Written by Shelli Rottschafer
Photos by Daniel Combs
The Calf Canyon Fire in New Mexico was formed from the merger of two separate wildfires. The cause – left-over pile burns from Forest Service prescribed flames which became a wildfire uncontrolled. That April, with some snow still on the ground, good intentions blazed but fueled rampant destruction.
Flames flared first upon the forest floor. Then Ponderosas burst into Roman Candles lighting the foothills, a penitent altar to La Virgen de Guadalupe. Spring winds fed these rivers of fire which trickled down parched arroyos and streamed like ribbons of lava which formed these valleys millennia ago.
Agua sagrada has yet to arrive and answer Tierra Madre’s bienvenida prayer for soothing rain. Only La Llorona awaits her abandoned bed. Crying, yearning for those who are left behind. Both beg those clouds; “This way, come.”
Each mother in her own rite ushers the lost under blackened wings. Fawns speckled not white but ember-ed noir. Coyote’s throat scorched raw. No longer howling yips to greet sunrise but rasps a weak wheeze. Charcoaled fumes crust snout in search for relief upon the once piñón tinted breeze.
Hermit Peak, named for that solitary figure who sought solace in his soledad. Now manned by the BLM. Managed until its mismanagement prescribed a deadly prescription of paperwork marked “perdida.” Below this mountain lies Mora Valley, established way back when by self-sufficient ‘manitos – those Chicano-Amerindios who are united by the old-ways lived in the present. Yet this time, pride’s broken once la solidaridad no longer is enough.
Within these 341,735 majestic acres, the land laments hopeful, “¡Agua es Vida!” Vernal monsoons migrate eastward. Vital water floods top soil sludge into adobe slurry. It becomes a moving cement-like wall, no longer agua bendita. Wrath of Pachamama settles twelve miles from Las Vegas, Nuevo México.
Soon, winds spread sparks across rugged terrain. What was believed to be quelled; rebirths. Chispas woke from dormant meadows, crested pinnacles , and flew toward chamisa dotted mesas like singed ravens. Their foreboding message scar written etched in char where conifers stand. Transported by fleeing mountain goats, free-range cattle, and cimarrones on the run.
Months later, autumnal tide grows upon golden aspens promise. Here and there chartreuse sprouts shoot skyward between blackened stalks. From up north, KTAOS broadcasts a long anticipated recovery. 77 miles south, Hotshots arrive in town. These newcomers shelter, brought in by trainload. Harvey Girl memories are revitalized while The Castañeda glitters and whiskey tumblers toast a good days work. Money pockets their Carhart dungarees, steel toed boots echo upon these streets that were once mean. In some ways, they relive their own Wild West. Pack and carry like Doc Holiday did. Hangovers kept under lid, an unstained Stetson provides no camouflage.
Distress doesn’t disguise them. Romanticized, they are still City Slickers who pined for frontier westward dreams. They work hand in blistered hand to prove their grit on public land: fix fence, plant post, saddle seedling, repair road. Crews commended, yet kept apart.
Locals whisper gratitude, “Que Díos te bendiga.” Fortified, their communal ties are solidified with midday offerings. Tía’s Tamales entice the hungry bellied, where spray-painted signs declare, “Thank you Firefighters.”
Meanwhile, this rented laborer knows what rings sincere upon dusk’s blessing. A brindled bitch basks in amber light. Adobe sun-warmed she opens her leg, exposing her belly for a scratch. She licks his wounds, his splintered skin, and wags her tail as he scrapes the leftovers from oiled parchment to gravel. She bends, trusting his steel toes won’t flare in her direction. “That’s it girl,” he says knowing; “here to help, but not to stay.”
About the Author
Shelli Rottschafer completed her doctorate from the University of New Mexico in 2005 in Latin American Contemporary Literature. From 2006 until 2023 Rottschafer taught at a small liberal arts college in Grand Rapids, Michigan as a Professor of Spanish. Summer 2023 Shelli returned to graduate school to begin her low residency MFA in Creative Writing at Western Colorado University. She will graduate July 2025 with a concentration in Poetry and additional coursework in Nature Writing.
