Sunday morning, October 30th
It’s a brisk morning. The sun is already peering over the desert mountains as the crew and I walk down the campground road leading away from the park office. I think there’s a footbridge down this way that we can cross to get to the river.
Spike is leading the way with his new-found energy!
We pass the group camping area and hike off the road on a rock-lined path. There’s not much plant color at this time of year, most everything is muted green, brown or gray. We round a corner of the trail and see the footbridge down the slope. Good! We will finally see the Rio Grande again!
The footbridge clings precariously to the eroded banks.
Sure enough, there’s wire across it, blocking pedestrians. I scan the little valley. On the other side of the footbridge is a road alongside the tree-lined river. I see a spot of water way off to the left. That’s the river? It’s mostly mud.
The crew and I go back up the slope to our new destination, an adobe camping shelter perched high on an embankment. Bridget rushes ahead and proudly looks back at us slowpokes. The picnic table under the shelter makes a great place for resting and viewing. We look out over the valley and see a slice of river in the cottonwoods. I try to imagine how beautiful it must be when the river is high and in her glory. I should come back here in springtime.
Sunday afternoon and evening, October 30th
I’m feeling domestic! I give the Casita a good “going-over” and wash out some dish towels. I drape them over the wire panels of the dog pen. The sun dries them quickly. Campers arrive and are busily setting up on both sides of us. The lady camp host stops by and invites us to the concert provided by the park.
Around five o’clock, I hear a man singing with guitar.
I put the crew in their suits and grab my camera and camp chair. It’s perfect weather for an outdoor concert. People are gathered in chairs, at tables, or on the grass. The young man is quite good, singing a variety of songs from Cold Play to Neil Diamond and some of his own creations. He accompanies himself on electric guitar, alternating with fiddle.
I am so proud of Bridget and Spike!
They seem to realize right away that we are here to listen, and sit quietly at my feet. To my relief, neither of them do anything inappropriate for a concert-goer, such as barking or pooping on the grass!
When we get home I turn on the television.
Morley Safer is interiewing Bernie Madoff’s wife and son. I’m sucked in. One show leads to another as I munch on pretzels. The electric heater cozies up the Casita. Bridget and Spike fall asleep next to me . . . . I see I’m not going to blog tonight. I’ll write first thing in the morning. After that, maybe we’ll leave here and go somewhere new![slideshow]