What did you do this summer? 500 Words, please.

Well, I've just returned from the teacher's lounge where I was finishing up the smok--- the paperwork from yesterday and I read Asherman's report. I think I should have a nap or something before I read it again because I thought he said 'tiny human footprints'.

Joe(I usually see lights flashing outside the curtains)Nation

Because of the 500 word constraint, I'm afraid that I've left the full story of my summer vacation incomplete. Joe and I did leave immediately, if that can be taken to mean "the same day". Here are another 492 words about what happened before we high-tailed it back to civilization.

We were as astonished to find tiny human footprints beside the desert pool, as our reader's probably are to hear of it. Such a discovery couldn't just be left unexplored, and we didn't intend to leave without resolving the mystery. The human tracks didn't appear anywhere away from the tracks that we took to be a miniature horse, so we concluded that the "human" rode into the spring, dismounted and watered his steed before remounting and riding away. From the tracks leading away from the pool, the departure must have been at a gallop. About ten yards down the arroyo, the tracks led up onto the harder ground of the desert floor. Not being expert trackers we soon lost the trail, and had to return to the spring.

If we couldn't follow where the rider had gone, then at least we could backtrack to where he had been. The tracks led up the arroyo for about a mile and then ascended to the desert above. We were afraid that the beginning would be as fruitless as the end of the trail we had followed. However, not far away we found a circle of small, smoldering fire pits. Each fire pit was ringed by small stones and was about the diameter of our hand. Obviously, the campsite had been abandoned perhaps only hours before our arrival. There were a lot of small human and horse tracks around the site that led off around a small rocky hill. Within 25 yards the trail became harder to follow and split up into many smaller trails going off in different directions.

We returned to the abandoned camp and almost by accident discovered a large hole dug into the side of the hill. There were signs that the hole was artificial and had been dug out by the combined labor of many little hands. We knelt and peered into the hole. Joe thought he saw something glitter inside and put his hand into the hole. He yelled and for a moment I thought a rattler had bitten him. It took awhile for me to see that a small arrow had pierced Joe's hand. The arrow, only about two inches long, had gone almost entirely through the web of Joe's hand between the thumb and index finger. He hopped around nursing his wound, and in his anger kicked the offending hole into oblivion

I finally got him calmed down and pushed the little arrow on through his hand. It didn't bleed much, so he wrapped it up in his bandanna. After the first aid we looked more carefully into what remained of the hole. There appeared to be a number of small tunnels leading further underground radiating from a large central "room". In that room we found a large pile of golden ingots measuring about ¾ inches in length. We scooped up the treasure, about 20 pounds in all and returned to our camp near the spring.

Mini Broke Back Indians?

The Lost Leprechauns of Montanas de Verde

Joe(except that they are not lost)Nation

Exactly what I was thinking, Joe. I was right there with him, sweating in the desert dust, until the story took that "leprechauns' gold" turn.

Nevertheless, I can't submit a story now. Asherman's talents have thoroughly intimidated me.

The sun was low, but we agreed to put as much distance as possible between us and the spring. Clearly we needed to lighten our packs if we were to carry out an added burden of 20 golden pounds. That presented a problem, our supplies had already dwindled dangerously low and we couldn't afford to risk running out of supplies in such an unforgiving country. In the end we left behind almost everything but the small collection of freeze-dried food and our water.

Luckily there was a full moon and we were able to make pretty good time for several hours. Then things began to get rough. Joe's hand was swollen. He appeared dazed and was slowly falling further and further behind. Our rest stops became longer, and more frequent, but we continued until about one in the morning before curling up to sleep. The sun was already high when we awoke, but we ate a cold breakfast and had a couple of warm swallows of water each.

That day was pure torture. Joe kept raving about our being followed, but I saw no evidence for it. We were sore and the mountains seemed to have grown overnight. Joe stumbled and fell in the stifling afternoon. His hand was like a balloon with only stiff little fingers to remind us of its earlier shape. The edges of the wound were puffed up and discolored. I cut a slash across the wound to let it drain and the result was a stinking watery mess. Joe was raving, so I found us a shady spot under two large boulders. We spent the day there panting in the heat.

As evening fell we had to get moving again. Even though the sky remained bright, we had great difficulty. The "path" didn't really exist, and the deep shadows confused the eye. Again and again we stumbled upward through a jumble of rocks. Except for our passage, the desert remained silent as a grave. Joe began singing some ditty, and its echoes came back to haunt us. By the late evening we had reached the summit of the mountain, and fell exhausted into troubled sleep.

When I opened my eyes the daylight was already blinding. I reached for my hat, and couldn't find it. Not only was my hat missing, so was Joe. I quickly gathered our goods and followed the broken trail Joe had left down the mountain. Luckily, he was headed in the right direction. Half a mile down the trail I found him sprawled face up into the sun. His hat was also missing and his face was already beginning to burn. I propped him up and forced some water past his peeling lips. He moaned and tried to gulp more than he could tolerate. I pulled away the water sack, and then noticed that it was almost empty. I was pretty sure that we hadn't drunk that much. The reason soon became clear, there were half a dozen small holes in the bottom of the sack that left a wet trail behind us.

It was now imperative that we get out of the desert as quickly as possible. I drained the what was left in the water sack into our canteens, and we drank the rest. I had to half carry Joe down the slope. We got to the bottom and another high rocky ridge was before us. I could go no further, so that night we slept fitfully and cold. In the morning, I felt better, except for the sunburn. Joe was better too, his fever seemed to have gone down but his hand was still a mess. We started up the trail, and found to our dismay that our fear of being followed was confirmed.

HWEWEWEWWEY< ASHERMAN"'s trying for extra credit.

Maybe Mr. Nation will only take one 500-word chunk of the story.

Hey! What can I say it was just one hell of a summer. BTW, approx. 20 lb. of gold is currently worth around $166,000.

that's it!?!?!

Uh... I really don't know what to say, class, Mr. Asherman is auditing this course as a Emeritas Student and, as such, isn't subject my authority or control as the rest of you gerbils are. (Go back and edit this line before submitting.)
I am informed by Mr. Rubenstein in Career Counseling that he has received an inquiry from the Casa Salazar, NM Police Department. MAP Here A Capt, Richard "Dub" Wilcox has forwarded an email from a Mr. Chijuilla Cochiti concerning a burglary and the removal of some items from an area just East of there. See this Satellite Picture. Casa Salazar is on the left side.

So far, I haven't mentioned anything about Asherman's essay to anyone, so how the Casa Salazar authorities were able to make any link to this class is beyond me.

(Would you two boys in the back row stop tapping your feet and making those hand signals!!?)

Joe(future Senators to be sure)Nation

In the middle of the trail where we could not miss it was a severed head on a stake. It was "only" the head of a large Jack Rabbit, but its effect was a chilling as if it were human. Its glassy dead eyes seemed to follow us as we scrambled away. We didn't much care where we went, so long as it was away from the grisly trail marker. We no longer felt quite so good.

We must have traveled at least a mile before we had calmed ourselves enough to take a break. For a long time we just sat trying to recover from both fright and flight. Joe just kept muttering, "never should'a, never should'a, never should'a" over and over until I told him to just shut up. We ate one of our last freeze dried meals, and finished off one canteen. That left us with a handful of food, and one canteen to last for god knew how long. I had been carrying the gold in my rucksack, and it seemed to have gotten heavier with every step we had taken. We were in a desperate situation. No hats, our cloths torn to rags on the jagged rocks, little food and even less water. In our wild flight we may have gotten turned around, or maybe not. Civilization was to the Southeast, but we had no idea of how far it was.

The desert had gone silent again. Then we could hear something moving in the low grasses and brush. We heard what sounded like a horse snorting and whinnying no louder than a sparrows call. Even more disturbing, it seemed that the grasses all around us were in motion, though there was no wind to ruffle them. Sweat stood out on Joe's head. Suddenly Joe leapt up and ran toward an outcropping of large boulders and rocks. I had no choice but to follow him, the rucksack banging against my back. We had hardly reached the shelter of the rocks when a shower of tiny arrows arched towards us. Fortunately, none found their mark. We holed up there for the rest of the day. Our water supply had now shriveled to a mere half of one canteen.

As the western sky turned blood red, a cool breeze came out of the North carrying the tenor sound of tiny drums. It was clear we couldn't last much longer unless we could go on unmolested. I threw the rucksack and its gold as far out into the brush as I could. All that night we kept watch, but nothing happened. Morning found us both exhausted, but forced to move while we still had enough energy to walk. By noon the water was gone, and our thirst seemed to become increasingly unbearable. We had taken to walking along the bottom of a dry creek bed, because it seemed easiest. I vaguely remember digging into the sand by some rocks until a small pool of muddy water appeared. Joe drank directly from the seepage, and promptly threw-up. We then collected the water and strained it through what remained of my shirt, into the canteen. I remember how cool the shirt felt as the water evaporated. After that, I remember nothing. I have no idea how long or what directions we walked.

My next memory was of a rough hard surface beneath my cheek. I forced my eyes open and saw a straight line dwindling in the distance. I remember being puzzled about what it might be, and then I passed out again. A rough hand shook me back to consciousness, and forced a wet cloth between my teeth. It was an old man and I was lying in the shade of a battered pickup that must have been almost as old as my rescuer. I asked where Joe was, and he seemed surprised that there might be another fool round-eye wandering around in the desert. Being bounced on my bruised and burnt body roused me enough to see that Joe was lying unconscious next to me in the truck bed.

Afterword: From the Archives

Back in Albuquerque, the doctors treated Joe for rattlesnake bite, and re-hydrated us both. The sunburns took longer to treat, and for a time we were covered in salve. Both of us were released from the hospital after three days (thank you MediCare), and allowed to go home. Joe and his wife promptly left Albuquerque to resettle in Montana.

I just couldn't let the whole thing go without trying to find some explanations beyond the doctor's assurances that we were "merely" delirious and probably dreamed the whole thing. They might think so, but I knew better. I searched the Internet for anything similar, but didn't really find anything that seemed to match our experience. I tried to query local members of the Pueblos, but they denied any knowledge of a diminutive group of savages living west of the Rio Puerco.

Finally in desperation, I went up to Santa Fe and visited the State Archives in search of anything that might confirm what Joe and I had encountered in the desert. Mostly I found nothing there either. The one scrap of evidence was a short article in a one page pioneer newspaper from 1882. Here is the essence of that story:

A raving man wandered into an isolated ranch out of the desert in August of 1882. The rancher took the man into Salazar, and was given a small amount of gold for his trouble. The local Veterinarian/Carendarus treated the man for heat stroke and dehydration. He was also rewarded with a small amount of gold. The man then repaired to the local saloon, which it seems may have been the most important building in Salazar. It was there that the local newspaperman found him and got his story.

Patrick Michael Shagnasty-O'Dell told of finding a vein of gold west of the Puerco, and being chased out of the area by hundreds of leprechauns. O'Dell was drunk at the time and his story wasn't taken seriously. The one page monthly Salazar Citizen titled the story, "Lost Leprechaun Mine". The story was obviously written to amuse the locals, and so far as I could determine no other copy of the Salazar Citizen remains in existence. There was no trace of what happened to Patrick O'Dell, and he seems to have vanished entirely from history.

Joe says he has no plans to return Albuquerque and Natalie says she won't let me go hiking in the desert anymore. That's probably alright with me. Still … somewhere out there northeast of Albuquerque and west of the Rio Puerco there remains fame and fortune to be discovered by a fool or a fanatic.

Mr. Nation! Mr. Nation (breathlessly running into the room)

I was just out by the FFA barn smoking during lunch and... and... I heard the teeniest tiniest whinny. I swear!

Wasn't there an episode of Twilight Zone or Outer Limits, that had a similar story?

...and, 2packs was with me and he heard it too.

I just calls 'em as I sees em.

I would like everyone to calm down.
Squinney, stop making that irritating whinney sound, that's enough of that.

The class and I would like to stand and applaud Asherman's very fine effort at creating a true American folk tale.
(YEEEEEEEEHAH!! )

2packs: in answer to your question, yes. It was the Twilight Zone: the story was told by watching an old woman being harassed by some unknown and very small creatures. We watch her battle them and finally after a long (half hour) struggle get on the verge of destroying them. She never speaks. The first voice we hear is of the tiney creatures. It is at that point that the viewers find out that the intruders are Earthlings out to try and colonize a new planet when they are confronted by the huge and elderly inhabitant.

So who is next? Did anyone try something new at a restaurant? Or ride a new attraction at a theme park?

(Squinny, riding a lifeguard doesn't count.)

Oh, and I forgot. Asherman gets an A+ and extra credit which should just about wipe out all those demerits from last year.

Joe(Good. I see you are all thinking...now start typing.)Nation

ppppbbbbfffftttthhh!!!!!!!!! and who the hell is Paul Auster?

Well, in autumn (which you call Fall - we can't / don't call it Fall here because our trees are mostly not deciduous!) - I went to Italy for 4 weeks, and spent more money than I had.

Winter then, was spent working, trying to pay my bills.

We went to Rome, Pisa, Lucca - at Little K's suggestion (well, not to me personally, but she had spoken well of it, so I decided to go and have a squizz!), (and sent her a postcard - a real one - with writing on it!), Milan, a week on Lake Como, a week in Tuscany, and a week in Venice. For the last 3 weeks, we rented apartments and were happy little Vegemites. (first week was spent in hotels or B&B's). Apartments certainly make living easier.

Italy was a blast! I had a bloody expensive lunch for my xxth birthday at Villa d'Este, at Cernobbio on Lake Como.

And then we came home - to the grind.

I travelled the length of the great state of queensland for work - Brisbane to Thursday Island (I skipped the boring bits - hello TOWNSVILLE!)

Margo, we're planning eight weeks in Italy next year - was Venice bearable? I mean in terms of tourist numbers? We're going late spring (their time). We were only thinking two or three days but crowds annoy me.

Hingehead needs to write us an essay on "The Unbearability of Crowds".

And teacher does not understand how living in apartments would be better than hotels and B&Bs. (Don't you have to schlep your own food, cook it and clean up after? Don't you have to do your own laundry? Might as well be at home with the cats. No?


Joe(Stop daydreaming the rest of you and start essaying)Nation