4:55

It’s cold out there this morning!

4:55

Morning … Coffee

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            In fact, it is 4:55 on this Saturday morning and I’m wide awake. I’ve been up long enough to make coffee and read the early morning headline chatter. I suspect The Westerner has been up most of the night. A light is also on by the corner chair in the great room at the headquarters on Mogollon Creek. Another has been burning since 3:30 at the J4 near Anton Chico. A few telephone calls have already been made. One of them was not to a 542 number at the end of Anderson Road or a 649 prefix south of the Union Pacific tracks because those lights won’t flicker to a steady glow for another half hour at least, but one thing is for sure.

            “It’s cold out there this morning!”

            4:55

            We dodged a bullet the past several days.

            This fall was increasing similar to the one of 1978 when temperatures in the Playas Valley plunged to record lows on the third night of a freak back door cold front that hit the extreme southwest corner of our state. It snowed heavier in that storm and, of course, it was much slower moving than the one we just experienced.

            The common theme was the warm temperatures in the runup to each. Night before last was the first general frost we have had. The same took place near or about December 12 of the 1978 phenomenon. Nothing was hardened off and when the bitter cold arrived it was absolutely devastating. Mesquites were killed to the ground, Arizona cypress were killed, and the apple orchards at Paradise were ultimately made into firewood.

            This one could have been the same, but the main thrust of moisture was south of the border and it was moving much faster.

            I called my dad the first morning of the ’78 storm and asked him how cold it was up in Silver City. It was always colder in Silver City. As I recollect, he reported it was 5°. When I told him it was -17° at Playas, his response was one of incredulity. “Oh, son, it can’t be that cold down there. Something must be wrong with your thermometer,” he deducted.

            I did not even bother to tell him the temperature the next morning when that accused thermometer plunged to -29°. Nobody believed it except those of us who lived through it and eventually cut those Arizona cypress out of our yards when they were match stick brittle the following spring.

            My worry this year was the fact we had a corral full of weaner calves. We had just finished working cattle on Tuesday and our headquarter corrals were full of bawling calves. If those corrals had been hit with ten inches of snow and extreme freezing temperatures, a full recipe of disaster would have been in play.

            As it was, numbers of those calves were stretched out sleeping by midmorning in bright sunlight on a day that was cold, but with no wind and warming temperatures.

            Thank you, Lord!

            Morning … Coffee

            On another morning of chaos across the front pages of diminishing credible newspapers across our nation, we have involuntarily worked our way into the matter of morning itself. Actually, this is one of the greatest contributions to civilized society that ranch life continues to exemplify. I am reminded of the fact that Tom Jackson picked his staff officers from characters that were early risers. In fact, he and General Lee often met at the witching hour of 3:00 AM to discuss final battle plans. Ranch kitchens and mornings are no different.

            When my paternal grandparents still lived out on the Mangus, my grandmother was the real alarm clock in the house. She would be up and the back, right burner on the butane stove would be lit promptly at 5:12 each morning. On it would go the old white porcelain baked percolator and coffee was started. When it had perked, two cups of coffee were poured and she and my Grandpa would sit down for a short discussion and one of the only quiet times they would share all day. If one of us was there, we would always be offered a cup, but, at that age,  most of the time we passed. I wish now we could share a cup of that strong coffee with them.

            On Bell Canyon at Cliff at my maternal grandparents’, the routine was not much different. In that case, my grandfather, Boppy, was always the first up. He was often up as early as 3:00 and he would sit there at the head of that old gray metal kitchen table and play solitaire until somebody else got up. Coffee was always brewed by the time I joined him, but I would normally pass. In fact, it wasn’t until I was an adult did I like the taste of coffee. Nana told me she was no different. She didn’t care for coffee until much later, but she liked it then. She drank it black and strong.

            I will always cherish the memories of the last times I was with them around that early morning table. They were always so important in my life, and I know for a fact they enjoyed those visits as much as I did.

            There were other morning ranch tables that always come to mind, too.

            Uncle Hap and Aunt Mary’s at the mouth of the Mangus bubbles into thought as does the table of Blue and Minnie Rice in the depths of Sacaton Creek. Invariably, the mix of those cheerful settings, coffee being brewed and shared in warm, cozy surroundings, was consistent. Outside with its biting cold could be waiting, but, for the moment, that remained isolated from our protected joy.

            My goodness, those are special and important times!

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Early mornings, warm kitchens, hot coffee, and wonderful people … indeed!”

Wilmeth stopped by my place yesterday.

It was in the late afternoon, not early morning. And there was no coffee.

But what a grand conversation we had. Just two people listening to - and enjoying - what the other had to say.

I don't get out much, so most of my communication with folks is by digital device. Wilmeth's visit is a reminder that computers and smart phones are a poor substitute for a real, live, in person conversation.