Wild and Scenic

Life before Colonization

Wild and Scenic

History Lost or Revealed?

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            The discussion of Wild and Scenic is being elevated yet again in the Gila River country of New Mexico.

            In the most recent version of imposed federal prescription for the landscape, it is the coercion of wild and scenic river designation by the senatorial office holders from the state of New Mexico (neither of which are native sons). History suggests they will get their latest act of federal colonization done. They can and will obliterate local voices. It will be added to their list of accrued accomplishments they will self-describe as legacy endeavors.

            Their supporters, largely modern-day environmental colonists who dominate the system of power surrounding the action without a real stake in the customs and heritage of the landscape affected, will hail their actions. Their opponents will be suppressed, ridiculed, mocked, and minimized until, once again, the land is saved.

            It is within those opponents, however, where the most interesting and conditioned shaped heritage is most compelling. That is where the landscape and characteristics of their existence shaped their individual craft skills, their values, their diet and table fare, and their regional uniqueness.

            The guts of their history and importance is lost among the modern, secular invaders.

            Life before Colonization

            The generations of Gila River residents who were born and died (or will die) in the communities along this New Mexico riverside remain the most interesting. To a great extent, they remain colorblind as to their own differences. First and foremost, they were Gila River residents. That is the unifying theme. What took place between their universally modest homes and the river (and the picturesque mountains and drainages in the backdrop) was a function of what was placed on their tables.

            Down near the mouth of the Mangus, the warmth of Mrs. Ortega’s wood stove was not the only thing that made her kitchen so inviting. It was the smell and taste of her tacos fresh out of the cast iron skillet. She treated visitors like family demanding they sit at her table as she served them one at a time.

            Yes, Ma’am … Thank you, Ma’am

            Up at Gila, Mrs. Peru’s magic was cast when the butchered hog’s head arrived on her doorstep to convert into world class tamales. The arbitrage was a shared portion of what she could make out of the meat of that single head. Perhaps, too, it was the fact the outcome only graced tables once a year late in the fall that made her creation yet more welcome.

            Nana’s creations and magic recipes are still timeless.

            The neck of the deer killed in November was the sole source of the shredded venison used to make her annual stock of mincemeat. It was only that texture and sweetness that met her criteria. One day each year was spent in her kitchen canning that supply to be opened and incorporated into the most flakey pie crust imaginable for special holiday meals. Of course, she used lard from that annual pig to incorporate into that crust (she also brought out that bottle of whiskey otherwise hidden to make that final taste test of mincemeat to exact culinary specifications).

            One of the special pear trees she collected fruit in the fall to make pear preserves still stands. It is down by the ditch bank near the turnoff to the lane. It is a whole tree sport that is reminiscent of a cultivated Bartlett, but it is unique, and she preferred it for her recipe.

            I have often thought it very important to collect bud wood from not just that tree, but the once abundant heirloom apple and peach varieties that remain to duplicate orchards that once grew in the valley. Those old aromatic reds and snow white goldens were eaten raw when they were ready and supposed to be eaten raw, and then stored or canned to be cooked later. We had real apple sauce. We had real pies. We had real cakes.

            Exotic stuff came after fresh butchering.

            Son-of-a-gun stew was a concoction of many parts of the butchered animal. It was wonderful when prepared by those master cooks in their warm river kitchens (at cow camp it was known in more colorful language).

            On the Cliff side of the river, brains and eggs were eaten the morning after a butchering. The brains would be harvested, washed, and refrigerated in a pan. They would then be fried crisp and added to scrambled eggs. I can remember as just a little guy sitting on my grandfather’s lap as he fed me (a little catchup made it better!).

He counseled me that it was good, and I believed him and still do.

History Lost or Revealed?

            Other than sugar, coffee, salt, most spices, and that bottle of spirits, most of the homemade fare on tables of Gila River homes came from the mountains or the land between the river and the back doors. Permanent chopping blocks sat in the flat in front of chicken pens. A-frames with block and tackles stood outside barn doors. Gardens and orchards were more prevalent than cultivated yards. Ripe field corn was shared by neighbors. Fresh fish meant fish caught during the day and eaten, fried, that night. Bread meant leavened bread punched down and baked before meals.

            Pickles, both dill and bread-and-butter, were made on local kitchen stoves.

            Cow tongue was cooked all night on the same stoves!

            The river shaped the livelihood and the heartbeat of the community. It became part of the community as much as the community became part of it. To obliterate the customs and culture that have evolved over the past 140 years is an abomination not earned by the modern-day colonialists with their ever more layered federal land designations. This community deserves historic preservation not separation from its roots.

It is the recorded history of the Valley.

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “The Gila River remains home.”