August 17, 2012
17.08.2012
Call of
the Wild
Serving southern New Mexico . . . and the rest of the world! photo by Allison Bailey
Redefining Community
by Helene Kobelnyk
Do you remember when “community” literally meant your actual neighborhood . . . the people you saw on a regular basis? You were a member of a community because you lived on the same street and you learned how to get along because you had to listen to one another’s viewpoints. You also learned to tolerate differences and quirks in each other because you had to live in proximity to one another. With our society having become so mobile and with the avid use of the Internet, many lament the loss of community and predict that it spells the demise of the younger generation because “young people no longer connect.” Though I’m sure there were naysayers like this when Homo erectus discovered fire or the wheel for that matter, or when the automobile replaced the horse as a means of transportation. When the telephone was invented, people had to learn a different type of communication—in the beginning it was stilted and monosyllabic. People were used to having face to face conversations, and with the telephone, for all intents and purposes, they were talking to an apparatus. Gradually, they accepted that there really was a human at the other end, and conversations became more fluid and natural. Well, we’re in the same place today with the Internet. Because of this fabulous technology, we can stay in touch with friends and family on the other side of the planet—and via webcam, it can literally be “face to face.” Now we can have discussions that span the globe. Every social network gives you opportunities to form groups and clubs. All that is required is your participation—you have to attend some of your neighborhood potluck dinners so that you can belong to the neighborhood/community. We become disconnected only if we refuse to learn this new type of communication. Much of the same etiquette that we used in “the days of old,” when the only community we had was our neighborhood or some cultural club, applies to the online community today. “Liking” or sharing someone’s post on Facebook costs nothing and might make someone feel better. Remember when you walked past a neighbor and waved to him on his porch and he waved back? That’s what a “like” is. Sadly, for whatever reason, many people are mere lurkers on the social networks. They’re like the sad, isolated people in your geographic neighborhood who never leave their house to talk or visit with anybody else, let alone get to know them; and if this were the turn of the century, they would be the ones watching others talk on the telephone while refusing to talk to “a mere apparatus.” Continued on page 5
Helene Kobelnyk
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table of contents Not To Be Missed AN INSPIRING VISTA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Publisher Helene Kobelnyk
Exclamation Point! REDEFINING COMMUNITY . . . . . . . . 3
Editor Lucina Sarber
Cover Story WOLF ENCOUNTERS . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Creative Director Greg Sarber
Feature THE PASSION OF YORAM GAL . . . . 12
Photographer Helene Kobelnyk
Dennis Dunnum LEARNING ABOUT LEARNING . . . . . 17 Georgene Inks ONE DEGREE Pt 2. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Katherine Umberger KAT ATTACK ADVICE COLUMN . . . . . 23 Pete’s Perspective COMMON SENSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Jack Shuster THE STORY OF PAUL DOWLIN . . . . 26
REQUEST FOR SUBMISSIONS: Please feel free to express yourself! Those interested in submitting articles, polemics, promotional materials, photography, artwork, etc. for publication in VIVAcini, submit to: Helene Kobelnyk at ohk@valornet.com Articles should be in the 500-600 word range and emailed as WordDoc attachments. Photos must be high resolution, 200-300 dpi and submitted as jpgs. VIVAcini is published each Friday so “get us your stuff” no later than the previous
Writers Connie Breding Peter Brickey Debe Campbell Dennis Dunnum Georgene Inks Helene Kobelnyk Lucina Sarber Jack Shuster Katherine Umberger
MICHELLE’S
RUIDOSO NM www.michellesruidoso.com
Tuesday at 12 noon. WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF VIVAcini “where a sense of community takes flight, and knows no bounds!” All content, photographs and artwork are the intellectual property of the contributing author, photographer and/or artist and are protected under copyright law. Reprduction of any part of this e-zine without the express permission of the author, photographer and/or artist and publisher is expressly prohibited. All rights reserved.
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A society that can’t find a way to adapt is doomed to extinction. More than at any other time in our history, we have this incredible opportunity to use the power of the Internet to build communities that span hemispheres and time zones—and uplift the awareness and mentality of the world society. Being an eternal optimist, I have faith that our kids will refine the communication required for this new information age because they are social beings and do still care about community. It would also be nice if parents used their skills in the old-fashioned etiquette of communication to help develop the social networks into vehicles for community building. “Community” is no longer a mere physical presence or grouping of people. You don’t have to live next door to someone to care about them, all you have to do is reach out. We’re alone only if we choose to be. Perhaps yet another reason why we declare: “Welcome to the world of VIVAcini, where a sense of community knows no bounds.”
MICHELLE S
by Helene Kobelnyk
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Billy’s Sports Bar & Grill - Terry Bullard - 8 p.m. to 12 a.m. Tree House Cafe - Rich Chorne’ - 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. Wendell’s Restaurant - Mike Sunjka - Classic Guitarist - 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. Club 49 Inn of the Mountain Gods - Johnny & The Crashers, Rock - 8 p.m. Swiss Chalet Grill and Bar - Mark Remington - 6 p.m. - 9 p.m. Grace O’Malley’s - Live Music Landlocked - Thomas Vigil - Acoustic Guitarist - 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. Casa Blanca Cantina - Live Music - 7 p.m. and 9 p.m. Win, Place & Show - Slick Nickel - Country - 8:30 p.m. Quarters - DJ - 9 p.m.
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Photo by Angel Bennett
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WOLF ENCOUNTERS in New Mexico’s High Desert by Debe Campbell
W
here else but in the desert wilderness of western New Mexico would you expect to encounter wild wolves. Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary (WSWS) is a center surrounded by Zuni and Navajo Indian reservation lands amid ponderosa, pinion, and juniper trees at 2,286m elevation. It is a refuge for damaged and endangered wolves (Canis lupus) species and hybrids. The residents here are descendents of Arctic, Black Face, Tundra and Mexican Grey wolves. The refuge sits almost atop the Continental Divide— an easy journey along state highways to the sanctuary in Candy Kitchen, near Ramah, NM—a long, but rewarding road to get there—130 miles from Albuquerque or 45 miles from Gallup. It’s worth the trek as you navigate dramatic red rock backdrops dotted with sagebrush and come face to face with some of the most beautiful creatures from around the world. In this high desert, summers reach the 100s, with winter nights dipping into the low 20s. The animals love the cool winter and become quite frisky during frequent winter snowfalls. These active animals have large, rocky enclosures to explore, with plenty of room to frolic. Wolves are very social animals, so the sanctuary assures they are kept in their family groups or in pairs. While summers are warm, the temperature is rarely unbearable for these wolves, since there is plenty of natural shade along with cooling water sources. Today, WSWS houses 50 wolf and wolf-hybrids, along with a myriad of adoptable outcast dogs, and Romeo, a lone red fox and five rare Papuan Singing dogs. For every wolf that comes to the sanctuary, there are an estimated 10 have been put down, according to site guide George Stapleton.
Photo by Allison Bailey
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Many come from captive breeding programs and have a very high wolf content, while others are dogs with a little wolf content. It is illegal in the United States to own a wolf without a license. WSWS is licensed by the United States Department of Agriculture to operate the sanctuary. A profitable market for wolf and hybrid wolf dogs leads to their continued, illegal breeding. The higher the wolf content, the more revenue can be earned, from $200 to $2,500 per cub. Wolves go into estrous in December, gestate for 63 days and deliver cubs in March or April. They produce litters of up to 10 cubs, which can be a great profit center for unscrupulous people who sell them, said Stapleton. While many of the refuge’s residents come from captive breeding programs, none are bred at the sanctuary. “Allowing breeding would contribute to the problem.” Some came as litters, some as individuals, and some damaged. One came from Wolf Country USA, in Palmer, Alaska, where breeding and sales occur. “The solution is for us to educate buyers and for buyers to educate themselves before they buy a canine that has a high content of wild wolf traits,” Stapleton says. Sanctuary newcomer Silva was a captive breeding animal—even though she had a genetic clubfoot, the owners cut off the leg and continued breeding her. Just five-days at the sanctuary, she paced the back fence of her enclosure with anxious distrust. Nikki, a high content Black Timber wolf raised in captivity, playfully and accidentally bit a sanctuary volunteer. Photo by Angel Bennett
Photo by Allison Bailey
“In 2009, there were 13,000 people in New York bitten by other people.That’s more than recorded history of wolf bites in nature,” Stapleton said. A wolf lacks an inhibited bite like a dog—so a wolf bite is a devastating event. The secret, Stapleton, points out is to stand perfectly still—no matter the pain—because movement will rip muscle in the 2,500 pounds per square inch pressure with their jaws. A family of five low-content wolves—Juno, Goldie, Katrina, Aztec and Saint—were found in 2009 living in a 6-foot-square pen with a concrete floor in Louisiana. They developed as a pack and now cannot be separated. Fifteen years ago, there was no way to tell the genetic difference between a wolf and a Chihuahua—now, that is possible, Stapleton affirms.
Walker was captured in Los Lunas, NM. Animal control classified him as a wolf and he was 72 hours from being put down when rescued by WSWS. Typically, it is the job of animal control officers to classify any animal they capture as a wolf, a wolf dog or a dog, according to Stapleton. Walker wags his tail upon approach, which tells you he is a dog, but a very sick one—before coming to WSWS, he suffered from diabetes or pancreatitis, and remained in quarantine upon his arrival. Unlike dogs, wolves have no desire to please humans and are afraid of humans and dogs. They will not react as a dog, do not tilt their head as if interested, or wag their tails. Indoors, they will act more like cats than dogs.
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Photo by Allison Bailey
They easily become bored and if kept indoors as a pet, will trash a house in seconds. Argo, for example, was kept as a backyard pet with four other animals in Minneapolis until he destroyed the yard. High content wolves are easily distinguished from hybrids or dogs by their eyes—they are yellow and forward facing. They have long legs, long toes and large, webbed feet that act like snowshoes to disburse their weight over icy terrain—and can stand up to 36 inches at the shoulder and weigh over 100 pounds. With their long bodies and narrow chests, they are able to turn quickly in a cross step, to “single track” or walk by placing the back foot in the same spot as the front so they leave only a single tracks. Thus, neither foes nor friends can tell how many are in a pack. Imprinting is a rapid learning process by a newborn or infant animal to establish behavior patterns of recognition and attraction to another animal of its own kind or to a substitute (human) identified as the parent. K9s imprint
between six to 14 weeks. Therefore, wolf cubs introduced to the program as young cubs can be raised to interact with humans. Stapleton says they do better with women than men, and if they take a dislike to you, they will never like you. Forest is one of those human imprinted cubs. Now 4-years-old, he participates as an ambassador in education outreach programs for kindergarten through grade 12. The message to youth is the importance of predators and prey and how to control that balance. Although the sanctuary is like a prison to the captive wolves, the workers strive to enrich their lives as best as possible through interaction and activity. Natural toys, shelters and refreshments are augmented by a fall “stuffed pumpkin toss” and Easter baskets full of treats—quite a sight to see. Daily tours draw interest from the resident wolves in their family compounds and frequent singsong between them can be heard, especially toward sundown.
Sanctuary History - Legend has it that Candy Kitchen was founded in the 1930s during Prohibition when a homesteader was making moonshine on his ranch. Since this takes a lot of sugar, and the government kept an eye on large sugar purchases, the rancher began making candy from local pinon pine nuts. Local patrons purchased pinion candy over the counter and other “candy” under the counter, so the homestead became known as “The Candy Kitchen.” Today Candy Kitchen, NM, is home to 300 human residents and dozens of wolves and wolf-hybrids. In 1990, artist Jacque Evans bought the ranch—concerned with the increasing number of unwanted wolves and wolf dogs, she opened a refuge and her life to the animals. The Candy Kitchen Wolf and Wolf-Dog Rescue Ranch opened in 1991, and Jacque supported it through the sale of her artwork. In the meantime, Barbara Berge was rescuing wolf dogs in Albuquerque. Realizing their common dream, Barbara moved south in 1993 to help Jacque transform the rescue ranch into a non-profit organization. Their aim was to offer a sustainable, lifetime sanctuary for displaced, unwanted and unreleasable captive-bred wolves, wolf dogs and other related species, while educating the public about the animals, their environment and ecological issues related to wildlife. In 2003, Candy Kitchen Rescue was reorganized as Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary with long-time volunteer,
Photo by Allison Bailey
Leyton (“Wolf Daddy”) Cougar as its director. Today, schools or individuals can sponsor a wolf to help sustain the residential programs at WSWS. Travel Notes: Native reservation lands surround WSWS. Candy Kitchen is not on the map so aim for Ramah, NM, and go southwest from there. Pack a picnic basket for this journey. There are trading posts, Indian ruins, El Morro and El Malapais National Monuments, ice caves, the Chain of Craters and even a museum nearby, but it is 30 minutes to the nearest country café. WSWS is open for tours Tuesday through Saturday 11 a.m., 12:30, 2 and 3:30 p.m. Outreach education programs and two-hour photo excursions available on request. Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary 378 Candy Kitchen Road, (BIA Route 120) HC 61 Box 28 Ramah, New Mexico 87321 www.wildspiritwolfsanctuary.org Directions: http://www.wildspiritwolfsanctuary.org/directions.php Debe Campbell’s work has appeared in consumer and industry travel magazines around the globe. Having lived in Indonesia, Libya,Turkey and the Caribbean for 30 years, she now makes her home in eastern Arizona, a stone’s throw across the New Mexico border.
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The Passion of Yoram Gal
by Helene Kobelnyk
“ . . . Having fun, celebrating my decades on earth in the most colorful, joyful and intense way I can. ‘Joie-de-vivre’ is my motto.” (Yoram Gal) It’s a long way from Israel to the resort community of Ruidoso, New Mexico, yet artist Yoram Gal has made the trek twice in two years to participate in the annual juried Ruidoso Art Festival. Last year he was selected as “Best in Show” and made several large sales. This year, Yoram smiles wryly as he claims, he did not do so well either in judging or in sales. “I’m not exactly everybody’s cup of tea,” he laughs good-naturedly as he describes his life’s journey as “painful but honest,” and refers to himself as anti-establishment to the core: “I did it my way and often in the most extreme manner.”
Considered a prodigy in every sense of the word, Yoram began his oil painting career when he was only 12 years old and by 14 years of age, had his work exhibited in London. Yoram emphasizes the importance of a strong, well-rounded education, but admits that he didn’t like anyone telling him how to paint. “I was also good in mathematics and physics. But I certainly did not want to study all the boring details about composition and other techniques in art. I have the ability to look at a canvas or scene and immediately see the composition and color then it’s a matter of just painting what’s in my mind.”
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The Passion of Yoram Gal
by Helene Kobelnyk
True to his independent nature and insistence on having complete artistic freedom, Yoram chose to spend his university career in cinema and theater where creativity was encouraged and allowed to run rampant. Upon completing his degree, Yoram’s professor advised him to pursue the world of academia because it was much more stable, and respectable, offered a lucrative income— and furthermore, actors had a “bad reputation.” Predictably, Yoram refused: “It came down to being an academician or an artist. What you do is what you are. I chose to be an artist.” For many years, Yoram worked the theater scene in Israel—from stage actor to owning his own traveling theater company. But he returned to the serious marketing of his oil paintings 12 years ago when his son was born. “There is a Jewish expression: ‘Every child comes with a loaf of bread in his mouth.’” Yoram clarifies the meaning, “When your child is born, you will do whatever you need to do to make sure you provide for the child’s needs.” Ten years ago, with a depressed economy in Israel and the provincial state of the European art market, Yoram brought his artwork to the United States and has never regretted it as he declares with great bravado, “At 50 years of age, I began roaming this wonderful country with total freedom, and love that I don’t have to suck up to anyone.” Throughout the many shows he enters on this side of the Atlantic, Yoram speaks affectionately about the American mentality in buying art as compared to the European and Israeli mindset. “In Europe the taste tends to be somewhat provincial, as in local or regional. They buy art because their neighbor or some person of influence collects it. In this country, people still buy your art because they like it, or if they don’t buy it, it’s because it’s not in their taste. It’s a refreshing difference.”
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Yoram refers to another compelling Jewish proverb: “Taste and smell are the two things you can’t argue about– either you like the way something smells or tastes, or you don’t.” An astute businessman who studies the art market carefully, Yoram concedes that this year’s art festival in Ruidoso seemed to favor the southwestern style and not the more daring and bold abstract art that is his forte. “The older I get, the more extreme and abstract my style becomes, and the more vibrant the colors I use.” It would appear that he bulk of Yoram’s market appeal lies in the more cosmopolitan areas that are rich in museums and cultural centers—with many collectors in New York, Dallas, California, and Colorado. Yoram believes that art education for young people and easy access to museums and galleries is critical to keeping the provincialism out of art appreciation and collection.
“You have to be willing to look at something other than a Southwestern or Impressionistic landscape before you decide what your taste is in art.” As far as Ruidoso is concerned and whether he’ll return for another showing, Yoram admits that he has to follow the market for his work even though he enjoys his stay here and believes that this is one of the best organized shows he attends. He spends half of the year touring the U.S. and the other half working on his art in Israel. “I am doing what I love and what comes easy to me. And I love the friendliness and open-mindedness of the people in this country.” There is no doubt that this gifted artist, who is as warm, passionate and uninhibited as his art, will continue to set his own terms and do everything, both in life and in art, in his own unique way. For more information about Yoram Gal, visit his website www.yoramgal.co.il
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Learning About Learning
M
ore gun violence this week but it’s like beating a dead horse to get into that one, so I’d rather talk about education. “Back to School” sales are popping up all over, yet it seems like school only just got out. Schools in Phoenix started on July 20, figuring that the extra time they have to pour stuff into kid’s heads might help them catch-up with the rest of what passes for a civilized world. Here in Carrizozo there is controversy over plans to combine the kindergarten and first grade classes into one. Everywhere it seems folks are concerned with our country falling behind. I taught in public schools for six years. Armed with a teaching degree from Highlands, I had also taken several college classes in alternative types of learning, as well as done plenty of reading on the subject. For several years, I was the innovative “golden boy” in the Santa Fe system, until I wore a black armband on Vietnam Moratorium Day. Then I was immediately accused of teaching my fifth graders to “question authority” to which I responded, “I thought that was the whole point—the best thing we can teach kids is how to learn, and you don’t learn until you have questions to answer!” They disagreed. My own son would soon be five years old and I couldn’t imagine turning him over to those people. So, I quit the public schools system and convinced an equally disillusioned friend to help start up our own school. Surprisingly, because we were both accredited teachers, it wasn’t as difficult as we had expected it would be. The health
by Dennis Dunnam
department merely came to see if our refrigerator would keep milk from spoiling—talk about standards. We based our school on the premise that children will learn what they need to learn when they see a need to learn it. They’ll also learn if they trust you enough to believe you when you say it’s important, or it’s fun, or if their friends are learning it. Pretty simple, actually. We understood the process of learning and, with our retirement cash from the public system and some vouchers from the state textbook division, we bought a lot of individualized learning kits in reading, math, science and language skills (and some milk) and opened the doors. Although we started it in Santa Fe, we soon moved it out to the Cerrillos/Madrid area in the midst of the great “back to the land/hippie movement.” We had as many as 32 children from pre-school through ninth grade—all in one room, in an abandoned church in Madrid, with two accredited teachers and usually two or more volunteer parents. We charged a mere $17-a-month because that’s all most folks could afford, plus we asked that parents spend a couple days each month helping out if they could. One hundred dollars a month in wages and food stamps kept us teachers alive. There were no traditional “grades,” no tests except to determine whether individual kids had mastered a topic and could move on to the next—no report cards but lots of parent conferences, usually over a relaxing glass of wine or cup of coffee after school. Each child learned at his/her own pace in virtually every subject. We wandered around, helping and encouraging where needed, sometimes conducting an impromptu “class” in something we thought the kids might be interested in and the kids often helped one another. Continued on page 22
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One Degree part 2
by Georgene Inks
M
y husband toured the coast guard station and several hurricane holes. He returned with fuel, which the coast guard deemed necessary. With their generous donation of fuel we could at least safely get to another area of the island and ready ourselves should Tropical Storm Emily decide to come closer. Meanwhile, I had a great visit with all the turtle babies—making separate quarters for those who were not fairing well. I cut empty gallon jugs to make separate chambers to help them conserve their energy since they only have so much and then no more. They needed sea grass to munch on and the sick and damaged ones needed to stay in their new separate homes until they were strong—then they needed to be returned to the sea, not to the beach. They also needed shelter from the sun, the water temperature was important, as well as having fresh seawater, etc. I pointed all this out to the lieutenant and his men, they were quite receptive and willing to do whatever they could to help the babies survive. Local fishermen had gotten the 12 turtles, one for each member of the guard, and given them for safekeeping. My husband returned loaded down with fuel and information and the guard gently placed the makeshift turtle sanctuary back onto their boat. As they slowly departed, mindful of their precious cargo, the two palm trees on the pristine beach beckoned in the beautiful breeze but we were too exhausted from our sea voyage, turtle sitting and hurricane hole-hunting. We remained in our cockpit and watched the sun drop behind the cloudy thickness on the horizon, thankful for all the help—our first impression of South America and Venezuela was outstanding. The guidebook had been right - the “coasties” in Blanquilla were extra special.
The next morning weather reports declared Emily was now a full-blown hurricane projected to be in our vicinity the following day. In response, we motored very carefully to an area next to the coast guard station. Bordered on three sides by 15-foot-high cliffs, this little haven offered us close proximity to the guard and their facilities as well as shelter from the winds. It might offer a measure of protection from the sea, but the waves would be surging in and that would be the danger. It was essential to anchor Morning Star where she could ride out the surge safely. Hurricane Emily was planning to visit and when she did, she would hover just one degree away. Emily gathered her strength to upgrade from a category one hurricane to a category two with sustained winds between 85 and 105 miles an hour. At the height of her impact, one degree away on Blanquillia, only one anchor imbedded into a boulder, held us. The guard, like so many angels—ready to swoop down for a rescue on a moment’s notice—watched as our boat pitched and rolled dramatically. They did not realize our main bow anchor had snapped and we did not alert them. However, once our dinghy broke away, some of the younger members of the coast guard, under Gill’s direction, set out amid the rocks and crashing waves and pulled it in. We watched with appreciation and awe—and then the radio signaled us for a response. The Lieutenant wanted to know when we would like to have dinner! With waves crashing all around us, and winds in our sheltered cove at 20 to 25 knots—we doubted we could get to shore safely in our kayak. We declined the wonderful invitation because of our concerns and because I hadn’t taken my Dramamine - queasy was the word. For more than seven hours I had been riding the surf in our boat—riding crest after crest while going nowhere. It felt like the ultimate amusement park ride—continuous heart stopping thrills if one only had the stomach for it! In response to our declining his dinner invitation, the kind lieutenant offered to deliver a hot meal to our boat—
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we were astounded and humbled by such care and concern. “Room service in the midst of a hurricane?” It was all we could do to ask PLEASE, let’s have a meal together tomorrow when it’s a tad calmer—the lieutenant agreed. The surfing, pitching and rolling lasted all night. I slept in the cockpit, occasionally sprayed by the relentless surf. By morning the seas were subsiding. Someone, somewhere else was encountering the beautiful and increasingly terrible storm Emily—we prepared to recover our rescued dinghy and looked forward to lunch with the lieutenant and his men. We bathed, got dressed up and I even put on make up. We were in a joyful state - glad to be alive and filled with gratitude. Our faith in humanity had been renewed while the salvation of our home was now assured. Our dinghy was ready and waiting, so off we went with a gift of wine for our hosts. We dined in a most elegant and formal fashion—the courtesy and formality on display definitely from another more gracious era. The officers were dressed to the nines in their handsome uniforms; the open aired dining hall; the gracious place settings, and marvelous preparation of the food, along with bright eyes and endearing smiles—all something I will never forget. At my request, the lieutenant took me to their chapel where I saw a statue of the patron saint of the Venezuelan navy—Mother Mary, known in Venezuela as “La Virgen del Valle.” I was reminded that our boat, Morning Star, is another name for Mary.
Perhaps it was she who had shown these young, military men how to care for and save all distressed creatures that might come their way. I am still touched by the love, respect, and expertise the Blanquilla Coast Guard showed us AND the smallest of creatures, the turtles. We will never forget the lieutenant, Gill and their men.
During our dramatic sailing adventure from St. Croix to Venezuela, just one thing or one person made a difference for us—one line tied to one boulder, one gallon of fuel, one smile, one saint, one rescued boat, one turtle saved, one prayer, one blessing after another—one degree. Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela July 25, 2005 Writer, global nomad, educator and bon vivant, Georgene is Theatre Instructor for grades 6-12 at the Ruidoso Municipal School District. Georgene and her students created The Red Feather Theatre Company and produce its shows.
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Learning About Learning
We took lots of field trips, with an annual week-long hike down into the Grand Canyon or around Mesa Verde, or shorter trips to the pool in Santa Fe or nearby parks. Parents would occasionally demonstrate their skills in leather, pottery, and art. Some of the best of times were cloudy, rainy days when no one felt like either teaching or learning. On those days we’d all flop down in the corner reading nook—thick carpets, hundreds of pillows—and we’d read aloud, sometimes all day. We read the entire “Lord of the Rings,” “The Chronicles of Narnia,” C.S. Lewis, “Watership Down,” etc. The little kids would curl up on the laps of the bigger ones, or other teachers, or each other. It was magical with everyone listening to a common tale. Even if the younger ones didn’t understand a lot of the vocabulary, they gradually learned from context. The kids learned at their own pace, which was definitely a challenge for us teachers. And we never forced them—although we weren’t above occasional bribery—(smile)! If we sensed that there might be a block or some resistance that needed to be overcome, we’d attack that. Children were never ridiculed or made to feel that they were “falling behind.” My own son was the most serious
by Dennis Dunnam
challenge of my beliefs. He was nine years old and hadn’t shown the slightest interest in learning how to read— none! He had no problems, he simply had no interest whatsoever. Finally, at the beginning of what would have been called fourth grade, he simply decided he was ready— and by the end of that year, he was at a fifth grade level. Today, my son has a PhD in Mammalian Biology and oversees the collections at the Research Biology Museum at UNM. My other son is just as happy building cars that can climb over boulders. “The Children’s Workshop” thrived during the nine years that I taught and administered it and for yet another 23 years after I handed it off to the community to run. Our graduates went on to become teachers, software guys, artists, actors, musicians. One teaches in Beijing, another is an educational advisor to the French government in Paris. Several work in the movie industry, and one is a forest ranger. In the interest of full disclosure, we did have one very happy-go-lucky, and loveable drug dealer, if there is such a thing! All I’m trying to say is that the amount of money spent, the number of administrators, standardized tests, fancy buildings and equipment, the number of days or mix of ages and grade levels—has less to do with children’s learning than does an unyielding attitude of respect for them as fellow, inquisitive human beings—this plus passionate teachers and a non-coercive atmosphere of questioning and actual learning. White Oaks resident Dennis Dunnum is a former restaurateur, teacher, builder, model, Carrizozo town councilman, and advocate for the homeless and those suffering from AIDS. Look for his columns on life matters in “From the Edges with Love.”
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KAT ATTACK Dear Kat,
by Katherine Umberger
Recently, a parent commented to me, “Children of this generation are lazy and do nothing but watch TV or play video games.” It is a common declaration these days that television rots the brain. To watch television reportedly produces the effects of a slow, mindless death, a stealthy slaying of the intellect. The warm glow of 40” LCD screens fill rooms across America, creeping into all the shadowy crevices and lulling little bodies sitting across it, into a sort of stupor— with all the comfort and warmth of a bottle given to a swaddled babe. Addictive sounds and visuals dominate the room, holding anyone present hostage with its enticements. The temptation to stop and watch nags at one’s will much like the alcoholic’s overwhelming temptation to have just one beer while becoming inevitably lost in a wave of liquor. At first glance, when coming upon such a scene, one is reminded of the “Night of the Living Dead” movies. Wide eyes vacantly stare, mouths agape in a creepy, zombie-like fashion. Little interrupts their hypnotic spell—it is at these times that one cannot help but think, “Lazy little bums!” And this is when I’m reminded of little soft-bellied frogs. Fat frogs that lazily lounge around small, buginfested ponds because that is all they know and that is all they need. Staying in their comfort zone because that is how they survive, oblivious to the lure of having something better, or taking a risk for something better. Soft-bellied frogs with wide, bulgy luminous eyes intently watch—they wait for that perfect morsel to snatch up with their sticky tongues. It is a means of survival. Frogs devour unsuspecting insects to build up their doughy bellies in preparation for hibernation.
So it is that doughy little kids stockpile some “happiness,” hoarding those moments for another day. They too go into hibernation, a type of hibernation of the psyche, akin to putting it on autopilot to get through the day. As they try to keep at bay the lonely, friendless hours, or forget the name calling and harsh demands from peers and adults alike. This is all they know and this is how they survive—kids are labeled as “lazy” or “stupid” when in reality they are using the only survival skills they know. Frogs do not have the ability to migrate from their solitary ponds to seek out sustenance, they are trapped—just like children are trapped by the couch as they try to catch happy moments flashing across the screen. Removing a frog from its natural environment incites change. Removing our own little frogs from the forged habitat they have created will incite changes as well. Like a caught wild frog, once fed and warm, ceases to hibernate, so soft-bellied children would cease to rely on make-believe for a borrowed happiness. No longer would they be trapped by the need to hoard away stolen bits of delight, or lounge about in the fake warmth of a fake contentment because that would not be all they know. There is no slow brutal murder of intellect here, merely a growing dependency needed for a little soft-bellied frog’s survival. Who among us will take the actions needed to help these kids learn social skills, listen to their fears and dreams—or take them for a walk in nature or become passionately involved with making their world better? To request a Kat Attack on a certain subject or have your question featured in the next issue email me at katattack_vivacinni@yahoo.com Capitan resident Katherine Umberger, is a dedicated mother of two, writer, artist and world traveler. Follow Katherine’s VIVAcini “Kat Attacks” advice column.
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Pete’s Perspective
>>> Common Sense…The Uncommon Commodity
WE
had a ferocious thunderstorm last night. We’re talking lots of rain, lightning and booming thunder. One cat, Tabby, lay by the sliding glass door and enjoyed the show. Tiger, my other cat, took the path of least resistance and stayed hidden. Given all the electrical activity, I decided to shut down my computers. I have all of my computers powered through several power strips. You know, those long multiple outlet strips that allow connection to a number of pieces of equipment. So last night, all I had to do was flip a single switch on each power strip to shut down my computer systems and protect them from a lightning strike. That got me to thinking about common sense and how uncommon it is—like this childhood obesity problem. Childhood obesity was not a problem 15 years ago. Back then kids were outside playing during recess and after lunch. But, after a few rip-off lawsuits, school districts began to limit the amount of activity kids had outside in order to protect themselves from these suits. Common sense dictates that if you feed kids the standard high fat and high carb lunches and THEN you limit their outside activity, guess what? YOU GET FAT KIDS! This is one of those “Well DUHH!” moments that we so often hear about and that our leaders in government apparently just do not grasp. Cop killer bullets—the Teflon-coated ammunition that penetrates the body armor of those brave cops charged with protecting us—well, the feds just can’t seem to stop the sale of these bullets. But the truth is, EVERY firearms
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and ammunition manufacturer in the world that wants to sell in the United States MUST HAVE a Federal Firearms Permit. You would think that common sense would indicate to our beloved morons in government that given the choice between selling cop killer bullets or not selling ANYTHING in the U.S. is a pretty easy and simple fix. How about driving while texting? This is absurdly easy to correct, but here once again, our state and federal idiots can’t seem to understand common sense. The government wants to pass a law against texting while driving. They also want to spend BILLIONS trying to enforce a law that is virtually unenforceable. Common sense says: tell the cell phone manufacturers to add a line of computer code to disable texting capabilities while the cell phone is in motion. If they don’t do it, they can’t sell their product here. No stupid unenforceable law, no dilution of law enforcement and no costs—pretty simple, no? Those of you that grew up in the ‘50s, may remember the old Michael Rennie movie,” The Day the Earth Stood Still.” The premise of the movie was that an alien civilization wanted Earth to stop nuclear testing in space. In the opening scene, a saucer-shaped spaceship lands in the middle of Washington D.C. — I knew even then that there was absolutely no possibility of this ever happening. There is no intelligent life in Washington. Pete is a photographer, artist and writer with a unique perspective on all life matters. He and his wife reside in North Carolina, and Pete prides himself on being a true “Son of the South.” Pete welcomes feedback on his column and can be contacted at pete@vivacini.com
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>>> THE STORY OF PAUL DOWLIN… by Jack Shuster
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he little mountain village of Ruidoso, N.M., attracts folks from all over the United States and Mexico and has become a tourist mecca. But most folks don’t know the name of the man who started this town. He built the first building in Ruidoso, was Ruidoso’s first resident and his name was Paul Dowlin. The locals called him Captain Paul. In fact, the town was called Dowlin’s Mill until 1885 when it was renamed Ruidoso for the Rio Ruidoso, the “noisy river” that ran through town. That stream was the draw that started it all.
Paul Dowlin was born in Waynesburg, Greene County, Pennsylvania in 1830. A Civil War veteran and retired Army captain, he served with the New Mexico volunteers at Ft. Stanton in Lincoln County. It was the War of Southern Rebellion that brought him to Jack Shuster New Mexico. Dowlin was an officer of Company K, First New Mexico Cavalry and he came from Santa Fe with Colonel Kit Carson in 1862 to re-occupy Ft. Stanton after the rebels high-tailed it back to central Texas. . The First New Mexico Cavalry was organized on May 31, 1862, and engaged in operations against Indians in New Mexico and Arizona—and on garrison duty, by detachments, at Ft. Stanton and other points during their entire term of service. The only report that bears Paul Dowlin’s name was when, as a lieutenant, on his return trip from Ft. Whipple, Arizona, the Navajo Indians ran off 14 of his mules on Christmas Eve, 1864. Dowlin never talked much about that incident. The regiment mustered out on Sept. 30, 1866. Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Emil Fritz was succeeded in command of Ft. Stanton by Brevet Major Lawrence G. Murphy in April of 1866. Murphy and Fritz became partners and served as Post Sutlers (A “sutler” sells provisions to an army in the field) but eventually both were forced to leave Ft. Stanton due to problems with whiskey sales and other things. They opened up the L. G. Murphy and Company store in Las Placitas del Rio Bonito. Originally named by the Spanish settlers in the 1850s, the name of the community was changed to Lincoln when Lincoln County was created in 1869—named to honor the late president Abraham Lincoln. Murphy, along with his later partner Jimmy Dolan, was in most part responsible for the infamous Lincoln County
War. After Paul Dowlin’s mustering out from the New Mexico Volunteers on September 30, 1866, he worked as a post trader at Ft. Stanton, too, but the Ruidoso River was the draw that led him, and his brother William, to build a mill to saw and plane lumber. The Army was re-building Ft. Stanton and needed all the lumber that a local sawmill could cut and level into boards. As a veteran, Dowlin got a homestead of 160 acres–through a purchase land grant he acquired another 600 acres. That comprised pretty much where the village of Ruidoso stands today. Paul and Will began building a sawmill out of adobe bricks in 1869, first, where Carrizo Creek and the Rio Ruidoso meet. They planned to channel the force of both the creek and the river to run the waterwheel and power the sawmill, there certainly was a lot of powerful water. In fact, the first Dowlin’s Mill was destroyed by a flood after heavy rains—the mill was swept away just weeks after its completion. In his second attempt at the mill business, Paul Dowlin and Will salvaged what they could from the wreckage of the ruined mill and rebuilt on higher ground. The brothers got help from Larry Dow and Tom Kinney, both had known Captain Paul when they worked on rebuilding Ft. Stanton in 1868, and they had helped Paul build the first mill—Dow also helped Paul and Will work the mill for a couple of years. They were now on higher, safer ground—away from the water but it’s not easy to run a waterwheel with no water. To solve that problem, they constructed a three-mile long flume system of V-shaped wooden troughs, supported by long poles and tree branches, that carried the water from Carrizo Creek to the mill. But, safety came at a price. It was difficult to divert enough water to power a sawmill. So, to match the creek’s lower energy, Paul Dowlin decided to establish a grist mill for grinding grain into flour, he had enough power for that. Things progressed smoothly for Paul Dowlin. The 1870 Census lists him as age 40, as a non-New Mexico born
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lumber merchant in Lincoln County, Precinct Number Two. The real estate was worth $10,000 and Paul Dowlin’s personal property was valued at $5,000. But, the census doesn’t always get things right—the new mill was a grist mill not a lumber mill. Although they had been living there for generations, the Mescalero Apache Reservation was officially created by an executive order of President Grant in 1873. The Mescalero Apaches often came to the mill to trade for flour. In December of 1873, Paul served as postmaster of the little village of Dowlin’s Mill. In 1877, Dowlin sold a half interest in the mill to Frank Lesnett, another Ft. Stanton veteran. Frank went off to Chicago to marry his sweetheart, Annie, and return with her to the mill on May 6. Frank and Annie had to travel by train, stagecoach and wagon all the way from Chicago to Dowlin‘s Mill. But Paul never got to meet Annie—he met his end right in front of the mill, the day before. For reasons unknown, but widely speculated about, Paul Dowlin was shot in the head by a former employee, Jerry Dillon, and died a few hours later on May 5, 1877. Dowlin was unarmed at the time and could not defend himself. Dillon left for Texas and was never heard of again. Paul was survived by his brother, Will, and is buried at the Old Ft. Stanton Cemetery, the civilian cemetery
located near the government’s Ft. Stanton Cemetery. But the story that began at Ft. Stanton and ended in bloodshed did not really end there. Dowlin‘s old mill, the building that started it all, served as a grist mill, a bean thrasher and even a place to buy “moonshine” from 1868 to the turn of the 20th Century. The mill may also have been a good place for outlaws to hide. They say that during or shortly after the Lincoln County War, Billy the Kid once hid at Dowlin’s Mill in a flour barrel. Whether legend or fact, Dowlin’s Mill was definitely one of Billy’s haunts. He was a family friend of the Dowlin and Lesnett families, and Annie Lesnett is believed to be the one who stuffed the Kid into the flour barrel. By 1885, the town had a general store, a blacksmith shop, and a post office and was renamed Ruidoso after the noisy river running through it—on the banks of which folks built their cabins. Social historian and cultural anthropologist, Jack Shuster belongs to a number of historical societies, and has been published in Western periodicals. Look for his upcoming columns on the Wild West in VIVAcini. Jack is also proprietor of the Kona Cowboy Coffee Company of Ruidoso, NM. www.konacowboycoffee.com
The Ancient Healing Art of Ear Coning
Ear Coning, also known as Ear Candling, was used for healing by the Mayans, Egyptians and Tibetans then was lost to us in modern civilization. Ear Coning aids in the detoxification of the sinus and lymph system and enhances mental functioning, vision, hearing, smell, taste, and color reception. This gentle, soothing treatment is non-invasive窶馬o heat is felt in the ear canal. The cone is fired on the wide end, the spiral of the ear cone and the herbal smoke in the ear canal work together to stimulate cleansing. This relaxing treatment takes approximately 30 minutes.
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“A New Mexico Chili Dances and Splashes to Life” - by Helene Kobelnyk
loves our Chile! If you enjoy photographing your community and/or the many beautiful places of our wonderful Land of Enchantment, and would like to share a special photo on this page, you’ll receive credit and a live link in the caption, and of course, our gratitude and admiration!