About Taos Crow

Thinking About Taos Crow;
and Other Matters ; Jan 10, 2009

Terry Turner, Copyright 2010


Terry and Gene Discuss Drilling for oil

Many of you know from my remarks or your own experiences that life is, at best uncertain and can be quickly consigned away.

I am, as many of my readers know, facing death daily due to small cell carcinoma in my lungs… it has been a heavy weight to deal with on a daily basis and it is always changing one’s priorities, goals, and objectives. For instance I was thinking of the fall of 2001. That fall Suzi and I had been out of town for some reason.

Upon our return, the barman from the White Horse Saloon, suddenly appeared with two dark beers and instructions to be prepared to go to dinner…this could only mean Brother Gene was on the scene, probably with a friend, and ready to kick around every subject on the planet ranging from politics to the Yellowstone cauldron and don’t duck,
Gene allowed no off topics of any sort.

My half brother had faced, trench by trench, the Nazis and brooked no sort of politically correct speech in his family or his oil field supply stuff…plain straight talk was what he demanded and expected throughout his adult life.

On this particular occasion we had no idea that Gene was literally at death’s door, laid low by a common bacteria (the helicobacter pylori – I’ll append some remark about it as a note at the conclusion of my reflections).

That glorious fall the ancient soaring trees of Taos gathered bright gold round trying to warm themselves with color against the chill night air. The old trees, many soaring over a hundred feet into the sky, are mostly cottonwoods and willows who drop a copious abundance of beautifully colored leaves whose golden coloration is so dramatic that they could have been individually selected by a Hollywood set designer. Suzi and I often drove down Kit Carson, the location of our Gallery; just to see the infinity of colors presented by Mother Nature… it was one of the first visions of Taos color that encouraged us to make the move from the flying-carpet colors that paint the valleys around of Ridgway to the magic-carpet colors of Taos.

In the near mountains, cold winds rush too and fro, while the ancient voices of old God begin rising steadily, as they prepare the blasts of wind, sleet, ice, and snow. The bright blue sky, draws back, back, and yet further back where, with each recession, the sky grows bluer yet. The sky draws back further from mother earth and nearer the fiery furnaces of father sun. Fall colors rise up from earth and pour down from sky. Warm, wonderful colors which speak of harvest, and the steaming festive board, but even these brilliant colors cannot stay the approaching cold.

The Taos crows huddle together and in the chill morning air have only one
word, "Cold. Cold,” they say and say again, “cold, cold, cold.” In the late afternoon sun, their speech recovers a bit, but none can doubt the sure arrival of early winter. If winter be as perfect as fall has been, the snows will be surely deep and we will all take deep comfort from our dry, well stacked wood.

Taos crow mostly meditate in the winter and we are denied the usual proceeds of their speeches until spring when they come out in force to announce the certain end of winter, the promise of new crops and new harvests to feed the land; and, of course, to celebrate the end of death along with the promise of new life which is always connected to spring..

When a fine person, an excellent spiritual being, passes over, the crows huddle and mutter in the chill, crisp morning air to prepare an announcement of the passing. That bulletin is always the same: They have one word, "Gone." Gone they say! And say again. Gone. “Gone, gone, an Angel gone. Where do such as she go? There are few enough folk hereabout; and fewer Angels.” The crow, in this case, are thinking of the passage of a significant crow, in this case, are thinking of the passage of a great hearted lady, known in some circles as the Red Hatted Angel --- so long great hearted Gael, and so long and Clink and Clank residents of Comfort and remembered of Taos.

Gael Montana was a unique life force and left her imprint on everything that she was near. She had a remarkable store of vibrant force that left you no doubt that you had encountered a truly powerful being; other people, as we know touch us lightly and like a shadow are gone like a soft breeze.

Today is beautiful; the clouds are lurking well below the horizon, off in the direction of Canada, and leave only a pure, deep blue sky as backdrop for the two hundred year old cottonwoods and the towering willows that are very yellow this time of year.

We were having snow skiffs just days ago as it is still, barely, winter here even though we are half through December. Only a few trees are beginning to leaf out but the hundred foot green spruce are a welcome spot of green against the brilliant blue.

Black, black, huge crows bark from the tree tops, arguing away. One rough old crow asserts "... it's tomorrow!"

A senior crow rebuffs "... it's yesterday!"

And so they quarrel all day.

Of course all crows know it is today, not yesterday, nor tomorrow. The crow’s muttering of tomorrow and of yesterday are mere reminders to be here now.

Their loud arguments are only meant to distract humans from the more serious crow discussions that are conducted further up the mountain around the Sacred Blue Lake.

Cheery robins and great black and white penguin-like magpies take no truck in such discussions because they are relentlessly stalking the perfect twig for their spring nests --- and their discerning mates will accept nothing less than the perfect twig.

Old crow, reminds me, “Governments, nations, and people of importance come and go. The Sacred Blue Lake is eternally tranquil and invisibly reflecting the blue sky invisibly reflecting the lake’s own blue waters.

Governments, nations, and people of importance come and go. The Sacred Blue Lake is forever.

Out the window I see a fresh crop of dandelions shaking their fistful of bright yellow swords at the Sky God, but already the first dandelion crop that had advanced to the attack, lived brightly, lived briefly, and then suddenly died. Victims not of winter, not of summer, but victims only of time.

Only A few yesterdays past they sprang forth with all the power of youth but, in ain a few small moments, they grew mature, suddenly aged, and stepped over the edge to again become the raw stuff of the universe. How important they seemed; how important the games seemed; but as they and we draw near to the edge of eternity, how unimportant it all seems.

Let’s take time to agree that we should all have more hot chocolates, give and take more hugs, have more well steeped teas, take longer and more pleasant breakfasts, read more good books, and spend more time in the afternoon sun ---- and pay less and less attention the fury of social clamor raining, storming out of our radios and televisions.. As old Kahlil Gibran said, "… the moving finger, having writ, moves on.... “and you will have missed writing that thank you note or that sentiment that should have been written weeks ago.
And face it, according to my experience; God does hate cold coffee, cold chocolate, and cold tea.

Personally, I shall listen more to the barking crows and less to the recurring and meaningless chatter, cajoling, and threats of presidents, kings, brokers, bankers’ congressmen, and terrorists. God and karma, in good time, will attend to the just needs of those folks... Those time stealing people are always with us; but the crow is only here today and has only a few words to spare for us ere they are away to speak with angels and other vapor’d creatures.

While walking the canons and trails of the area and speaking with old crow when he permitted, it seems only yesterday that the dry winds of depression and starvation calmed themselves, only yesterday the reverberation of the Nazi boot receded and with them the smell of burning Jewish flesh, only yesterday we rose from our caves and shelters as the threatened glowing atomic flash diminished, only yesterday the bright golden brass ring was within humanity's grasp, only yesterday unsuspected terror leapt from the skies; and only yesterday black hooded death sowing powdery decay stalked all human life, and only yesterday I felt a wispy thread of hate and fury lightly poison my cheerful heart ... only yesterday tomorrow seemed so much better than does tomorrow today.....but enough, how gloomy can one get... I think this is what is called muck racking ---- oh well, I have read too much Thomas Paine of late.

I love the brilliant whiteness of snow. Its unmarred purity suggests better times, better days, and better places. Snow reminds me an old piece, Hemingway’s A Clean Well Lighted Place. A clean place with pristine white tablecloths and bright lights. A place that can delay that which one might prefer not to encounter.

Decades and decades have rolled away since I read it. I can't quite bring it to the foreground of my memory, but white coffee cups on white tablecloths with some good plate or silver and real cream in a heavy creamer will invariably open the doors for a new line of thought. Such images and aromas give one a sense of new potentials for a new virgin day.

The whiteness, the ceremonial whiteness reminds one of a first baptismal, or perhaps the waiter's white shirt, white apron and black tie suggest the feeling of a confessional. But he, or she, who would take the confession, must have a whiter and wider cloth than most, for such as they often hear too much for their own good. So a great blanketing Taos snow is needed to soften, to clean away, to dissolve and wash away dark thoughts, dark words, and dark places.

The snow gathers light and hurls back all manner of darkness. Don’t they say there is no darkness, only the absence of light?

Reflecting on the death of my brother, Gene: He fought for our freedom. Gene survived the Nazis but was killed by Helicobacter Pylori Bacteria. H Pylori infects about one in every two mature adults in the United States and, as it is easily cured, there is NO reason for any to die of such a simple bacteria so easily controlled.

God Smites My Father

God Smites My Father

by Terry Turner

Dear reader, I wish this was not a true story, but it is, at least almost, and there is nothing I can do about that, my family being big kidders and all. I am a now a grey beard, reflecting on my long and rather life and this story is seen through the bright and amazed eyes of a seven year old child.

It was, so to speak, the syrup in Dad's shoes that lead to the eventual disbanding of the Church of Fundamental Deviations and the subsequent opening up of the Second Street Mexico City Food Cafe. We lived on Second Street and every one in my family is a big kidder. Especially my Dad and his brothers like Uncle Kelley.

See, Dad decided he was gonna play a trick on Kelley cause the last time Kelley stayed all night with us, Kelley sneaked around during the night and poured Dad's new shoes full, plumb full, of Log Cabin syrup. The syrup wouldn't clean out neither and Dad got real ex-cited about it. So Dad had to play a joke on Kelley, you can see that. He didn't have no choice.

Not long after the syrup joke, Dad and me was driving out to take some mail to Kelley's, they lived in the country, and when we got there they was gone somewhere. Visiting or gone to town or something. Anyways it was a great opportunity for Dad to play a joke on Kelley.

Dad went and got into Kelley's house through a window and he let me in by the front door. Anyways he started going around and taking all the wicks out of their kerosene lamps so they wouldn't have lights if they got home after dark. But that didn't suit him, not nearly, 'cause they might come home in the daytime
instead. Next we stuffed a good white towel up the cook stove flue so the smoke couldn't draw and would just naturally smoke the place up like a house a fire.

Course there wasn't no fire in the cook stove at the time we done it. That is when we poked the towel in the flue.

Finally he thought up the joke that led, in a way, to the eventual disbanding and breakup of the Living God Fundamental Deviations Church which went---on next to us every Sunday---if it wasn't too cold, which is rare in Texas, being too cold I mean.

See, it was the cows. Dad went out and rounded up a big ole Jersey milk cow and we herded her up onto the porch and then into the kitchen. Well we just shut her up in the kitchen, shut the doors to the other rooms, put the screen back on the window and put back on the screen door the cow had knocked down and all such as that.

Dad got to laughing about what Kelley was gonna do and say and we were just going out the fence that run all the way around their house , to keep out cows, see, when Dad, he thought of something else to do to Kelley. We went out to the barn and got us some barbed wire and we went back and wired up the yard gate real good and tight. Dad, he done it just on the chance it would be dark and they'd have to climb over the fence besides everything else that would go on and so forth.

On the way home Dad and me laughed about what Kelley was gonna think when he found the cow in his kitchen and all that. The old car was slow and we took a long time gettin' home. Dad told me stories and all like that. It was a nice time. It kind'a reminded me of the time we put hogs, about a dozen of 'em in Ireley Reddin's cellar and tore the cellar steps out, course thats another story.

We didn't hear nothin' from Kelley about the cow and all that for a long time. Hardly nobody had telephones in those good old days. Finally we did hear the story from Donna, Kelley's wife. She come by the house and told Mom all about it. The bad part was that the neighbor who was supposed to milk the cows for Kelley while him and Donna was gone for a few days didn't know about the cow in
the kitchen. Natcherly the neighbors they thought that cow had run off or been stole. Natcherly the neighbor hadn't no way to know about the cow being locked up and hid in Kelley's kitchen and Dad and me, natcherly, had no way to know that Donna and Kelley was gonna be gone three days; so it wasn't our fault so to
speak, they was just gone and the cow was in the kitchen and there you have it. Who could be blamed for that?

See we were out there at Kelley's on a Sunday but they didn't get home 'til Tuesday night. They'd been plumb to south Texas. Well, by the time they got home and found out that fella, the neighbor, hadn't taken care of that cow, which he didn't know about, the one in the kitchen, well there was a mess. So to speak. Donna said it was dark and all when they got home and Kelley, he was plumb ready to go to Fist City by the time he got past that front gate that we had wired up. We had wired it up real good. He kind of tore up his fingers on the barbed wire. He was fightin' mad, she said. Saying how he was gonna get even with my Dad and all like that. And what made him think my Dad done it? 'Course he knowed it was my Dad right off.

Once past the gate, he went right in the kitchen door. You can sort of imagine it, I imagine.

It would be hard to describe.

Dark and all. First off he started slidin in that cow poop; a couple of days worth. That scared the cow right off. Then the cow let out a awful beller and, being thirsty and all tried to charge right out the door. Over Kelley of course. Being dark and all it spooked Kelley and he took a swing at the old Jersey cow in self defense. He hit alright, but it broke his fist and the cow, she just run right over him. Left him face down in three days of cow doo. Well you can imagine. Still that wasn't all.

See, the cow run over Donna out on the porch leading to the kitchen. Well, by the time Donna recovered and started on into the kitchen, Kelley, he was just gettin' up from being run over by the cow on which he had busted his fist. Donna, she was rushin' in to try help Kelley. Well Kelley, in the dark and all, seen somebody rushin' at him and he had no way of knowin' it was Donna and all so he just natcherly took a swing. 'Course he didn't know it was Donna. Knocked her cold, he did.

Well, you could go on for hours about that part of the story but there's not much to it, really.

After she come to and after Kelley got the butcher knife away from her and all, why that's about all of that part of the story and all.

Anyhow, the cow got tangled up in the fence from running too fast and Kelley was a while finding his wire cutters and all to cut her loose. And Donna, he had hit her so hard she couldn't remember where the spare lamp wicks were and was pretty confused in general. And the house was dark and all, without the lamps, and it seemed so bad and all, so they slept on pallets in the barn; on straw by the corn crib. Sometime in the night a rat or a mouse bit Kelley on the toe. That made Kelley madder than ever, and Donna said he sat up most of the night cussin' Dad; blamed the bite on him too.

By dinner time the next day they had the kitchen cleaned out pretty good, and then Donna tried to get ready so she could cook supper that evening. 'Course when she lit the fire in the cook stove, the smoke boiled out all over the house on account of that towel stuffed in the flue. Well, she got smoked out and just
gave up. She gave old Kelley some clabbered milk and cold cornbread to eat and that mad Kelley madder than ever. Myself, I like clabber and cornbread but it ain't for just everyone --- some folks don't like it.

Natcherly when the flue had cooled off and Kelley finally got the towel out, he was really fit to be tied again.

Since they were mad and all, they didn't come by our house for a long time, maybe two or three months. Well, Dad, he just kind of gritted his teeth and hunkered down, waiting and watchful like, you, cause he knew "it" was coming. We all knew it, we just didn't know when. He knew that Kelley would get him, one way or another. Too, I reckon the joke was a might stronger than he had figgered on it bein' and all. Anyway, we all knew "it" was coming.
Finally, one moonless night, Kelley and friend of his drove into town after dark. Without getting into all the details, this is what they done. They snuck up behind our house and into our back yard, picked up our outhouse toilet and carried it back some that the hole was right in front of the toilet door. It was quite a hole too, because ours was a two-seater (some say two holer) and the hole was twice as big as usual. Well, later, Kelley, he showed up at our front door, casual like, like he hadn't but just got there.

Well Kelley had brought Dad three quarts of home brew which Dad dearly loved to drink. Thing is my Aunt Murella was visiting us and she knew how to drink that home brew too. Well, they all got to settin'around on our front porch. Just settin' an' talkin' an sippin' and slapping misquitos and drinking beer and all.

Kelley, he was urging the beer on Dad and doing his best to slow Murella down. He told her drinkin' too fast would give her hiccups and all like that. Aunt Murella was real fat and she kept after that beer just like a hog after fresh slop. She nor nobody else never paid no attention to Kelley anyway. Looks like Dad would've caught on with all the fuss Kelley made trying to slow Murella down, but he didn't. Didn't catch on, that is.

After about five jelly glasses of that home brew, Aunt Murella excused her self to go to "Sears", which was the name of our toilet because of the catalog and all.

When she got out of the rockin' chair, Kelley quick jumped up and said that he had to get on, on home that is, and why didn't Aunt Murella just ride on home with him? Murella, she said she guessed her legs would still get acrost the street, caddy-corner, even if she did weigh almost three hundred odd pounds; and besides, she said, she'd want to stay a minute or two to show my Mom how do some new embroidery stitch right after she got back from "Sears."
She started off towards the back of the house and Kelley said it was gettin' late and all he just took off quick like to feed his cows and all that. Well, he hadn't no more than left than all to oncet this terrible screeching started up in the back yard. Like to have scared me to death.

We all took off to see what the matter was. Dad was 'bout ten feet in front of Mom, really pickin' 'em up an' puttin' 'em down. I was runnin' close behind. All the time this awful hollerin' went on and on. Not seein' nothin' in the yard, Dad, he made a beeline for the outhouse, figurin' that a spider or a snake had
cornered Aunt Murella.
I can still, to this day, see how funny it looked. Dad was just reachin' for the toilet door when he disappeared, smooth disappeared from view right in front of our very eyes. Well, it shook us up some and then bellerin' and hollerin' really started to come on, loud and clear. You know what happened, of course. Dad, he fell right in that nasty hole, smack on top of Murella and dunked her clean under. When she came up, she come up bellerin' like a stuck pig.

By the time we could really tell what was happenin', my Mom was sick and was pukin' all over the place, the squealing and hollerin' got louder and louder what with Dad trying to calm Aunt Murella and himself. The neighbors started comin' to see what was happening. And the cussing? You ain't heard the like
before or since! I had heard my Dad cuss before, but it wasn't nothing like that; Aunt Murella wasn't no piker at cussing neither.

The bad thing was we lived next door to that church. The Living God Fundamental Deviations Church, you know. Well, that night they were having one of those where everybody talks without tongues or whatever you call it, building up to snake handling, and then going on up to going barefoot without lipstick and all
that. They was a real strick bunch and all that.
The first thing you know the whole congregation is there with the preacher, most of them barefooted without lipstick and some not knowing whether to keep talkin' without tongues or not, an' others trying to get their shoes on and all such, an' my Dad just cussin' to beat the band, an' Murella squealin' like a stuck pig
and all that, an' Mom was a 'pukin', some of them was running around trying to find a match or a ladder, the babies- they all cried, the dogs-they all barked, and all such going on as that.

The preacher, he leaned down on the edge of the hole and asked if they was alright, kind of smart alecky like I thought. Dad says to him hell yes they was alright. The preacher said that Dad shouldn't cuss and that Aunt Murella had "gotten it" for wearing rouge." Dad, he told the preacher to mind his own damn business; the preacher told Dad the Lord would smite him. And Dad, he said,
"Smite hell! The Lord has pooped all over me already." That really upset the preacher and he commenced to ask my Dad and Aunt Murellla to repent, confess, be baptized, tithe, and all such. Dad got really mad and said some uglies to the preacher. That wild eyed kind of talk went on for a while with a few "Amens" thrown in by some congregationalists. I figured some of the amens was for the preacher but, it seemed to me, that some of them was for my Dad too.
Finally Mom convinced some of the men to get the water bucket rope out of the well. They passed it down the hole and Dad tied it around Aunt Murella. They all heaved while Dad pushed and after awhile they got Aunt Murella out of the hole.

Boy, if you don't think she looked rough, you should have smelled her. Those folks made room for her as if she was a mad dog loose. The ladies took Murella over to the rain barrel and held up some quilts and threw water on her and all such. Cleaning her up, you know.
Meantime the preacher, he passed the rope down to Dad and told him to have faith. Well, the preacher was standing there, all leaned over the hole, holdin' the rope, tellin' Dad, kind of smart-alecky like, how to tie the rope and all. Dad, he just looked up at the preacher, then he gave the rope a real good yank.

The Preacher, he went right in, head first.

It was terrible.

The air turned blue for miles around that damn hole. The cussin', it was a marvel to hear. What with them fightin' and cussin' in the hole, we thought we'd never get them out. When we did get them out, the preacher was still tryin' to punch it out with Dad and they were really going to Fist City, real hard like, plumb dead serious.
First it was just the preacher and my old man. But in an instant the congregation split up between those who liked the preacher and those who didn't. Then the neighbor men joined in, just kind of punchin' everybody, steady like, determined like, you know, determined to get a solid lick. For about ten minutes you couldn' blink without gettin' hit by a fist or a flying object which you preferred not to identify.

Well, Mom, she finally put a stop to it. She got herself one of those big, long
ugly sticks out of the wood pile and she laid it on 'em. Well, all to oncet, seemed like everybody's supper time had come. They cleared out fast like. One thing about Annie Turner, my mom, she knew how to lay the wood on so it would getcher attention.

Nobody had much to say the next day. The preacher, he lost a couple of teeth; Dad had one black eye and a broken nose; one neighbor's false teeth was lost down the hole. Lost unless he wanted to dig out the hole. One of the church deacons was unconscious in Rippey's icehouse at the grocery store. Dad said it didn't make a damn bit of difference cause they was all unconscious anyway.

The deacon come to on the second day, pretty cold from being in the ice house --- his fellow deacons each thought someone else was in charge of getting him out of the ice house; the Fundamental Deivations Church closed up and reopened as the Second Street Mexico City Food Cafe; course, we lived on Second Street.

Uncle Kelley, he heard what happened and come by the house to ask Dad to just fight it out, man to man, instead of having to worry about another joke. Dad, he made Kelley wait it out anyways.

It was about four months afterwards that Dad got a good one on Kelley, but the goat ran off with the dynamite and things got all out of hand, but that' another story. Like I said, everybody in my family is a big kidder an' always playing jokes and all that.

Death by CIPRO (or Thanks to Susan Turner and Bob Deering for Saving my Life on Jan 03, 2010

As far as I am able to report, somewhat limited due to being alternately unconscious or absent, I died several times last night.

It was neither pretty, nor heroic. I took a prescribed antibiotic med and followed it with a cookie that I had not previously eaten. These two joined forces in an attempt to steal my conscous mind and leave me afloat in a sea of elctronic flashes which bounced unknown signals across the cosmos findling me worth little except as a transmission device or something of the sort.

Suzi had gone to Wal-Mart, now the thrice weekly drill to pick up my pain and other meds. This is not a happy chore for Suzi, nor for me. Neither us like, enjoy, or do well on drugs and we prefer to avoid.

When Suzi returned from Wal-Mart I was still "OK."

But shortly afterwards, I began to get confused. I began to thrash around in my recliner and lost track of elementary things like date, time, my name, etc. And, of course, to scare Suzi half to death. Hmmmm.

Suzi called Dr. Bob Deering and they, together, quickly decided I was having a toxic reaction to CIPRO. But then what? You can call the poison control center... God Bless those folks, they do what they can but perhaps they just do not know how to research or perhaps their middle management and operations staff are not sufficiently trianed. Anyone who know poison control knows PC will refer you to emergency and who knows what will happen or how long it will take?

Suzi launched out on side effect research for Dr. Bob and time flew by.... I don't recall much of this entire episode which moved on and on into the night... my main recall having to do with thirst and greater thirst accompanied by what I thought might be huge bolts of lightening.

I due course it became evident that some of our favorite products - - - magnesium, basic minerals, and water are top drawer for detoxing CIPRO... so on through the night Cindy and Dr. Br. Bob encourage Suzi to keep me awash in water and magnesium and basic minerals.

All through the night Suzi is reassuring me that I will make it whilst I, in some uncomprehending dream state see the distant lightening; hear the gathering thunder, and try to grasp an interpertation of the ill formed shapes that try to gather round me.

Hours go by. My body goes stiff and sore in my recliner. I want up but things conspire to prevent me from rising.

Between times there are voices... the professionals whose only stance seems to be that death is the logical outcome versus the opposition or life supporting crowd. The life supporters uniformy feel that if you give the body some good food things will work out.

Suzi and I have always felt if you let your body have real food instead of a shopping cart full of high fructose corn syrup, MSG,and such, that you can indeed win.

Dawn came slowly. The thunder drawing into the distance with reluctance; the lightening tamping back with hesitation; my mind questioning my own location

Monday, was a long, long day during which I slept fitfully. Glad to find my self alive.

Dr Bob, Cindy. Suzi. Please accept my thanks for jerking me back from the dark edge.

Bob and Cindy, life supporting people are there for you at:

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Terry Turner
A Living Curmudgeon !!!

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