Lederhosen, red or green, and category zero

It’s already October, the eighth month of the year. No. That’s not right; it’s the tenth month. But since December stole the name that should’ve gone to the tenth month, and August is really the eighth month … this is ridiculous. Never mind.

We’ll just call it Oktober with a k - as in Oktoberfest - and I don’t even think the grammar police would mind—the German connection with Hammel and all.

Speaking of which, the brewery-turned-soft drink plant-turned-museum on Sixth Street becomes an ad hoc Biergarten this Saturday for Oktoberfest.

The old Hammel building is the scene, of course. The Hammel family began making beer as the Illinois Brewing Company in 1886 when William bought a property from Pedro Montoya and started a brewery housed in adobe buildings. A little while later, Hammel moved into the stone building on Sixth Street, and the lager beers they produced became wildly popular statewide, but as far as I know, their recipes have been lost to time. Something tells me they would’ve been similar to Budweiser since his one-time brewing partner was Eberhard Anheuser in St. Louis.

I’m not sure how many will be quaffing the specialty brewed beer from the Cap at this year’s Oktoberfest, but the brats will undoubtedly be a hit (that’s brats as in bratwurst, not the kind whose parent had a career in the military).

Anyway, brats are one of those comfort foods for me, existing somewhere between a sausage and frankfurter: comfort foods, all.

Like the oft-repeated Rod Serling herald:

“You’re traveling through another dimension…a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead - your next stop, the Comfort Zone…”

I’m not sure why it is, but every four years about this time I find myself wanting to hunker down and tune out the rancor coming from the world out there. Maybe it’s the political spittle or just the change of seasons, but whatever it is, I’m wanting to spend more and more time in the Comfort Zone.

Comfort food, comfort clothes, comfort music … or watch Casablanca for the umpteenth time. I’m talking about anything you can turn to that will help your brain pump out those feel-good endorphins. Pickin’ up good vibrations, as the song goes.

But wait, what’s wrong with me? I haven’t mentioned the super-uber comfort food, chile … which brings us to the other Saturday gastronomic soiree, the Chile Festival at the rodeo arena.

I know there’s some overlap, but with astute planning and clear thinking, you can get your chile fix after your beer fix. Just think of it, Dr. Comstock’s Oompah Band in the morning and a little mariachi in the afternoon.

And (fingers crossed) the weather of early October should be near ideal.

Although lederhosen was not mentioned, a list popped up on my internet feed detailing reasons that bring people to the Land of Enchantment. You know, the variety of landscapes, scenic wonders, roadrunners, the culture, the technology, green chile, and especially the climate.

I’m thinking about the absence of devastating events like earthquakes, tornadoes or hurricanes. The latter two especially.

My (presumably smarter) older brother was riding out Hurricane Helene last weekend in his retirement condo in Florida. Fortunately, he and his wife got through it alright without having to evacuate, and it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been where his house is, right on the Gulf Coast. Hurricanes are no fun, no matter-no how, as those folks in the Carolinas can attest. I’m reminded of when a Category-5 typhoon blew through Guam while I was stationed there in the Air Force. It was then I realized why all the power poles were made of reinforced concrete and half the houses stood on pillars above ground level.

Hurricanes, thank goodness, are Category-0 in New Mexico, and if you think about it, there is little to worry or complain about generally, weather-wise. I mean, you rarely hear anyone complain about too much rain, unless they live in an arroyo or down on the flood plain.

Goat heads, on the other hand, are very much worthy of complaints in these parts, as are rattlesnakes, tumbleweeds, loose dogs and the unexpected 50-mile-per-hour gusts on Interstate 25 that make you tighten your grip on the steering wheel.

OK, I’ll get off my high horse about comparing New Mexico with other places, but don’t you get a bit weary of how Californians, New Yorkers, and Texans prattle about where they live?

Full disclosure: I’ve never lived in those three, but I will concede they do have certain locations where it’s nice to live. But they don’t have the cool Zia state flag, which, on the internet, was ranked as the best-designed state flag in the whole country.

Now, bring on the Oompah Band!