Freddie Mack Incognito
Wayward Journey(s)
Underground Nocturnal Airlines
By Stephen L. Wilmeth
The
Promised Land always lies on the other side of a wilderness.
~ Havelock Ellis
The story
of the collared wolf that made a recent grand sachet out of the Gila and as far
southeastward as Dona Ana County surely wasn’t reported as if it was big news.
In fact, try to find a reference to it and there seems to be
nothing but dead space. The electronic archives are blank.
Even his
(likely a lone male) color is uncertain, but his collar is undeniable. It
appears he was tracked from the Gila to the area around the Las Uvas dairy
complex, through the Uvas Mountains and on to a point near the Dona Ana County
Airport. From there, he crossed the freeway and made his way south to the
international border. Rumor has it the near completed wall kept him on the
north side of the boundary. At some point, he must have tired of the desert and
his internal radar pointed him northward. He went home to the Gila as if it had
some primordial draw.
In our
case, we saw no collared wolf.
We did see
a wolf along about the same time, but he had no collar. He was loping up the
road on the north side of Massacre Peak. He was dark in color and there was no
hesitation in declaring him a lobo. In fact, that is exactly what Pepe said
when he saw him.
His tracks
showed he drank at the Massacre trough and then indication of his direction was
lost in the corruption of car tracks and wind. Maybe he, too, made the grand
circuit in the quest to scope out life after wilderness. In fact, that is what
is going to happen. There isn’t enough wilderness to support the 320 or
whatever the new number actually is for the prescribed expansion of Mexican
wolf, Canis lupus baileyi.
That seems
aggressive beyond the pale … especially when that number probably exceeds all
historical numbers in the American epoch.
Wayward
Journey(s)
Indeed, there
is a migration afoot.
The U-Haul equipment
headed east at high rates of speed are daily events on I-10. In the old days,
it was the common understanding that those trucks had governors on them, but
maybe they have been rendered incapacitated in order to accommodate the high demand.
Yessiree,
tie everything you can on those rented mules and get the hell out of Dodge, or
LA, or wherever the exodus is most profound. Then, get to where the modern
urban wilderness areas give way to just a semblance of law and order,
opportunity, and hope, and there it will be, the promised land.
Daily, those
rental units go speeding by somewhat akin to our beloved, Freddie Mack, the
golden who would sit in the passenger seat and never look left or right. He’d
only glance sidelong momentarily if you talked to him about something
pertinent. Otherwise, he just stared down the road as if awaiting the flight of
ducks he just knew were coming. Put sunglasses on him and he would match those
tortured drivers perfectly.
Good luck,
Texas, Georgia, and or Florida!
These
people don’t look happy in the least. There are some who might argue the
greater number of them are likely conservative, but, hey, they’ve lived their
whole lives in those urban wastelands. Too much of it will never rub off and
then you’ve got a growing gaggle of left coast loons that breath your air and
crowd into your voting booths.
It is
interesting, though, watching the metrics of the eastward migration. The
stories describe California as losing this number a month or that number a
quarter with the suggestion that the Golden State is on the edge of
abandonment. There is even the space given the odds of losing congressional
seats and or funding as a result.
Of course,
that is nonsense when the other migration beyond the wilderness is analyzed.
Underground
Nocturnal Airlines
The libs
are silent. The conservatives are crying wolf (that is an interesting,
unintended comparison on this day), but the exposure of the nocturnal flights
of illegal immigrants leaving Biggs nightly is a big story in some
circles.
Living on
the border, we are largely lulled into a perpetual state of cynicism by the
absence of any constitutional protections for our private property rights. The
United States doesn’t protect us. The normal ongoing busy work of so-called
protection has forever been anemic, and, judging on whatever the number is,
maybe 25,000,000 illegals remain extant north of the border.
No, the
word should be pathetic.
In truth, Mexico
should be classified as nothing more than an American territory. One indicator
is the ever-increasing, record remittances going south monthly. Those, of
course, are the somewhat legal remittances the ones that can be generally
assumed to be legit in terms of quantifying.
The illegal remittances must be a quantum
leap to behold, but here the administration is, loading contracted flights of
non-Americans and sending them to unknown destinations nightly. How can that
even be possible and what legal authority are they using to hustle these people
away from the border?
The number we were told last year
was some two million illegals who knocked on the door and the Biden
administration welcomed them onto American territory. With such
antics, it shouldn’t be such a leap to understand why and how our perpetual
state of cynicism grows only more profound.
There is danger afoot, though.
There will come a time when a
leader emerges who will use the emotion of the times to gather a coalition of
supporters who will succumb to a nationalistic agenda of correction. Depending
on his leanings, that leadership outcome runs a high risk of violence beyond
our American imagination.
The wilderness and its promised land
may be more than what we bargained for.
Stephen
L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Mucho cuidado”.
No comments:
Post a Comment