Tag: El Pao

Creede: Part IV

Richard Barnes

I am grateful to men and women who have been gifted with the time and budgets, not to mention the friendships and contacts, to enable them to research and investigate the history of the Creede mining camp area. Their work has been a rewarding one, at least to me, not only because my family and I are so attracted to that area but also because their work reminds me of El Pao and the ore mining industry in Venezuela.

The temperaments and characters of many of the men and women in Creede were similar to those who came with the Bethlehem Steel and US Steel to Venezuela about a half century later. 

Would that someone could do similar research and investigations of El Pao and Cerro Bolivar! It would be rewarding reading to many, I am sure.

In this concluding post I will mostly use others’ words relating events or recollections in an evocative or thought provoking manner. The sources are primarily A Silver Camp Called Creede by Richard C. Huston; Bachelor Colorado: A History Of A San Juan Mining Ghost Town by Charles A. Harbert; and Creede: Images of America by Charles A. Harbert and George Ameel. 

One of several memorable anecdotes concerns the Last Chance Mine:

Ralph Granger and Eric Von Buddenbock were partners in a butcher shop in Del Norte…. One morning early in 1890 two men entered the shop to buy some salt side. They were going into the hills above Wagon Wheel Gap, they said, on a prospecting trip. They dallied, talking mining and luck and suddenly … Ralph Granger exclaimed: ‘I’ll give you all the grub you can use for a month if you’ll let me and Buddenbock in on what you find’. The prospectors, Theodore Renniger and Julius Haase, agreed and set out….

[Towards the end of their time and supplies; they took “one last chance” at prospecting] the two men were in the Creede area and camped [near] a pleasant grassy spot on Bachelor Mountain, where their burros wandered off for some serious grazing. Renniger (or Hasse) noticed that the burros were missing. He caught up with the errant animals berating them in three languages, kicking and pelting them with rocks to move them along. As burros will do, they did not budge.

Renniger sat down to wait the burros out. He began to casually chip at an outcrop of rock and struck a vein showing rich silver ore. He offered up thanks to the burros and named the discovery the Last Chance. The very rich Last Chance Mine was discovered because of three obstinate burros!

The butcher shop partners and the prospectors became wealthy men. Years later Haase was in Del Norte and asked a shop owner if he knew of a nice girl who would like to marry him. The owner said that he did; and introduced him to his daughter. They had a happy marriage.

John Jackson tells the story of a young man who lost the mining bug almost upon arrival in Creede:

A young fellow from Oklahoma had been hired by our shifter, Glen Archer, and placed on 700 level of the Amethyst Mine…. He was assigned to pull ore from a filled slope with a single car and dump it in a pocket for hoisting to tunnel level. He had removed several tons of loose ore creating a pocket above the chute that was called a hangup.

He wasn’t familiar with explosives and was debating about getting someone to help him when it gave way with a rush of air and splintered a timbered wing closing off the only route he knew to safety. He worked his way south from the slope and happened upon a ladder that reached 600 level where I was working. 

He saw my light and ran to me blurting out, “Gawdamighty! I’m glad to see you!” We weren’t acquainted but he recognized me as one of the crew who rode in the same pickup from Creede. “Listen feller,” he went on, “if you’ll show me way to get out of here, I’ll never come back in a mine again.” I led him up the manway to 500 level then on to where he could see daylight. He thanked me and I never saw him again.

That young man understood the dangers and was not willing to continue. Mining ores was still ongoing in 1951 when Bill Swinehart lost his life when a hangup collapsed prematurely and crushed him to death.

Caroline Bancroft tells about her visit and research on Bachelor:

In 1960 there were only three cabins left standing on what was formerly Bachelor’s residential street and a few remnants of the boardwalk on its main street. Among the trees on the east side of the meadow where Bachelor once lay was a narrow picket-fenced grave, shaded by trees. Three bodies are buried there, one on top of the other, because of the difficulty of digging in frozen ground the day after the tragedy that claimed all three.

Charles Harbert tells about the last folks to leave Bachelor:

The last family to leave Bachelor was apparently the Allen family in 1915. For some time past they were the only family living in Bachelor and finally moved to South Creede to occupy the Spangler residence. This is the same Mr. Allen who shot his partner, Andy Wellington, in self-defense in 1905 and was acquitted of murder. After their parents died, the daughters, Mabel and Olive, lived for several years in Creede and supported themselves with a milk cow and a few sheep they obtained from herds moving to and from summer pastures.

The last person to live in Bachelor was reported to be Annie Marshall. She was the wife of Garrett E. Marshall, a prospector. They had a son, Garrett (Gary) Marshall, who was born in 1912. Gary tried to get his mother to leave Bachelor without success, so one day in 1945 or 1946 he borrowed a pickup truck to bring Mrs. Marshall and her belongings down to Creede against her will.

I will close this post with an incident which amply demonstrates a mother’s love:

The Wagon Wheel Gap Fluorspar Mine was developed by two tunnels and several small shafts and open cuts. In 1917 a surface tram track was constructed to the railroad where the ore could be dumped directly into the rail cars. The grade was such that a mule could pull a number of cars and thus a large tonnage could be loaded on the railroad cars.

In July 1927 as one of the “horse trains” approached the railroad depot, a young girl caught her foot in a rail switch and could not remove it. Her mother came to her aid and was unable to free her little daughter’s foot. The mother, seeing she could not free her daughter, then embraced and held her daughter as the cars sped towards them. 

Both the child and her mother lost their lives in the accident and were buried in the Creede Cemetery.

Above photos were all taken at Wolf Creek Pass on the Continental Divide, not too far from Creede. They give an idea of the geography in the general area.

Photos by Andrew Barnes. If you’d like to see more photos, his Instagram address is https://www.instagram.com/andrew3arnes.

Creede: Part III

Richard Barnes

Before the men of El Pao brought their wives and children, the pioneers had to build the camps. 

So the Bethlehem Steel set out to build a camp on the banks of the Orinoco River to receive supplies and materials needed to clear and grade a roughly 40-kilometer road through the thick jungle and also build the administrative and labor camps housing the workforce that was to come later, not to mention the mine itself. 

These efforts required intelligence, strength, determination, and capital to pay for mine development and required facilities such as hoisting and power plants, mine machinery, and so on.

Visiting the Creede mining camp area, I was immediately reminded of the iron mines in Venezuela. The geography and topography, not to mention the latitudes, are nowhere near the same; however, the spirit and type of men and women drawn to such endeavors were certainly so.

The last time I visited El Pao in 2005, it was awfully quiet compared to my childhood and youth there. Nevertheless, it was nowhere near being a ghost town. A number of families still lived in the labor camp while a much smaller number occupied some of the houses in the administrative camp where I used to live.

The temperate climate and green jungle were still ubiquitous as always and the folks remained friendly.

But the dynamiting and the ore crushing and the shouts of miners and the freight movements — truck or train — were gone.

Visiting the Creede mining area provoked similar observations. The spectacular ruggedness which greeted the prospectors and, later, the miners, is still there beckoning hardy souls who dare to trespass; the sites of the numerous mines can be seen and, in some cases, visited; the areas where camps once thrived are there. But all is quiet, even though Creede itself has never become a ghost town to this day.

Many were the men and women who left their mark in this area. Many whose names are known to us and who-knows-how-many whose names remain unknown but to God.

This post seeks to note only a few, which, hopefully, give a glimpse of the many more whom space does not permit to mention.

It is believed that the first settler in the area around Creede and Bachelor was Tom Boggs, brother-in-law to Kit Carson; however, his interest was in fur trading, not mining. Of interest is the fact that Boggs, who was not only Carson’s brother-in-law but a good friend, was present at Carson’s death, when he uttered his last words, “Adiós, compadres [Goodbye, friends].”

Carson’s wife, Josefa, died a month before Carson in 1868, and Boggs became guardian to his children and also executor of his will. 

In learning about the Creede mining area, my attention was immediately drawn to John MacKenzie, a Canadian known as the “father of Bachelor”. He learned the prospecting and mining trade in the gold fields of Nova Scotia in the 1860s. He also successfully prospected for gold on the Essequibo in then British Guiana and also on the Caroní in Venezuela, areas now dominated by Tren de Aragua and other bands of robbers. 

MacKenzie’s health suffered in the damp, hot jungles of Venezuela and British Guiana and he returned to North America after several years. He successfully identified a number of mines in Creede including several in Bachelor, which he believed was perfectly situated for a picturesque town. His health finally gave out and he passed away in 1894. The Creede Candle reported his death:

“[He was] well known to nearly all the people of Creede camp and the mining men of the west…. He left no will …. Was unmarried and the only known relative is a brother in Halifax…. The death of Mr. MacKenzie removes one from the ranks of the old pioneers who was respected by all and held in the highest esteem as a man, a citizen, and a friend.”

Fred Ryden’s early childhood and youth were lived in Bachelor and, after Bachelor’s demise, in Creede where he still lived in 1952 when a Rocky Mountain News reporter found him and spent a day conversing and hearing his accounts of a life long since gone:

“It was the riches of the hills — the Last Chance, Bachelor, Amethyst, Commodore [mines] — that had brought the thousands there to build the stores, drink in the saloons, pray in the churches, learn in the school…. Fred Ryden went to grammar school in Bachelor, from 1893 to 1904 when his family moved down to Creede. And it was a sentimental picture to watch Fred try to find the exact spot where the old school had been. For there was nothing there now at all.”

Until relatively recently, Creede was home to families who first arrived a century before. One of these was John R. Jackson, whose grandfather, William T. Jackson, Sr., came to Creede in the 1890s during the silver boom. He and his house first made a home in a small cabin in Bachelor where he worked in the Last Chance and Amethyst Mines. Later, the family moved to Creede from where he worked the Commodore Mine. He died in his early 50s from silicosis, a common disease among miners of that era.

Jackson, Sr.’s son, “Billy” Jackson was born and spent his early childhood in Bachelor before the family moved to Creede, two and a half miles away. He too worked the mines, with a hiatus for service in WWI. He also contracted silicosis and had to resign his mining activities in the late 50s but remained in Creede, working as undersheriff and eventually as the city clerk. 

His son, John, followed his grandfather’s and father’s footsteps, working the mines, serving in WWII, and returning to the mines afterwards, eventually becoming a successful investor in the business. In the 70s he worked for the Freeport Exploration Company in Nevada as a prospector for precious metals. He retired and returned to Colorado where he wrote of the people he knew in the Creede mining camps and also wrote poetry. 

This multi-generational aspect is quite common in the mining industry. 

In my first post of this series I told about the violence in Creede and Bachelor, while mentioning that the camps were also home to decent, hard working families. One of the incidents could have been violent but was handled creatively and successfully. The account is taken from Boom Town Boy, by Edwin Lewis Bennett, as cited in Bachelor, Colorado by Charles A. Harbett:

“I saw two fights in Bachelor that spring and each was odd in its own way. 

“The first was not between men but between two women, one of them Irish and the other Cornish. They had been quarreling at each other for some time and, coming downtown that day, had run into each other and started jawing.

“Their husbands, fed up with the long feud, agreed that was the time to get it settled so they made the wives fight it out, Marquis de Queensbury, without any scratching or hair-pulling, but man style. Foster’s saloon was at the upper end of town, and the fight took place right out in front, so we had a ring-side seat. Occasionally one of the women would revert back to type and bare a claw or get a handful of hair but her husband would make her back up and start clean again, so it was a nice, respectable battle. 

“There were no rounds. The women were both fairly well padded and short-winded, and the time came when they were panting and taking wild, aimless swings at each other. As one had the makings of a good black eye and the other had a bloody nose, their husbands thought they ought to have it all out of their systems and stopped the fight. The battlers sat down on the bench in front of the saloon to rest and get their breath, and, one of them happening to mention that she had some beer on ice up at the house that might do them both good, they went there, leaving their husbands to get the groceries they originally started after. 

“After that fight each of them had one more friend than she had before and the husbands didn’t have to listen to any more name-calling.”

Children in such camps did not have difficulty finding excitement and adventure. In one example, Fred Foster recalls, he at 15 years old, and a buddy at 16 years old decided to go over the Continental Divide in the dead of winter to Spring Creek where his family had a ranch. They went by skis and it took them two days, and a mountain lion followed them part of the way. Imagine a 15-year-old and a 16-year-old setting out today to cross the Continental Divide in the dead of winter!

Similar to El Pao, both Bachelor and Creede had a Roman Catholic church and also a Protestant church, with a well attended Sunday school. 

Charles Nelson, one of the founders of Creede camp, a friend of Nicholas C. Creede and also of John C. MacKenzie, was known as an honorable and pious man. In the winter of 1890-1891, he built a cabin in Creede. “The first church services in the new camp were held in his cabin by the Reverend Sanderson of Denver in the summer of 1891. Nelson, upon hearing that there was a preacher in camp who could not find a place to preach, insisted that he use his cabin whenever he wished [cited from A Silver Camp Called Creede by Richard C. Huston].” 

After making his fortune in Creede camp mines, Nelson returned to his native Denmark where he died in 1919 after undergoing a major surgery:

“He made few enemies and many friends, to whom he was always loyal, standing by them to the finish. His death marks the passing of another one of those boom-day characters who did so much to make the state of Colorado famous. There are many old timers here yet, in the camp he helped to discover, who remember the things he did, and who will regret to learn of his death [The Creede Candle, February 21, 1920].”

The Protestant church in Bachelor at an altitude of 10,531 feet was known as the “highest church in the country”. 

To be continued.

John MacKenzie, 1838-1904

Ore house and chutes for the Commodore Mine, one of the most productive in the Creede – Bachelor mining camps. The Last Chance and Amethyst were even more productive.

Next to the Commodore Mines ore house.

Five sons further up the Bachelor Loop

Son, Jonathan. Note the ruggedly beautiful yet isolated landscape

Moose, near the Bachelor camp site

View from near Bachelor camp site

Creede: Part 1

Richard Barnes

Never underestimate the childhood experiences you offer your young ones.

Having been born in a mining (iron ore) camp, and having a father who’d take me “to the mine” and a mother who’d participate on “giras” [tours] of historical or natural wonders relatively nearby, I was not only born in what surrounded me, I was purposefully immersed in it. 

I don’t think my parents did this “intentionally” — I’ll have to ask them on Resurrection Day — but I do know they believed in the importance of gratitude. Therefore, they wanted their children to appreciate their birthplace and their heritage — in my case that would be both Venezuela and Spain as well as Massachussets and England. So as we grew up, we learned to respect, if not love, “where we came from”. 

We also learned, albeit intuitively at first, the tremendous capital — human and material — necessary to carve out a mine and camp and to provide sustainable living in the Venezuelan jungle.

So, although we never had much of an interest in engineering or prospecting or related fields, we certainly respected the immense effort and costs and sacrifices entailed in any mining operation.

Early in my career, I was in an economics conference in California where a gentleman spoke of miles of pipeline being laid from Alaska down to the 48 states. 

I do not recall exactly what his involvement in that multi-billion-dollar project was, but I do recall that he told of how he insisted his daughter accompany him on one of his trips to the project. She was in college and into all the trendy activism of the time. 

He wanted her to see the colossal efforts and investments required to enable her to turn on her blow dryer and to successfully turn on her car ignition. And the men working the required 10 to 12-hour days to make her creature comforts happen.

As I listened to him, I felt gratitude in my heart for my parents, who did similarly to that man, only my folks did not wait till I was in college to do so.

Another aspect of mining towns was the colorful nature of some of the men who worked there. This was an aspect that a child did not automatically pick up. Rather, it was something that grew inchoately over the years, in many cases long after the child had moved away from the camp and reflected on certain characters and, if lucky, was able to ask others, still living, about them. 

How many novels yet remain to be written and movies to be filmed!

So mines, any kind of mines, have always drawn my attention. I even once seriously considered accepting a position in mining operations in Senegal! Colleagues and friends advised me to wait on something like that. So decades later I was much better prepared to accept a position in Saudi Arabia.

In 1991 or thereabouts, during a family trip to Southwest Colorado, we were intrigued by a dot on the map, on the Continental Divide, that was labeled as having been a booming silver mining town in the late 19th Century. 

We decided to visit and we’ve been heading back there whenever we have an opportunity to do so, most recently after my son’s wedding last month.

To summarize, Creede is named after a man who was born around Fort Wayne, Indiana circa 1843. In infancy his family moved to Iowa territory and began farming. In his late teens he volunteered with the army and worked as a scout in cavalry campaigns against the Sioux. It was during this time that he traveled through Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado, and other western areas. He also witnessed the discovery of gold in the Black Hills and that piqued what became his lifelong interest in prospecting.

The man’s birth name was William Harvey. After his service in the army his intention was to return to Iowa to woo a gal he knew “back home”. But he had been gone nearly a decade and upon returning he found that the girl had married his brother and was mother to a young child.

This discovery greatly rattled William Harvey, provoked him to change his name to Nicholas C. Creede, and spurred him in his resolve to become a successful prospector, which is (most of) the rest of the story.

His first strike was near Monarch Pass, on the Continental Divide in Central Colorado. He sold his strike and promptly struck another, which he also sold for a larger sum which he used to tour the areas he considered most promising and, as he went, to study and learn about prospecting and minerals. He clearly had the desire, energy, and intelligence to become a successful entrepreneur.

After several other strikes, Creede discovered what became known as the Holy Moses strike and this drew the attention of David H. Moffat, a well known financier and industrialist, one of the pioneers of Denver, Colorado. He and his partners not only leased the Holy Moses from Creede, but also partnered with him in his further prospecting. This arrangement became very lucrative for all parties and we can only imagine how encouraging this was for Nicholas C. Creede.

And this led to his greatest find: the Amethyst vein, from which several mines were developed, including the Bachelor, which we will see in later posts. The years of study, hard work, and wise dealings and associations finally rewarded Creede, as he was now a millionaire and even lived to see a town named in his honor: Creede, Colorado, sitting on the Amethyst vein. He was described as reserved, modest, and courageous.

The town of Creede was the last silver boom town in Colorado, growing from 600 inhabitants to over 10,000 by end of 1891. The boom was over by 1893; however, Creede was never a ghost town and continued to operate well into the 1960s, relying on other minerals in addition to silver.

While mining in the area was very successful, the town attracted men and women whose primary interest was to relieve the miners of their money while in turn making “easy money”. This unfortunate state of affairs — common throughout history — was, ironically, exacerbated by “reform” activities in Denver which pushed underworld characters and their businesses out of the capital onto Creede where their trades were welcome. 

So Creede (and Bachelor) were known as “having no night” and yet also had churches and, in Bachelor, even an opera house. 

If you visit the Creede Mining Museum, you will learn about Jefferson “Soapy” Smith, known as the king of the Creede underworld, whose brother-in-law happened to be the deputy sheriff. You’ll also be reminded of the notorious Robert “Bob” Ford, the murderer of outlaw Jesse James. Ford moved to Creede where he himself was murdered by Ed O’Kelley whose motive for doing so was never ascertained with certainty. O’Kelley served less than a decade in prison and, after release, moved to Oklahoma where he was killed in a shootout with a policeman.

Another resident of Creede was the famous buffalo hunter, scout, and lawman, Bartholemew William Barclay Masterson, better known as Bat Masterson. In Creede, however, Masterson ran a gambling operation while also betting on prizefighting. He eventually succeeded in journalism in New York City where he died in 1921, a few months after attending his last prize fight, where Jack Dempsey defended his heavyweight title. 

By the way, Jack Dempsey lived in Bachelor as a child. He likely learned how to fight there.

Creede’s population today is just under 300.

As for Nicholas C. Creede, he, sadly, did not marry well. He eventually moved to Los Angeles and died of an accidental morphine overdose in 1897. He suffered from chronic and severe stomach pain and took morphine frequently. The coroner ruled his death accidental, which most at the time considered a reasonable conclusion.

Creede and Bachelor are types of mining towns all over this earth as well as microcosms of society everywhere. Good, pious folks, living among genuinely bad or shady people. 

The names above are well known to us because of so many works of fiction and non-fiction, not to mention movies and television shows. Nevertheless, we must also remember that such were not the majority of these towns. They also had folks, like Mr. Creede, who were modest, reserved, courageous, and decent. 

To be continued.

Downtown Creede, Colorado

Creede, Colorado in 1892

Bachelor, Colorado, late 19th Century

Bachelor, Colorado, today

Nicholas C. Creede, c. 1843-1897

Bat Masterson, 1879-1921

Jack Dempsey, 1895-1983

When The World Was So New And All

Richard Barnes

There are days which are achingly crisp and clear. 

They are not restricted to a specific part of the earth. We’ve seen them “everywhere”. They are, however, restricted to certain days wherein precise weather conditions and time of day and season of the year on occasion cooperate in such a wonderful way as to gift us so marvelously. I am told that, in addition to outside factors, one’s own state of mind also contributes to how such days are beheld.

Invariably such moments remind me how new the world seems when we look back. And one is tempted to think that all was crisp and clear when one was a child. We know better, of course — or at least we ought to know better. However, if your childhood was blessed with a decent home — whether rich or poor or in between — you certainly should be grateful.

I recall visiting the El Morro fort in San Juan, Puerto Rico one late afternoon in 1978. It was one of those aforementioned, astonishingly clear days, about two hours or so before sunset. The beauty of the day was not due only to my personal inward peace; a television crew, which I later learned was from an advertising agency, was filming a lady on a horse. It must have been a shampoo commercial as her almost-waist-long hair reflected the sun’s rays as she rode her horse, with trees and fort and sparkling ocean in the background. Clearly the advertising agency knew this was a “perfect day” to shoot such a commercial in that spot.

(Lamentably, the trees are gone; my understanding is that they were removed in the early 90s to make the fort look “exactly” as it did in the 16th Century when it was built.)

But one need not be in an exotic location to enjoy such days. I’ve seen them as I worked on the property outside my home in Texas or as I drove grandchildren to a Puerto Rico mountain top or sitting on the low wall outside the camp club in El Pao. And you have seen such days also, I’m sure. We all have.

Invariably, such days tug me back to a vinyl record my father bought when I was not yet two years old. No, I don’t recall the day he bought it; as far as I am concerned, it had always been a part of my life; however, in writing this post I looked at the issue date: 1955.

It is Gary Moore’s The Elephant Child: Musical Adaptations based on Just So Stories For Little Children by Rudyard Kipling.

The second story in the album is “How The Camel Got Its Hump”. Like all such tales in Just So, “Camel” is an origin story. Moore delightfully channels Kipling as he unfolds the yarn about a world that is just beginning and has much work to be done. The horse, the ox, and the dog are doing their best to help the man; however, the camel just sits there in the desert doing nothing but saying “Humph!”

A recurring motif throughout the story is that “The world is so new and all” and this creature refuses to carry her weight. If you don’t know it, I’ll let you read the rest of the 2 or 3 pages; or look it up in Internet Archives and listen to Moore’s adaptation.

It’s the recurring refrain that comes to my mind on days of crispness and clarity: when the world was so new and all.

Robert Redford is quoted as saying, “Life is essentially sad.” I understand his meaning to be that happiness is a rare thing and when one encounters it one must grasp it for a moment, for it is too seldom seen. 

Mr. Redford’s is a sad philosophy of life, I am truly sorry to say. Yes, we may see much tribulation in life, as the apostle tells us. However, life can be joyful and its end, glorious and eternal, as per the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

I see the aforementioned days as reminders of God’s goodness. They are one of life’s gifts which cannot be explained with mere words; but are part of the joy unspeakable that is ours in Christ and in His Kingdom.

As for our childhood, yes, colors were bright then … but they are bright still, no? Sure they are.

We may have storms today … but we had them back then as well.

As we begin the new ecclesiastical year, celebrating this Advent Season, we could do worse than remember to be grateful for the days we have been given and to determine to make our remaining days worth the while.

So, in a sense, the world is as new and all today as it was in 1955.

Photo of El Morro Fort taken in 1977. Notice the trees along the driveway and to the right. These were cut down and removed in the early 90s.

Robert Redford (1936-2025). Photo taken in 2003

Birthday

Richard Barnes

“…No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence — that which makes its truth, its meaning — its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream — alone …. Of course, in this you fellows see more than I could then. You see me, whom you know ….” – Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

A great challenge, which I have not conquered, is to accurately convey the life sensations of the epochs lived in El Pao. To describe the people who played life-long roles in shaping my character — the person who I was and who I became. In this, I agree with Conrad: it is impossible.

I do not pretend to be a literary genius — guffaw, guffaw! — nor anywhere near a master of a vocabulary which can precisely portray the people I so longingly miss and love. All I can do is write snippets and recall persons and events which had an influence on me. 

But I do ask my readers to know that I love the people I grew up with in my childhood. I respect and honor them. Beginning with my father and mother and relatives such as aunts and uncles on both sides of my family. And friends — not only friends, but also their parents and grandparents. It is a great honor to be able to have called your father’s and mother’s friends your own.

Family bonds are critical, not only to the family, but to friends and acquaintances thereof.

These introductory thoughts are elicited by memories of one of my childhood birthdays. It may have been my fifth, but I can’t be sure….

Birthdays were pretty big deals in El Pao. 

I sat inside, on the living room window sill, watching my mother standing under the shade of the giant Araguaney, placing beans in a glass jar. I looked away, not because I didn’t want to win that contest, but because I was afraid someone might see me and call me a cheater.

I would not be able to explain my fear. I only sensed a profound need to not disappoint my father or mother and, in my mind, being publicly accused of cheating would have been a very great embarrassment to them and, so, to me also. I felt I represented my father and mother as much as they represented themselves and, therefore, I would second guess myself on occasions such as this, when I might be able to see my mother’s lips as she counted the beans or as she gave the total to Mrs. C. for recording.

I recalled, with sudden stomach turmoil, the Easter party earlier in the year when I had indeed seen Mrs. Y’s lips as she told Mrs. S, who then wrote the number down. I had closely observed the movement of the pencil in her fist as she wrote the number, confirming what I had read in the lips. I had repeated that number, 146, silently to myself throughout the following hour or so and when the guessing game began I astounded all when I loudly exclaimed, “One hundred and forty-six!”

No one had seemed to suspect me. On the contrary, they laughed and congratulated me on a perfect guess.

Sure. A perfect guess. But it hadn’t been a guess at all.

I soon apperceived guilt and wondered whether there were someone who had seen me looking and had guessed my dirty little trick. Anyways, I knew God had seen me. Except when my mind was on games and scrambling around, I was miserable the rest of that afternoon.

That was a feeling I did not want to entertain on this day.

So I looked at the balloons tied to tree limbs and overhangs and clothes lines, seeming to bounce against the breeze. I recalled watching my mother and Elena, their mouths forming embouchures, as they filled each balloon. I liked the colors: blue, yellow, orange, purple, red, and white.

Many were tied to the branches of the fustic just outside my bedroom and I remembered the yellow dye that seeped from any wounds on that particular tree. All these colors — blue, yellow, orange, red, and many whites — colors were the only differentiation between the numberless globes of cheer, which would be one of the memories of that day that would ever remain with me.

And these colors were perfectly limbate against the green. I loved the green of the massive Araguaney in our front yard and the dark green of the jungle around the mining camp where I was born five years before.

That green I could see from practically any point in the camp. Right now, I looked up a bit, a little beyond the balloons, and there it was. The green. The foliage painted the distant hills and mid-sized mountain green. To me, green was the color of freedom, of excitement and adventure, of danger, of a magnificent future, of poignant music and children’s laughter. It was a color which would forever remind me of not only this day but of all that comprised my entire childhood in El Pao.

Soon, children were scurrying and crawling over the birthday grounds as their mothers coordinated the various games which culminated with the striking of the Piñata.

Above photos are not of the party I recalled in today’s post. Am not sure where those photos are today.

Above was carnival and most of us wanted to be elsewhere.