La Boca

The Chief was right, I needed to get out of town. I stumbled out of my bedroll and made my way to the public bathroom at the campground. Maggie loitered outside while I bathed. After a refreshing 50 degree shower, I decided we would walk the 2 miles to town to get some breakfast. Besides, Jetta needed some rest from yesterdays hard ride. Balmorhea is an oasis. The main attraction being a Spring that pumps millions of gallons day to the surface that centers around the state park. The water moves fast and provides a delicate ecosystem for minnow like fish, the species can only be found near the springs source. The fish dance with the currents of the geothermal offerings. Somehow, I was going to have to make this place seem like the Bolshoi, Sturgis, and Yellowstone all in one, to satisfy our readership at The Hub. I need eggs, red meat, and alcohol to make that happen.

Maggie and I walked along the highway, the Balmorhea Spring at our side. It irrigates the land around the town and feeds into a nearby lake as well. Dotted along the aqueduct are farms and a winery. We were definitely going there after breakfast. Perhaps media perks were appreciated. Let's hope that wines flows like the spring of this day.

The local town only supports about 800 residents, but it isn't your typical West Texas burg. There are thriving gift stores with pinata's, carved bears from wood, wind chimes, and typical Mexican trinkets and blankets. We finally stumbled upon Tiffani's. I decided to mosey on up and patronize.

Breakfast at Tiffani's

Tiffani's is a local favorite, I could tell right away this was going to be a special moment. By the way, the sign out front had the 'I' in Tiffani dotted with a heart. After being greeted at the door, I immediately wondered if I should call a local Realtor. Why? Any progressive town that allows smoking, dogs to sit in the booth with you, and serves ice cold beer before 10am, is a town worth living in.

I wondered if angioplasty was offered for dessert, because the smells and items described on the menu were lethal. Lethal but so good that is. I ordered the migas and a ribeye medium rare. Pearl Light in a can. I felt so damn good, I said,

"Bring out a 10 oz sirloin for the kid, would'ya plaese."

I lied to the waitress and said Maggie's name was' Sundance' and that mine was 'Butch.' She didn't get it. 'Sundance' dipped her nose in the salsa verde causing her to sneeze violently while I read the local paper produced out of nearby Fort Davis. On the back, it was reprinted in Spanish. I didn't really understand the parts written in English, so I immediately tossed it aside and focused on the television. Fox Sports El Paso was on, and doing an expose' on the UTEP Miner's soccer team. Riveting.

Maggie, excuse me, 'Sundance' finished her sirloin in 9 seconds. Then proceeded to slink out onto the cool floor beside the booth. Everyone came by as they left to pay there respects. Our waitress wasn't to keen on clearing a table, but she made up for it in replenishing cool beers. She was getting a big tip because she starting calling me, "Mister Butch". The whole Pulp Fiction coolness of a Mexican woman saying "Mister Butch" was a 25% bonus for her.

I was fixated on perhaps starting a pyramid to honor my achievement of discovery, but felt the eyes of a high school student group on me, and thought better of such a monument.

Finally, the teacher came by and said, "Rusth, is that you?"

Damn it, I thought, can't I just get away without being noticed.

"We'll hello, how are you doing?" I was bad with names, especially after the mind control drugs are circulating. I felt annoyed and I hope the look on my face said, 'sorry I can't remember your name, will you please remind me.' No such luck. I sort through the mental high school yearbook. Maybe Chuck, or Dave, or Eric. Nothing fit there. We weren't close friends back then, so no real foul.

His name was Trent, I caught it on his drivers license. I remembered he was a fat kid in high school, but he had slimmed down quite a bit. He just sat down and poured out his soul to me like I was a bartender. Except this bartender was getting ready for an afternoon of bumbling through wineries and taking out of focus pictures. Trent was a born again Christian and had a family. Showed off his picture of his obese wife and obese girls, ages 7 and 3. That seemed odd to me, because I remember we use to speculate harshly the Trent was gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that now. It's just that I have a "gaydar", and it's as accurate as a Super Doppler Storm Tracker Weather Center forecast.

"Just on our way back from the observatory. Taking the kidths back to San Antonio." The lisp is emphasized in "kidths". There it is. The National Sexual Orientation Center has issued a gay warning out for Trent. Be advised, that Trent is a born again Christian with possibly deep inner conflict....Yada, Yada. Who cares. Whatever floats your boat brother.

"Listhen Rusth, if your evar in town, give me a call and I can show you around. Good to thsee you again. God blessth. Caio!" Trent is definitely a traitor to his team. (Insert Brando doing the Kurtz whisper..."the horror.")

'Mister Butch' and 'Sundance' paid our way out of Tiffani's with a heart shaped I, looking forward to the Burns getting a receipt on my expense report that included the words "A.M. Bar". I felt like Lester Burnham with a slice of bacon on the side. I uttered to myself,

"I rule!"

Beer before wine? or is it Liquor before beer?

La Boca Del Vino winery is likely the laziest alcohol operation in the world. They produce only 5,000 cases of wine a year. It's all Cabernet. The bottle has nothing flashy on it. I thought it might as well just have a white label on it with black block lettering on it that simply says, WINE. There was nothing special about the tour. I walked in and asked for help from one of the migrants working inside a barn I thought might be the 'Visitor's Center.' He did not speak English, but knew what I wanted to see. He pointed to the fields of grapes. Then he pointed to the rusted cone shaped whatever. I guessed that is where the grapes fermented. The he led me to the bottling barn. There were chicken coups and a hog pen adjacent to the building. Tour over. Pictures taken. Now let's finish the mission.

Then I said the universally, or most understood phrase in Spanish that I knew to convey I wanted some alcohol. I mimed a bottle tilted to my mouth and said,

"Otra"

He laughed like a bastard, and I knew what he was thinking. "Otra" doesn't mean I want one, it means I want many more, or something close to that. Hey, I'm still learning. But I got street smarts from my days whoring around in Matamoros. Probably learned more there in one Spring Break than the 15 semesters of college I took in the language. Enough of that lament.

Anyway, he said something outloud and all of the sudden 15 migrants came rushing up with bottles. I started handing out dollars like rap star at a titty bar. All told, I scored a case for just a smidge under 60 bucks. I asked for a glass, but I got alot more than that. Immediately I was put into an old 60's model Chevrolet truck and driven to a nearby pond that had a table and chairs nestled under some old pinion trees.

"Tu comida?" The migrant inquired. That means something about food I think.

"Yes...no...SI! SI! SI! SI!"

Something was uttered under his breath but I assume the words "pinche" and "gringo" were used. He had a big smile as though he meant it like, "hey, your the bomb shizzle!" But I know it somehow meant to really state, "fucking tourist!" Anyway, 'Sundance' and I were all set. Mister Butch aka Pinche Gringo, was damn near heaven. I thought I might write the Los Lonely Boys to tell them of the location. I also thought if I started a rap group I would do so in Spanish. The band name would be Pinche Gringo and the White Raza. or maybe Blanco Raza. I don't know.

Drunken fish

Juan Miguel de la Garza was a man in his early 70's. He came by to this place each day to take his rowboat out to catch his dog food fed catfish. He noticed me right off, but didn't say a word as I mumbled the yell, "Helllloooo thare!"

He didn't even look in my general direction after I made a noise. I sat there watching him. Streams of Shur Fine dog pellets floated in the water, and all of the sudden fish mouths began to gobble up the debris. As soon as he finished the feed, he gathered his pole and got in his boat to row out to the middle. It was an amazing sight.

As he rowed, the catfish seemed oblivious to his intent. They kept gobbling and only darted whenever the boat was nearing their spot on the water. As soon as he passed by, they would continue their feast. 'Sundance' started barking at the fish on the water and suddenly the old man reversed course and headed directly to the shore where 'Sundance' was in distress. I started towards shore to protect the kid.

"Is that chour dog?"

"Yes sir, sorry about that. I was just enjoying the scenery."

"I like dogs, would chou mind if she came along while I fished?"

"No, not at all, but she might be a pain."

"No, no, not this one. She will settle down, fishing is peaceful. Chou come along too. Bring chour vino."

Wasting no time, I gathered up 3 bottles and headed for the boat. Senor de la Garza was pulling out fish after fish and letting Maggie play with them in the boat. I couldn't lie to Senor Garza, and revealed our true identities. I was sitting back watching the clouds reflect on the water in drunken bliss. I offered some up to Senor Garza, and he gladly accepted.

He said, "So chou live in Lubick?"

"Yes sir, err Senor Garza"

"Call me Jaun. So tell an old man, what is a man like chou doing at La Boca?"

"I'm supposed to be writing a story for my magazine, but the truth is I'm running away from a woman back home."

"Ahh yeas, a woman. This is why chou say 'otra' to my boyzz!... chou look troubled. Tell Juan this trouble."

Maggie tossed a fish accidentally out of the boat as I began to tell Juan about Twila. Juan de la Garza is not the kind of man to mince words, instead he chooses carefully. He sat there and listened to me, then he put his hand up as if to stop me from speaking. I stopped and he sat in silence smiling and fishing for a while. This went on for at least an hour and even though I felt uncomfortable like I had offended him, his smile reassured me I didn't, so I relaxed instead.

He took the bottle of wine, and began to sip on it and admire the taste that only a creator can appreciate. It was his, this place was him, and he was this place.

"I am glad you are hear on this day, Mr. Smith. You are a troubled man, but inside I think you have a good heart. An old vaquero knows."

"Thank you sir, I mean Juan."

"Chou need peace, but to appreciate the peace... chou must endure the pain. Only a woman can do that, give chou peace and pain."

I didn't say anything, how could I? So profound. This wine is fucking good!

Then he did the unthinkable. He motioned me to sit still and placed his finger against his mouth to tell me to be quiet. He placed his hand on Maggie to ease her tension and somehow she too knew to sit silently. He then reached down into the water and pulled out a fish with his bare right hand.

Then the triumph sprung from his voice, "Ha YAHHH hahahaha, chou see, chou must respect the peace and it will provide you with life! HAHAHA."

He took the bottle of wine, poured a little into his hand and uttered something in Spanish to the fish, it was like a prayer. Then he slips some wine droplets into the mouth of the fish, placed it in the water to let it go.

I watched as the fish floated by me upside down, wondering if a) it could ingest alcohol and b) if in my second life I could be a catfish in this pond. The catfish then sprung to life and swam away.

"Let's cook the rest up, haha! Chous will be my guest."

"I will be honored Senor de la Garza!"

"I like the way chous say that, Senor Smith."

Juan Miguel de la Garza

Senor Garza was a lonely old man, his wife Rosita had passed away from cancer a few years back. He had fathered and raised 5 boys that had all left La Boca for the cities and careers. His life's work was this 7th generation rancho in Balmorhea. He proudly recited the lineage beginning with his greatest great grandfather. Juan Alfonso was deeded the land for his service during the Texas Revolution under Sam Houston. Through droughts and pestilence, Juan Miguel had always survived with his land in place. While so many Texicans had sold out long ago for the dreams of San Antonio, El Paso, or San Angelo.

Juan Miguel also had one daughter also named Rosita, he called her Dosa. Throughout the 100 year old home, he had pictures of his bride and family portraits of days long past. Quinceneras, fiestas, and Dia de las Muertas were shared here. This evening he shared his stories and fish with me, and spoke of those gone from La Boca.

He sent his crew to fetch Jetta, while he filleted and battered the fish. He made pico de gallo as fast as a blender, with only a dull knife to aid him. Next, he produced freshly ground tortillas from corn grown on the sandy Boca fields, and shaped just this morning by his crew. He bragged that the offspring seeds he used were brought here originally by Juan Alfonso, and toasted his name with yet another glass of wine. He wrapped the fish in bacon and placed them neatly on the grill to roast on an open cooking fire that had served his family since he was just a boy.

On and on he labored, with only his 'Dosa' to aid him. She dared not get in his way, but was merely there to curse at him in Spanish for doing something that she could have easily helped to make time. Senor would have none of it, and continued furiously for 3 hours, bring snacks for me to stem the tide until his homegrown bounty was ready to serve.

Finally at 9pm, the dinner bell was rung. Into the great dining room with a 10 foot hand made pinon table and chairs that were made to last 200 years or more, the entire crew of La Boca sat down to feast. Senor finally rested at the head seat, as he waited for everyone to quietly settle. He then raised his glass of wine, and everyone else followed suit. I didn't know what the old man was saying, but it sounded more eloquent that a Shakespearean soliloquy to my ears. Senor Garza spoke steadily and firm, and everyone then stood to toast the old monarch of La Boca, then said together.

"Nuestra tierra de madre.... la boca!"

To our mother Earth, the mouth. Well, it sounds better in unison on 25 Spanish tongues. The meal lasted way into the night and then broke out in song. Juan Miguel was getting tired I could tell, but wanted one last chat with me before bed. I followed him out to his spacious patio, and he calmly lit his pipe.

"Now chou can go home and write your story. Will you tell of La Boca?"

"Oh yes Senor, I will. You are so kind and this place is an oasis of heaven."

"Thank you from my grand fathers and mothers, I am juss the caretaker of the oasis and I miss my darling Rosita. I keep busy to pass the time until we meet again. Chou are a young man, I hope chou can have what i have hads in life."

"There is no way I can ever touch this, Senor. I thank you for your day here. Of all the things in Texas, this place and you are special to see alone. I don't know if I want to pollute you with all the visits that will come."

"No, no, no, La Boca is a giver of life. It, how do you say, restorezz... and this will be good for alls the people to sees one day. My Dosa will carry on after me. Let them enjoy the wine of my grand fathers and the peace of my Rositas pinons and gardens."

"What was she like?"

"OH, Rosita was a cactus in a wildfire. The most beautiful woman in this world. Many mens wanted her, but she wanted only me. She came to me and I could never let her go. This is good? No."

"Yes it is Senor. So what did you do to win her?"

"Chou cannot win a woman, she claims chou for life, and if chou are a good man, you learn to give chour life to her. Is this Twila a good woman?"

"Well Senor, she is and she isn't. She is like your Rosita in a way, like a cactus in a wildfire. I cannot get enough of her, like your wine."

"Oh, this is good and bad Senor Smith. Good that she is like the wine... hahaha... but bad is she is not grown jus right."

"She is different. She likes many men. But yet, she all of the sudden just came out of nowhere and is mean to me and nice to me all it once and all the time. I can't explain it. She isn't anything like the others. She cusses and swears and isn't so feminine like alot of other women."

"She loves you, Senor..chou can say no more about dis. It is...and old vaquero knows. I knows like I know the fish. Be still and silent and wait for her, she will come to you, and then chou... must grab her and love her ...then learn that one day, CHou... will have to let her go. Like the fish today. I say a prayer to Rosita, and then I let her go again...until it is our time to swim together again under the pinon trees."

He smiled in his peace. He left me in silence to retire to bed. I sat there alone with feint noise of happy people singing and the sound of the breeze through the garden. I wondered if Twila was thinking of me the way I was thinking of her now. There has to be more to her than this. I just can't be feeling this way, unless that were true. Tomorrow I ride again, but tonight I miss Twila like I have never missed a woman before.