Big Bend. Big Divide.

When I was a strapping young lad I was once briefly employed at Big Bend National Park. I had been hired as a prep cook, and, based on what I had experienced in Yellowstone, I figured I could move up the ranks quickly until I learned that the guy above me had been flipping fried eggs there for the last fifteen years. The other employees told me to get out of there while I could. They said that the usual pattern was for a person to take a job, for the person's car to break down in the mountains, for the person not to have enough money to get the car repaired, and to be stuck in Big Bend indefinitely. Now don't get me wrong. Big Bend is a beautiful place, a sort of heaven in fact, but being stuck in heaven without the means to leave did not exactly appeal to me. So I blazed.

During my very brief stay, a javelina lived under the bunkhouse, and it could be heard rooting around beneath the floor. This, of course, is not a complaint. It is the sort of novelty I appreciate in life. Speaking of novel experiences, while alone on a hike in the back country one day, I cut through the brush and met a little black bear. The bear's head popped up from the scrub, and we stood looking one another in the face in absolute surprise, and then we both headed off in opposite directions.

Now there is talk of a wall. Regardless of which side of the aisle a person is on, this should be disconcerting. A wall in an age of satellite surveillance sounds a bit antiquated. And even when I was out in Big Bend, people spoke casually about low-flying planes and suspicious desert airstrips. A wall won't stop that. A wall would, however, be a danger to this fragile ecosystem and a blight on one of Texas' greatest treasures. 

Normally, I provide links to Texas publications on this blog, but a recent article on Big Bend in the LA Times is so well-researched and well-written that I decided to include it.  

http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-border-wall-big-bend-2017-story.html 

Delbert McClinton and Teresa James at the Granada

Last night we saw Delbert McClinton and Teresa James & the Rhythm Tramps at the Granada Theater in Dallas. Teresa opened with a great set and later joined Delbert for a fine duet. Although I was born and raised in Fort Worth and lived a few blocks from Jacksboro Highway for much of my childhood, this was the first time I ever saw Delbert McClinton, who actually began his career on that rough and tumble highway. I knew a bit about him, but I had never seen him. I knew that he had played with Muddy Waters, Jimmy Reed, Lightnin' Hopkins, and Sonny Boy Williamson II, and I knew that he had actually taught John Lennon a thing or two about playing the blues harp, but I had never seen him live. Delbert did not disappoint. The show was great, and when I heard him covering Muddy Waters, it almost gave me chills.

Desperado Waiting for a Treat

This afternoon Martina stopped the car to check on a lost dog trotting along the side of the road. I doubted that we could catch him, but the good boy, who seems to be a mix of chow and lab or maybe Akita, let me walk right up to him. When Martina told him to sit, he did just that, and we read the bone-shaped tag on his collar. We then opened the car door, and he jumped right in. Thinking that we would just drive him home, we called the phone number on his tag and looked up the address. Well, the telephone number was bad, and the owner no longer lives at the address listed. So here we are with a furry friend named Rascal Willis hanging out in our living room looking like an outlaw on the lam.

If you are a dog, his name is pretty much indistinguishable from "Rosco," the name of our dog, which makes it kind of difficult if you want to separate them. I hope Rascal's people see one of the signs I put on nearby street corners or look at the neighborhood watch Facebook page. Until then, we have a desperado waiting for a treat hanging out on the rug.

In honor of Rascal, here is Willie Nelson singing a song about a dog.