The Calendar Says It's May, but the Cold Wind Says It's March

Here at an Indian horse camp in the extreme southwest corner of the United States, 70 miles from the Pacific Ocean, we have already had temperatures into the hundreds, depending on the elevation. For at least two weeks in May, I had to run my air conditioner to keep the temperature under 90 degrees. But for the past week or so it's been either foggy, windy, and cold; rainy, windy, and cold; or just plain windy and cold no matter how brightly the sun is shining.

That's what is happening right now. The sun is out, the wind is blowing at about 30 mph, and it is only 61 degrees in my trailer. It isn't really so very cold outside, probably in the high 40s or low 50s, but the wind makes it feel that way as it finds more places to blow into my trailer than I can find to cover with duct tape. Good old duct tape!

Some of the horse campers who showed up for the annual calf-roping contest this weekend, are still here, and all their horses are all sporting horse blankets. Over the whole weekend I never saw one convivial campfire with people talking and singing as they hoisted their favorite beverage. (I hope they were hoisting them inside their rigs and left the cans behind in the garbage cans for me to salvage.) It was just too cold outdoors unless you were active.

I think the poor showing of contestants and attendees is a sign of the times for a long time to come. I doubt if the Tribe made much money on the event this year. If they paid for renting the young cattle used as targets of the roping, as well as the cost of hiring extra hands to spiff up the campground, the margin of profit couldn't have been very much, and probably makes the event questionable for next year.

I'm afraid the expenses and activities of a lot of people are going to be questionable for the next year. I know that is true for me. I'm going to just continue to hunker down trying to keep warm enough, or cool enough, and keep enough food around to get me and my animals through this end of days. That is - my end of days, not yours or the world in general! The way I'm surviving in spite of everything, I may last another 20 years. I still have a lot to say, and I'm too curious about politics to leave. If I can't vote from wherever I go from here, I may stick around forever.