Life at a Horse Camp near the Mexican Border

Incursions by undocumented people from the south have been curtailed greatly since I first moved to these parts back in 1993. The border fence and patrols have been increased and the individuals and small bands of aliens are not seen scurrying across Highway 94 any more as the Border Patrol vehicles have become much more in evidence. I was told that they have even posted an permanent outlook on the small extinct volcano that overlooks Jacumba since they discovered the car-wash guys there were moonlighting as people smugglers, and the man who owned the Spa was housing illegals in his otherwise unoccupied motel rooms. A new and more formidable fence is being built there now.

Things are relatively peaceful here at this Indian horse camp about 15 miles west of Jacumba about five miles north of the border through very rugged land. People come here regularly with their horses to camp for a few days and ride the many old trails through the chaparral. A Mexican/Kumeyaay man in a house across the arroyo and I in my travel trailer, are the only ones who live here on a permanent basis.

This camp is on a Kumeyaay Indian reservation that is abutted on the south by roads and private land next to the Mexican border. On the west there is a much bigger Indian reservation owned by a related Band of Mission Indians, and on the north and east edges of this reservation are huge tracts BLM land covered by chaparral that hasn't burned in many years. In this dry season the plants and bushes have turned muted shades of brown and green that blend softly in unique wild beauty in contrast to bright yellow of a die-hard kind of bush flower and the vibrant dark green of the coastal live oaks in more well-watered areas.

Summer had already started this year when the elders at the tribal office decided to put in a communal garden. Most of the houses on this reservation are built high on windy points of land that are not good for gardens, while this camp is in a small sheltered valley with better soil.

Machinery was brought in to plow and harrow about an acre of level ground between groves of live oaks and rocky outcroppings near the middle of the campground. They set posts, strung a fence, and laid pipes for irrigation. About a third of the garden was planted in corn, and the rest in melons, pumpkins, tomatoes and other things that I couldn't distinguish among the weeds that grew faster than the seeds and plants. I don't know if fertilizer was applied, but there is a mountain of aged manure they could have used not far away up the hill from the garden.

As it turned out the ‘community' garden did not entice the Indian community to take part in the hoeing and weeding as the plants grew. Although folding chairs were set up at one end of the garden for resting and socializing between spurts of energy, I never saw them occupied. In fact after the first week I never saw anyone working in the garden except my neighbor. I told the chief I was willing to help but was never told if my help would be welcome. Besides that, there is a rinky-dink set-up for a gate that I can't open. Since I'm the only non-Indian living here on a permanent basis, I tread lightly to ensure I won't be asked to leave. I love living here in this lonely and relatively unspoiled land.

My Indian neighbor worked hard in the garden, hoeing and watering, but the weeds and critters worked harder. There was no lack of energy on the part of the gophers, rabbits, and ground squirrels, and there are oodles of them scavenging for food. They soon found or dug tunnels to get back into the fenced area and the plants of the garden began to disappear. I guess critters don't favor tomatoes, squash and corn, because most of those plants were spared.

This horse camp is part of a large free-range area for cattle and horses that belong to neighboring ranchers. The horses are mostly large but thin mustangs that need care for their hooves.  The cattle are predominately black angus mixed with red and spotted ones that look as if they might have some Texas longhorn ancestors.

As the drought and the autumn season have dried up most of the grass and edible weeds, there have been small herds wandering though the camp looking for food and water. The horses were stopped at the garden fence, but there is a wily old long horned cow that leads the small herd of cattle, and she has lots experience and ingenuity. She found a weak spot in the fence and flattened it. It took only two days for the herd to consume the corn and vegetables, and by the fourth day there weren't even any stubs of cornstalks left in the ground. The garden now looks as if it has just been harrowed.

The hungry animals are getting thinner and will likely go hungry until the rains come in November to spur new growth of grass. Last year a water trough was built near my site over by some oak-tree shaded rocks, and I fill it every evening. The small groups of horses and cattle that roam here drink it dry every day. I wish the ranchers who own these cattle would improve their grazing land so that the ranging animals would have enough to eat closer to the big water tanks.

I'm going to price native grass seed and maybe buy some to broadcast up near the little dammed up lake above the camp as well as under some oak trees that grow outside the camping area near the arroyo.

I hate to see anyone, man or beast, go hungry. There have been starving times before and if conditions don't improve, they are coming again.