The Rage of Dust Devils

As another dust storm rages and the spring winds pick up, I'm reminded of the question that so many people from out of state ask me "Why do you live here?" I always reply  "Misery loves company" not that I'm a big fan of the dust and wind, but I have learned to more or less accept it as a fact of life.  "Why isn't your pool open yet?" they ask, "Well, because the wind blows around here, this time of year" I tell them, outdoor pools are a bad idea in New Mexico. The fact that we're in the grip of a sustained drought hasn't helped things any. Whenever the winds pick up, the tumbleweeds get to moving, it really is a losing battle, but I finally figured out that they can't roll if you smash them up. It seems like I've spent most of my life either in the midst of a dust storm or fighting to keep something from flying away (hats, papers, money etc.) I recall playing in a junior high basketball game while an especially persistent dust storm raged on. The dust filtered through any and every opening as it floated onto the court in layers. A dusty fog filled the gym, the game was stopped every few minutes, in order to sweep the floor with push brooms and wet towels. Breathing became harder as the physical exertion combined with the intake of fine silica left everyone hacking and spitting.  Back then we had a sticky substance that you could spray on your hands or shoes for better grip, those of us who sprayed it on our shoes soon found ourselves sliding across the tile floor like ice skaters.  At least we were at home, our opponents had to brave the weather  back to Lordsburg.  

A couple of years ago, the entire town of Deming, froze in it's tracks as a huge pinkish brown wall  of sand swept in from the west and deposited a good portion of Arizona across the landscape. People who had never seen such a sight, were actually in fear for their lives. I had seen it before, but it was still awe inspiring and you really need to experience it at least once. My parents caught the tail end of the dust bowl era when they first arrived in Southern New Mexico, my mom would tell us stories of pink snow and dust storms that would last for days on end. It's a wind swept and sun bleached landscape for sure, but I wouldn't live anywhere else. Here I can sit on a hilltop and watch one dancing dervish after another grow to full size, wreak their havoc and then dissipate. In some strange and surreal way you feel totally connected with nature when you actually see the birth of a dust devil and feel the sting of the elements. I think our state motto "It grows as it goes" describes the plume of dust that our pick-up trucks kick up along our many dirt roads and it does suit us well.  However, our state mantra seems to be "It's gonna blow again today" said in that hoarse drawl, that those of us down here know and love so well.  Ah Hell! just give me my zero visibility and a long stretch of country road, so I can wind my truck up to 70mph and sail off into the sunset.  I won't wax poetic, the land speaks for itself, welcome to New Mexico, we've been around longer than anybody else.

Descansos

("Introduction/Dios da y Dios quita", from "Descansos: An Interrupted Journey", by Rudolfo Anaya)"

I remember very well the impact of the car on the people of the llano and the villages of my river valley.

I remember because I had a glimpse of the old way, the way of my grandfather,

and as a child I saw the entry of the automobile."

"Time has transformed the way we die, but time cannot transform the shadow of death." Rudolfo Anaya

A large early 70's sedan barrels down a two lane road, the passengers are all teenage boys, the driver is under the influence of horsepower and drugs, seduced by this new found power, he opens up the big V-8. Death rises from slumber upon hearing the roar of the engine, it's time to attend to matters at hand. The driver, his reflexes dulled by marijuana and alcohol and for reasons known only to him and God, suddenly swerves off the path. The heavy machine hits the raised bed of a rail spur, it goes airborne for maybe 3 seconds, before it slams head-on into the trunk of a large cottonwood tree. The fourteen year old front seat passenger is flung headfirst into the windshield, his neck is broken and he dies instantly. Death, ever so ruthless and efficient has taken another soul, in a matter of days a cross will go up to mark the place where the young man paid his toll.  

 New Mexico has a long legacy of such tales and its roadsides are dotted by crosses and memorials. Although, the tradition dates back to the days of the first Spanish colonists, with the coming of the automotive age it took on a new meaning.  New Mexico author Rudolfo Anaya explains: "One word describes the change for me: violence. The cuentos of the people became filled with tales of car wrecks, someone burned by gasoline while cleaning a carburetor, someone crippled for life in an accident. The crosses along the country roads increased. Violent death had come with the new age. Yes, there was utility, the ease of transportation, but at a price. Pause and look at the cross on the side of the road, dear traveler, and remember the price we pay".  ("Introduction/Dios da y Dios quita", from "Descansos: An Interrupted Journey", by Rudolfo Anaya)

The word descanso comes from the Spanish word meaning "rest."  The tradition of descansos in New Mexico has been traced back to the early 1700's. Originally they were meant to mark the places where pallbearers stopped to rest as they carried a casket to the nearest cemetery. The memorials range from simple wooden crosses to elaborate wrought-iron creations set in concrete. Often, handwritten notes, stones, toys, rosaries and photographs of the victims are placed beside them.  Over the years, the modern practice of descansos has evolved into memorials that mark the spot of a person's last moments of life. Besides fatal car accidents, similar memorials have sprung up to honor the victims of shootings, industrial accidents or drownings. The highway memorials, apart from their personal significance, serve as a warning to other road users of the dangers of driving. For years the Arizona State Highway Patrol would post white crosses to mark the site of fatal car accidents, a practice that has since been taken up by the public. The practice of "ghost bikes" is a newer variation of the practice, bicycles are painted white and left at the site where someone was killed in an accident involving a bicycle.  Roadside memorials have become a worldwide phenomena, in Australia it is estimated that one in five road deaths is marked by a memorial.

 The memorials are not without controversy, some people see them as an intrusion on their personal beliefs. The 10th. U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that "A reasonable observer would conclude that the state of Utah and the Utah Highway Patrol were endorsing Christianity by allowing and maintaining cross memorials."  In New Mexico the descansos are recognized as rooted in folk traditions and therefore generally outside of the control or jurisdiction of state or local authorities. Nonetheless, in 2007 the Legislature of New Mexico passed and former Gov. Richardson signed a law making it illegal to desecrate descansos. Though state highway crews are not required to preserve the memorials, by custom, road workers work around them during construction projects. New Mexico DOT spokesperson Phil Gallegos said they do it as a courtesy "We find them on the front end of the project and know what we are going to do with them," Gallegos said. "I've seen it on project notes specifically telling a contractor you will protect these." "Crews have to maneuver around these memorials often because they are so common in New Mexico", he added. Those who feel the need to memorialize their loved ones near the roadways where they died will continue to do so, regardless of legislation and other attempts at control.

"We say that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say this we think of that hour as situated in an obscure and distant future. It does not occur to us that it can have any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon."
Marcel Proust, In Search Of Lost Time