"Brent! Brent. Aunt Jean says our cousin Diane is going to have twins. Oh, I hope I get to have twins, I love twins, it would be so fun to have two babies... and Mom’s cousin Jaime is having twins too!"
"Settle down, Lynae, you are so baby crazy and you're only thirteen. Don’t wish your life away! You want to know what having twins is like, let's go visiting. What do we have that can take us back to 1885, let's see, here's a coin that should work. Get ready to see all the twins you can handle."
"What are we doing outside in a barn? It's cold out here, and it stinks like cows and goats."
"Well, yes, it's a barn. Barns smell like this, and we're in Santa Rita New Mexico."
"Policarpio,” a voice interrupted, “have you got that goat milked yet. We will need extra milk, so you're going to have to milk on time every day. But for now, bring in what you've got, you have a new sister."
"A new baby, a little girl? Wow, OK, I'm coming right now, I'll finish the chores later."
Brent and Lynae followed the nearly eleven year old Policarpio into the kitchen and watched him strain the small pail of milk into a clean bowl, then run back outside in the cold January night to continue milking and cleaning with fourteen year old brother, Jorge.
Brent trotted after them and offered to help out with the chores. It was better than sitting around a house while a new baby was coming into the family. Lynae followed the sounds of women talking and cooing and the sound of the newborn infant cries.
A mid-wife ran quickly past, instructing her to find more blankets and bring more hot water. "There's another baby coming!" she told Lynae who hastened to obey. Taking the blankets into the room, Lynae saw two beautiful new born baby girls and offered to hold one, while the midwife began to clean up from the birth.
Ana María called out again to say another baby was coming, but the midwife claimed it was just the afterbirth coming from the first two deliveries. She cried out again, and Lynae called to the midwife -- I think it is really another baby, it looks like the head is coming out. Sure enough a third baby was being born.
Lynae felt dizzy and weak. With the tiny baby cradled in her arms she found a chair to sit in while the nausea passed. She decided that just because her stepmother had been a mid-wife, it sure didn't make seeing birth for the first time any easier to watch. Lynae sang to the baby in her arms: " María Clara, little abuelita, you'll grow up some day, and be the mama of my Grandma Lucy, and my Auntie Lola and..." She took a moment to gaze at the calico covered walls and admire the coarse xerga fabric spread over the floors. Looking upward she focused on the muslin tacked across the ceiling beams.[1]
When news of the second baby had come to the boys in the barn, Policarpio became excited and begin working faster to finish the chores. When the news came that a third child had been born to his mother's already large family of eight children he became enraged.
"I'm going to put a stop to this," he told Brent, grabbing his arm and marching into the house in protest. Jorge and Brent laughed at the small boy so determined to stop the natural process.
"Anyway,” Brent assured him, "there were only three babies, there won't be any more."
"Well, just eleven kids, I guess that's OK." agreed Policarpio, calming down. At least some of them have already moved out and started their own families."
“There would have been sixteen, but four babies died. One set of twins and two others. Even though they have all of us, Mama and Papa were really sad when those babies died." The Bustamantes were considered a wealthy family in their time, but this many children had to put a strain on life’s demands.
Twin sisters Angelita and Felicitas, now nineteen had married before they were sixteen. Both were there to help their mother in this difficult birth and little two-year-old Francisco Antonio ran from room to room saying “three babies, three babies. “ Marie Ana, nearly five, attempted to hold on to him to keep him out of the way, but could not, herself, contain the excitement of having three little sisters.
Lynae struggled to keep her excitement under control as she helped tend the three tiny babies, watching the two small children as they grew more and more excited.
The four boys came in from the barn with a blast of cold from the winter night following them into the kitchen. They stood by the cook stove warming their hands and faces before they attempted to wash up. "What's for dinner, we're starving," they all said looking around at the unusually empty kitchen.
"Everyone is busy with the babies," Lynae said coming into the kitchen on her errand to fetch milk for the baby girls. "Brent, you boys will have to find something to eat on your own, we women are busy tending to the triplets."
Policarpio and Jorge groaned in unison, and little Hipolito copied them with a sigh and imitated their body language. Brent looked around for a refrigerator or microwave to begin the dinner, as Policarpio suggested they go to the root cellar to get some potatoes, a fairly new food in New Mexico.
"I know how to cook potatoes,” Brent said enthusiastically remembering when he was, “and there's some meat hanging out there in the cold too, we can take the hatchet and cut off a piece, it’s frozen hard.”
Gradually the warm smell of cooking meat and potatoes with carrots and onions filled the kitchen and welcomed the busy family to a hot dinner.
"This is really good, Brent." Jorge said taking a second bowl full.
"It's just something we make when we're camping with our mom. Lynae and I learned to make tortillas last summer." Brent said modestly, glad he had learned to make the popular scout stew during their summer adventures.
Lynae picked up the genealogy charts. Two of the triplets died when they were just little, but Clara grew up to marry and have a family of her own. “You finish cooking the tortillas I have rolled out.” Brent directed from the couch near the apartment kitchen, “and I'll read you this story that Uncle Eliseo wrote about his mother, Clara Bustamante. You probably ought to stir the stew, too, so it doesn't burn on the bottom of the pan.”
“That would have all been right around the time the railroads came through. Another big change in travel and that really made a difference in the tools and fabrics available to our families.”
“Up ‘til then the only things brought into New Mexico were brought by mule train or wagons from Mexico or from Missouri. But the people kept up with the fashions. As soon as they began receiving woven goods they went back to wearing the brightly colored chaquetas, laced calzoneras for pants with brightly colored sashes and embossed leather belts. The ladies dressed in silks, satins, ginghams and lawns with embroidered crepe shawls, and gaudy jewelry, huge necklaces, rings, combs, and bows. The women painted their face with white flour paste and rouged vermilion on their lips and cheeks. The white paste was partial protection from the sun and partly cosmetic. The poorer people dressed in serapes and flannel, but the colors were just as bright and varied.[2]
[1] Samta Fe Trail pp 160-161
[2] Santa Fe Trail pp 1770-171
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Clara Bustamate by Eliseo
By Eliseo Baca
Born January 13, 1885 married January 23, 1902
died 5 November, 1918.
Clara Bustamate was born at Santa Rita a small settlement twenty miles north of Magdalena, New Mexico. He parents were José Antonio Bustamate and Ana María Vallejos. José Antonio is listed with his parents Policarpio Bustamate and Guadalaupe Larranaga living in Tajique, New Mexico in 1850. Ana María may have been living in the area because she and José Antonio were married at Tome.
By the time of the Civil War they were living at Lemitar, from there they went to live in Aton Chico, where they stayed for seven years. They returned to join other families that were moving from the Río Grande to start a new settlement that has been known and is known to this day as Santa Rita, not Rily.
José Antonio and Ana María had altogether sixteen children among them, two sets of twins but only one set of triplets. Clara was one of the triplets; the other two died at the ages of two or three.
Clara had very fond and vivid memories of the seventeen years she lived in Santa Rita. Many were the incidents she remembered. Some sad, yes, but most of them hilarious. With her wonderful sense of humor she could see the funny side of life and with such a compassionate nature she keenly felt the misfortunes of others.
The people who lived in Santa Rita were not wealthy, but never the less they lived in rustic comfort. The family of José Antonio, besides having the farm, drew some extra dollars from his work as the village blacksmith -- his sons learned the trade.
Clara lost her father in 1894 when she was only nine years old but the youngest in the family. The mother held the family together. With what the farm produced and with the willingness of the boys to do their part, they managed to carry on.
Then in 1901, out of the clear sky, so far as is known, Nazario Baca dropped into this peaceful village to ask for the hand in marriage of the little guerita he had known when they went to school together back in the early nineties. The details are not known as to how the decisions was made to leave a pleasant home and a pleasant way of life to go to an isolated frontier ranch in the boondocks of the west Rito Quemado. How many tears were shed will ever be known. Regardless of the imagined heartaches, Nazario and Clara were married in the Santa Rita church and shortly afterwards left for Rito Quemado.
Clara left the house where she was born. She left behind her beloved Santa Rita; she said goodbye to her even more beloved mother, never to see them again. A month after the wedding Clara's mother was killed by a train at Lemitar as she was getting on it.
Nazario and Clara went to what is now called East Quemado and lived there for well over a year in the homestead of José María Baca, the father of Nazario. Perhaps because José María relinquished his homestead to his brother Anastacio, Nazario and Clara moved for Lomita Collards, about two miles down the creek and lived in one large room by Nazario's sister’s house. Then Nazario filed for 160 acres where the town of Quemado stands. There with the help of don Severo Rael a fairly good three room picket house was built to which three more rooms were added later. Those are bound to have been harsh times for Clara, but when she spoke of them, she did not complain. Harsh times were taken for granted.
When Nazario and Clara moved into the new house, they were some five hundred yards from the home of Nazario's Uncle Ramon García and his wife Anita. This couple was a great comfort to the family even years after Nazario and Clara passed away. Their many acts of kindness have never been repaid.
At the age of seventeen Nazario had taken his deceased brother's sheep on shares, and on sheep Nazario and Clara with their growing family depended for their livelihood. Late in 1912 or early 1913, Nazario went into the store business and it could be that economically life improved, but the fateful years of 1918 were approaching.
The marriage of Nazario and Clara lasted a little less than seventeen years. At least six children had been born but four were living when the flu epidemic of 1918 hit the country. Clara was among those taken she was not quite thirty-four. She was followed by Nazario four years later when he was thirty-nine. Although the two parents died young, the four children they left behind are still alive.
“Wow, thirty-four”, Lynae spoke reverently. “That’s when I was born. Mom was thirty-four when she had me. And Mom and Dad were married for 17 years. She didn’t die, but she nearly did. She definitely would have in that time.”
“So, Auntie Lola, Grandma Lucy, Auntie Marian and Uncle Eliseo are the only living kids of Grandmother Clara?” Lynae added trying to keep it straight in her own mind.
“Yeah, remember Auntie Marian is the little tiny lady in Albuquerque. When you were about three we went to visit her and you wanted to steal her shoes because they were so tiny and cute.” Brent reminisced.
“She seemed to be really big to me then, but when we went this summer, she was so tiny. I had to bend down to give her a hug. Remember Eugenia and her son Dominique were visiting there, too, and they were roasting green chilies on the barbecue grill in the back yard.”
“Oh, yeah, I love the smell of that.” Brent inhaled a big breath remembering the pungent odor of the roasting green chilies in the Albuquerque summer.
“She’s the one who gave us this story about her family and the nuns at Loretto Academy. “
Born January 13, 1885 married January 23, 1902
died 5 November, 1918.
Clara Bustamate was born at Santa Rita a small settlement twenty miles north of Magdalena, New Mexico. He parents were José Antonio Bustamate and Ana María Vallejos. José Antonio is listed with his parents Policarpio Bustamate and Guadalaupe Larranaga living in Tajique, New Mexico in 1850. Ana María may have been living in the area because she and José Antonio were married at Tome.
By the time of the Civil War they were living at Lemitar, from there they went to live in Aton Chico, where they stayed for seven years. They returned to join other families that were moving from the Río Grande to start a new settlement that has been known and is known to this day as Santa Rita, not Rily.
José Antonio and Ana María had altogether sixteen children among them, two sets of twins but only one set of triplets. Clara was one of the triplets; the other two died at the ages of two or three.
Clara had very fond and vivid memories of the seventeen years she lived in Santa Rita. Many were the incidents she remembered. Some sad, yes, but most of them hilarious. With her wonderful sense of humor she could see the funny side of life and with such a compassionate nature she keenly felt the misfortunes of others.
The people who lived in Santa Rita were not wealthy, but never the less they lived in rustic comfort. The family of José Antonio, besides having the farm, drew some extra dollars from his work as the village blacksmith -- his sons learned the trade.
Clara lost her father in 1894 when she was only nine years old but the youngest in the family. The mother held the family together. With what the farm produced and with the willingness of the boys to do their part, they managed to carry on.
Then in 1901, out of the clear sky, so far as is known, Nazario Baca dropped into this peaceful village to ask for the hand in marriage of the little guerita he had known when they went to school together back in the early nineties. The details are not known as to how the decisions was made to leave a pleasant home and a pleasant way of life to go to an isolated frontier ranch in the boondocks of the west Rito Quemado. How many tears were shed will ever be known. Regardless of the imagined heartaches, Nazario and Clara were married in the Santa Rita church and shortly afterwards left for Rito Quemado.
Clara left the house where she was born. She left behind her beloved Santa Rita; she said goodbye to her even more beloved mother, never to see them again. A month after the wedding Clara's mother was killed by a train at Lemitar as she was getting on it.
Nazario and Clara went to what is now called East Quemado and lived there for well over a year in the homestead of José María Baca, the father of Nazario. Perhaps because José María relinquished his homestead to his brother Anastacio, Nazario and Clara moved for Lomita Collards, about two miles down the creek and lived in one large room by Nazario's sister’s house. Then Nazario filed for 160 acres where the town of Quemado stands. There with the help of don Severo Rael a fairly good three room picket house was built to which three more rooms were added later. Those are bound to have been harsh times for Clara, but when she spoke of them, she did not complain. Harsh times were taken for granted.
When Nazario and Clara moved into the new house, they were some five hundred yards from the home of Nazario's Uncle Ramon García and his wife Anita. This couple was a great comfort to the family even years after Nazario and Clara passed away. Their many acts of kindness have never been repaid.
At the age of seventeen Nazario had taken his deceased brother's sheep on shares, and on sheep Nazario and Clara with their growing family depended for their livelihood. Late in 1912 or early 1913, Nazario went into the store business and it could be that economically life improved, but the fateful years of 1918 were approaching.
The marriage of Nazario and Clara lasted a little less than seventeen years. At least six children had been born but four were living when the flu epidemic of 1918 hit the country. Clara was among those taken she was not quite thirty-four. She was followed by Nazario four years later when he was thirty-nine. Although the two parents died young, the four children they left behind are still alive.
“Wow, thirty-four”, Lynae spoke reverently. “That’s when I was born. Mom was thirty-four when she had me. And Mom and Dad were married for 17 years. She didn’t die, but she nearly did. She definitely would have in that time.”
“So, Auntie Lola, Grandma Lucy, Auntie Marian and Uncle Eliseo are the only living kids of Grandmother Clara?” Lynae added trying to keep it straight in her own mind.
“Yeah, remember Auntie Marian is the little tiny lady in Albuquerque. When you were about three we went to visit her and you wanted to steal her shoes because they were so tiny and cute.” Brent reminisced.
“She seemed to be really big to me then, but when we went this summer, she was so tiny. I had to bend down to give her a hug. Remember Eugenia and her son Dominique were visiting there, too, and they were roasting green chilies on the barbecue grill in the back yard.”
“Oh, yeah, I love the smell of that.” Brent inhaled a big breath remembering the pungent odor of the roasting green chilies in the Albuquerque summer.
“She’s the one who gave us this story about her family and the nuns at Loretto Academy. “
Marian Baca Candelaria
Written by Marian Baca Candelaria Martinez in 1970
"To know him is to love him:" doesn't exactly apply to Papá Baca but strangely enough it tells much of his daughters.
Papá Baca, José María, is remembered my most as stern, solemn even cantankerous and a bit on the cruel side -- expecting and getting silent obedience at all times. I recall shaking and loosing my voice at the sight of him. I do want to mention that he did Lucy and me a great kindness.
On March 4, 1922, he brought us to Loretto where we met Sister Josina, who was for many years the joining link of the family. Our Auntie had taken and practiced the vow of poverty, but she gave to us and to the world riches money cannot purchase. An unforgettable Little Nun she was!
Born 1890, and christened Trinidad, she helped to rear her brothers, sisters and her sister's children who were numerous. Sister Josina said, "at my sister's there was always one child learning to walk another in the basket and expecting arrival of a new one."
Papá Baca was not much on recreation. The girls’ social life was nil -- but Sister Josina tells of a special occasion that they were permitted to attend, perhaps on the order of the present day wedding shower dance. Sister Josina -- then Trinidad, made a big to-do and was so happy for the rare opportunity of displaying a purple bow (her favorite color) which she planned to wear at the back of her head. She clasped said ribbon and very carefully and with much precaution gently put on her hat (a must in that day and age.)
The hat was to be removed immediately on arrival at the festival for she wanted all to soak in the beauty of her satin purple bow. She told how she created reasons to turn her back for everyone to feast their eyes, so pleased for this chance. It was super -- until time to leave when poor Trinidad discovered her pride and joy had remained stuck in her hat when removed. She told of her disappointment with sadness -- to her it was drastic -- so much so as to bring a little tear each time she related this story.
The occasion for "showing it off" never presented itself again. Papá Baca decided his daughters, Trinidad and Encarnación (Later Sister Romaulda) should enter the convent. Accustomed to silent obedience the two young girls accepted, figuring their future was settled. Sister Josina proved she did have a vocation. To us she was a Godsend. Many nieces crossed her threshold before and after our time. All loved her.
Back to March 4, 1922. Lucy and I arrived at Loretto Academy Santa Fé, New Mexico and placed there for keeps, so Grandpa thought. We were two very scared little orphans. With our severe case of whooping cough we were immediately placed in the infirmary. All were so good and kind. I soon recovered.
Lucy remained and managed to pick up any and every available germ. Lucy would be informed of her various illness, measles, scarlet, fever, chicken pox, mumps etc. etc. Sister Avelina, nurse and Sister Josina nursed Lucy through it all. After teaching in a classroom of ninety to a hundred first graders Sister Josina relieved the day nurse and took charge. As Sister Josina bathed Lucy, one day, she said, "Lucy 'Cow" (Lucy's proud interpretation of last name) “You have a nephew." Lucy saddened as she asked, "Oh, no, what kind of sickness is that? I thought I was getting well." Lucy recovered.
One summer day Sister Josina escorted her out to the play grounds, Lucy decked out in her very own original haircut she had created in her many leisure hours with nothing else available but art scissors and construction paper -- obviously she tired of cutting on papers. To me Lucy, as always was a welcome sight. Having been in quarantine for so long I had not been close to her in months. We clasped hands; to the chapel we went to give thanks. Overflowing with joy, we began our lives together in our new home with our precious Auntie, Sister Josina at our side -- a place she never left.
Speaking of the chapel brings to mind that Sister Josina's Saturday job was to clean God's House. What a familiar sight to see our Little Auntie in the highest parts of the Old Marble Altar along side the Dover emblem of the Holy Ghost. They looked so good together -- had much in common -- both enlightened people. Sister Josina worked hard to keep this precious place spotless.
We often helped remove wax from candle holders. How very privileged we were made to feel. I shudder to think of the miles a meter would record that Sister Josina traveled on her knees scrubbing, waxing and polishing every nook and corner. Many years and many callused knees later I visited Sister Josina. She led me to the chapel door and said, "I no longer clean God's House, look for yourself. I have been replaced.” There in place of eighty nine pound Sister Josina were three husky men with complete electrical equipment doing the job she had done with her own little hands for many years. My heart bled for her as I watched her forefinger nail between her front teeth -- a habit of hers when disturbed.
Lucy and I were not among those who had an allowance to spend at the candy store, but our treat come at 3:00 o'clock each day for eight years when Sister Josina came from St. Frances School. We would meet her at the back green gate. She would reach down in her pocket (if said pocket could talk -- WOW!) and out came "goodies" for the nieces. Candy, piñons, fruit and even sandwiches.
Delicious they were indeed! These surprises and generosities were not limited to these occasions -- never a feast day or birthday passed but what we found a neat little package at our place in the dining room. Which brings me to a little incident I'll always remember and gloat over.
It was lunchtime, dining room was on the second floor -- steps were narrow. We were going up double file in silence, as required, looking straight ahead, like ladies, when I felt our Superior, Sister Bernard, grab my arm, hit me, scold me angrily -- following our strict orders not to turn around or talk in rank -- I waited until we reached the top of the stairs to ask what I had done. Sister Bernard looked surprised as she said, "Wrong girl -- thought you were Marcel!"
Someone, not I, rushed to Sister Josina, told her I had been mistreated unjustly. At our very next meal there at the refectory stood little Sister Josina along side two hundred pound Sister Bernard. I wondered why but soon found out. After grace, Sister Bernard said, "Before you get recreation I have an announcement; yesterday I struck Marian Baca by mistake. I wish to apologize before all. I am very sorry Marian," she said standing by our table. At that Sister Josina left happily, not before assuring the superior I was not responsible for her knowledge of this incident. Turning back Sister Josina said, "O, Yes, next time Sister Bernard, look before you hit." You wonder why I loved this little Nun. Nobody, but nobody dared order our Superior around.
Among the million things Auntie did for us I recall how she insisted we place our soiled handkerchiefs in a bag she replaced with clean ones every Saturday. These she laundered herself. I could never understand why she didn't want us to send them in the general laundry since she had seen that hankies had our names and no danger of getting lost. Perhaps to check to see we had clean ones daily. However our Lucy always forgot hers (I believe she does to this very day) soiled or otherwise. Sister Josina would meet her on the play grounds with "Lucy Cow, do you have a hankie?" Sheepishly she would answer, "Doo" suggesting very much need of a handkerchief. Sister Josina searched in her bottomless pocket as if by magic produced a hankie for that Lucy.
The years slipped by -- many relatives and friends visited Sister Josina except on first Sunday of the month. Lent and Advent. Always we were brought into the parlor and introduced as "Marian and Lucy, my brother's Nazario's girls." To friends she would add, "he died so young -- was smart and promising -- well -- he was the cream of the crop.” How my heart filled with joy. To myself I would say, "you Sister Josina, are the cream of the feminine side.” I told her this often and thankful I did. Wherever Sister Josina was the relatives gathered -- she and she alone possessed that magnetic power. She was the joining link of a very large generation.
Life at Loretto was routine. Graduation 1929, many including Sister Josina were certain I would be a nun. Never could figure what gave them that impression. When I was confronted with, "Do you plan on joining the Loretto Order." They seemed stunned and disappointed -- especially Sister Josina when my answer was, "No, the world needs good mothers, and I intend to be that." Even though Auntie was a bit let down she added, "You are right Marian, how else would we have vocations. I haven't been much help in that direction. But I tried as a mother.
We had Sister Josina visit in our homes through the years. She brought us much joy. Always had a package hid in that famous built in pocket of hers. Once she handed me a neatly wrapped box just as she was leaving to be opened after she was gone. The package was labeled "Mouse trap guaranteed to kill by scaring them to death. We found, to our amusement and pleasure a picture of Sister Josina. On these visits, Sister always played the mouth harp -- danced to her polkas -- daringly picking up her habit, even exposing her ankles -- how cute she looked -- how she loved it. I think she pictured herself wearing her purple "bow".
Sister Josina had a sparkle in her eyes, dimples on her cheeks, and that daring streak I dearly loved. In those days religious life and rules were strict. Evenings, after dinner few disasters were seen on premises except those on duty. I was attending Loretto centennial, anxious to spend every possible moment with Sister Josina and Sister Romaulda (who lived together now). I was very sorry they would not be a the program that evening. They were presenting the History of Loretto, which the nuns attended that afternoon with orders that no nun must be seen at the evening performance. Convent quarters were locked as customary at 7:00 p.m. I walked into the auditorium a bit sad -- imagine my surprise when I discovered, in the rear of the place two Black Crows (we called them that with affection) motioning me in their direction. I quickly joined them, a very nervous Sister Romaulda who greeted me with "this was Josina's idea; I don't know how she dared or how we will get back into the convent." Sister Josina relaxed and smiling said, "no te apures Romaulda, you don't think I came unprepared. Here are the keys I swiped from Mother Superior's desk. Our night clothes are in the downstairs closet -- so what -- no rule says we can't get up out of bed and go downstairs." This day and age it doesn't seem too daring -- but believe me it was! Sister Romaulda continued to be afraid. Finally Sister Josina said, "enjoy this now -- we see Marian so seldom -- if we are caught we will pay later; you're not going anywhere else."
Through the years, I kept Sister Josina posted, especially when in need of prayer
Sister Josina taught at St. Frances in Santa Fé for fifty years. During that period more than four thousand children began their education under Sister's directions. She claimed that one of her most illustrious pupils was the late Monsignor José García -- but he was a rascal."
As sister closed her classroom doors over eight hundred gathered to thank her for what she had done for the community. It was said, "we join fifty years of Santa Féans who had their noses wiped, their childish tears dried, and the doors of learning opened to them by this devoted woman.
In January of 1969, our dear Sister Josina suffered a broken hip -- between that and arthritis she laid unable to move a muscle with this poem by her bedside:
The Only solace
To walk I cannot use my feet
My hands, I cannot use to eat.
But O! I have my eyes to see.
Dear God, You are so good to me.
My body's is bound with an iron chain.
I am quite cognizant of pain,
But I restrain the blinding tear
and thank you God, that I can hear.
For every need I must depend
Upon the service that other rend....
O heavy cross, the galling kind,
But, Thank you god I have my mind.
Daily, hourly ,suppressed desire
To do for other ignites a fire
that lights my way up Calvary's Hill
The only Solace, ‘Tis God’s will.
She died on February 10, 1970. I can picture the Golden Gates wide open awaiting her arrival -- hear the trumpets playing -- St. Peter and our Daddy Nazario greeting her with a big welcome -- St. Peter saying "Come in; you, like your Brother N.G., are white clean through." No doubt Sister Josina is sitting in her well-earned throne probably even showing off a beautiful purple bow. One thing I know, she is wearing her traditional Loretto habit that she dearly loved.
This little poem that I learned on my father's knee -- I can still hear Daddy, "recio ya despacio hijita[1]."
A Big Love
If you could see my love for you
How big it is -- how wide,
You'd look at me and wonder how
It ever got inside."
There were hugs and kisses all around as Lynae and Brent followed Mom to the car. “I hope you can come back again,” Auntie Marian and Eugenia told them. “It’s been a wonderful visit.”
“We’re headed down to Arizona to see my granddaughters first thing in the morning.” Mom answered bending to hug her four foot eight inch Auntie. “But we hope to come again next summer.”
The car pulled out and headed back to Río Rancho to spend one last night with Grandma Lucy.
“That was fun,” Lynae agreed. “That made the visit to Loretto Academy even more important to me.”
“I wish we could have stayed for the dances tonight at the festival!” Mom sighed. “But we need to head on down the road.”
“I’d like to see the cock fighting and bull baiting.” Brent’s eyes lighted up.
“I don’t think they do that now, but it was a popular tradition in the 1800’s. “They had all kinds of dances, waltzes, tango, the cuna, or cradle dance, but my mother jokes about doing the fandango. I found out it was really a dance. Everyone danced, the poor, the rich, the ladies and young people. I read that the dances went on almost every night and the streets had a carnival air. The dances were announced by a parade of the musicians around the plaza. But the young women were always chaperoned, and did not very often choose their own mates[2],” Mom added in a stern tone turning toward Lynae.
“I think our next adventure should be to Auntie Lola, and Uncle Eliseo and just force them to tell us stories and record them.” Brent insisted.
“We’ve tried that,” Mom explained, “and we have a few, but they just clam up when they see a recorder. The best luck I’ve had is writing down what I know or remember hearing and then having them correct all the mistakes and misunderstandings.”
[1] recite it a bit slower, little daughter that I love
[2] Santa Fe Trail 170
"To know him is to love him:" doesn't exactly apply to Papá Baca but strangely enough it tells much of his daughters.
Papá Baca, José María, is remembered my most as stern, solemn even cantankerous and a bit on the cruel side -- expecting and getting silent obedience at all times. I recall shaking and loosing my voice at the sight of him. I do want to mention that he did Lucy and me a great kindness.
On March 4, 1922, he brought us to Loretto where we met Sister Josina, who was for many years the joining link of the family. Our Auntie had taken and practiced the vow of poverty, but she gave to us and to the world riches money cannot purchase. An unforgettable Little Nun she was!
Born 1890, and christened Trinidad, she helped to rear her brothers, sisters and her sister's children who were numerous. Sister Josina said, "at my sister's there was always one child learning to walk another in the basket and expecting arrival of a new one."
Papá Baca was not much on recreation. The girls’ social life was nil -- but Sister Josina tells of a special occasion that they were permitted to attend, perhaps on the order of the present day wedding shower dance. Sister Josina -- then Trinidad, made a big to-do and was so happy for the rare opportunity of displaying a purple bow (her favorite color) which she planned to wear at the back of her head. She clasped said ribbon and very carefully and with much precaution gently put on her hat (a must in that day and age.)
The hat was to be removed immediately on arrival at the festival for she wanted all to soak in the beauty of her satin purple bow. She told how she created reasons to turn her back for everyone to feast their eyes, so pleased for this chance. It was super -- until time to leave when poor Trinidad discovered her pride and joy had remained stuck in her hat when removed. She told of her disappointment with sadness -- to her it was drastic -- so much so as to bring a little tear each time she related this story.
The occasion for "showing it off" never presented itself again. Papá Baca decided his daughters, Trinidad and Encarnación (Later Sister Romaulda) should enter the convent. Accustomed to silent obedience the two young girls accepted, figuring their future was settled. Sister Josina proved she did have a vocation. To us she was a Godsend. Many nieces crossed her threshold before and after our time. All loved her.
Back to March 4, 1922. Lucy and I arrived at Loretto Academy Santa Fé, New Mexico and placed there for keeps, so Grandpa thought. We were two very scared little orphans. With our severe case of whooping cough we were immediately placed in the infirmary. All were so good and kind. I soon recovered.
Lucy remained and managed to pick up any and every available germ. Lucy would be informed of her various illness, measles, scarlet, fever, chicken pox, mumps etc. etc. Sister Avelina, nurse and Sister Josina nursed Lucy through it all. After teaching in a classroom of ninety to a hundred first graders Sister Josina relieved the day nurse and took charge. As Sister Josina bathed Lucy, one day, she said, "Lucy 'Cow" (Lucy's proud interpretation of last name) “You have a nephew." Lucy saddened as she asked, "Oh, no, what kind of sickness is that? I thought I was getting well." Lucy recovered.
One summer day Sister Josina escorted her out to the play grounds, Lucy decked out in her very own original haircut she had created in her many leisure hours with nothing else available but art scissors and construction paper -- obviously she tired of cutting on papers. To me Lucy, as always was a welcome sight. Having been in quarantine for so long I had not been close to her in months. We clasped hands; to the chapel we went to give thanks. Overflowing with joy, we began our lives together in our new home with our precious Auntie, Sister Josina at our side -- a place she never left.
Speaking of the chapel brings to mind that Sister Josina's Saturday job was to clean God's House. What a familiar sight to see our Little Auntie in the highest parts of the Old Marble Altar along side the Dover emblem of the Holy Ghost. They looked so good together -- had much in common -- both enlightened people. Sister Josina worked hard to keep this precious place spotless.
We often helped remove wax from candle holders. How very privileged we were made to feel. I shudder to think of the miles a meter would record that Sister Josina traveled on her knees scrubbing, waxing and polishing every nook and corner. Many years and many callused knees later I visited Sister Josina. She led me to the chapel door and said, "I no longer clean God's House, look for yourself. I have been replaced.” There in place of eighty nine pound Sister Josina were three husky men with complete electrical equipment doing the job she had done with her own little hands for many years. My heart bled for her as I watched her forefinger nail between her front teeth -- a habit of hers when disturbed.
Lucy and I were not among those who had an allowance to spend at the candy store, but our treat come at 3:00 o'clock each day for eight years when Sister Josina came from St. Frances School. We would meet her at the back green gate. She would reach down in her pocket (if said pocket could talk -- WOW!) and out came "goodies" for the nieces. Candy, piñons, fruit and even sandwiches.
Delicious they were indeed! These surprises and generosities were not limited to these occasions -- never a feast day or birthday passed but what we found a neat little package at our place in the dining room. Which brings me to a little incident I'll always remember and gloat over.
It was lunchtime, dining room was on the second floor -- steps were narrow. We were going up double file in silence, as required, looking straight ahead, like ladies, when I felt our Superior, Sister Bernard, grab my arm, hit me, scold me angrily -- following our strict orders not to turn around or talk in rank -- I waited until we reached the top of the stairs to ask what I had done. Sister Bernard looked surprised as she said, "Wrong girl -- thought you were Marcel!"
Someone, not I, rushed to Sister Josina, told her I had been mistreated unjustly. At our very next meal there at the refectory stood little Sister Josina along side two hundred pound Sister Bernard. I wondered why but soon found out. After grace, Sister Bernard said, "Before you get recreation I have an announcement; yesterday I struck Marian Baca by mistake. I wish to apologize before all. I am very sorry Marian," she said standing by our table. At that Sister Josina left happily, not before assuring the superior I was not responsible for her knowledge of this incident. Turning back Sister Josina said, "O, Yes, next time Sister Bernard, look before you hit." You wonder why I loved this little Nun. Nobody, but nobody dared order our Superior around.
Among the million things Auntie did for us I recall how she insisted we place our soiled handkerchiefs in a bag she replaced with clean ones every Saturday. These she laundered herself. I could never understand why she didn't want us to send them in the general laundry since she had seen that hankies had our names and no danger of getting lost. Perhaps to check to see we had clean ones daily. However our Lucy always forgot hers (I believe she does to this very day) soiled or otherwise. Sister Josina would meet her on the play grounds with "Lucy Cow, do you have a hankie?" Sheepishly she would answer, "Doo" suggesting very much need of a handkerchief. Sister Josina searched in her bottomless pocket as if by magic produced a hankie for that Lucy.
The years slipped by -- many relatives and friends visited Sister Josina except on first Sunday of the month. Lent and Advent. Always we were brought into the parlor and introduced as "Marian and Lucy, my brother's Nazario's girls." To friends she would add, "he died so young -- was smart and promising -- well -- he was the cream of the crop.” How my heart filled with joy. To myself I would say, "you Sister Josina, are the cream of the feminine side.” I told her this often and thankful I did. Wherever Sister Josina was the relatives gathered -- she and she alone possessed that magnetic power. She was the joining link of a very large generation.
Life at Loretto was routine. Graduation 1929, many including Sister Josina were certain I would be a nun. Never could figure what gave them that impression. When I was confronted with, "Do you plan on joining the Loretto Order." They seemed stunned and disappointed -- especially Sister Josina when my answer was, "No, the world needs good mothers, and I intend to be that." Even though Auntie was a bit let down she added, "You are right Marian, how else would we have vocations. I haven't been much help in that direction. But I tried as a mother.
We had Sister Josina visit in our homes through the years. She brought us much joy. Always had a package hid in that famous built in pocket of hers. Once she handed me a neatly wrapped box just as she was leaving to be opened after she was gone. The package was labeled "Mouse trap guaranteed to kill by scaring them to death. We found, to our amusement and pleasure a picture of Sister Josina. On these visits, Sister always played the mouth harp -- danced to her polkas -- daringly picking up her habit, even exposing her ankles -- how cute she looked -- how she loved it. I think she pictured herself wearing her purple "bow".
Sister Josina had a sparkle in her eyes, dimples on her cheeks, and that daring streak I dearly loved. In those days religious life and rules were strict. Evenings, after dinner few disasters were seen on premises except those on duty. I was attending Loretto centennial, anxious to spend every possible moment with Sister Josina and Sister Romaulda (who lived together now). I was very sorry they would not be a the program that evening. They were presenting the History of Loretto, which the nuns attended that afternoon with orders that no nun must be seen at the evening performance. Convent quarters were locked as customary at 7:00 p.m. I walked into the auditorium a bit sad -- imagine my surprise when I discovered, in the rear of the place two Black Crows (we called them that with affection) motioning me in their direction. I quickly joined them, a very nervous Sister Romaulda who greeted me with "this was Josina's idea; I don't know how she dared or how we will get back into the convent." Sister Josina relaxed and smiling said, "no te apures Romaulda, you don't think I came unprepared. Here are the keys I swiped from Mother Superior's desk. Our night clothes are in the downstairs closet -- so what -- no rule says we can't get up out of bed and go downstairs." This day and age it doesn't seem too daring -- but believe me it was! Sister Romaulda continued to be afraid. Finally Sister Josina said, "enjoy this now -- we see Marian so seldom -- if we are caught we will pay later; you're not going anywhere else."
Through the years, I kept Sister Josina posted, especially when in need of prayer
Sister Josina taught at St. Frances in Santa Fé for fifty years. During that period more than four thousand children began their education under Sister's directions. She claimed that one of her most illustrious pupils was the late Monsignor José García -- but he was a rascal."
As sister closed her classroom doors over eight hundred gathered to thank her for what she had done for the community. It was said, "we join fifty years of Santa Féans who had their noses wiped, their childish tears dried, and the doors of learning opened to them by this devoted woman.
In January of 1969, our dear Sister Josina suffered a broken hip -- between that and arthritis she laid unable to move a muscle with this poem by her bedside:
The Only solace
To walk I cannot use my feet
My hands, I cannot use to eat.
But O! I have my eyes to see.
Dear God, You are so good to me.
My body's is bound with an iron chain.
I am quite cognizant of pain,
But I restrain the blinding tear
and thank you God, that I can hear.
For every need I must depend
Upon the service that other rend....
O heavy cross, the galling kind,
But, Thank you god I have my mind.
Daily, hourly ,suppressed desire
To do for other ignites a fire
that lights my way up Calvary's Hill
The only Solace, ‘Tis God’s will.
She died on February 10, 1970. I can picture the Golden Gates wide open awaiting her arrival -- hear the trumpets playing -- St. Peter and our Daddy Nazario greeting her with a big welcome -- St. Peter saying "Come in; you, like your Brother N.G., are white clean through." No doubt Sister Josina is sitting in her well-earned throne probably even showing off a beautiful purple bow. One thing I know, she is wearing her traditional Loretto habit that she dearly loved.
This little poem that I learned on my father's knee -- I can still hear Daddy, "recio ya despacio hijita[1]."
A Big Love
If you could see my love for you
How big it is -- how wide,
You'd look at me and wonder how
It ever got inside."
There were hugs and kisses all around as Lynae and Brent followed Mom to the car. “I hope you can come back again,” Auntie Marian and Eugenia told them. “It’s been a wonderful visit.”
“We’re headed down to Arizona to see my granddaughters first thing in the morning.” Mom answered bending to hug her four foot eight inch Auntie. “But we hope to come again next summer.”
The car pulled out and headed back to Río Rancho to spend one last night with Grandma Lucy.
“That was fun,” Lynae agreed. “That made the visit to Loretto Academy even more important to me.”
“I wish we could have stayed for the dances tonight at the festival!” Mom sighed. “But we need to head on down the road.”
“I’d like to see the cock fighting and bull baiting.” Brent’s eyes lighted up.
“I don’t think they do that now, but it was a popular tradition in the 1800’s. “They had all kinds of dances, waltzes, tango, the cuna, or cradle dance, but my mother jokes about doing the fandango. I found out it was really a dance. Everyone danced, the poor, the rich, the ladies and young people. I read that the dances went on almost every night and the streets had a carnival air. The dances were announced by a parade of the musicians around the plaza. But the young women were always chaperoned, and did not very often choose their own mates[2],” Mom added in a stern tone turning toward Lynae.
“I think our next adventure should be to Auntie Lola, and Uncle Eliseo and just force them to tell us stories and record them.” Brent insisted.
“We’ve tried that,” Mom explained, “and we have a few, but they just clam up when they see a recorder. The best luck I’ve had is writing down what I know or remember hearing and then having them correct all the mistakes and misunderstandings.”
[1] recite it a bit slower, little daughter that I love
[2] Santa Fe Trail 170
Eliseo Baca at Mangas
NG Baca “I like Glenn’s house. It’s the only place there are girl cousins who pay attention to me. Bonnie and Sarah are always nice to me, and Janene when she is there.” Lynae spoke back to Brent in the back seat.
1921
Marian“I like Uncle Glenn and I like to play scrabble with Aunt Dorothy, but I hate being the only boy.” Brent said half asleep from the back.
Nazario G. Baca
Eliseo
Marian
n“How long before we get to Quemado?” Lynae asked, watching Mom to be sure she was not getting sleepy or lost.
“It’s about an hour drive, you can sleep I know this road well, and I’m wide awake.” Mom assured her. “I’ve made this trip many times.”
“Why have you been here so much? Not with us.”
“This is where the ranch is that Daddy bought the day Cheryse was born. It was pieced together from the Baca family ranch that had been split apart and sold through the generations. It kind of went full circle when Daddy bought it back in 1972.”
“Did you get to come a lot?”
“We came quite often, but only three months after he bought it, Daddy died of a heart attack. Your Grandma Lucy lived here for a few years, and we used to come for round-up and branding.”
“You did real cowboy stuff!” Brent was wide-awake with enthusiasm now.
“Yeah, we came for the fun stuff, but our cousin N.G. Uncle Eliseo’s oldest son was the foreman and ran the ranch for the years after Daddy died; he did all the hard stuff winter and summer. The N. G. stands for Nazario German, after his grandfather Nazario.”
“Why don’t we still go there?”
“We had some really bad legal advice and sold it. We all wish now that we hadn’t.”
“Did you get a lot of money?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, a bunch, but it was all invested and lost. I used to bring the older kids here a lot when they were little.” Mom quickly changed the emotionally charged subject as she pulled off Highway 60 onto the dirt road leading to Mangas.
“See, that’s the ranch house Mother lived there for a few years after Daddy died. Jenny learned to walk there. She was taking her first few steps and fell against the hearth. When I realized she wasn’t breathing I screamed for Uncle Duane and crashed into the bathroom door to get him out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and his oldest son, Scott, talked him through the CPR and rescue breathing as he breathed life back into her. No one noticed the towel had dropped, we were just so relieved to see the lively pink color returning to our precious baby.” Mom brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Where was Dad?” Lynae asked.
“Don’t know -- not there,” was Mom’s abrupt reply. “And further down the road is the Gabaldon Place.” Mom quickly turned the subject back to a different time. “I remember watching my mama regress to a blushing teenager as she described her first love that lived there.” Mom sighed, in imitation of her mother and her daughter. “I could have been a Gabaldon.”
“And there over the hill is the Vega and Mangas. There’s a little family cemetery from a bygone century, and that is Uncle Eliseo’s adobe house. I remember the first time I came here with Cousin Eugenia to meet his three teenage sons. They were gorgeous. N.G. was already married and had a kid, but secretly I always wished he would have waited for me to grow up. How I loved the smell of Aunt Margaret’s kitchen. I remember asking her to make her wonderful tortillas once. My mother died of the embarrassment and scolded me when we got home. But Aunt Margaret made them again for my kids when I was a mother, so I guess it didn’t bother her as much as it did Mama.”
“I’m glad you learned to make them and taught us.”
“Mother wouldn’t make them because she said it was just too much trouble. I think it is pretty simple. She wouldn’t make tamales either because she remembered having to soak the corn in lye, and grind it up -- like we didn’t have Quaker Brand Maza Harina® and buy corn husks at the store -- I guess maybe we didn’t back then.”
“Your tamales are the best,” Brent said rubbing his tummy.
Uncle Eliseo came running out to the car as Mom pulled in front of his house. “Linda Lynda,” he said in his booming voice as he hugged his niece, calling her by his pet name for her. “And you must be Jennifer,” he said to Lynae with an equally loud voice and equally loving hug. Mom corrected him and introduced Brent and Lynae.
“Well I haven’t seen them since they were just babies!” Uncle Eliseo shouted. Brent and Lynae stood looking a little uncomfortable.
“Jenny said he was really tall!” Lynae commented.
“Well, she was really short, I guess.” Brent answered.
As they entered the adobe house, Brent and Lynae noticed a drop in temperature and the smell of cooking.
“I was just cooking my lunch, you see, when I noticed a car drive up.” Uncle Eliseo explained. “I’m so glad you got to see me,” he joked. “Your mom tells me you are interested in genealogy and history. We’ve had some fine times researching the family tree. Your mom taught me to use the L.D.S. Family History Centers® to research on microfilm and we found a great many of our ancestors born and buried in those films. I understand they have a lot of that on computer now! I’m afraid I can’t do much of that any more, but twenty years ago, we did have some good times.”
After offering them lunch, which they politely refused, and admiring the children, and asking about the older ones, Eliseo attempted to answer what questions he could hear posed by his great-niece and nephew. “Of, course all my nieces and nephews are great,” he teased. Through the afternoon Uncle Eliseo talked about the family and history of the little settlements of Quemado and Mangas. Since it did little good to ask questions or make comments to this wonderful, but deaf uncle, the three sat and soaked in the history lessons.
“Rito Quemado was named after an Indian who was called "El Quemado." The first settlers were led by José Francisco Padilla and José María Madrid. A post office was established in 1885. A store was opened in 1893. The store was moved in 1899 five miles west to what is now Quemado; the post office about 1910. A school was started in 1911. The original townsite was surveyed in 1917. The marker at the entrance of the town honors the sturdy pioneers who came to this area in 1873 and the many who have come here over the years the sheepmen, the cowmen, the dry land farmers and others -- all seeking to wrest a living from a reluctant land. All have helped to make this beloved land a better place in which to dwell.[1]
My father, Nazario was one of J. M. Baca's nine children. José María Baca arrived at old Rito, five miles east of present day Quemado in February of 1893. He brought his family, his meager household goods his sheep and a small amount of merchandise to continue the store he had started at Santa Rita, which is actually now called Riley, you see.
When my father was ten, he went to live with a priest in Monticello, New Mexico, where he attended school for three years. He was brought home at the age of thirteen.”
“That’s all the schooling he got?” Lynae interrupted in amazement.
“Tell them about your summer at sheep camp,” Mom interrupted loudly during a slight pause.
“Oh, yes,” he laughed. “I got to go to sheep camp for the first time when I was about ten. I thought it was great, you see, to be able to go all summer without a bath. Finally, I guess everyone else didn’t think it was so great, they took me and dumped me in the water tank and washed me. The water from my hair ran black onto the ground. Yes, you can still see the black stain on the ground today.”
Everyone laughed at the idea of an eighty-year-old dirt stain on the ground of the sheep camp.
Eliseo returned to his father’s history. He was just about your age, Brent, when he was brought home from school. His mother passed away November of l896. At that tender age he started hauling supplies for the store from Magdalena with a wagon team. This he did for several years, doing also his share of the work with the sheep, fences and so on.”
“Didn’t he ever get to go back to school.” Now it was Brent’s turn to be amazed.
“His father had sent the older sons to St. Michael’s College in Santa Fé to get what was then considered a good education. When Nazario was ready to leave he could not go because an older brother stole the money that had been saved for that purpose. However, Nazario did not stop learning. You see, like you and your mother, he knew the importance of education. His English improved to the point where he was by far the best interpreter in the area. “
”Grandma told us that she was asked to interpret for the court when she graduated from high school. The judge guy thought she should be really good at it because her father was.”
“Yeah,” Lynae added, “and she didn’t even get paid anything because they asked her to do land descriptions and legal junk like that, and she couldn’t keep up.”
Eliseo wasn’t able to hear all the undertone conversation so he continued his narrative. “With his perfect command of both languages and his business ability, he became a self made man. When Nazario was just seventeen his oldest brother was killed, you see, and Nazario took on his shares of sheep. Two years later he went to Riley and married Clara Bustanate.”
“Your Mother!” Lynae said proudly. “My great-grand mother.”
“Riley was as thriving village and although no one was wealthy, all lived in rustic comfort.”
Lynae felt sure it could not have been as rustic as the march to El Paso or the wagon rides north. “Why did she leave there?” she asked.
“Clara left that rustic comfort to marry my father, and came to live in Quemado in 1902. As soon as it was possible, Nazario applied for land, part of which he later subdivided for the townsite of Quemado. In 1910, there were two houses in what is now the newest part of Quemado; the house of Ramon García, that was known as Casey's Lake and adjoining his homestead was the one of my fathers. In 1912, he and his Uncle Ramon Garcia went into the store business. In those early years of the century he purchased several homesteads and increased the sheep and cattle. Living conditions were harsh, judged by the standards of today, but with she store, the sheep and cattle, living in the "boondocks" of Quemado was not so very bad.
“However in 1918 Clara died in a flu epidemic and Nazario followed four years later, struck down by pneumonia.”
“Grandma Lucy was just little, and left an orphan. Auntie Marian told us about going to Loretto Academy. Did she go to live with Auntie Lola? What happened to all of you?” Lynae plied him with questions he could not hear.
“They left four bewildered orphans. With many set backs and tribulations their four surviving children have muddled through and we are still alive today, almost 80 years after the loss of our precious parents. Dolores, your Auntie Lola,” Eliseo said brushing away a tender tear, “is 94, I am already 90, Marian is 86.”
“And Grandma Lucy turned eighty her last birthday!” Lynae finished. Then added as if reaching a sudden epiphany, “Mom, I am the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter.”
“And you can pass on that marvelous legacy to your youngest daughter.” Brent added a bit sarcastically hiding his interest in this new thought.
Eliseo
Auntie Lola
(Delores Baca Candelaria Salazar)
Eliseo
1940
Marian
Lola
Lucy
The rest of the week went all too quickly, a few days with the grandkids and that quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley then a little back track through Gallup New Mexico to visit Auntie Lola.
Auntie Lola greeted them warmly, as is her custom, and offered them a tour of the Villa de Guadalupe retirement home where she had recently taken residence. Pointing to the pictures on her dresser, Lynae asked who they were. “Is that you’re wedding picture?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, that’s me and my Roger. We were married when I was eighteen. I was born in the home built by my grandfather, José María Baca. The building still stands and is used today. We went into partnership for the store, with my cousin Matias Baca, and a few years later we bought out his shares and moved the store to a building on the north side of California Street”
“That’s the main street through Quemado, Highway 60". Mom explained. “By this time we were parents of four children,” Auntie Lola indicated a family picture. “Roger, Edwina, Vidal, who your Grandma Lucy dubbed Billy, and Clara Jo.
“-- Helena's Mom.” Lynae popped up excitedly.
“Do you know my granddaughter Helena?” Auntie Lola questioned.
“She’s our favorite relative -- besides you, I mean,” Brent added diplomatically. We stayed at her house, and she gave us tickets to the Wild Animal Park and Zoo in San Diego where she works -- Remember Mom, when I saw her walking by with a lady on a tour of the park and I recognized her voice?”
“That was quite a coincidence, “Mom agreed. “She didn’t even expect to be at the Zoo that day so she had left tickets for us at the gate. She was so busy that trip we didn’t even get to get together, but the summer before we had a great visit, and she and her husband, Will, were so gracious.”
“Yes, Helena is a wonderful woman.” Auntie Lola agreed readily. “Did you see her on Television a few weeks ago? She was interviewed on one of the network news shows about her work with the primates at the Zoo.”
“She’s really the only cousin, well first cousin once removed, that I kept in contact with. When we were kids Helena's parents brought the family to visit every couple of summers. Helena and I kept in contact as pen pals for several years.” Mom explained, then added, "Auntie Lola’s oldest son, Roger, here in this picture is the oldest of the whole generation of cousins, and I’m the youngest. He actually thought he was my uncle for a while. He was just six years younger than my mother. He's the one born while Grandma Lucy was in the Loretto infirmary so sick and when they said she had a nephew, she cried and said, 'I don't want another disease.' When Roger was in the hospital after a heart attack I wrote him a card:
From the youngest to the oldest,
I’m real sorry that you’re sick.
You lead our generation,
so get well really quick!”
Auntie Lola continued the tour of the building. Lynae admired the beautiful displays of Navajo designs in rugs and pottery and sand paintings throughout the building, side by side with the pictures and statues of Jesus, Mary and many saints.
“We bought a lot of land and buildings -- one set of adobe buildings we named Plaza Cottage Camp,” Auntie Lola reminisced.[2] “It was a collection of rental rooms, small stores and a pool hall.”
“Auntie met her husband Roger in Springerville. She was a boarder at St. Vincent's Academy in Albuquerque.”
“You went to boarding school even when your parents were alive?” Lynae questioned.
“That was the only way to get an education; there were no schools in this part of the country. Marian and Lucy would have gone there too — even if our parents had lived.”
“I thought they just were sent because they were orphans.”
“No, in our day many children had to be shipped off.”
“Is that why you say you are shipping us off to boarding school when we have to go back to Dad’s for the school year?” Lynae asked turning to Mom.
“Yeah, it’s easier than admitting you are leaving for joint custody.” Mom admitted, brushing at a little tear -- a mixture of sadness for generations of children separated from their birth parents.
“I had to send my kids away." Auntie Lola stated. "Marian’s daughters, Eugenia and Lydia went to St. Vincent’s in Albuquerque, too, but they lived at home because she and Chris lived close enough to commute,” she added, then continued with the history the children had requested. “Throughout 1920, Roger and I met whenever possible, he was working at Becker's Store in Sprigerville. We married in September of 1921 just a few months later, March 1922, my father died.”
“We rented the house and building to a young couple, who opened a bakery and ran it until they were financially able to continue to California, their original goal. I continued the bakery for some time with help from my older children managed the cabins and did most of the work that had to be done. And I also assisted Dr. Bell in the delivery of several babies, and was county registrar for more than twenty-five years.”
“Gina used to help deliver babies!” Lynae compared generations again. “But where was Roger?”
“Uncle Roger,” Mom corrected from long habit, having been corrected as a child.
“Roger Candelaria served as County Commissioner for two years, and several years as Justice of the Peace. When my father died in 1922, I inherited the part of his holdings known as The Mail Ranch, and we purchased other land to raise cattle. We kept herds of sheep until late 1947; we raised feed on the cultivated part of the vega which was watered by Rito Creek. Before 1940 the only trees in Quemado were Salt Cedars. Roger brought a truckload of Chinese Elms and sold them to folk to beautify their homes, and most people considered them a blessing.”
“I guess that’s what happened in Arizona and Nevada!” Brent acknowledged. “I sure don’t think of elm trees as a blessing when I have to hoe them out of the garden and chop the suckers that grow from the roots.”
The very young looking nove-generian spoke proudly of her family. “Both my sons, and five grandsons have served in the armed services, and my great grandson now serves overseas.”
“Auntie Lola, you’ve lived through most of this century — since 1907,” Lynae continued the interview, “what changes have you seen?”
“My father had the first car in Catron County, we had one of the first telephones, electricity, just about everything in this century. Vaccines and immunizations would have saved my parents.” Lola wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek at the very thought, and continued,” -- you take for granted now. The world has changed rapidly with new inventions and new appliances. I’ve lived through two world wars, and many other political conflicts, but I still try to have an optimistic outlook.”
“What do you enjoy the most?” Lynae asked.
“That’s an easy one, I always thoroughly enjoy get-togethers with my precious sisters and brother, my children and grandchildren, and friends.”
“Well, in a world of constant change, that much hasn’t changed in four hundred years. The most important thing, I guess, will always be family.”
[1] Quemado Senior Citizen Calendar and Historical Marker written by Eliseo Baca.
[2] Taken from the QuemadoSenior Citizen Calendar section on the Candalaria Family, and family stories.
1921
Marian“I like Uncle Glenn and I like to play scrabble with Aunt Dorothy, but I hate being the only boy.” Brent said half asleep from the back.
Nazario G. Baca
Eliseo
Marian
n“How long before we get to Quemado?” Lynae asked, watching Mom to be sure she was not getting sleepy or lost.
“It’s about an hour drive, you can sleep I know this road well, and I’m wide awake.” Mom assured her. “I’ve made this trip many times.”
“Why have you been here so much? Not with us.”
“This is where the ranch is that Daddy bought the day Cheryse was born. It was pieced together from the Baca family ranch that had been split apart and sold through the generations. It kind of went full circle when Daddy bought it back in 1972.”
“Did you get to come a lot?”
“We came quite often, but only three months after he bought it, Daddy died of a heart attack. Your Grandma Lucy lived here for a few years, and we used to come for round-up and branding.”
“You did real cowboy stuff!” Brent was wide-awake with enthusiasm now.
“Yeah, we came for the fun stuff, but our cousin N.G. Uncle Eliseo’s oldest son was the foreman and ran the ranch for the years after Daddy died; he did all the hard stuff winter and summer. The N. G. stands for Nazario German, after his grandfather Nazario.”
“Why don’t we still go there?”
“We had some really bad legal advice and sold it. We all wish now that we hadn’t.”
“Did you get a lot of money?” Brent asked.
“Yeah, a bunch, but it was all invested and lost. I used to bring the older kids here a lot when they were little.” Mom quickly changed the emotionally charged subject as she pulled off Highway 60 onto the dirt road leading to Mangas.
“See, that’s the ranch house Mother lived there for a few years after Daddy died. Jenny learned to walk there. She was taking her first few steps and fell against the hearth. When I realized she wasn’t breathing I screamed for Uncle Duane and crashed into the bathroom door to get him out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around himself and his oldest son, Scott, talked him through the CPR and rescue breathing as he breathed life back into her. No one noticed the towel had dropped, we were just so relieved to see the lively pink color returning to our precious baby.” Mom brushed a tear from her cheek.
“Where was Dad?” Lynae asked.
“Don’t know -- not there,” was Mom’s abrupt reply. “And further down the road is the Gabaldon Place.” Mom quickly turned the subject back to a different time. “I remember watching my mama regress to a blushing teenager as she described her first love that lived there.” Mom sighed, in imitation of her mother and her daughter. “I could have been a Gabaldon.”
“And there over the hill is the Vega and Mangas. There’s a little family cemetery from a bygone century, and that is Uncle Eliseo’s adobe house. I remember the first time I came here with Cousin Eugenia to meet his three teenage sons. They were gorgeous. N.G. was already married and had a kid, but secretly I always wished he would have waited for me to grow up. How I loved the smell of Aunt Margaret’s kitchen. I remember asking her to make her wonderful tortillas once. My mother died of the embarrassment and scolded me when we got home. But Aunt Margaret made them again for my kids when I was a mother, so I guess it didn’t bother her as much as it did Mama.”
“I’m glad you learned to make them and taught us.”
“Mother wouldn’t make them because she said it was just too much trouble. I think it is pretty simple. She wouldn’t make tamales either because she remembered having to soak the corn in lye, and grind it up -- like we didn’t have Quaker Brand Maza Harina® and buy corn husks at the store -- I guess maybe we didn’t back then.”
“Your tamales are the best,” Brent said rubbing his tummy.
Uncle Eliseo came running out to the car as Mom pulled in front of his house. “Linda Lynda,” he said in his booming voice as he hugged his niece, calling her by his pet name for her. “And you must be Jennifer,” he said to Lynae with an equally loud voice and equally loving hug. Mom corrected him and introduced Brent and Lynae.
“Well I haven’t seen them since they were just babies!” Uncle Eliseo shouted. Brent and Lynae stood looking a little uncomfortable.
“Jenny said he was really tall!” Lynae commented.
“Well, she was really short, I guess.” Brent answered.
As they entered the adobe house, Brent and Lynae noticed a drop in temperature and the smell of cooking.
“I was just cooking my lunch, you see, when I noticed a car drive up.” Uncle Eliseo explained. “I’m so glad you got to see me,” he joked. “Your mom tells me you are interested in genealogy and history. We’ve had some fine times researching the family tree. Your mom taught me to use the L.D.S. Family History Centers® to research on microfilm and we found a great many of our ancestors born and buried in those films. I understand they have a lot of that on computer now! I’m afraid I can’t do much of that any more, but twenty years ago, we did have some good times.”
After offering them lunch, which they politely refused, and admiring the children, and asking about the older ones, Eliseo attempted to answer what questions he could hear posed by his great-niece and nephew. “Of, course all my nieces and nephews are great,” he teased. Through the afternoon Uncle Eliseo talked about the family and history of the little settlements of Quemado and Mangas. Since it did little good to ask questions or make comments to this wonderful, but deaf uncle, the three sat and soaked in the history lessons.
“Rito Quemado was named after an Indian who was called "El Quemado." The first settlers were led by José Francisco Padilla and José María Madrid. A post office was established in 1885. A store was opened in 1893. The store was moved in 1899 five miles west to what is now Quemado; the post office about 1910. A school was started in 1911. The original townsite was surveyed in 1917. The marker at the entrance of the town honors the sturdy pioneers who came to this area in 1873 and the many who have come here over the years the sheepmen, the cowmen, the dry land farmers and others -- all seeking to wrest a living from a reluctant land. All have helped to make this beloved land a better place in which to dwell.[1]
My father, Nazario was one of J. M. Baca's nine children. José María Baca arrived at old Rito, five miles east of present day Quemado in February of 1893. He brought his family, his meager household goods his sheep and a small amount of merchandise to continue the store he had started at Santa Rita, which is actually now called Riley, you see.
When my father was ten, he went to live with a priest in Monticello, New Mexico, where he attended school for three years. He was brought home at the age of thirteen.”
“That’s all the schooling he got?” Lynae interrupted in amazement.
“Tell them about your summer at sheep camp,” Mom interrupted loudly during a slight pause.
“Oh, yes,” he laughed. “I got to go to sheep camp for the first time when I was about ten. I thought it was great, you see, to be able to go all summer without a bath. Finally, I guess everyone else didn’t think it was so great, they took me and dumped me in the water tank and washed me. The water from my hair ran black onto the ground. Yes, you can still see the black stain on the ground today.”
Everyone laughed at the idea of an eighty-year-old dirt stain on the ground of the sheep camp.
Eliseo returned to his father’s history. He was just about your age, Brent, when he was brought home from school. His mother passed away November of l896. At that tender age he started hauling supplies for the store from Magdalena with a wagon team. This he did for several years, doing also his share of the work with the sheep, fences and so on.”
“Didn’t he ever get to go back to school.” Now it was Brent’s turn to be amazed.
“His father had sent the older sons to St. Michael’s College in Santa Fé to get what was then considered a good education. When Nazario was ready to leave he could not go because an older brother stole the money that had been saved for that purpose. However, Nazario did not stop learning. You see, like you and your mother, he knew the importance of education. His English improved to the point where he was by far the best interpreter in the area. “
”Grandma told us that she was asked to interpret for the court when she graduated from high school. The judge guy thought she should be really good at it because her father was.”
“Yeah,” Lynae added, “and she didn’t even get paid anything because they asked her to do land descriptions and legal junk like that, and she couldn’t keep up.”
Eliseo wasn’t able to hear all the undertone conversation so he continued his narrative. “With his perfect command of both languages and his business ability, he became a self made man. When Nazario was just seventeen his oldest brother was killed, you see, and Nazario took on his shares of sheep. Two years later he went to Riley and married Clara Bustanate.”
“Your Mother!” Lynae said proudly. “My great-grand mother.”
“Riley was as thriving village and although no one was wealthy, all lived in rustic comfort.”
Lynae felt sure it could not have been as rustic as the march to El Paso or the wagon rides north. “Why did she leave there?” she asked.
“Clara left that rustic comfort to marry my father, and came to live in Quemado in 1902. As soon as it was possible, Nazario applied for land, part of which he later subdivided for the townsite of Quemado. In 1910, there were two houses in what is now the newest part of Quemado; the house of Ramon García, that was known as Casey's Lake and adjoining his homestead was the one of my fathers. In 1912, he and his Uncle Ramon Garcia went into the store business. In those early years of the century he purchased several homesteads and increased the sheep and cattle. Living conditions were harsh, judged by the standards of today, but with she store, the sheep and cattle, living in the "boondocks" of Quemado was not so very bad.
“However in 1918 Clara died in a flu epidemic and Nazario followed four years later, struck down by pneumonia.”
“Grandma Lucy was just little, and left an orphan. Auntie Marian told us about going to Loretto Academy. Did she go to live with Auntie Lola? What happened to all of you?” Lynae plied him with questions he could not hear.
“They left four bewildered orphans. With many set backs and tribulations their four surviving children have muddled through and we are still alive today, almost 80 years after the loss of our precious parents. Dolores, your Auntie Lola,” Eliseo said brushing away a tender tear, “is 94, I am already 90, Marian is 86.”
“And Grandma Lucy turned eighty her last birthday!” Lynae finished. Then added as if reaching a sudden epiphany, “Mom, I am the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter, of the youngest daughter.”
“And you can pass on that marvelous legacy to your youngest daughter.” Brent added a bit sarcastically hiding his interest in this new thought.
Eliseo
Auntie Lola
(Delores Baca Candelaria Salazar)
Eliseo
1940
Marian
Lola
Lucy
The rest of the week went all too quickly, a few days with the grandkids and that quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley then a little back track through Gallup New Mexico to visit Auntie Lola.
Auntie Lola greeted them warmly, as is her custom, and offered them a tour of the Villa de Guadalupe retirement home where she had recently taken residence. Pointing to the pictures on her dresser, Lynae asked who they were. “Is that you’re wedding picture?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, that’s me and my Roger. We were married when I was eighteen. I was born in the home built by my grandfather, José María Baca. The building still stands and is used today. We went into partnership for the store, with my cousin Matias Baca, and a few years later we bought out his shares and moved the store to a building on the north side of California Street”
“That’s the main street through Quemado, Highway 60". Mom explained. “By this time we were parents of four children,” Auntie Lola indicated a family picture. “Roger, Edwina, Vidal, who your Grandma Lucy dubbed Billy, and Clara Jo.
“-- Helena's Mom.” Lynae popped up excitedly.
“Do you know my granddaughter Helena?” Auntie Lola questioned.
“She’s our favorite relative -- besides you, I mean,” Brent added diplomatically. We stayed at her house, and she gave us tickets to the Wild Animal Park and Zoo in San Diego where she works -- Remember Mom, when I saw her walking by with a lady on a tour of the park and I recognized her voice?”
“That was quite a coincidence, “Mom agreed. “She didn’t even expect to be at the Zoo that day so she had left tickets for us at the gate. She was so busy that trip we didn’t even get to get together, but the summer before we had a great visit, and she and her husband, Will, were so gracious.”
“Yes, Helena is a wonderful woman.” Auntie Lola agreed readily. “Did you see her on Television a few weeks ago? She was interviewed on one of the network news shows about her work with the primates at the Zoo.”
“She’s really the only cousin, well first cousin once removed, that I kept in contact with. When we were kids Helena's parents brought the family to visit every couple of summers. Helena and I kept in contact as pen pals for several years.” Mom explained, then added, "Auntie Lola’s oldest son, Roger, here in this picture is the oldest of the whole generation of cousins, and I’m the youngest. He actually thought he was my uncle for a while. He was just six years younger than my mother. He's the one born while Grandma Lucy was in the Loretto infirmary so sick and when they said she had a nephew, she cried and said, 'I don't want another disease.' When Roger was in the hospital after a heart attack I wrote him a card:
From the youngest to the oldest,
I’m real sorry that you’re sick.
You lead our generation,
so get well really quick!”
Auntie Lola continued the tour of the building. Lynae admired the beautiful displays of Navajo designs in rugs and pottery and sand paintings throughout the building, side by side with the pictures and statues of Jesus, Mary and many saints.
“We bought a lot of land and buildings -- one set of adobe buildings we named Plaza Cottage Camp,” Auntie Lola reminisced.[2] “It was a collection of rental rooms, small stores and a pool hall.”
“Auntie met her husband Roger in Springerville. She was a boarder at St. Vincent's Academy in Albuquerque.”
“You went to boarding school even when your parents were alive?” Lynae questioned.
“That was the only way to get an education; there were no schools in this part of the country. Marian and Lucy would have gone there too — even if our parents had lived.”
“I thought they just were sent because they were orphans.”
“No, in our day many children had to be shipped off.”
“Is that why you say you are shipping us off to boarding school when we have to go back to Dad’s for the school year?” Lynae asked turning to Mom.
“Yeah, it’s easier than admitting you are leaving for joint custody.” Mom admitted, brushing at a little tear -- a mixture of sadness for generations of children separated from their birth parents.
“I had to send my kids away." Auntie Lola stated. "Marian’s daughters, Eugenia and Lydia went to St. Vincent’s in Albuquerque, too, but they lived at home because she and Chris lived close enough to commute,” she added, then continued with the history the children had requested. “Throughout 1920, Roger and I met whenever possible, he was working at Becker's Store in Sprigerville. We married in September of 1921 just a few months later, March 1922, my father died.”
“We rented the house and building to a young couple, who opened a bakery and ran it until they were financially able to continue to California, their original goal. I continued the bakery for some time with help from my older children managed the cabins and did most of the work that had to be done. And I also assisted Dr. Bell in the delivery of several babies, and was county registrar for more than twenty-five years.”
“Gina used to help deliver babies!” Lynae compared generations again. “But where was Roger?”
“Uncle Roger,” Mom corrected from long habit, having been corrected as a child.
“Roger Candelaria served as County Commissioner for two years, and several years as Justice of the Peace. When my father died in 1922, I inherited the part of his holdings known as The Mail Ranch, and we purchased other land to raise cattle. We kept herds of sheep until late 1947; we raised feed on the cultivated part of the vega which was watered by Rito Creek. Before 1940 the only trees in Quemado were Salt Cedars. Roger brought a truckload of Chinese Elms and sold them to folk to beautify their homes, and most people considered them a blessing.”
“I guess that’s what happened in Arizona and Nevada!” Brent acknowledged. “I sure don’t think of elm trees as a blessing when I have to hoe them out of the garden and chop the suckers that grow from the roots.”
The very young looking nove-generian spoke proudly of her family. “Both my sons, and five grandsons have served in the armed services, and my great grandson now serves overseas.”
“Auntie Lola, you’ve lived through most of this century — since 1907,” Lynae continued the interview, “what changes have you seen?”
“My father had the first car in Catron County, we had one of the first telephones, electricity, just about everything in this century. Vaccines and immunizations would have saved my parents.” Lola wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek at the very thought, and continued,” -- you take for granted now. The world has changed rapidly with new inventions and new appliances. I’ve lived through two world wars, and many other political conflicts, but I still try to have an optimistic outlook.”
“What do you enjoy the most?” Lynae asked.
“That’s an easy one, I always thoroughly enjoy get-togethers with my precious sisters and brother, my children and grandchildren, and friends.”
“Well, in a world of constant change, that much hasn’t changed in four hundred years. The most important thing, I guess, will always be family.”
[1] Quemado Senior Citizen Calendar and Historical Marker written by Eliseo Baca.
[2] Taken from the QuemadoSenior Citizen Calendar section on the Candalaria Family, and family stories.
Lucy Cow (Lucy Baca's translation of her name)
Bonnie and Sarah pulled Brent by the legs. “Come back inside. You’ll get electrocuted with the lightening. “ Uncle’ Glenn’s daughters were entertaining their cousins during the afternoon rainstorm. But when it changed to hail, Brent had wanted to stick his hand out the window to catch some, and caught a bolt of electric shock instead.
“Why don’t you kids get a little wood for the fireplace before it gets any wetter? It looks like this storm is going to last a while. ”Uncle Glenn had suggested from the kitchen table where he was putting the finishing touches on the weekly edition of the Round Valley Paper. There’s wood cut and stacked on the porch, so you won’t have to get wet.
“It’s surprising how cold it can get in the White Mountains in the summer.” Mom agreed, as she observed her older brother at work. “Better grab your jacket, Lynae, I don’t want you getting all wet and cold.”
Brent shuddered against the arctic blast of wind that struck him as he found himself on a back porch in Quemado, New Mexico. The year was 1922, and it was a cold December morning.
"Eliseo, Marian," their grandfather Baca called from the door. Bring Lucy inside, I must talk to you. The children obediently went into the house; Grandfather did not seem to notice Lynae and Brent follow them in.
"Is Papa awake?" Eliseo bravely asked. "We have to talk to him. We have to tell him some things." Eliseo spoke as confidently as he could to his grandfather.
"Your papa is home, but you cannot talk to him; he is very ill with influenza. The doctor says he is not going to get well."
Eliseo explained to Brent and Lynae that their father had been out in the pasture two days before and had come home very ill. They had never seen him so ill; the doctor had been at the house several times.
The doctor came from Nazario Baca's bedroom and shut the door; he looked at the children, looked at their grandfather and shook his head. "He is gone," was all he said, but we all knew he meant that Nazario Garcia Baca was dead from pneumonia and complications of influenza. It was December 6, 1922. He was buried the next day in the Quemado Cemetery next to his beloved Clara. All over the world the influenza had been taking lives by the thousands. There were no medicines, nothing to stop the illness once it took over, and it spread among communities and countries as the soldiers returned from war and pilgrims made their way to safer places to avoid the illness, it traveled with them til it had spread over the entire world in just a few months. The plague of influenza lasted only a few years, but depopulated entire cities and countries[1].
"What will happen to us now?" ten year old Marian questioned her grandfather. “Where will we go? Where will we live?"
"You can't make us stay with the step mother. She is cruel to Lucy and she frightens us." Eliseo took on new courage and strength in this moment of loss.
Grandfather Baca giving due consideration to the situation, finally announced: "I will take you back to Santa Fé with me. There is a school there, Loretto Academy, where my two daughters are nuns; they teach school there. It is a good school and you will be well taken care of by the sisters of Loretto. We were planning to take you there, and Lucy would have followed in a few years. Eliseo, you will return to St. Michael’s Academy, for boys, in Santa Fé. It will take time to make the arrangements. You will stay with my brother Ramon García and his wife, Anita. Immediately after the funeral you will go home with them."
"What if our step mother will not let us go with you?" Eliseo asked pragmatically, knowing that to cross her would bring punishment.
"She will not have any say in the matter. Her husband is dead; she no longer has any custody of you children. I am your grandfather, and I will take charge of you. I will see that she does not ever bother you again."
Lynae and Brent returned in March 1923, to accompany Lucy and Marian to Santa Fé. It would be fun to see the town again, and they looked forward to getting acquainted with these two very special little girls.
The trip back north to Santa Fé was a long train ride for the children. Lynae held five year old Lucy most of the way seeing that she was kept warm, and rubbed her back gently when she seemed to be agitated or frightened. Lynae began to sing the little ditty she had sung on the trail so many times before. "Sana Sana colita de marana, si no sanas hoy, sanaras manana." Ten year old Marian sat bravely between Eliseo and Brent, trying to sit like a little lady of great courage.
Santa Fé still looked like it did the last time they were there, nearly a hundred years ago in their adventure time continuum, except for the Loretto Academy. It was completed and a very busy place. Three centuries of white wash sparkled on the older Santa Fe buildings in the early spring sunshine.
They were met at the train station and taken to Loretto Academy by car. The aunt nuns took the two little girls straight to the dormitory of the academy. They didn't have to ask any questions to know that these little girls needed nursing and care. They glanced questioningly at Lynae and Brent, but were more concerned about the two little nieces. Grandfather Baca made the financial arrangements, opened a bank account in their name and went on about his business, leaving two very frightened little girls in a strange land, at a strange school, in the care of two aunts who before that day had been unknown to them.
Brent and Lynae wondered how Lucy would live through the night, much less to grow up to be their grandmother and great grandmother to their own children in the twenty-first century. At dinner that night Marian and Lucy were led into the refectory. Marian began to cough, and Lucy followed. They were removed immediately to the infirmary as the nuns recognized the tell-tale symptoms of whooping cough. Lynae looked around for Brent, and not seeing him asked one of the girls she saw wearing the school uniform. “Where did they take Lucy Cow and Auntie Marian?”
“Who’s Auntie Marian?” The girl looked puzzled. “You better put on a clean uniform and report to the chapel before you get in trouble.” Lynae didn’t know what else to do, but she wasn’t sure where the dormitory was. She stumbled into the chapel and recognized the beautiful circular staircase. There was Brent, inspecting the miraculous structure, reverently touching the under part of the staircase.
“That pitchy wood made a roaring fire in a hurry.” Uncle Glenn spoke, startling Brent from his trance. “Maybe now, your mom will make some of her famous fudge and we can all play a round of Scrabble with Aunt Dorothy.” Uncle Glenn suggested, rubbing his hands together to soak in the heat from the wood fire. Brent and Sarah agreed, as they also warmed their hands over the fire.
Lynae looked around the room and for a minute still wondered where little Auntie Marian and Grandma Lucy had disappeared to.
[1] The American Experience - Influenza 1918
From PBS.
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/amex/influenza/ (web site from PBS 1918 influenza)
“Why don’t you kids get a little wood for the fireplace before it gets any wetter? It looks like this storm is going to last a while. ”Uncle Glenn had suggested from the kitchen table where he was putting the finishing touches on the weekly edition of the Round Valley Paper. There’s wood cut and stacked on the porch, so you won’t have to get wet.
“It’s surprising how cold it can get in the White Mountains in the summer.” Mom agreed, as she observed her older brother at work. “Better grab your jacket, Lynae, I don’t want you getting all wet and cold.”
Brent shuddered against the arctic blast of wind that struck him as he found himself on a back porch in Quemado, New Mexico. The year was 1922, and it was a cold December morning.
"Eliseo, Marian," their grandfather Baca called from the door. Bring Lucy inside, I must talk to you. The children obediently went into the house; Grandfather did not seem to notice Lynae and Brent follow them in.
"Is Papa awake?" Eliseo bravely asked. "We have to talk to him. We have to tell him some things." Eliseo spoke as confidently as he could to his grandfather.
"Your papa is home, but you cannot talk to him; he is very ill with influenza. The doctor says he is not going to get well."
Eliseo explained to Brent and Lynae that their father had been out in the pasture two days before and had come home very ill. They had never seen him so ill; the doctor had been at the house several times.
The doctor came from Nazario Baca's bedroom and shut the door; he looked at the children, looked at their grandfather and shook his head. "He is gone," was all he said, but we all knew he meant that Nazario Garcia Baca was dead from pneumonia and complications of influenza. It was December 6, 1922. He was buried the next day in the Quemado Cemetery next to his beloved Clara. All over the world the influenza had been taking lives by the thousands. There were no medicines, nothing to stop the illness once it took over, and it spread among communities and countries as the soldiers returned from war and pilgrims made their way to safer places to avoid the illness, it traveled with them til it had spread over the entire world in just a few months. The plague of influenza lasted only a few years, but depopulated entire cities and countries[1].
"What will happen to us now?" ten year old Marian questioned her grandfather. “Where will we go? Where will we live?"
"You can't make us stay with the step mother. She is cruel to Lucy and she frightens us." Eliseo took on new courage and strength in this moment of loss.
Grandfather Baca giving due consideration to the situation, finally announced: "I will take you back to Santa Fé with me. There is a school there, Loretto Academy, where my two daughters are nuns; they teach school there. It is a good school and you will be well taken care of by the sisters of Loretto. We were planning to take you there, and Lucy would have followed in a few years. Eliseo, you will return to St. Michael’s Academy, for boys, in Santa Fé. It will take time to make the arrangements. You will stay with my brother Ramon García and his wife, Anita. Immediately after the funeral you will go home with them."
"What if our step mother will not let us go with you?" Eliseo asked pragmatically, knowing that to cross her would bring punishment.
"She will not have any say in the matter. Her husband is dead; she no longer has any custody of you children. I am your grandfather, and I will take charge of you. I will see that she does not ever bother you again."
Lynae and Brent returned in March 1923, to accompany Lucy and Marian to Santa Fé. It would be fun to see the town again, and they looked forward to getting acquainted with these two very special little girls.
The trip back north to Santa Fé was a long train ride for the children. Lynae held five year old Lucy most of the way seeing that she was kept warm, and rubbed her back gently when she seemed to be agitated or frightened. Lynae began to sing the little ditty she had sung on the trail so many times before. "Sana Sana colita de marana, si no sanas hoy, sanaras manana." Ten year old Marian sat bravely between Eliseo and Brent, trying to sit like a little lady of great courage.
Santa Fé still looked like it did the last time they were there, nearly a hundred years ago in their adventure time continuum, except for the Loretto Academy. It was completed and a very busy place. Three centuries of white wash sparkled on the older Santa Fe buildings in the early spring sunshine.
They were met at the train station and taken to Loretto Academy by car. The aunt nuns took the two little girls straight to the dormitory of the academy. They didn't have to ask any questions to know that these little girls needed nursing and care. They glanced questioningly at Lynae and Brent, but were more concerned about the two little nieces. Grandfather Baca made the financial arrangements, opened a bank account in their name and went on about his business, leaving two very frightened little girls in a strange land, at a strange school, in the care of two aunts who before that day had been unknown to them.
Brent and Lynae wondered how Lucy would live through the night, much less to grow up to be their grandmother and great grandmother to their own children in the twenty-first century. At dinner that night Marian and Lucy were led into the refectory. Marian began to cough, and Lucy followed. They were removed immediately to the infirmary as the nuns recognized the tell-tale symptoms of whooping cough. Lynae looked around for Brent, and not seeing him asked one of the girls she saw wearing the school uniform. “Where did they take Lucy Cow and Auntie Marian?”
“Who’s Auntie Marian?” The girl looked puzzled. “You better put on a clean uniform and report to the chapel before you get in trouble.” Lynae didn’t know what else to do, but she wasn’t sure where the dormitory was. She stumbled into the chapel and recognized the beautiful circular staircase. There was Brent, inspecting the miraculous structure, reverently touching the under part of the staircase.
“That pitchy wood made a roaring fire in a hurry.” Uncle Glenn spoke, startling Brent from his trance. “Maybe now, your mom will make some of her famous fudge and we can all play a round of Scrabble with Aunt Dorothy.” Uncle Glenn suggested, rubbing his hands together to soak in the heat from the wood fire. Brent and Sarah agreed, as they also warmed their hands over the fire.
Lynae looked around the room and for a minute still wondered where little Auntie Marian and Grandma Lucy had disappeared to.
[1] The American Experience - Influenza 1918
From PBS.
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/amex/influenza/ (web site from PBS 1918 influenza)
World War II
WORLD WARS
“Mom, we were talking about World War I and II in our history class. Were you alive during the wars?”
Grandma Lucy (Uncle) Frank Glenn Daddy (Charles Glenn Jacobs. Glenn)
C. Glenn & Lucy
“Thanks a lot Brent. I’m old, but not ancient. Even MY mother was not born ‘til after World War I. My dad was born in 1907, so he was younger than you when that war was fought. And, I remember my mother saying that when World War II started, he was really too old to enlist, he had two kids already, but he wanted to do his part for the war effort, and he enlisted as a Sea Bea or CB -- a navy construction worker.”
“So when were you born?”
“1949. World War II had been over for nearly five years. It’s funny though, I remember watching news shows and movies about the war when I was little and thinking, ‘why do they keep talking about this? It’s ancient history.’ Now I realize how time plays tricks on you and five or ten years for me now is nothing...except when I am away from my kids, then it a month is forever.”
“What was it like during the war time for your parents?”
“Railroads had become the main means of transportation. Cars were becoming more popular, but during the wars gas was rationed and rubber tires were really hard to get. Well, I guess during the Second World War, my parents had just been married a couple of years. They were living in Concho where the Candelaria brothers had married Mother’s two sisters and established ranches. Daddy had the Shell® trading post just at the entrance of town from St. Johns. Uncle Glenn was a baby when my dad joined the navy, and then Mother says he came home on leave one week and announced it was time for the next child, that would be your Uncle Duane.”
“I thought you said he had two kids already when he went.”
“The other one was my half sister, from an earlier marriage. Your granddad was actually married three times. Aunt Marie and I got really excited when we learned that our half sister had a daughter, because that would be our half niece, so together we thought we could make a whole aunt.”
“That sounds like some of our half step siblings once removed by a couple of divorces in the family.” Brent joked.
“Well, I’ve heard if you laid all the divorced people out end to end,” Mom started out seriously, “they’d be a lot more comfortable.”
“Well, if the jokes don’t improve, I’ve got American history to study for an exam.”
“What are you studying now, Brent?” Mom asked showing a distracted interest in his schoolwork.
“Well, duhh, Mom," Lynae interrupted, “Maybe World War I and II?”
“Again, about all I know about World Wars is what I learned from John Wayne movies. How did it effect New Mexico, Brent? Remember some of the displays at the museum just before we got back to Arizona in Deming, or was it Lords?”
“Where it was raining so hard you said you just couldn’t drive through it so we would have to visit just one more museum?” Brent laughed.
“Well that one turned out to be pretty good with the doll displays and dresses from the past.” Lynae defended.
“Remember the exhibits you liked, Brent, about the army clothes, medals, and weapons from the world wars.”
“And the street with the old cars and little shops like a real miniature town.”
“I remember now, there was like a beauty shop and dentist, and a bunch of others.”
“Remember how loud the rain was on that tin roof? I’m glad we weren’t trying to drive through it!” Mom reminded them.
“There was a lot of stuff about the World Wars at the railroad museum in Belen too,” Lynae remembered.
“Those little displays had authentic items typical of that era.”
Brent got more enthusiastic about the history assignment. “Just before World War I, there was a lot of trouble in Mexico itself, which is called the Mexican revolution.” After he related this bit of information, he turned to his reference book, an old coverless history text book he picked up at Deseret Industries and read aloud:
“After many years of friendly relations with Mexico, A dictator Aporfirio Diaz ruled from l877 to 1911.”[1]
“Gosh forty years, that sounds like Castro in Cuba!”
Brent agreed and continued to read:
“He favored the wealthy group in Mexico and permitted foreign capital to be invested in the mines oil fields and ranches of his country. Much of that capital came from the U.S. The Mexican people resented this, feeling that the natural resources of their land should be used for their own benefit. Conditions for the poor peon were getting no better; in agricultural country 85 per cent of the people working the soil owned no land.
“The Diaz government was overthrown in a revolution in 1911. Other revolutions and more dictators followed and our relations with Mexico were strained for several years. Twice American troops moved in.
“At one time we held Vera Curz for more than six months. On another occasion President Woodrow Wislon sent General John J. Pershing after a Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa, who had been making forays across the boarder into New Mexico. In 1916 when the Mexican government appeared to be protecting Villa, sentiment rose in the U.S. in favor of armed intervention. But war was avoided, for one reason, the U.S. feared getting drawn into the war going on in Europe (World War I) and dared not risk a war over here too.
“A new constitution in 1917 prevented anyone but Mexicans from owning the land and natural resources of the country. Holdings of foreign companies or individuals were not disturbed at that time, but native owned large states were divided among the poor farmers. Mexico was entirely within her rights in doing this, but foreign investors were alarmed.
“However as the foreigners were reassured their rights would not be violated, better relations were created. For example relations between the U.S. and Mexico improved so that in l938 when Mexican government did force all foreigners, including U.S. businessmen to sell their oil lands in Mexico, the incident was passed over without much trouble.”
“Well there was plenty of trouble between the Texas and New Mexico about that time. My Grandma Jacobs was not a happy camper when her little boy married a ‘Mexican’, and then when her baby daughter, my other Aunt Lola married secretly, Grandma blamed my mother because his last name was also Spanish. I’m glad I wasn’t around to see that!
“But that’s a story for a different time; I remember some letters I got in the 70's from a Bustamante cousin I never met. She was the oldest living in their generation, and Uncle Eliseo suggested I write to her to see if she had information that we had not been able to glean from his journals or from the microfilmed church records of the area. They’re in a folder in the genealogy file drawer.
Here's a web site about Mexico during World War I: http://explora.presidencia.gob.mx.pages__kids/
"Meanwhile in 1939 the European crisis culminated in the Second world War, in which the Axis countries, (Germany, Italy and Japan) fought the allies (England, France, the Soviet Union, the United States and other countries). For most of the war, Mexico was governed by Manuel Avila Camacho (1940 - 1946. As a result of this conflict, manufactured products became scarce in Mexico, since the industrialized countries were at war and industrial production was geared to satisfying military demands. Mexicans' demand for consumer goods served to promote the industrialization of our country.
During the war, the United States of America needed more workers, since a large part of its labor force had gone to fight. Mexico provided the US economy with workers and raw materials, a fact that also favored our economic growth. By the time the war ended, Mexico had started to become an urban and industrial nation. an intense literacy campaign also took place during the war years. Since this time, free and compulsory primary education has continued to expand. In 1940 there were two million students; nowadays this number has grown to around fourteen million. The Mexican Social Security Institute was also created during the war; this institution has given a large part of Mexico's population access to better medical services. Thanks to improved health care conditions, our population has continued to grow. In 1940, there were twenty million Mexicans; our population now stands at over ninety million.
[1] History of NM
“Mom, we were talking about World War I and II in our history class. Were you alive during the wars?”
Grandma Lucy (Uncle) Frank Glenn Daddy (Charles Glenn Jacobs. Glenn)
C. Glenn & Lucy
“Thanks a lot Brent. I’m old, but not ancient. Even MY mother was not born ‘til after World War I. My dad was born in 1907, so he was younger than you when that war was fought. And, I remember my mother saying that when World War II started, he was really too old to enlist, he had two kids already, but he wanted to do his part for the war effort, and he enlisted as a Sea Bea or CB -- a navy construction worker.”
“So when were you born?”
“1949. World War II had been over for nearly five years. It’s funny though, I remember watching news shows and movies about the war when I was little and thinking, ‘why do they keep talking about this? It’s ancient history.’ Now I realize how time plays tricks on you and five or ten years for me now is nothing...except when I am away from my kids, then it a month is forever.”
“What was it like during the war time for your parents?”
“Railroads had become the main means of transportation. Cars were becoming more popular, but during the wars gas was rationed and rubber tires were really hard to get. Well, I guess during the Second World War, my parents had just been married a couple of years. They were living in Concho where the Candelaria brothers had married Mother’s two sisters and established ranches. Daddy had the Shell® trading post just at the entrance of town from St. Johns. Uncle Glenn was a baby when my dad joined the navy, and then Mother says he came home on leave one week and announced it was time for the next child, that would be your Uncle Duane.”
“I thought you said he had two kids already when he went.”
“The other one was my half sister, from an earlier marriage. Your granddad was actually married three times. Aunt Marie and I got really excited when we learned that our half sister had a daughter, because that would be our half niece, so together we thought we could make a whole aunt.”
“That sounds like some of our half step siblings once removed by a couple of divorces in the family.” Brent joked.
“Well, I’ve heard if you laid all the divorced people out end to end,” Mom started out seriously, “they’d be a lot more comfortable.”
“Well, if the jokes don’t improve, I’ve got American history to study for an exam.”
“What are you studying now, Brent?” Mom asked showing a distracted interest in his schoolwork.
“Well, duhh, Mom," Lynae interrupted, “Maybe World War I and II?”
“Again, about all I know about World Wars is what I learned from John Wayne movies. How did it effect New Mexico, Brent? Remember some of the displays at the museum just before we got back to Arizona in Deming, or was it Lords?”
“Where it was raining so hard you said you just couldn’t drive through it so we would have to visit just one more museum?” Brent laughed.
“Well that one turned out to be pretty good with the doll displays and dresses from the past.” Lynae defended.
“Remember the exhibits you liked, Brent, about the army clothes, medals, and weapons from the world wars.”
“And the street with the old cars and little shops like a real miniature town.”
“I remember now, there was like a beauty shop and dentist, and a bunch of others.”
“Remember how loud the rain was on that tin roof? I’m glad we weren’t trying to drive through it!” Mom reminded them.
“There was a lot of stuff about the World Wars at the railroad museum in Belen too,” Lynae remembered.
“Those little displays had authentic items typical of that era.”
Brent got more enthusiastic about the history assignment. “Just before World War I, there was a lot of trouble in Mexico itself, which is called the Mexican revolution.” After he related this bit of information, he turned to his reference book, an old coverless history text book he picked up at Deseret Industries and read aloud:
“After many years of friendly relations with Mexico, A dictator Aporfirio Diaz ruled from l877 to 1911.”[1]
“Gosh forty years, that sounds like Castro in Cuba!”
Brent agreed and continued to read:
“He favored the wealthy group in Mexico and permitted foreign capital to be invested in the mines oil fields and ranches of his country. Much of that capital came from the U.S. The Mexican people resented this, feeling that the natural resources of their land should be used for their own benefit. Conditions for the poor peon were getting no better; in agricultural country 85 per cent of the people working the soil owned no land.
“The Diaz government was overthrown in a revolution in 1911. Other revolutions and more dictators followed and our relations with Mexico were strained for several years. Twice American troops moved in.
“At one time we held Vera Curz for more than six months. On another occasion President Woodrow Wislon sent General John J. Pershing after a Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa, who had been making forays across the boarder into New Mexico. In 1916 when the Mexican government appeared to be protecting Villa, sentiment rose in the U.S. in favor of armed intervention. But war was avoided, for one reason, the U.S. feared getting drawn into the war going on in Europe (World War I) and dared not risk a war over here too.
“A new constitution in 1917 prevented anyone but Mexicans from owning the land and natural resources of the country. Holdings of foreign companies or individuals were not disturbed at that time, but native owned large states were divided among the poor farmers. Mexico was entirely within her rights in doing this, but foreign investors were alarmed.
“However as the foreigners were reassured their rights would not be violated, better relations were created. For example relations between the U.S. and Mexico improved so that in l938 when Mexican government did force all foreigners, including U.S. businessmen to sell their oil lands in Mexico, the incident was passed over without much trouble.”
“Well there was plenty of trouble between the Texas and New Mexico about that time. My Grandma Jacobs was not a happy camper when her little boy married a ‘Mexican’, and then when her baby daughter, my other Aunt Lola married secretly, Grandma blamed my mother because his last name was also Spanish. I’m glad I wasn’t around to see that!
“But that’s a story for a different time; I remember some letters I got in the 70's from a Bustamante cousin I never met. She was the oldest living in their generation, and Uncle Eliseo suggested I write to her to see if she had information that we had not been able to glean from his journals or from the microfilmed church records of the area. They’re in a folder in the genealogy file drawer.
Here's a web site about Mexico during World War I: http://explora.presidencia.gob.mx.pages__kids/
"Meanwhile in 1939 the European crisis culminated in the Second world War, in which the Axis countries, (Germany, Italy and Japan) fought the allies (England, France, the Soviet Union, the United States and other countries). For most of the war, Mexico was governed by Manuel Avila Camacho (1940 - 1946. As a result of this conflict, manufactured products became scarce in Mexico, since the industrialized countries were at war and industrial production was geared to satisfying military demands. Mexicans' demand for consumer goods served to promote the industrialization of our country.
During the war, the United States of America needed more workers, since a large part of its labor force had gone to fight. Mexico provided the US economy with workers and raw materials, a fact that also favored our economic growth. By the time the war ended, Mexico had started to become an urban and industrial nation. an intense literacy campaign also took place during the war years. Since this time, free and compulsory primary education has continued to expand. In 1940 there were two million students; nowadays this number has grown to around fourteen million. The Mexican Social Security Institute was also created during the war; this institution has given a large part of Mexico's population access to better medical services. Thanks to improved health care conditions, our population has continued to grow. In 1940, there were twenty million Mexicans; our population now stands at over ninety million.
[1] History of NM
Auntie Lola (Delores Baca Candelaria)
Auntie Lola
(Delores Baca Candelaria Salazar)
Eliseo
1940
Marian
Lola
Lucy
The rest of the week went all too quickly, a few days with the grandkids and that quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley then a little back track through Gallup New Mexico to visit Auntie Lola.
Auntie Lola greeted them warmly, as is her custom, and offered them a tour of the Villa de Guadalupe retirement home where she had recently taken residence. Pointing to the pictures on her dresser, Lynae asked who they were. “Is that you’re wedding picture?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, that’s me and my Roger. We were married when I was eighteen. I was born in the home built by my grandfather, José María Baca. The building still stands and is used today. We went into partnership for the store, with my cousin Matias Baca, and a few years later we bought out his shares and moved the store to a building on the north side of California Street”
“That’s the main street through Quemado, Highway 60". Mom explained. “By this time we were parents of four children,” Auntie Lola indicated a family picture. “Roger, Edwina, Vidal, who your Grandma Lucy dubbed Billy, and Clara Jo.
“-- Helena's Mom.” Lynae popped up excitedly.
“Do you know my granddaughter Helena?” Auntie Lola questioned.
“She’s our favorite relative -- besides you, I mean,” Brent added diplomatically. We stayed at her house, and she gave us tickets to the Wild Animal Park and Zoo in San Diego where she works -- Remember Mom, when I saw her walking by with a lady on a tour of the park and I recognized her voice?”
“That was quite a coincidence, “Mom agreed. “She didn’t even expect to be at the Zoo that day so she had left tickets for us at the gate. She was so busy that trip we didn’t even get to get together, but the summer before we had a great visit, and she and her husband, Will, were so gracious.”
“Yes, Helena is a wonderful woman.” Auntie Lola agreed readily. “Did you see her on Television a few weeks ago? She was interviewed on one of the network news shows about her work with the primates at the Zoo.”
“She’s really the only cousin, well first cousin once removed, that I kept in contact with. When we were kids Helena's parents brought the family to visit every couple of summers. Helena and I kept in contact as pen pals for several years.” Mom explained, then added, "Auntie Lola’s oldest son, Roger, here in this picture is the oldest of the whole generation of cousins, and I’m the youngest. He actually thought he was my uncle for a while. He was just six years younger than my mother. He's the one born while Grandma Lucy was in the Loretto infirmary so sick and when they said she had a nephew, she cried and said, 'I don't want another disease.' When Roger was in the hospital after a heart attack I wrote him a card:
From the youngest to the oldest,
I’m real sorry that you’re sick.
You lead our generation,
so get well really quick!”
Auntie Lola continued the tour of the building. Lynae admired the beautiful displays of Navajo designs in rugs and pottery and sand paintings throughout the building, side by side with the pictures and statues of Jesus, Mary and many saints.
“We bought a lot of land and buildings -- one set of adobe buildings we named Plaza Cottage Camp,” Auntie Lola reminisced.[1] “It was a collection of rental rooms, small stores and a pool hall.”
“Auntie met her husband Roger in Springerville. She was a boarder at St. Vincent's Academy in Albuquerque.”
“You went to boarding school even when your parents were alive?” Lynae questioned.
“That was the only way to get an education; there were no schools in this part of the country. Marian and Lucy would have gone there too — even if our parents had lived.”
“I thought they just were sent because they were orphans.”
“No, in our day many children had to be shipped off.”
“Is that why you say you are shipping us off to boarding school when we have to go back to Dad’s for the school year?” Lynae asked turning to Mom.
“Yeah, it’s easier than admitting you are leaving for joint custody.” Mom admitted, brushing at a little tear -- a mixture of sadness for generations of children separated from their birth parents.
“I had to send my kids away." Auntie Lola stated. "Marian’s daughters, Eugenia and Lydia went to St. Vincent’s in Albuquerque, too, but they lived at home because she and Chris lived close enough to commute,” she added, then continued with the history the children had requested. “Throughout 1920, Roger and I met whenever possible, he was working at Becker's Store in Sprigerville. We married in September of 1921 just a few months later, March 1922, my father died.”
“We rented the house and building to a young couple, who opened a bakery and ran it until they were financially able to continue to California, their original goal. I continued the bakery for some time with help from my older children managed the cabins and did most of the work that had to be done. And I also assisted Dr. Bell in the delivery of several babies, and was county registrar for more than twenty-five years.”
“Gina used to help deliver babies!” Lynae compared generations again. “But where was Roger?”
“Uncle Roger,” Mom corrected from long habit, having been corrected as a child.
“Roger Candelaria served as County Commissioner for two years, and several years as Justice of the Peace. When my father died in 1922, I inherited the part of his holdings known as The Mail Ranch, and we purchased other land to raise cattle. We kept herds of sheep until late 1947; we raised feed on the cultivated part of the vega which was watered by Rito Creek. Before 1940 the only trees in Quemado were Salt Cedars. Roger brought a truckload of Chinese Elms and sold them to folk to beautify their homes, and most people considered them a blessing.”
“I guess that’s what happened in Arizona and Nevada!” Brent acknowledged. “I sure don’t think of elm trees as a blessing when I have to hoe them out of the garden and chop the suckers that grow from the roots.”
The very young looking nove-generian spoke proudly of her family. “Both my sons, and five grandsons have served in the armed services, and my great grandson now serves overseas.”
“Auntie Lola, you’ve lived through most of this century — since 1907,” Lynae continued the interview, “what changes have you seen?”
“My father had the first car in Catron County, we had one of the first telephones, electricity, just about everything in this century. Vaccines and immunizations would have saved my parents.” Lola wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek at the very thought, and continued,” -- you take for granted now. The world has changed rapidly with new inventions and new appliances. I’ve lived through two world wars, and many other political conflicts, but I still try to have an optimistic outlook.”
“What do you enjoy the most?” Lynae asked.
“That’s an easy one, I always thoroughly enjoy get-togethers with my precious sisters and brother, my children and grandchildren, and friends.”
“Well, in a world of constant change, that much hasn’t changed in four hundred years. The most important thing, I guess, will always be family.”
[1] Taken from the QuemadoSenior Citizen Calendar section on the Candalaria Family, and family stories.
(Delores Baca Candelaria Salazar)
Eliseo
1940
Marian
Lola
Lucy
The rest of the week went all too quickly, a few days with the grandkids and that quick detour to visit Uncle Glenn’s family in Round Valley then a little back track through Gallup New Mexico to visit Auntie Lola.
Auntie Lola greeted them warmly, as is her custom, and offered them a tour of the Villa de Guadalupe retirement home where she had recently taken residence. Pointing to the pictures on her dresser, Lynae asked who they were. “Is that you’re wedding picture?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes, that’s me and my Roger. We were married when I was eighteen. I was born in the home built by my grandfather, José María Baca. The building still stands and is used today. We went into partnership for the store, with my cousin Matias Baca, and a few years later we bought out his shares and moved the store to a building on the north side of California Street”
“That’s the main street through Quemado, Highway 60". Mom explained. “By this time we were parents of four children,” Auntie Lola indicated a family picture. “Roger, Edwina, Vidal, who your Grandma Lucy dubbed Billy, and Clara Jo.
“-- Helena's Mom.” Lynae popped up excitedly.
“Do you know my granddaughter Helena?” Auntie Lola questioned.
“She’s our favorite relative -- besides you, I mean,” Brent added diplomatically. We stayed at her house, and she gave us tickets to the Wild Animal Park and Zoo in San Diego where she works -- Remember Mom, when I saw her walking by with a lady on a tour of the park and I recognized her voice?”
“That was quite a coincidence, “Mom agreed. “She didn’t even expect to be at the Zoo that day so she had left tickets for us at the gate. She was so busy that trip we didn’t even get to get together, but the summer before we had a great visit, and she and her husband, Will, were so gracious.”
“Yes, Helena is a wonderful woman.” Auntie Lola agreed readily. “Did you see her on Television a few weeks ago? She was interviewed on one of the network news shows about her work with the primates at the Zoo.”
“She’s really the only cousin, well first cousin once removed, that I kept in contact with. When we were kids Helena's parents brought the family to visit every couple of summers. Helena and I kept in contact as pen pals for several years.” Mom explained, then added, "Auntie Lola’s oldest son, Roger, here in this picture is the oldest of the whole generation of cousins, and I’m the youngest. He actually thought he was my uncle for a while. He was just six years younger than my mother. He's the one born while Grandma Lucy was in the Loretto infirmary so sick and when they said she had a nephew, she cried and said, 'I don't want another disease.' When Roger was in the hospital after a heart attack I wrote him a card:
From the youngest to the oldest,
I’m real sorry that you’re sick.
You lead our generation,
so get well really quick!”
Auntie Lola continued the tour of the building. Lynae admired the beautiful displays of Navajo designs in rugs and pottery and sand paintings throughout the building, side by side with the pictures and statues of Jesus, Mary and many saints.
“We bought a lot of land and buildings -- one set of adobe buildings we named Plaza Cottage Camp,” Auntie Lola reminisced.[1] “It was a collection of rental rooms, small stores and a pool hall.”
“Auntie met her husband Roger in Springerville. She was a boarder at St. Vincent's Academy in Albuquerque.”
“You went to boarding school even when your parents were alive?” Lynae questioned.
“That was the only way to get an education; there were no schools in this part of the country. Marian and Lucy would have gone there too — even if our parents had lived.”
“I thought they just were sent because they were orphans.”
“No, in our day many children had to be shipped off.”
“Is that why you say you are shipping us off to boarding school when we have to go back to Dad’s for the school year?” Lynae asked turning to Mom.
“Yeah, it’s easier than admitting you are leaving for joint custody.” Mom admitted, brushing at a little tear -- a mixture of sadness for generations of children separated from their birth parents.
“I had to send my kids away." Auntie Lola stated. "Marian’s daughters, Eugenia and Lydia went to St. Vincent’s in Albuquerque, too, but they lived at home because she and Chris lived close enough to commute,” she added, then continued with the history the children had requested. “Throughout 1920, Roger and I met whenever possible, he was working at Becker's Store in Sprigerville. We married in September of 1921 just a few months later, March 1922, my father died.”
“We rented the house and building to a young couple, who opened a bakery and ran it until they were financially able to continue to California, their original goal. I continued the bakery for some time with help from my older children managed the cabins and did most of the work that had to be done. And I also assisted Dr. Bell in the delivery of several babies, and was county registrar for more than twenty-five years.”
“Gina used to help deliver babies!” Lynae compared generations again. “But where was Roger?”
“Uncle Roger,” Mom corrected from long habit, having been corrected as a child.
“Roger Candelaria served as County Commissioner for two years, and several years as Justice of the Peace. When my father died in 1922, I inherited the part of his holdings known as The Mail Ranch, and we purchased other land to raise cattle. We kept herds of sheep until late 1947; we raised feed on the cultivated part of the vega which was watered by Rito Creek. Before 1940 the only trees in Quemado were Salt Cedars. Roger brought a truckload of Chinese Elms and sold them to folk to beautify their homes, and most people considered them a blessing.”
“I guess that’s what happened in Arizona and Nevada!” Brent acknowledged. “I sure don’t think of elm trees as a blessing when I have to hoe them out of the garden and chop the suckers that grow from the roots.”
The very young looking nove-generian spoke proudly of her family. “Both my sons, and five grandsons have served in the armed services, and my great grandson now serves overseas.”
“Auntie Lola, you’ve lived through most of this century — since 1907,” Lynae continued the interview, “what changes have you seen?”
“My father had the first car in Catron County, we had one of the first telephones, electricity, just about everything in this century. Vaccines and immunizations would have saved my parents.” Lola wiped an unexpected tear from her cheek at the very thought, and continued,” -- you take for granted now. The world has changed rapidly with new inventions and new appliances. I’ve lived through two world wars, and many other political conflicts, but I still try to have an optimistic outlook.”
“What do you enjoy the most?” Lynae asked.
“That’s an easy one, I always thoroughly enjoy get-togethers with my precious sisters and brother, my children and grandchildren, and friends.”
“Well, in a world of constant change, that much hasn’t changed in four hundred years. The most important thing, I guess, will always be family.”
[1] Taken from the QuemadoSenior Citizen Calendar section on the Candalaria Family, and family stories.
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