A Blogger's Reminder of Western Dreams and Memories

Figure 1.  New Mexico Hwy 80 westbound probably in Hidalgo County, south of Interstate Hwy. 10, in November 1979.  This is my "go-to" photo when I am in a "Western Traveling" nostalgic frame of mind.

[Just explaining the "method to my madness" (which I have been practicing for years).]  A little more was posted on September 22, 2020.

As I haven't yet asked any of my aging and retired/semi-retired Geology-peers about "how much reminiscing do they engage in?", a personal question to myself is "do others engage in this much self-reflection?".  As campus politics largely squeezed me out of part-time junior college teaching a few years ago, blogging is one way I satisfy my "teaching urge".  The Pandemic of 2020 has largely wiped-out my substitute teacher employment, as well.  

From early-2014 until September 2019, I was engaged in an ongoing writing project, covering three separate, but related subjects, in hopes that I could "push one across the finish line" as a published e-book (a "Bucket List" item) or at least a spiral-bound narrative.  

One is a narrative about my 1974 Western Road Trip with my college roommate, which helped me gain the confidence to move 1,500 miles away from home for Grad School, two and one-half years later.  The second narrative is a series of non-fiction short stories about my first year in El Paso (1977 and maybe 1978 if I have trouble coming up with memories for enough short stories).  These were "crossroads events" for me.  The third writing project is a self-help guide (to avoiding some of my "life mistakes".)

I was making slow progress across all three "fronts" until my second wife was hurt in a car accident in Athens (not her fault) on September 19.  Her head and neck injuries were sufficient to force a "sabbatical" from substitute teaching, which more-or-less extended into the 2020 pandemic.  The multiple life disruptions caused a loss of "writing mojo" (for lack of a better term).  Blogging is a method of "staying in practice" until the writing urge returns, I hope.

Over the years, I have heard tales of various family members and perhaps some fellow residents of my then-small hometown, expressing doubts about my ability to survive moving 1,500 miles from home to a city where I knew no one, save for the name of one of my Dad's "army buddies".  I visited him a couple of times and had a date with his daughter.  (There wasn't sufficient "chemistry" to go beyond one date, however.)

If I provide any useful information to readers, that is better than my rocking-chair brooding in a corner or vegging-out and watching mindless TV in a recliner.  I do spend some time rockhounding and engaged in Nature Photography in the "greater Gainesville-Athens area", as well as roadside and creekside trash-pickups when time and circumstances allow.

Evident in many of my "posting binges" is - seemingly for a Georgia native - an inordinate amount of time and attention paid geology and related subjects, west of the Mississippi River.  In addition to my 14 years in El Paso (1977-1991), getting a Masters Degree in Geology, getting married there (first marriage), and adopting our first child, I have had family connections to Phoenix for about 60 years and have visited there a number of times.  

After my first wife passed away in mid-2015 and my daughter's family made a planned move to Phoenix, I briefly toyed with the idea of moving there and "making a new start" (albeit at age 61) and to help them get settled in.  My son (eight years younger than his sister) was working while still living at home in Georgia.  I wasn't completely sure that he was 100% ready to remain behind when I moved away, too.  So that plan was nixed.

So, 14 years in El Paso; 60 years of Phoenix connections and visits between 1973 and 2017; a summer job and geologic fieldwork in New Mexico; it accounts for my hunger to revisit the area (at least in cooler weather).

Another thing that "calls me back" is East Mill in the Eagle Mts. in Hudspeth County, Texas.  Aside from it being our "home base" while doing geologic work in 1978, I revisited there (alone) in late 1978/early 1979 trying to get "back on track" with my interrupted project.  

The first night alone was spooky, as it was so damned quiet.  The second night, I was more acclimated and enjoyed the quiet, in a place where "all you can hear is the wind".  (I don't even know if I could gain permission to get back in there and I don't currently have a 4x4, but I can dream.)

Figure 2.  East Mill, Eagle Mountains, Texas.