Farmers Markets are popular.
This market, on a Wednesday, opens at nine and features a smattering of produce, vendors selling chili rellenos and rice bowls, massage therapy in a chair, potions and ointments made from cactus and other desert plants, jewelry and yard ornaments,information on real estate and medical insurance.
This morning, happening at the same time and place as the market, is a Rincon Club Photo Session for the Geneology and Pickelball Clubs.
With over a thousand spaces in this park, there are lots of over 55 folks looking to while away spare time. There is a railroad club, metal shop, sewing and quilting hen house. There is ballroom dancing, square dancing, jewelry making, hiking, bird watching. There are clubs for golfers and bridge players and a poker room. You can spend your time in genealogy, archeology, mixology or any theology you like.
Vendors wait for business to pick up today. Many follow a circuit and this is one of many venues where they show their wares during the week.Yard ornaments are well priced with bright colors drawing people like bright flowers attracting pollinating insects.
” The peacock is very nice, ” I comment as an older woman walks gingerly on the grass past me to look at its price tag.
” i know, ” she says wistfully, ” but I’m on a fixed income. ”
This retirement paradise gives me a feeling of loss.
Watching a generation with experience and knowledge and wealth consigning themselves to walks and shuffleboard seems oddly wasteful.
Even old people can’t always afford what they want, or pay dearly for what they think they need.
I should have bought her the peacock but her husband wouldn’t have been too happy about it.
Cactus and the desert work together in Arizona like salt and pepper.
Inside the row after row of RV’s, park model homes, clubhouses and accessory buildings, swimming pool and hot tub, pickle ball and tennis courts, are varieties of cactus. There are upwards of 2000 varieties of the prickly plant spread over the world. Most all of them have shallow root systems, the ability to gulp up water quickly and hold it for future use, and all withstand dry harsh hot climates.
These cactus have been planted, like the palm trees, at strategic locations in this RV resort. Many residents have additionally planted their own little cactus gardens in front of their park model homes also adding ceramic lizards, fountains and colorful potted plants. The largest cactus in this area is the Saquaro that can live 150 years and grow to 15 feet tall and there are many in this park. Saquaro are such special cactus that they are protected by the state government.
If you dig up a saquaro in Arizona you are looking at a fine and jail time. Cactus rustling is now on the books but they won’t hang you for it,yet.
Rustling cactus, on face value, looks like a pretty easy crime, except for the needles. The downside is that selling a stolen cactus to a buyer, in a place they are already plentiful, seems like a bit too much work to make the theft have an upside.
Most people love trains.
Just to the southeast of the main office at Rincon West RV Resort,in Tucson, runs the Rincon Railroad.
Sitting on a little hill, train conductors sit in lawn chairs with wireless controllers and run their trains through their make believe town. A train schedule is posted at the station, and, on this day, an engineer is trying to figure out why his train loses power in the turns. His wife is adding little plastic people to displays of Old West scenes in the miniature town, scenes that are now mostly found in kid’s books.
Trains helped settle the west and in early morning hours, in South Tucson, you hear real train whistles as big boy trains speed through pulling box cars of coal, shipping containers, and empty cattle cars.
In receding light this evening, this choo choo is not running much longer. The conductor and his wife need to fix dinner, sit around their front porch with neighbors talking about old days, listening to Glenn Miller on an old radio prized by antique hounds.
At the Rincon West Railroad Club you take a stroll back in time,
Playing with trains is something little kids and big kids have in common.
By eight in the morning, on a Saturday, a tournament is humming along.
The game is simple enough.
Each player has three discs and a stick. Each turn, a player pushes one of his disks down a slick court with his stick and tries to make his disc stop in one of the scoring areas marked inside a distant triangle. Each disc that stays in the top portion of the triangle is worth ten points. Further towards the base of the triangle, the points awarded are less. A player has to play offense, getting his disc in high scoring areas, and defense, knocking an opponent’s disc out of a scoring area.
” Each court is different, ” one of the onlookers tells me, ” and they break different ways. ”
This is a tournament between the Voyager RV Resort, on the other side of town, and the Rincon Rv Resort.Cursing is kept to a minimum because women are present and all know that tomorrow is another day. As players take their turns, scores are tallied. When the tournament is done there will be certificates awarded and losers will buy beer.
The throwing motion is slow and deliberate. A disc is cradled into the U shaped handle of the stick, the player pauses, takes two steps and leans forward, extends his straightened arm towards the distant triangle. It is a soft motion and the stick, properly used, never leaves the surface of the court. After your throw, you stand back and hope your opponent, who throws after you, doesn’t erase your effort.
This is a game one would think a five year old could play, but they aren’t skilled enough, or devious enough.
Old people might be old, but they aren’t without experience in duplicity.
It takes smarts to get to old age and no one, with any smarts, wants to spend winter in a cold place.
This winter I’m in Arizona again but I don’t try shuffleboard because I’m not old enough, yet.
In the downtown historical district of Truth or Consequences, hot springs bubble to the surface.
In old days dusty cowboys would hang their chaps on mesquite branches and swap stories with Indians who hung their moccasins on adjacent branches to look like rabbit ears. In newer days, hotels have been built above the springs and guests soak in claw foot tubs to their heart’s content.
The only admonishments to guests at River bend are not to indulge in drugs and/or alcohol, limit the time of your soak, keep hydrated, call for help if needed. River Bend Hot Springs is well maintained and now you hang your chaps on hooks inside private soaking enclosures. For social folks, there is a public soaking pool just outside the office.
Looking out from my Tierra private soak, the Rio Grande meanders, not in any hurry to get to Juarez.
Each time here, there are more amenities.
Jake, as one of his worker’s admits, ” does a damn good job of fixing things and making the place better. ”
When I lived here I visited two times a week. Now, two times a year has to do.
Hot water soaks seems to often straighten out my bumpy thinking.
A good placebo usually beats bitter medicine every day of the week.
There are only three countries in the world that have a primitive art movement. One is in Haiti, another is in Yugoslavia, the last is in Nicaragua.
In the southern part of Nicaragua are a group of 26 islands in a province called Solentiname. A Catholic priest arriving there many years ago noticed locals painting on gourds and helped them move their inspirations to canvas. Local artists continue to paint and earn livings from this stylistic folk art.
This room, at the San Francisco Convent Museo in Granada, is dedicated to the Nicaraguan primitive art movement that celebrates nature, community,order, and color.
The works and artists, though different, all belong in this room. They work within a style that is larger than they are, an ocean that supports their boats.
It is like the Garden of Eden calling you home.
The intensity of the artist’s focus is like the eyes of a tiger watching you from inside it’s cage.
In the San Francisco Convent Museo are a series of paintings that chronicle Nicaraguan history.
The paintings start with aboriginal peoples who first inhabit lands before they are claimed by anyone but God. Then paintings move, in book style, through discovery and founding, colonization, building and commerce, fights for independence, reconstruction and modernization.
These paintings wait for the arrival of a brand new brother or sister.
Maybe the next painting born will be of a new Panama Canal, through Nicaragua? Maybe the next will show the country moving from Socialist/Marxist group ideology to free market small business capitalism, the way the United States used to be before it lost it’s way.
People all over the world these days seem weary of their leaders.
People following their own drummer seems a healthier recipe than falling in step with someone else’s twenty year plan.
Ann’s art studio is also a gallery, a meeting place, a classroom, a resource of information, a great place to pick up a brush if you have an itch.
Studios, as opposed to galleries, are works in process.
There are finished and unfinished compositions on the walls, stacked in corners, left on easels. There are cans of brushes and rags, solvents and photographs of scenes that interest pinned to boards.The discussions here are about color, line, proportion, texture, what you want to say, how to put paint on a flat canvas to get a three dimensional shape and how to create art people want to buy.
Some of the works here have Nicaraguan scenes while others channel European or American traditions.
A studio is a place of discovery.
All these projects are around me, whispering, laughing, demanding attention, asking me to purchase them and find a place at home to show them off.
The pursuit of art is noble even if it gets messy and expensive.
Calzada Street begins at the Granada Cathedral and ends at Lake Nicaragua. This street has become a main tourist draw and has everything a tourist might want, and plenty they don’t need.
In the stretch down both sides of Calzada Street you have bars, restaurants, street vendors, an open seating area in the middle of the street, waiters standing on sidewalks promoting mojitos and two for one Happy Hour. This place is a mixed drink of locals, foreigners, tourists, ex-pats, hustlers, transients, businessmen, artists and artisans, homeowners.
In the old days this was a sleepy street and residents lived normal lives. With an influx of foreigners, real estate became more valuable than most could have ever imagined. A quiet street on the way to the Lake became the Las Vegas Strip. Old adobe homes were suddenly valuable.
This house on Calzada Street has brought local issues out into public.
It’s owner calls out swindlers, by name.
The bottom line is that this house is not for sale, unless, of course, the price is right.
Swindlers buy dirt cheap and sell sky high.
Swindlers, and those swindled, dance a fine line on Calzada Street.
The Historical District is deceptive.
Walking narrow streets and sidewalks, you meet massive walls and sturdy doors, wrought iron,sturdy secure steel gates.
When you peek through cracked doors, or open windows, you are surprised with glimpses of cozy interiors, plants, fountains, bicycles on tile floors, rocking chairs, big screen televisions. Drafts of cool air, funneled through the house, hit you in the face.
These old original homes are built with thick adobe walls which cuts noise, keeps temperatures constant, and keeps occupants safe. By opening windows and doors you get ventilation. There are multiple porches and open spaces for dining and entertaining.
If I lived in one of these old homes, I would spend much of my time on the upstairs porch, rocking in a chair, sipping coffee, listening to the neighborhood.
The rest of the day my shoes would be in the streets following the pied piper.
These colonial homes, re-habbed, or not, all use lots of space, built in a time when there were fewer people in the city, space wasn’t sold per square foot, and families were bigger.
There is still, in Nicaragua, plenty of space to lose, or find yourself.
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