common sense

I had a single shot 22 that could only fire 22 shorts. Id spend glorious summer days shootin rats at the dump where my uncle Stash lived (near Albaturkey). For my 11th birthday , I got a Winchester model 61 pump action 22. I was "THE RIFLEMAN" Rats feared me, and because it fired 22 long rifles, I was A damn good long distance shot.

I remember being up on the Sangre de Christos with Uncle Stash hunting lithium (lepidolite) for gemstones and wed gotten to know a bunch of the weird old folks who lived in the hills who ran sheep ranches. Boy, were those the times.

I remember being up on the Sangre de Christos with Uncle Stash hunting lithium (lepidolite) for gemstones and wed gotten to know a bunch of the weird old folks who lived in the hills who ran sheep ranches. Boy, were those the times.

farmerman wrote:

I remember being up on the Sangre de Christos with Uncle Stash hunting lithium (lepidolite) for gemstones and wed gotten to know a bunch of the weird old folks who lived in the hills who ran sheep ranches. Boy, were those the times.

I was sittin' at a drive-in near Chimayo in the Sangre de Christo, and i pulled out a Camel an' lit it up. This old timer (or so it seemed) had been sloggin' up the slope an' around the curve, leadin' two pack horses and a saddle horse, and followed by three, four sheep dogs. The pack horses were really loaded, includin' a couple a hundred pounds of dog food--you can buy that, and pinto beans, in 200 lb. bags at the feed stores.

Well, she wasn't exactly an old timer, just lean and slight because she was a woman just under the medium size. Her face was a lot like leather in color and texture, but i'd say she was not much past 40. She smiled slightly, a little embarrassed, and then said she didn't often seek folks smokin' Camels, and would i mind if she had one of my tailor-mades. So i gave her one, and she offered me her can of Bugler, just to be polite. I told her no thanks, so she reached up in the saddle bag and pulled out a can of Top and asked if i preferred that. I decided not to be difficult, and said that would be just fine. I then proceeded to show her a way of rollin' with gummed papers that she had never seen before, and we chatted a little.

She explained that she lived up in the Frijoles, which is a ridge line in the Sangre de Christo, a little north of Chimayo, and east of route 84 where it runs up to Taos. She apparently leased some of her land out, had a little investment income, and hunted small game, and kept a truck garden. She grazed her horses, which in those parts means she needed about 30 or 40 acres. She said she had an old truck, but didn't use it, due to the expense, and anyway, she had the horses. (I don't know if you've ever tried to rig a pack on a horse, but you have to be damned good to accomplish that--i'd never even think to try.) That was the early 80s, and i'd say she was livin' on only a few thousand a year. She bought flour, corn meal, salt, sugar, coffee and beans, dog food and some oats from time to time. She got just about everything else from her property--being game and food she could grow and preserve. Oh, and she had a tobacco budget--she had about a half dozen cans of Top and a half dozen of Bugler by her account, so i figured she was a heavy smoker, relatively speakin' . . . i think she had a good life, and damned few places left in the world in which she could live it undistrubed.