CrowMac Creek

                 Howard sat down at the desk, moved some pens around, tore a page from a tablet, and then looked at me. “You’ve been missing around here.” Howard scanned my face, then continued. “A lot has been happening here and you have been missing in action.” Howard stopped, stood and turned so that he could look out the window. He seemed to be drawn away from his conversation with me, and did not speak. After a lengthy silence, Howard announced, “Isaiah and Michael left the paper.” “What happened, Boss?” I had known that Howard had given them an assignment where Michael and Isaiah would address an issue from two sides, Michael from the left and Isaiah from the right.” I could guess what had happened. Though Michael was a moderate, he still wouldn’t be able to discuss many of the hot issues that have been tearing our country apart. I had never been at the Chronicle when Isaiah and Michael were discussing their assignment, but ...

It’s been hot here is CrowMac Creek. The temperature peaked at 96 humid degrees and the sky was unusually overcast. The previous high of 90 degrees occurred in 1995. I have to admit that I’ve been grumbling to anyone who will listen about the warming trend, and that I’m angry about what our politicians are doing about it, which is nothing. But in CrowMac Creek, there are many who still do not believe that humans have anything to do with this, and they grumble more loudly than I can, so as it is said, the  I started my day, as usual, walking Cheyenne. When I got off the roads, I unleashed her, and she  bounded up the trail, down the trail, and then, busting through the brush, she found that old skunk who responded by giving her a good shot. She ran back wildly, snorting and pushing her snout through the sand and dust. I let her know just how I felt, which was just the same as in the past. On went the leash, and we didn’t communicate the rest of the walk. Ther...

CrowMac Creek and Summer’s End Ever since Gary arrived in CrowMac Creek, I have been overwhelmed with friends wanting to visit, and I am very happy to have the company. There are so may things to do around here. We can head up the Mogollon Rim for hikes to overlooks, drive to Strawberry for a nights of entertainment, or even to the Natural Bridge just south of here. Sometimes I wish my father had purchased a larger cabin for my mother, but this is my home and it always will be.

       This is a story, very much fiction, but a happy tale about Gary coming to CrowMac Creek. All family and friends of Gary are invited to visit and to leave their thoughts. I will, as long as I can, share news and events of Gary and others at CrowMac Creek. In CrowMac Creek, anything is possible. Magic At CrowMac Creek It was in mid July of 2018 that Jim Haynes sent a messenger text to me informing me that Gary Heil had passed away. The immediate feeling of sorrow washed over me like a wave, and I knew that a large part of my life had been lost in its sweep. I couldn’t have been more shocked, as after countless unsuccessful attempts of finding him, he finally showed up on Facebook. I had shared some posts with him, and he had responded with hearts and thumbs up icons, but that was all that I had seen. Then, two days ago, Gary Heil showed up at the cabin, and I’m sure I saw him, saw something, I’m not sure which. My thoughts were reluctant a...

       It was just two days ago that Gary Heil showed up at the cabin, and I’m sure I saw him, saw something, I’m not sure which. It was Gary, but a much younger Gary, and when I pushed him a little, he just said, “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," and he laughed. At that, I stared at him for a moment, and not finding the words for any further interrogation, I flatly stated, “Thank you, Mark Twain,” and gave up. Gary told me that he had found a place to live, and showed me on an old yellowed map. I knew the cabin and I shook my head. “That’s a nice place! But of all of the places you could have found to live, why here?,”I asked. “Well, I liked it here when we used to ride up to the Mogollon Rim together, and CrowMac Creek is magic.” He seemed to ponder what he had just said. My thoughts ceased at what he had just told me. “How did he know?” Before I could mouth the words he answered my question.  “I have a friend who watches over...

        It had been a long time in coming, but my old friend Gary Heil appeared on Facebook. Soon, we became virtual friends as well as the old friends we were since 1971. Then, in what seemed only a moment, I found he had passed. The intensity of the loss was more than I could bear. I was in profound need for a trip to CrowMac Creek. So I packed what I needed and took off.  I barely remember the trip up to the cabin and when I arrived, I stepped from the car. Instantly, the thin dry air washed over me and I immediately began to heal.       I pulled the keys from my pocket, unlocked the back door, and I was home. I walked slowly, taking everything in, then sat in the orange chair I ran my hands over the fabric and smiled, thinking that Gary had once sat there eating chocolate cookies and drinking a beer. I wondered if any of Gary's cells were still in the chair and mused with the thought of reconstructing him by using the DNA from what cells were...

       We first began our family road trips along Route 66 in the summer of 1958. We’d pile into our car at about 4:00 in the afternoon surrounded by blankets and pillows. First we’d drive through the Angeles Forest, past Lancaster and on to Victorville. By the time we reached Barstow, it was getting dark. That’s when the peace broke and the family vacation began to be tested.. When do we eat? Steve’s teasing us! Are we there yet? I gotta go to the bathroom. These first complaints were answered with polite, yet increasingly frustrated responses. As the trip continued, all of us kids were rotated throughout the car to avoid more serious complaints and bad behavior, but hair pulling, name calling, teasing, biting, kicking, and crying were increasingly answered with a backhand, and my mother could effectively reach each of us, no matter where we were seated. By the time we reached, Needles, California, bad behavior was replaced by sleep, and our mother was able to rest ...

     There are times when life hits below the belt, when a relationship seems to tug at inner peace, stretching the emotional sinew that holds two people together. Belief in old friendships breaks like  thirsty twigs on a dusty trail. Faith fails and falls with the evening sun. No one needs CrowMac Creek any more than I do, but I have forgotten how to get there.  

No one has ever needed to get to CrowMac Creek more than me. Howard has allowed me to take care of some financial details as long as I keep my hand in writing. I haven’t done that either, but fifty-three years of friendship has its privileges. Never-the-less, I want to check in at the Chronicle and desperately need to spend some time at the cabin. I think I’ll invite Sue and Jim Haynes for a visit. It will get them out of Phoenix and I can share some of the crazy story I’ve been writing. Maybe I can run up the trail to Strawberry with Cheyenne. I know she’ll enjoy that.

            Though I have been unable to get back to CrowMac Creek, The CrowMac Creek Chronicle has been running in high gear. With everything that is happening in politics, a newspaper must meet a host of challenges, acquiring new, fresh and honest news, writing articles, editing, printing and delivery.             Howard certainly has his hands full, so he asked Michael Kangi, his US and regional reporter, and Isaiah Renkin, the local writer into his office.       Michael, Isaiah, come in here for a minute.             The reporters walked cautiously into the office, and Howard motioned to close the door. Isaiah and Michael took the two chairs in front of the desk and waited nervously. Howard took the time to give each reporter a two second glare and began.       “What do you think of our news lately?       This was obviously a rhetorica...

     Sometimes it’s difficult to spend much time in CrowMac Creek. Finances, work, and other crises such as Laura’s time spent in hospitals: Her last stay was a full three days, and her doctor wanted her to stay longer. It doesn’t help much when each and every day I have off is overcast and cold! But I’ll get back there to CrowMac Creek, to my dream job and the old family cabin.      Sitting on the screened in porch with Cheyenne snoozing on her old rug, watching folks enjoying sight seeing and enjoying Ponderosa Pine lined back roads of CrowMac Creek. It’s the way things could have been; should have been. But it’s okay. Give me an hour or so to prepare for my visit, and I will be back, sitting in the rocker on the front porch, Cheyenne lying on her old rug and things will be good again. I love CrowMac Creek.

     I don’t know that I have introduced Linda Taylor to my readers. I have known Linda for nearly forty years. Howard Ray and I graduated from the same high school with Linda, and she was the best student with the highest GPA. She was chosen to give the graduation speech, but on the night of graduation, Linda was noticeably missing. Since then, I haven’t known what she was doing or where she was.      Linda had been hired by the CIA, trained as a photographer, and her work has not been overlooked. She was there when the Vietnamese Buddhist priest set himself on fire, and she shot photographs of those who were unable to board helicopters out of Viet Nam. She continued her service in the CIA until she witnessed prisoners being tortured in the cells of Guantanamo. She quit the “Company” in 2007 and has lived a peaceful retirement with her husband in CrowMac Creek. Linda gave up all of the equipment she had been using and purchased a Nikon D3200. Since then L...

     Last Wednesday, Linda and I hit the Loess Bluffs National Wildlife Refuge hard with nearly all of the equipment we own. We arrived shortly before the hours where birders have seen the greatest number of birds. We were prepared, but the weather was damned cold, and the birds sat well off shore. The only birds in photographic range were Canadian Snow Geese, and hundreds of black birds hiding amongst the branches of anything still remaining after this cold winter. Even Linda’s tenacity with her camera didn’t bring much if anything. With my zoom lens, I was able to get a couple of photographs of Canadian Geese but nothing of any quality. Frustrated and with a tinge of dread, I gave up shooting, packed up and warmed myself in the car. It wasn’t long before Linda gave up as well. By mid-afternoon, we were on a luckless run back to KC.      I knew Howard at the paper would not be pleased with our results, but with the changing weather patterns, shooting bi...

     “Where the hell have you been?”      I couldn’t help but notice the vein standing out from Howard Ray’s forehead. He motioned for me to close the door and sit down.      “Let’s see. I sent you out on Tuesday, the 12th. Am I incorrect?      “Yeah Boss.”      “And what were my instructions to you?”      “You asked me to fly to Kansas City, then to Osawatomie, a Midwest town with a population of a little more than 4,000 in the dead of winter to find entertainment? Instead, I sent you something real, a story with a message.      “Yes, and it was a good story! A really good story” Howard’s scowl morphed into a partial smile. “We printed it in the Sunday edition. But the next time you write something like that, send a couple of boxes of  tissue. There were more tears in this office than there’s been since the election. And the comparison between the Kansas tax debacle causi...

     I woke up this morning at the Comfort Inn, showered, shaved and made ready for my trip to Osawatomie. The drive didn’t seem too long, perhaps because I enjoy the trip south from Kansas City. There’s not much traffic, and I can think and prepare a bit before I reach my destination. There is, however, one frustration. It seems that one raptor (hawk) sits atop every three or four telephone poles, just hoping that I will stop, jump from the car, prepare my camera for a shot, and just prior to my fine focusing, the damned bird will fly off to another telephone pole and wait. He’ll do it three or four times, then I give up, and move on. He’d do it more, but I have limited patience. If raptors can smile, I’d bet he’d have a big one for me.      The sign says three miles to the exit for Osawatomie so I’m close. Osawatomie is a small mid-western town with a main street and two or three cross streets. The population in 2016 was 4,308, just 89 less than 2015. I ...

     Howard had his secretary arrange my airline reservations and I needed to travel to Sky Harbor in Phoenix to make a 2:00 PM flight. At least I had enough time to make my flight without driving like a mad man. At my desk, I looked for events, if any in Osawatomie, about which I could report.      “Damn!!! Mid winter, Mid Week? And I need to report on something happening in a no-where place like Osawatomie, Kansas. I lowered my head onto my hands, rubbed my temples and released a loud sigh. As I glanced up, I noticed everyone in the room watching me. Taking a deep breath, I opened Firefox, typed Osawatomie in Google Search, and began my research.      I found the official Osawatomie website, and looked for anything of interest. First I checked to see what was happening this week, and there was nothing but a Legislative breakfast, and that was last Saturday. Then I looked for events in March.      “Hmmm. Nothing,” I thought...

     Howard Ray, the owner of the CrowMac Creek Crier, called me into his office and told me to take a chair. Perplexed, I took a seat as he rattled through a stack of paperwork. As he did, I noticed that he towered over me. I felt as if someone had cut the legs off my chair, and realized that someone had. I scooted my chair closer to the desk and Howard scowled as if I had broken a cardinal rule. His gaze became more relaxed and I thought I saw the remnants of a smile that had all but dissolved.     “What’s up boss?     “First, I made a changed the name of the paper yesterday”       A bit perplexed, I thought it best to stay silent. Howard had purchased the paper in 1999, and the last owner had begun publishing the CrowMac Creek Crier, an advertizing rag, in 1968. It had been a free publication, totally funded by advertising sales, and his wife’s father. And it  hadn’t grown much since then. Howard had told me that we would ...

     Last Thursday may sister, Alyson drove to from Prescott to CrowMac Creek for a visit, and it was like a breath of fresh alpine air. We hadn't talked since I told her that I wouldn't be able to make it to my father's funeral. I had been in Kansas, and my financial condition had gone to hell. Further, I was angry with myself for not being able to drive out to AZ to see him before he passed away. Anyway, we lost contact and didn't work to fix whatever had happened between us.      A few days ago we made contact on Facebook and used Messenger to begin reuniting. I decided to move to CrowMac Creek the next day.       I was surprised when Alyson arrived. I hadn't seen her since my hip surgery when she flew to Kansas City to help me put my socks on. We had spent a day sightseeing and discussing life as we saw it.      It was surprisingly relaxing to share time in the cabin where our family had spent many occasions enjoy...

      It had been a beautiful day at CrowMac Creek, peaceful and seventy-five degrees as Laura arrived at the cabin. Her 20 mile drive through the pines from Payson painted her with a peaceful demeanor.             She discussed her day, telling me that Pastor Sands had told her that I was the new Entertainment and Events writer for the CrowMac Creek Crier as he purchased gas for his Toyota.         I smiled and nodded. "I am also the newest photographer for the paper." It is good news. I finally will be where I want to be and do what I love. Tomorrow I begin my new life.

     Dwayne and I took one of our many driving tours, Sunday, January 28th and, as my friends know, I like to take off in any direction and end up where I end up. Dwayne doesn't so we headed south anyway, looking for landscape photography possibilities. In short, we ended up at the Somerset Vineyard and Winery.      Now, I became a wine enthusiast after I graduated from Arizona State University and was transferred to Los Angeles. I became interested in wines while in Arizona and I made a trip or two to the Brookside Winery (now deceased) just south of Phoenix. In the 80s I began to explore Santa Barbara County for it's wines. I was a frequent visitor to the Firestone winery and Zaca Mesa, both presenting rich red wines. It was there I learned that great wines come from regions where there is sandy soil, and cool Fall seasons. The soil here in Kansas is composed of clay with a little dirt on top, and the temperatures are extreme: I thought not a good area f...

     Ottawa, KS      Yesterday Dwayne and I decided to head south to visit Ottawa. I read briefly about the history of Ottawa, and I found that the land on which the town was built had been given to the Ottawa tribe for the founding of Ottawa University. 20,000 acres was traded to the Ottawa tribe, and a school was built to educate both Ottawans and whites alike. The word Ottawa means the to trade, and they eventually traded everything and moved on to Oklahoma.       The idea of creating a "tongue in cheek" travelogue and restaurant. revue came to our minds after drinking a 24oz schooner of Bud Lite beer in a Mexican Style restaurant that I neglected to note.  I will name and review this restaurant and fill in the blanks in a week or two. I can say that the waitress provided great service and answered our many questions.      Ottaway has an attractive downtown, but many of the shops were not open, probably be...

Jack Died Today      When Laura arrived home after work, she saw him. He lay head down next to his house, motionless and stiff. He was a Beta  and had been the king of hill. He wasn't aggressive, but would swim out and warn any trespasser to keep a respectable distance away from his home. Something happened today.      Laura was sitting in the passenger seat when I left work. As I swung into and onto my seat, and not much afterward, she said, "Jacks dead."      To tell you the truth, I felt a sudden wave of loss and became submersed in it. Jack was one of our first fish and he was a character. He was bigger than the rest, solid black in color and I suppose that he looked pretty imposing to the others. Even the racing fish.      At first I thought he was a bully, but he quickly became a favorite as he took what he wanted and defended it. Laura thinks it was the racing fish that killed Jack. I don't know what these...

      I was feeling kind of empty when Linda dropped me off at the cabin. I loaded my camera equipment up, thanked Linda for driving, and bid her adieu. I tried to stay away from the puddles as I made my way to the front porch. Cheyenne stood there wagging her tail as I opened the screen door.      "It's good to see you too." I stroked her head, and she bounded toward the front door. As I walked in, Huey slid down from his perch, waddled across the carpet, and began climbing up my pant leg, catching the sleeve of my shirt and made his way to my shoulder.      "Okay!" he remarked.      For whatever reason, Huey had decided that I'd be his best friend. This was his usual way of greeting me whenever I arrived home. Cheyenne and Huey always take the edge off difficult days, and today is a day I can use their affection.     I had spent in excess of $4,000 on camera gear and I am hoping to enhance my social security ...