecry," it triggered a lot of memories. I had seen that movie in 1955 at the old Chalet Theater in Monroe, the site now occupied by Dave Babler and Dave Mosher on 17th Avenue. Younger Monroe residents find it hard to imagine that the two Daves occupy the site where countless cowboy movies were shown - Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Red Ryder, the Durango Kid and classics like "Shane" and "Battlecry."
"Battlecry" is the story of WWII Marines in love and war. Some critics on that Google site panned that movie as too much love and not enough war. I totally disagree with that assessment (maybe grist for a future column). After joining the Marines myself, I read the novel at least three times and have always found it fascinating. I don't care what the critics say about that movie; it surely influenced my life, and many others. And of course, anyone who has been in the Corps can't help but think of the life-altering effect of boot camp. My own life can be divided into pre-Marine boot camp and post-Marine boot camp.
Strolling along the trail, enjoying the sunshine, I think of my own experiences and stories of others.
One of our local Marines, Mike Furgal, told me that he is the only Marine who deserves a purple heart for going through boot camp. Naturally, I had to ask him why. His drill instructor slapped him on the side of the head with a sword. Mike made the Corps a career; a life-altering effect, indeed. Maybe material for another column here. I come to the end of the trail lined with the adobe structures of romantic old Mesilla. I should have been jogging instead of walking, but the stroll was pleasant. I step onto Calle de Picacho after another 50 yards, turn left on Calle de Los Huertos, and stroll over to my guesthouse.
Maybe tonight I'll head down to La Mesa and Chopes for one last dinner of chiles rellenos; best ever.
Tomorrow, it's out on US 70, over St. Augustine Pass of the Organ Mountains, and through the White Sands Missile Range where they stop traffic when conducting a test. Larry Eakins tells me it happened to him once. He found it to be quite pleasant and a good opportunity to socialize and meet people.
Then, it's US 54 north and evening at good old Tucumcari on historic Route 66.
Farewell, Old Mesilla. At least for a while.
- Monroe resident John Waelti can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
It's finally warm enough to do some writing in that adobe guesthouse. Those thick adobe walls moderate the temperature like a flywheel moderates motion on a machine. As the temperature outside warms up, those adobe walls absorb heat, keeping the inside cool. At night, as the temperature cools outside, the walls gradually release heat, keeping the inside warm.
Before the onset of air conditioning, those adobe structures were effective in making that climate more livable. Even with modern technology, adobe construction saves energy and is aesthetically pleasing. As I read and research the background for the atomic vets series I keep running across interesting stuff, not all of which I can incorporate into a series of newspaper columns. Although having occurred in the mid-1940s, some of it would affect my own life in the 1950s and beyond.
I was especially struck by the irony of the tragedy of Ira Hayes, the Pima Indian involved in the flag raising on Iwo Jima in February 1945.
He died in January 1955, shortly after the Iwo Jima Marine Corps monument was officially opened in Washington D.C. On the very day of his funeral, "Battlecry," the movie based on the novel by Leon Uris, premiered in Washington. Out of a combination of nostalgia and curiosity, I googled "Battlecry," sort of observing it from a half century later.
I took a break and drove over to Las Cruces to run a couple of errands and grab lunch: some great Mexican food, of course. Mid-afternoon, the pleasant sunshine beckons me to the trail along the irrigation ditch that I had jogged many times during the eleven years I lived down there.
The ditch is dry in late February and early March, but in another few weeks Rio Grande water will flow to the adjoining pecan groves and fields of chile, cotton, onions and alfalfa.
The trail along the irrigation ditch is ideal for jogging: hard packed soil, not too hard on the body. It's good to be on this familiar trail again. I start jogging, but don't get very far. I knew I was out of shape, but this is totally depressing, far worse than I thought. Of two eternal battles, against boredom and sloth, I'm definitely losing the battle against sloth.I think I'll give up on the battle against sloth. From now on, if it isn't Mexican food, it will be nothing but cheese, pizza, brats, and beer, and malted milks for desert. Doctors Kaza and Lance, you don't really read these columns, do you?
Since I'm too out of shape to jog, I settle for a leisurely stroll along the irrigation ditch.
The late winter afternoon sunshine, the cloudless blue sky, and the scent of the hard packed dirt and dust along the trail are good for the mind and soul. The pecan groves are still in their winter dormancy and the fields are fallow. But the gentle late winter sunshine feels good as I walk along, trying to figure out how I'm going to organize that atomic vets series.
That morning when I googled "Battlecry," it triggered a lot of memories. I had seen that movie in 1955 at the old Chalet Theater in Monroe, the site now occupied by Dave Babler and Dave Mosher on 17th Avenue. Younger Monroe residents find it hard to imagine that the two Daves occupy the site where countless cowboy movies were shown - Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Red Ryder, the Durango Kid and classics like "Shane" and "Battlecry."
"Battlecry" is the story of WWII Marines in love and war. Some critics on that Google site panned that movie as too much love and not enough war. I totally disagree with that assessment (maybe grist for a future column). After joining the Marines myself, I read the novel at least three times and have always found it fascinating. I don't care what the critics say about that movie; it surely influenced my life, and many others. And of course, anyone who has been in the Corps can't help but think of the life-altering effect of boot camp. My own life can be divided into pre-Marine boot camp and post-Marine boot camp.
Strolling along the trail, enjoying the sunshine, I think of my own experiences and stories of others.
One of our local Marines, Mike Furgal, told me that he is the only Marine who deserves a purple heart for going through boot camp. Naturally, I had to ask him why. His drill instructor slapped him on the side of the head with a sword. Mike made the Corps a career; a life-altering effect, indeed. Maybe material for another column here. I come to the end of the trail lined with the adobe structures of romantic old Mesilla. I should have been jogging instead of walking, but the stroll was pleasant. I step onto Calle de Picacho after another 50 yards, turn left on Calle de Los Huertos, and stroll over to my guesthouse.
Maybe tonight I'll head down to La Mesa and Chopes for one last dinner of chiles rellenos; best ever.
Tomorrow, it's out on US 70, over St. Augustine Pass of the Organ Mountains, and through the White Sands Missile Range where they stop traffic when conducting a test. Larry Eakins tells me it happened to him once. He found it to be quite pleasant and a good opportunity to socialize and meet people.
Then, it's US 54 north and evening at good old Tucumcari on historic Route 66.
Farewell, Old Mesilla. At least for a while.
- Monroe resident John Waelti can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
