Chama

On several family vacations in the mid-1980’s, one of our stops (my primary destination) was Chama, New Mexico. This small berg in the northern part of the state holds much charm, and wonderful memories of summers in the cool northern New Mexico mountains. Perched within 17 miles of the southern Colorado border, the aspen trees were already beginning to turn color when we’d trek through in August, after summer school sessions were over.

The historic and preserved narrow gauge railroad of the Cumbres and Toltec, held sway in my mind. I know that Cece focused on the Dairy Queen there as an oasis after long car-bound miles across California and Arizona. She inaugurated the family into the mysteries of Blizzard shakes on our first trip in 1986, and ever after our van was a fixture in its parking lot in late afternoon when we were in town. We have a wonderful photo of Becca, then four, in a frilly blue dress, running wild and free, long hair trailing behind her with the snow-capped Sandia Mountains in the background. It looks as if it was taken in a verdant wilderness and not five feet from the old cooking grease collecting vats behind DQ !!!

Chama Creek was a sylvan, aspen speckled, boulder strewn watercourse that ran near our campground and under the spindly steel truss bridge of the railroad. Waiting for the afternoon return train from Cumbres Pass, the kids, Kate and I would wade in the creek, refreshed by its sparkling, cool and clear water and build little rock dams backing up the flow and making it deep enough for Cece, Dan or Becca to sit in. Then the far off, drawn out hoarse whistle of the locomotive could be heard and we would scramble to the bank to be in time to watch the narrow gauge engine and its cars pound across the shaking and shuddering steel bridge. Many times a friendly wave from the engineer would be accompanied by yet another shrill blast of the whistle, answering Dan and Becca’s arm pumping requests. The train would pass leaving the sweetish smell of coal smoke lingering behind.

I have memories of Dan and I prowling around the “rip track” in the rail yards in Chama, where derelict locomotives and cars, surrounded by weeds, sage and willow, were cannibalized for parts to keep their other cousins alive and running. Invariably, Dan would discover an interesting piece of rust or a half-melted chunk of coal in a bizarre shape and add it to his collection of oddities. He once found a partially skeletized rodent skull and was only just dissuaded from carting it all the way back to California in the van, much to the relief of everyone’s olfactory senses.

Once, Cece prevailed upon her stern, camping parents to rent a small, quaint log motel cabin in town. I can still see her look of rapture as she emerged from a luxurious steamy shower and threw herself on the overstuffed bed, delighting Becca who bounced around with her. The rigors of pseudo-pioneer life were not for Cece!

Our road trips were a miniature version of a major military campaign. Interlocking milk crates were piled in need order in the back of the van. Each held certain quantities of food, utensils, camping gear or other needed items. On early trips, the small, child-sized porta-potty was placed strategically (for dumping) by the side-sliding door. Legend exists that not only children used it, however. Each child had an assigned seat/car seat, and we had created small, color identified surplus ammo boxes w/lids, holding toys, coloring pads and crayons, pencils, etc. for self entertainment while traveling. Emergency snack supplies were kept by the front driver/passenger seats for unruly inmate pacification. Story telling was a BIG request and millions of renditions of “the good and the bad twins” were re-enacted as the miles flashed past. The tales that old Chevy van could tell! The grey hair that Kate and I possess!

9-1-2010