Maypole prancing, bonfire leaping and goats for sale

I was going to call this article “What I Plan To Do On My Summer Vacation” but realized it would end up being just a blank page. Well, except for drinking a lot of water and busting my electric budget by running the AC all day.

Otherwise, happy solstice! With 14 and a half hours of daylight today, the sun will not be setting until 8:24 p.m., making this the longest day of the year and tonight the shortest night, so feel free to prance around a maypole and leap over a bonfire.

As far as I know, there are no formal observances in Socorro to mark the solstice, but elsewhere, various modern-day druids and neopagans are flocking to Stonehenge in the belief that it was built to mark the equinoxes and solstices. Solstice rituals involve girls picking wildflowers to place under their pillows in hopes of dreaming of their future loves, whereas boys take the pragmatic route with a copper coin.

Add to that the revelry of maypole prancing and bonfire leaping, dating back to pre-Christian pagan customs in the belief it would bring true love. And keep demons away. I dunno, this being an election year I might give it a try.

I’ve never been there, but Stonehenge looks to me like somebody wanted to build a castle but either didn’t have a clue how to do it or the prehistoric Home Depot had trouble back-ordering 25-ton cinder blocks. Whatever the case, I’m surprised no one ever thought to ProPanel a roof and live there as is.

OK, that’s getting too silly, but then again, when you consider the Carhenge made out of old cars in Nebraska or the Fridgehenge outside of Santa Fe, maybe not.

Come to think of it, Stonehenge has nothing on New Mexico, where the Anasazi in Chaco Canyon had it all figured out. Down in the middle of the canyon, high up on Fajada Butte they had carved a spiral into the stone so that a shadow would fall at the right spots for not only the two solstices but also the equinoxes. Oh, and they also figured out the 18.6-year cycle of the lunar standstills, when the moon changes from high in the sky to low in the sky in just two weeks. Pretty advanced, I’d say.

Quick digression. I don’t know if you realize it, but next Tuesday is the 74th anniversary of the start of the Korean War. It was on June 25, 1950, that the Korean War began when the North Korean army invaded South Korea.

Most of the combat occurred in the first year of the war, but it dragged on and on. Truce negotiations began in 1951 and went on for over two years, that is until Ike ran for president in ‘52 promising to end the war, and when he was elected, that’s what he did.

The last battle was in 1953 with the Chinese army at an out-of-the-way place called Pork Chop Hill—named after the shape of the hill’s terrain—and the title of one of my favorite movies about that war. Plus, it stars Gregory Peck, who seemed to keep his cool while leading his men and munching on raisins.

I know they called it a police action at the time, but you can’t tell the vets who were there that’s all it was, and my hat’s off to them.

But wait, there’s more. Next Tuesday is also National Goat Cheese Day, and I can’t think of that without bringing to mind Nancy Coonridge’s organic goat cheese out in Catron County. Unfortunately, she shut down her dairy operation four years ago, but for 37 years her cheese was legendary. The animals are still there but she tells me she needs to pare them down. “I have kids and goats for sale because I can’t just keep growing my herd,” she says. “I love my goats who have acclimatized to their range here through generations of grain-free animals. Plus, I have always looked for high fat and protein behind any bucks I have brought in through the years.”

The Coonridge compound is about 15 miles north of Pie Town, down an unimproved road and you needed no less than a Korean War-era jeep to maneuver that bumpy road. They get by very well with a wood stove for heat, a water catchment system, a garden for veggies, and an outhouse down the hill. Totally off the grid with all the comforts of home.

But that’s Catron County for you. The doctrine of many folks over there is DIY.

Not unlike my grandparents on their Depression-era farm with cows, pigs, and chickens. It was there, years later, when I was a mere tyke and seeing my grandmother wield her hatchet, I learned with horror where the term “chicken with its head cut off” came from.

Sans maypole.