From The Archives

Source: FF

In this I'm describing an experience I had working on the Mexican border...

My wife and I had the privilege of working on a guest ranch right on the border in the little Arizona town of Sasabee. Though I was the chef and my wife was my Sous chef, in the early mornings we’d have to help the wranglers gather the horses for the days riding.

Imagine if you will. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, the landscape bristles with alien looking cactus and scrubby grasses, wild colors and shapes misted with dew. The soft knickering of horses breaks the deep silence and the sky looks like an impressionist painting, faint hues of purple and pink wafting as far as the eye can see.

You left the compound through a ocotillo fence with the feeling of time peeling back depositing you in the old west. The ochre sand crunched underfoot as you followed the horse tracks through undulating washes and over hills.

Crossing the hill my mind was filled with the beauty of the place until topping the rise I was confronted by several tons of trash. Syringes, discarded clothes, food containers, cans, backpacks, toilet paper and the reek of urine and excrement.

Did it hurt me? No. Did it hurt my spirit? You bet.

Those open spaces are a treasure we share in common and can’t be replaced. And some things can’t be measured in terms of dollars and cents or practicality.

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