D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
October
2008
James K. Metcalfe
Page: 3By then, most Grant County residents knew the Mangas Creek Ranch was located where Mangas' group had most likely called "home." The obituary also mentioned that Metcalfe was "gifted with considerable literary talent, and articles from his pen were to be seen in a number of the southwest papers in the early days." The obit finally added that "in his death the community loses another of that fast disappearing clan who made it habitable." (Of course, the land had always been habitable to the Apaches, just as it was.)
The current owner of the Mangas Creek Ranch, Larry Foster, told me that the ranch was handed down to the male who showed the greatest interest in keeping the ranch rather than selling it. After James K. Metcalfe died in 1910, his son Orrick became the ranch's owner. (James K.'s brother Bob Metcalfe had died in Kentucky in 1905.) Orrick died in the 1930s in a mining accident. Because Orrick's son had also died in a mining accident, Fred Foster — Larry's father, who'd married into the family when he wed Madeline Eloise Metcalfe on Aug. 16, 1934 — became the owner.
As I've hiked the present-day Mangas Creek Ranch, I've considered how lucky I am to have been led there. A few ranchers know me by now, and have given me permission to hike on their lands, all of which were touched by the Apache. When I walk those rugged hills, I know I've encountered places that whisper of Mogollon or Apache spirits, all as ephemeral as pollen in the wind. Out of respect for them and for James K., Sarah, Mollie and Orrick Metcalfe, Fred and Larry Foster and the Fosters who live there today, I tred lightly. It's important to never forget we're here because they aren't.
Until I sat down and wrote this article, I hadn't felt at all connected with James K., Mollie or the other Metcalfes. They were merely names and, in one instance, images from a photo.
One of the things one often reads about this land in the 1840s, even perhaps to the 1880s, was that the pioneers said the grass was as high as the stirrups on a horse. Several writers described the grass — green, thick, waving — as "luxuriant." I've been here seven summers now. I've seen the grass as dry and brown as an old golden retriever's back. And I've seen it green. This year, the rain has turned practically all the land south of I-40, straight into Mexico, greener than I've ever seen. Some locals tell me they've never seen it this green, either.
But I suspect James K. Metcalfe and his children, who walked or rode these lands so often, saw the grass green and "luxuriant" here in the rough country they made their home.
Now I can say I've seen luxuriant grass bent by the wind and know those old timers didn't lie. Under the crackling blue morning skies of New Mexico, I'm glad I have places to walk, and contemplate: "The wind that blows today has always blown before/ Will always blow/ The wind that blows today has never blown before/ Will never blow again."
Jerry Eagan earned a BS in political science at Indiana University and the University of Oregon, and an MFA in creative writing at the University of Oregon. He describes himself as "a life-long historian and learner, a warrior and spiritual walker many lifetimes over." He is currently teaching a course, "Apacheria and the Apache Wars: 1850-1890," through the Western Institute of Life Long Learning (WILL). This is the 13th article in his "Hiking Apacheria" series; to read the complete series, see www.desertexposure.com/apacheria Extra material relating to this story and Mangas Coloradas, including a map of the proposed Gila Apache Reservation, can be found at www.desertexposure.com/extras
1 | 2 | 3 | ALL