It’s been a long, odd day – and it is only 2 pm

I set an alarm for 6 am to go get James from work. When it went off I was so tired – I hit the snooze. So I had to rush when I did get up – but at least I got out the door with my keys…

But without the phone.

The three sheriffs cars sitting at the intersection of the county roads on our land were still there. Strange. When I got to Engle, where the road intersects highway, there were two more sheriffs cars and cones to block the road. They motioned me to turn onto the highway, but I pulled into the gravel area next to the railroad tracks and got out. An officer approached. I asked him what was going on – explaining that I live on Jornada Lake Ranch down the road, and there were officers on the BLM leased to the ranch also.

The “spaceport” is going to launch a missile today and the public is invited to watch.

Aaaoooohhhh, so that explains the “public viewing area” and little garage sale like signs saying “Spaceport America” with arrows down our road. Pffft.

The nice officer is from Tulsa, OK! Asked what part of Oklahoma we were from when he saw LeeLoos tags (no, still haven’t switched her) and we exchanged former addresses and some pleasantries. He can’t wait to get back – he hates it here! City boy, he says. Oh, I agree, then you probably ARE miserable. He nods with a smile.

I’m getting late – so although I’d enjoy visiting with the nice deputy, I need to get going. LeeLoo and I head out, passing what amounts to a traffic jam for our quiet little country highway, as well as a checkpoint being set up on the other side of the road and the County Fire Department and EMS vehicle. Lots of confidence they have in this spaceport, eh?

Got to Denny’s and James wasn’t quite ready, so that’s okay. Warned them they might have a bit of a rush later. Heard James had a really bad night – the rush began about 3 am – and never stopped. His help decided he really did not want to cook – he wants to remain an SA (like I was) – which is good – he is a really good SA. If I had known he was going to be coming back…oh well.

We stop at IGA for a newspaper to find out when this launch is taking place. 8:30 - we’ll be home just in time. Homeward bound down 51 we pass people creeping along at 20 or 30 mph looking for a parking spot. I suddenly remember how it felt sometimes living at Westport when the 4th of July City Picnic, or Oktoberfest came around. I go around the “Sunday drivers”. One of them has a white van with a number and name and Starfleet insignia. Chuckle.

Get to the checkpoint and when they peer into the car and narrow eyes at James and say, “Where are you headed?” we get to say – HOME.

“Oh” says the (I kid you not) potbellied, mirrored sunglasses wearing Sheriffs officer, “I saw you go by a little while ago, didn’t I?”

James is tired and stuttering, trying to explain where we live. I smile and tell them, “Jornada Lake Ranch, down on-“ the officer smiles and waves us on.

“Sorry, folks.”

Just being careful, I know.

As if terrorists would give a shit if we shoot dead people to the stars.

Oh yeah, they are launching a rocket full of cremains into low orbit. Yes, now you, too, can be buried – uh, so to speak – in space. Or at least your ashes can. Much to-do in the paper about how this company is the first to sign up for the Spaceport, even ahead of Virgin Galactic (the one planning to send tourists into space on shuttles) and this is their second launch (their first was from somewhere else – not mentioned).

The nice officer at Engle is squatting by his patrol car, trying to stay out of the wind I suppose, and just waves us on with a smile.

There are a couple of trucks, with folding chairs and ice chests, sitting alongside the county road just past the lake. (Uh, folks, that is a low point…) I give them the hairy eyeball. You can hunt on our BLM, even camp on our BLM, but you can’t drive off road. The desert soil is too delicate here. James says we’ll inform the Sheriffs officers up the road.

The officers wave us over – repeat of the first checkpoint performance. Plus, “You know those people off the road up there?”

“No, we don’t. You know, that is BLM, not our deeded, but …”

He nods, “I wondered. Well, they are pulling out now.”

“Maybe because I gave them the hairy eyeball.”

“What?”

“I gave them the hairy eyeball. I’m a bit protective of the desert here.”


The officer chuckled. “Don’t blame you.”

We pulled away – so he could wave those other folks down. Let him give them the lecture.

We get home, close and lock the gate behind us (which we don’t usually do when we are home but…) and I do my chores. Life goes on. Gardens must be watered, and kittens and chickens must be fed. James has a shower. I take our folding couch and a couple beers and set us up to tailgate off the truck – since the wind is blowing from the north (and chilly) the truck cab will cut it off and we’ll have a perfect view towards the Spaceport.

There is a bird inside my truck.

I do mean, inside the cab of the truck, sitting on the steering wheel. (Sorry, I didn’t think of getting pix until too late). I do think to go get the Audubon book though. I think he was a Dusty Capped Flycatcher, but there are like seven really similar Flycatchers that are all native to the region. See, I should have gotten pictures.

When James came up the poor bird got really hysterical and was battering himself on the windows, so I opened the door and let him out. He must have chased an insect right inside and then not been able to figure out how to get out. They had to come in the sliding back window, between the glass and the wire caging behind it. We slid the window shut and sat down to read the rest of the article and watch the launch. And drink a beer and a few shots of Hot Damn. And eat a sandwich. And watch a Black Tailed Jack lope lazy across in front of us, grazing his way across the pasture.

And finally – 25 minutes late – a streak of white into the sky. Somehow faster than I expected. And vanishes. Seconds later a low rumble rolls across the desert.

That’s it.

Whoot.

We wait a few more minutes. James dozes off. The desert lapses into it’s usual quiet.

The neighbor’s dog barks. I wonder if the coyotes will still visit and sing in my backyard at night, now that we have a fairly close neighbor with a barky dog.

We get up and come inside. I have a bite of breakfast and read my new Western Horseman sitting in Mr. Sunbeam. James sleeps.

(In related news; Ashes of Star Treks Scotty Fly to Space - I wish I'd known earlier)

About 11 am, it is nice and warm. Outside it has a misty damp feel, as if it may rain. There are some clouds in the sky, although there are also patches of azure blue. I figure, I’ll let the goats out, and if they come out I’ll take that as assurance it isn’t going to rain. Goats hate to get wet, and if it really is going to rain, Sweet Pea will not come out of her barn. She’s better than a weatherman.

The goats hesitate, and then dash out anyway. I walk slowly up to the house, finding along the way one of yet another new wildflower that has just begun blooming. They are very small, yellow with orange and red details that have a faintly insectoid look to them.

Back at the house, I sit outside and enjoy my coffee. The wind gusts, and then dies. Just dies. Chills creep up my spine. In Oklahoma, this is tornado weather. You don’t drop forty years of conditioning overnight. I make myself stay at the picnic table. The goats haven’t come up to the house yet (they usually saunter along behind, grazing their way to the yard – they like to keep an eye on me, but don’t want to seem toooo attached…) I begin to wonder if they turned right around and went back in the barn.

I go in. I come out. I do a 360 turn, looking at the distant mountains. On the south and west sides, there are no visible mountains. North, I can see a cloud bottomed by mist that I’ve learned means it is dropping rain. South and east – more of the same.

Making sure Hani is inside with her kits, and getting some pellets for the goats, I close up the warehouse. I find the goats under the flatbed trailer behind the house. True, they’re probably sheltered enough there, but I don’t want to have to come out in the rain later to put them in their pen. At night, they do have to be safely in their pen.

They aren’t reluctant to follow me down to their barn. Usually, Sweet Pea would rather graze than eat pellets, so I figure – yep, rain is on the way.

Walking back up, the thought occurs to me. You suppose this is the old Gods way of saying – they don’t approve of rocket launches of cremains into their domain?

Hmmmm…

Back in the house, at the computer, I start fighting off panic attacks. Ever since that nasty storm on Santa Rosa, I’ve found windy, rainy storms frightening. I know, rationally, that I’m quite safe in the house, and we are also in a bowl surrounded by mountains – so we don’t get the hail and lightning often. But.

I finally get up and do 30 minutes of yoga. Okay. That worked.

Thunder crashes around us. Louder than the missile this morning.

The bird feeder is still busy. The sparrows, black-headed grosbeak, house finch and white winged doves obviously aren’t worried.

Sigh. I am. James is up. I tell him my theory about the Old Gods. Thunder rolls. The rain begins to fall.

Blessedbe