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- A memorable day of discovery along Highway 54
A memorable day of discovery along Highway 54
- By Jim Reed
- Published 01/3/2003
- Of Interest
- Unrated
Jim Reed
Jim Reed is basically compatible when given a cup of coffee, a newspaper, and forty-five minutes silence when he gets up in the morning, therewith explaining his life-long nickname of "Bear." At age fifty-three, he vaguely remembers serving tons of bacon, eggs and creamed beef during his twenty-one years of military service, none of which, thankfully, created causalities upon the sons and daughters of America's finest parents.
Somewhere near the age of fifty, he gave up his quest for material and financial wealth after realizing that Donald Trump's hand firmly holds all five aces. Happiness is now found in the following endeavors:
- Prowling and absorbing the Southwest in search of nature, uniqueness, color and inspiration.
- Being secluded in the small office/study/computer room of his Northeast El Paso home.
- Pampering and over watering his pet Mexican Elder.
- Reading and falling asleep in the comfortable chairs at Barnes & Noble.
- Outwitting his computer's Spell Check and wearing out its Thesaurus feature.
- Trying to understand why obese people overload their trays at all-you-can-eat cafeterias and then select Diet Coke as their beverage.
- Reading and contemplating the works of his favorite poets: Robert W. Service, William Butler Yeats, and Kermit T. Frog.
Jim is graciously allowed to serve as Facilities Manager for El Paso's Bank CNB, therewith sustaining his wife Annie, dog Mookie, grossly overweight cat Zinger, and numerous questionable, yet legal, habits.
"Jim, no one ever accused you of not having imagination."{$.EM$}Richard Vorba
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It began with our stop at Three Rivers Trading Post at the junction of Highway 54 and the road to the petroglyphs. It was obvious that the trading post had been there many years, had undergone many revisions and had been a very important crossroads, railroad stop and social center for the area. Behind the trading post stood the brightly painted red and white schoolhouse, its charm and antiquity begging to be released from its overgrown surroundings and to once again serve a useful purpose.
At the petroglyphs site we again found charm in the persona of Mr. Daniel Potter with whom I established an instant friendship. He is personable, full of life and information, and an amazing eighty-four years young. When asked who are the most interesting visitors to the site, Mr. Potter quickly responded, "Germans - they ask the most questions and want to know more about it than any others." Indeed, Germans come a long way to satisfy their curiosity and fascination about "Amerika."
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Oh, did I mention the scenery? It is awesome to say the least. From atop the petroglyph hill
Along the Sacramento Mountains a dense, dark monsoon storm was inching its way northward, spewing bolts of lightening and creating a variety of cloud formations. To the west, clear blue New Mexico skies; above us, soft, billowing white clouds - a stark contrast to the solid blue far above them. The edge of the storm came close, rained a few drops upon us and continued its northward journey.
On our way eastward to view the nearby campgrounds, we discovered a small man-made lake, obviously used to water the herds of range roaming cattle who were grazing everywhere. The lake created a new environment; flowers and lush cacti bloomed near it. I took pictures - desert dwellers worship every bit of color you find. The memorable view across the small lake into the Tularosa basin was also captured on film.
Shortly after turning east from the petroglyph site, you will pass a small road leading to Santa Niño de Aturha, a small adobe white church built in 1911. Turn left and after one mile you will find the "Holy Saint of Aturha," as quaint and rustic and picturesque as any you will find in New Mexico. The adobe church with its red tile roof, bell tower, and hand-carved sign, adorned by bordering trees and billowing clouds, formed the composition for one of the most beautiful pictures I have ever taken.
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The day of fascination was not complete. On our way home, southward on Highway 54, we encountered more summer monsoon thunderstorms, some heading straight toward us near Orogrande. Lightning, hail and huge raindrops were just a few hundred yards behind; I drove faster and managed to outrun our pursuers. That night they managed to catch up with us; it rained so hard in my hometown of El Paso that the local fireworks displays had to be canceled. It mattered little to me - the Fourth of July had been a fascinating and memorable day of discovery and ended with the fireworks of nature.



