The first (and possibly only) annual Timberon Belt Sander races were held at the High Country Lounge & Grill this weekend. There was a pretty good turnout, considering it went from brainstorm to reality in a short amount of time.

First place went to the one with the big pink chicken (sorry, I forgot the name), and second went to “Cat” (the orange bulldozer with Captain Picard strapped to the front).
Other notable entries were “Corona Island”, “Belt Sander Barbie” and “Whisker Biscuit”.

Randy and Carol Block were the instigators, with help from Kevin and Danelle Ross. And of course, props to the High Country Lounge Pro Shop, where the actual race took place outside in the fenced yard.

A track was built and installed, complete with a light block, a checkered flag finish line, and a foam wall at the end so the contestants did not fly off the end of the track and sand off someones face. Many Thanks to all responsible parties.

 

Winter came late this year, but it appears to be trying to compensate with an extra dose of damn-it’s-cold!

Sub zero temps, the first I’ve seen in our three years on the mountain.  So far, it was down to -15F (yes, that’s 15 degrees below zero) at the coldest.  According to the local post office, the coldest he had seen it was 20 below and that was about 20 years ago.

When January ended with barely any snow to speak of, I thought we were going to get away with a light winter this year (January 2010, we’d had several feet by that time).  No such luck.  First days of February brought about 6 inches, but that wasn’t as bad as the freakin’ freezin’ weather!  I’ve never experienced anything below zero, so it was a surprise to me when I went outside to let the dog pee, my lungs reached up  to my throat and slammed the door shut.  It was an interesting sensation, if not pleasant – my bronchial tubes constricting like that.   I wonder how people adapt when it’s even colder.   Like on top of Mount Everest, and in deep space.

In the news, upper New Mexico cities are in a state of emergency with natural gas not being delivered to homes for several days.  Our new governor Suzanna Martinez is kicking ass and taking names (or so it appears from television interviews).  We blame Texas.  In local news, the Cloudcroft schools were shut down three days last week and one day this week.  Water pipe issues.  And the school busses broke.

Here on the mountain, we are nice and warm in our log home, with our wood stove cranking away.

Oh.  Golf anyone?

~Nan

Well I went to my first mountain funeral the other day.  There is a small cemetery here in Timberon.  It’s well-kept, if not fancy.  The lawn is cleared of trees and bushes, and the nameplates are cleared so you can read the names.  Not many standing headstones, if any (I’m trying to remember if I saw any at all).

A local cowboy and decorated war vet (Vietnam), Spud Jones, was killed just before Christmas, when a tractor he was driving pitched him off and then ran him over.   Spud was a good guy, and he will be missed. The mountain folk are shocked and sad, but nobody was surprised that he died working (with his boots on – I guess you could say).  Spud was one of the first people I met when we moved here.  He had a face that saw a thousand miles, and buried in there were the most twinkly eyes you’d ever seen!  He was a cool dude.  I’ll miss him.

The funeral was just after Christmas on the 29th.  Winter had been skirting and teasing around the edges of the Sacramento mountains this year, but we hadn’t got any real snow to speak of yet.   The cold winds started blowing that day, but that didn’t stop anybody.  I’m still waiting for a count, but I’d bet there were over 200 people there.  In a town of 300.  Granted, most of them were relatives of Spud (he had a big family) but I was surprised and pleased at the turnout.

It was a graveside service.  His daughter Amy started it off by reading a poem sent to her by Spud’s son Rhett.  The casket was homemade by Amy’s husband JoBob, and a friend (a local wood artist).  There were cowboy pictures burned in to the surface, and wild horses running around the sides.  The handles were hemp rope loosely secured with iron.  The top of the casket was structured with nice wooden slats on the surface built up to form the dome shape, all sanded and polished.  JoBob and JR did a fine job.

Spud was laid out in his leather shoes, jeans, and a good shirt, hair trimmed up, and coins on his eyes.  They had a pinto horse at the graveside in full gear, with Spuds hat on the saddle horn and his empty boots in the stirrups.  Before they closed the coffin up, the put the hat and boots in with him.  Six guys lowered him down using three ropes running under the casket.  Smooth as silk – didn’t even tip.    They took the saddle and gear off the horse and laid it by the grave, I don’t know if they buried it with him or not.

The local preacher did a real nice service, and many of Spuds friends spoke a bit about him and told stories.  Everyone that wanted to,  got to say their piece.  There were lots of tears and lots of laughs.   After the service,  several folk headed over to the Hightop Lounge bar for “Spud Farts”  (a drink established at the bar several years ago).  Not sure what is in it, but if it’s named for Spud, it  will definitely be the real deal.

R.I.P. Spud Jones.