WELCOME!
Thank you for visiting my photography. It is, & probably will always be an undertaking in progress.
I have been making images for over 35 years.
I do a bit of writing from time to time, so I will submit some of that also here.
Enjoy & share away should you be inclined.
Peace.
HORSES in the Americas
The horse is known as one of the earliest surviving animals throughout Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Geologists have discovered fossil remains of horses in almost every continent dating back over 10,000 years. Why these animals became extinct here on the American continent remains unclear. Like other pre-historic animals that disappeared, unknown factors were involved and the complete story may never be told.
Instead, we look back to the beginnings of the horse as we know it. Back when the aboriginal people, the native people of the continent, lived in harmony with nature and the animals as mostly food gatherers, hunters, and agriculturists. To when "the people" were still pedestrians and living mostly sedentary lives.
Visitors From Across the Sea
Aside from human migrations it has been said that the arrival of the modern horse was the swiftest and probably most significant change in the fauna of our continent. The first horses in what are now considered the United States, are believed to have been the Arab Plains horse brought by the Spanish conquistador Hernando De Soto in in 1539 to what is now Florida, and DeSoto again in the Middle-west in 1544. Francisco Vazquez de Coronado then brought horses also by way of the Southwest in 1549.
Other immigrations occurred between 1600 and 1629; in 1600 just north of the Rio Grande; the saddle horses of the south Atlantic colonies somewhere between 1608 and 1619; and the draft horse of the Pilgrims and the Dutch in 1629. As to just when and where the first horses arrived in the Americas, we might thank Bernal Diaz Del Castillo, a chronicler for Spain of the period, who wrote an eyewitness account of the event.
In the year 1511, Diego Velazquez discovers and settles the islands of Cuba in the name of Spain. Seven years later, Hernando Cortez a captain in Velazquez's army - soon to be general - has sailed from Havana Cuba to the Mexico mainland at Veracruz with just sixteen mounts.
From here we can say that the face of Native North America is changed forever. The Spanish obsession with oppression has released its spear and let fly through the Americas for the next several hundred and some odd years. Cortez conquers the Aztecs with help of their enemies and absconds with as much gold and riches like the world has never seen before. But the Spanish aren't satisfied. The invasion of Mexico entices them to believe there's more riches further North.
Their greed then turns them to what is now Florida. Up steps Juan Ponce de Leon, who in 1521 tries to colonize the area but fails. His troops are attacked by the natives even as they leave their ships. Five years later Lucas Vazquez de Ayllon tries again and also fails. Ayllon's grant was then given to Panfilo de Narvaez. Narvaez succeeds in landing at Tampa Bay in 1528.
To rid themselves of him, the Indians there tell him to go north where he can find "heaps of gold." And so he goes with 300 men and 40 horses. He didn’t find gold, only cornfields which helped keep them from starvation. They decide to return to Mexico and after eating their last horse, managed to set sail off Florida again and head west only to have their boats sink off the shores of Alabama.
Of the few survivors, four of them led by Alvar Cabeza de Vaca, walk across what is now Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico and half of Arizona. It was while in Arizona that this party witnesses the setting sun shining on Moqui, a Zuni pueblo off in the distance, making it appear like it was made of gold, and having heard tales of "seven cities made of gold" referred to as “Cibola” they return to Mexico with such stories.
These stories in turn inspire two previously mentioned Spanish explorations to the north, those of Hernando De Soto, and Francisco Vazquez De Coronado. In May 1539, De Soto leaves for Florida searching for the fountain of youth, with 550 men and 200 horses. By September 1543, there remains 310 survivors and no horses. De Soto himself having died of fever the year before, they return to Mexico. It's 1549 now six years later, and Coronado sets out with 250 men and 200 horses to find the “seven cities” for himself. He looks from California over to Kansas and back, but without any luck.
And so Spanish horses have now entered the continent of the United States by way of the Southeast and the Southwest for the first time. Careful investigation of the evidence has relegated this to be true. Appeared yes, but stayed? Not a chance. In 1600, close to 50 years since De Soto and Coronado, Juan De Oñate sets out to establish a permanent settlement in northern New Mexico with 130 soldiers, settlers and their families and several thousand head of livestock. On the way there, do they encounter stray or wild horses? Do they witness Indians on horseback? See bones or manure at watering holes? None of these! Why? Because the few horses that may have escaped or been lost from past expeditions would most likely have lived with only fantastic luck in the harsh environment before they had adjusted to its dangers. There were storms, cougars, wolves and Indians.
The initial panic of the Indian upon their first contact with the horse was albeit momentary. After the initial fright came hatred. Hence the numbers of Spanish horses killed in skirmishes was probably considerable. In their travels the conquistadors were almost always met with resistance. They proved themselves to be arrogant and cruel to most of the natives they encountered and the word spread across the land. And just what were those huge dog-like creatures that the Spanish were riding?
It is possible also that Coronado or De Soto expeditions didn’t lose many horses. The loss of a good horse in those days was comparable to losing an automobile these days. Fairly careful journals were kept of the horses and equipment and no such losses are mentioned in the accounts of the expeditions. It should also be noted that the horse of the Spanish expeditions were war-horses not brood-horses, the best war-horses being stallions, the ratio of stallion to mare quite considerable. They had to carry man and armor, a total weight in the area of 400 pounds and be able to fight all day.
At this point, assuming that a few horses were lost, and we consider the Indian of the Southwest and Texas Plains areas intelligent and adaptable, it is possibly too much to expect of them that they should have been able, without instruction; to catch, tame, train, and use horses to their advantage in those fifty years previously mentioned between Coronado and Oñate.
INDIANS ON HORSEBACK
So what probably did happen? As Oñate and his group settle in after establishing missions amongst the pueblo people with some padres in the Rio Grande area of New Mexico, they eventually increase in numbers. They soon find they need help with chores and begin to draft the already enslaved Indians for farm labor and to help with the livestock. They were undoubtedly used around the corrals to handle the riding stock, to groom and saddle the animals, and to bring them in from the ranges as they were needed. Were these the first trained Indians on horseback?
In New Spain (Mexico), the laws and customs had frowned on any Indian there from ever riding a horse. But in far-off Northern provinces, the need for help with the now increasing herds was more pressing. Life was indeed hard for the Rio Grande Pueblo Indians with all those Spanish slave-drivers around. They soon became fugitive and at times would slip away, no doubt stealing an occasional horse. It is noted that some Pueblo families slipped away and settled with the Apache or Navajo. They probably took along some horses and so the Apache & Navajo have now received horses also.
Some fugitives were probably less fortunate. Some became captives of the Plains Indians and became slaves. Sometimes others became useful members of a band if they proved themselves. In any case, just one Pueblo Indian with one good horse could instruct the whole band in handling and caring of the animal. The more ambitious young men in the band would soon steal and secure horses for themselves. They would walk long distances to steal from the Spanish villages. They might even trade a captive Christian Pueblo Indian or Spaniard for a horse or two.
And so it goes, a friendly band of Indians with horses begins to trade with other friendlies. The recipient would in turn trade with others and before you know it, the use of horses has spread across the plains, albeit relatively slowly. It is only mid to late 1600's now and the Plains Indians population is still comparatively small.
In 168O, the Pueblo Indians with the help of neighboring Apaches and Navajos, rose up in revolt and drive the Spanish out of New Mexico. It is believed that the Indians captured somewhere in the neighborhood of 3,000 horses at this conjecture. And so the Navajo have horses now for sure if they hadn't already. The Indians involved in the revolt no doubt guarded this huge herd of horses.
Meanwhile in Texas the horse had arrived there too with the Spanish. In 1665, one of the first recorded expeditions to cross the Rio Grande into what is now Texas, was led by Azcue from Monterrey Mexico. The next few years found the area well on the way toward permanent colonization. Then in 1675, the Janabres Indians of the area revolted and forced the Spaniards to withdraw back southerly to Mexico City. Stores of maize and herds of livestock were abandoned. It is suggested that this raid gave North American Indians their first taste of beefsteak. The number of horses captured is not known, but it wasn't long before the Indians launched another attack on a similar village on the Rio Blanco. There the natives captured some 200 broken horses.
Between 1687 and 1689, Alonzo De Leon makes three expeditions back into Texas taking some 2000 horses and mules all total. On his third trip he spoke of encountering mounted Indians. During the next decade, the district became well populated with numerous stock ranches.
TOO LATE
The Spanish had done their best to keep horses from the natives. From the beginning they realized that their best weapon both physically and psychologically was the horse. But some things are inevitable. Once mounted, the Indian with his quiver and bow and arrows became superior to the Spaniards with his single-shot arquebus. The Spanish fear of mounted Indians would soon be well-founded and beautifully illustrated on the great plains and elsewhere, as the Spanish empire would be hereafter stopped short when it reached the areas that were now dominated by Indians on horseback (Denhardt 109)
The appearance of horses in the new continent would have influenced that cultural development of the American Indian sooner had it not been for the Spanish efforts to prohibit their use by the natives. The Indian quickly discovered the horse could be used also as an increased food supply an aid to greater resistance to the whites. The Indian soon ate horses, drank the melted fat, and shampooed his head in the blood believing it would give himself more strength.
He twisted horsehair into rope, and used his hide in his couch, his clothing, his tent, his saddle and his shoes (Denhart: 110) Rapidly, the Indian became an expert horseman and without a saddle. His ingeniousness was limitless, he didn't need a saddle, nor were his hands seldom used to guide a horse. The fighting native needed both his hands to shoot bow and arrow and as a result, he was something of a trick rider. Things, like dropping on one side of his galloping horse and shooting under the animal's neck, mounting and dismounting at a good run; picking up a fallen comrade without stopping, and riding backwards were common feats. He needed not to hold reins and could steer his horse with his knees. The bridle was a simple leather thong looped around the lower jaw or around the snout.This he would cleverly let drag so as to be able to grab the passing rope if he was ever knocked to the ground. In a short time; an Indian could learn to ride well enough to chase buffalo, and the Spanish horse, used to cutting herds of cattle was just what the doctor ordered.
Indians who once stayed put and raised vegetables or grain, or hunted an occasional deer for meat, or walked miles and miles to get some buffalo meat, quickly adjusted to a new nomadic pattern. Their incentive being a change from old ways to the surety of more food on the table in less time. How exciting this must have been for them. Village life suddenly seemed less tame or even dull--now the Sioux, Crow, Cheyenne and Apache could ride with the wind! Weave and dart among buffalo and engage in thrilling intertribal raids. They would ride the ranges now for longer periods of time, returning home only at planting or harvest time or during winter weather.
Better yet, they could pack everything up and travel to warmer climates for the winter. They called the horse spirit dog or holy dog, as the horse quickly replaced the dog as porter for transporting their travois. By 1770, the Southwest, the Plains and the grassland tribes were all supplied with horses.
©P Gaspar 2023
New Home – San Blas MEXICO – 1964
I’m guessing I was an adventurous sort even at the young age of 13, leaving California and friends didn’t seem to upset me much.
We crossed the border at Tijuana on July 25, my thirteenth birthday. We drove down in our Peugeot403, towing a small box trailer full of basic needs and a few cherished belongings. Our destination? A west coast fishing village in the tropics called, San Blas, in the state of Nayarit. You hear about people getting sick, commonly referred to as “turista,” their first trip to Mexico, and I was no exception. I had only been there 2 or 3 days. We were still on the road traveling and adventurous me had to try the turtle soup in a restaurant in Guaymas. Who is to say, it might not have been the soup — but it would be the first and the last time I had turtle soup. (It is now unlawful to kill turtles in Mexico.)
When I wasn’t lying in the back seat, sick as a dog, I was sitting up and all eyes for most the 5 day road trip. We stayed a night in Navajoa Sonora, in the El Rancho Motel. It actually looked like those along 101 in California. It still does today. (This where one leaves the main highway to go East to old Alamos.) Before arriving in Mexico, there were numerous things I had never seen before. like thunder and lightening. We stopped to rest in Culiacan. it was nearing the end of the day as I stood watching.in the hallway looking out the 3rd floor windows. It was so incredibly Loud, with amazingly bright flashes, and it rattled the windows. I could not recall ever a time in Palo Alto when there was such a show of nature as this.
Sadly, There were dead dogs and occasionally even dead horses in the roads or at the edges, sometimes swarming with vultures. There were packs of snarling, fighting dogs in the villages. There were poor, raggedy clothed people in some of the streets, some begging, some disfigured or crippled. I had never before seen people living in grass shacks. Or seen incredibly worn-out old cars and trucks barely chugging along, some actually going a bit sideways down the road like a crab! I’d never seen a herder walking his cows or goats down the middle of a road before. And burros! No, I couldn’t recall seeing a donkey before. Nor a creaky, home-made wooden wagon pulled by one, or by a mule. I‘d never seen papayas, mangoes, or banana trees. I’d never eaten jicama, tasted tamarindo, or drunk agua de jamaica or arroz, a sweet beverage made from rice.
We stayed a couple days in the coastal city of Mazatlan. Mom had made a friend there from a past trip, a well known lady in town who owned a big gift shop called “El Burrito” on the Olas Altas. The tourist section of town with a small beach. We stayed in a posada a couple blocks back from there. (This area is now considered the historic part of Mazatlan). Mom liked the market in Mazatlan, and the big plaza with purple jacaranda trees. Mom was entranced with the colorful trees and flowers in Mexico. She was snapping pictures of the brightly colored trees and bugambilias everywhere we went. We bought my first pair of huaraches in the market in Mazatlan. Old style huaraches with the tire tread rubber soles that are now getting harder to find.
Leaving Mazatlan on the coast and continuing South, one begins to notice how green and dense with vegetation it is. The tropics! About halfway to the turnoff to San Blas, one comes to a crossroads, a busy “crucero”, the turnoff to Túxpan. Trucks laden with all types of fruits are parked here and there. Buses of several sorts and sizes pickup and drop off people and their personal loads of what-have-you, chickens, fruits and vegetables and kids. Open air, thatched roof restaurants are cooking up the good stuff. Men, women, children, carry any number of small bird cages, with live, colored tropical birds for sale. They approach our car. We gaze in awe while Pop shakes his head no, and smiles. Mom oohs and aws at the darling birds, hopping back and forth in their prospective cages. We want to buy them all, then go down the road a ways and set them all free. At a later visit, my mom and I did just that. Bought a couple birds and set them free down the road.
The 22 miles more from the turnoff to San Blas has me sitting up all the way. Tiny villages, mud and thatched houses, peasant-looking, mostly dark-skinned people wave to us as we pass. We go slow now as the road is much narrower and more alive with people and animals. The country is lush and the bushes on the road edge extend into the roadway. Arriving at a small river, we actually drive across the bottom through a couple inches deep of water. Along the banks on the large rocks are women and girls washing clothes, while children splash and play in the water. As we near San Blas, lagoons, marshes and mangrove swamp make appearances on either side of the road, and exotic birdlife are abundant. At the edge of San Blas, we cross a small bridge over an estuary. A group of mostly bright colored dugout canoes are visible, resting on the muddy shore. Some are rigged with motors. A large barbeque is spewing smoke a few feet down the way as fish are grilled over wood coals.
I remember the first place we stayed upon our arrival in San Blas. A very basic hotel called the “Belmar.” Now there was a well known Belmar on the Olas Altas in Mazatlan then, but this was nothing like that. It was a simple hotel on a corner on the road into town with a basic room and a cold water shower. I recall a very pretty Mexican girl with long black hair lived in the back with her family. When she smiled she was missing teeth. My folks went out everyday for a while looking to rent a house. They found one not too many days later, a newly built one in fact, owned by a Dr. Hernandez. I believe the monthly rent for the two bedroom house was around $242.Pesos about $34 dollars at the time. We moved in and almost immediately met and made friends with the Mexican family next door. The senor ran a bike repair business out of their house. My mother then hunted up a local carpenter/furniture maker and had new living room furniture made, it was so incredibly inexpensive then.
Come September, like back home, it was time to go back to school. It was a tad scary. I only spoke three words of Spanish and most Mexican kids spoke about two words of English. The school building was a series of stalls around a dirt area on three sides, something like animal stalls, open aired, no glass windows, a cement floor and small blackboards hanging from a nail. The roof was palm fronds and the walls were palm bark. I sat towards the back of the class to the far rig side, like I always have. Frequently during class, the other kids would turn around and look at me. They were truly all dark-eyed and black-haired. I was the only blue-eyed, blonde-haired person there! They were mostly very friendly and spoke to me in Spanish, and I struggled with understanding them. My folks had dictionaries and a Berlitz book of Spanish phrases I would refer to a lot in the beginning. The first Spanish phrase I taught myself was “I don’t understand.” “No entiendo” I attended “secundaria” school for two hours in the morning, then three hours in the evening. How different this was! This was for two reasons: The primary grades used the school in between time, and as there were older students — some adults–in the secondary grades, and it kept their days free to go to work, etc.
As it turned out, I was among the last students to use the old school. A new 2 story building was being finished in a different part of town, and soon was ready to occupy. But first they needed volunteers to put together the new desks that had arrived disassembled in boxes. They requested that we bigger kids help putting them together and so I did. Here in the states, children say allegiance to the flag every day. In Mexico, it’s a bit more military-like. Every week, we marched the cobble-stoned streets of town with a drum and bugle corp! There’s a photo or two my mother took of me doing just that. Everyone’s dressed in khakis or white, some girls with white gloves, but not me–nobody told me!
Life in a small, tropical town was fascinating. I can’t claim I missed California for a minute. It was so different, so interesting. No time was wasted doing as the natives did: swam, fished, caught shrimps in a net, dug for clams on a beach, rode horses, and drove a mule drawn wagon. I rode many of those push scooters, shot pool at the local hotel or a mens billiard hall, and played on a basketball team. I played the futbolito machines, and eventually made the first skateboard in town. I played marbles, learned to use a balero and a sling. My folks bought me a new MExican made bicycle also.
I climbed trees and knocked down fruit. Papaya, mango, and guavas. I ate many things I’d never eaten or seen before. There was of course, beef cabeza, from the cheeks, lengua or tongue, and even testicles: just once!
The seafood choices were almost endless. Being the village was on the Pacific coast and there were also estuaries and mangrove swamps nearby, fishing was the main source of employment for most the gentleman there. Coconuts were also a major source of commerce. And San Blas had a well known Jungle Trip. A boat ride through the mangroves for several miles that ended at a fresh water spring.There was a small restaurant and changing rooms so one could swim in the crystal clear water. There were many sorts of exotic birds in the area, and also caimans, a smaller species of crocodile.The Audubon Society made yearly visits for bird watching.
There were frequent festivities and occasional religious celebrations or parades. Every town in Mexico has it’s celebration of life day. Many celebrations are of the Catholic saints variety, some hail back to Spain, some to the indigenous cultures prior to invasion. Sometimes circuses and carnivals with rides either came into town or to other nearby villages.
San Blas has significant history. It was a main port, founded in 1530, for the Spanish who sailed north to California and to the Philippines. There are ruins of an old church, and a fort on a hill overlooking the town, and a crumbling customs house on the estuary.
The Huichol Indians live nearby in the Nayar Mountains (part of the Sierra Madres and they would pass through San Blas on their way to the ocean to pray and perform ceremony. I found many of their gifts to their gods in the ocean amongst the big rocks against the cliff sides or simply lying on the beach, that had washed up after being deposited in the sea. Small arrows, carved boats, yarn paintings, God’s Eyes, and bead and bees wax bowls made from gourds.
I did my first real flirting in San Blas. The Mexican girls were very friendly and flirtatious. They’re not self-conscious, but quite forthright and very sweet. Eventually, nature took its course. She lived just down the street. She had noticed me as I had her, and our maid introduced us; I was 13, Consa was 15.
I fell right in with the rest of her family at her home. I was at her house more than my own. My mother thought I was going to school in the mornings and evenings…but only rarely. Consa didn’t go to school much as she had too much to do at home with the family. They made tortillas and sold them out of their house. I also spent a good deal of time with her younger brother, Quique. We shot slingshots and I learned to use his sling Goliath-like, for the first time. It’s was lethal! We played marbles, and a toy called a balero. Those that have a heavy, cylindrical, wooden thing with a hole at one end that hangs from a string, connected to a stick. You swing the cylinder just so, so that it flips and lands on the stick.
Enrique Sr. was a slaughterer for the meat markets. I went along once to see what he did. Nothing fancy, just a sharp knife in the right spot and it was over for that cow. He cut the jugular and the blood poured out. He cupped his hands together and drank a handful of the blood. Then he reached down inside the cow’s neck and stabbed the heart....
It was never boring. Sometimes lazy, or slow, and hot, but never boring. The Mexico experience affected me deeply. All those in my family that have gone there fell in love with the place. We love the gentle, friendly people and their beautiful language, the music, the food, the tropical climate, the warm ocean water, the colors, the skies, and the generally low cost of living there. I learned to speak good Spanish, and realized that even though I live here in the states, much of my heart is in Mexico. I return when I can.
Summer in the Sonora Desert
I go for an early morning walk today in the desert. It's just past 6 am as I head out of the neighborhood, along the old train track bed just the other side of the fence where I’ve been staying in my RV. It draws me south, towards the border. I'm always drawn south, like a gravitational pull. "South" has always stood for important things to me: Mexico, warmth, culture, satisfaction.
The sun has yet to clear the mountains to the east. The small spaces are still dark. No one seems alive as I glance at homes I pass by. "They don't know what they're missing," I think to myself, they need to get out of those houses and live.
It's a peaceful, quiet time. Early mornings are always crisp and refreshing, like clean sheets on a bed. Like the first sip of an ice cold bottle of beer.
Though most humans have yet to stir, mother nature has been up for some time now and she's talking to me. Off in the distance I hear a low rumbling. There's been some rain and thunder and lightning. I say “some” as it's rarely ever enough. The locals call it "monsoon" season. I don't know why, monsoons are in Asia, and they're very wet and windy also. Not so here.
I have a fondness for thunder and lightning. It's such a wondrous exhibition of nature. I can't imagine anything as welcome as moisture in this harsh desert. As I deliberate, I feel an occasional drop of water on my head. There's a feeling of moisture in the air, a scent of tropical likeness in my nose.
The light of the sun still low over there in the sky gives a soft glow on my surroundings. To the west, last night's moon gazes at me from the edge of a hill. As I walk, there's a constant demonstration around me. Grasshoppers jump away from me by the scores. Quail alarm me occasionally, as I do them, as they burst out of the bushes suddenly, really only a blur. Knats fly everywhere. A cactus wren calls, invisible from deep within a shrub. Cicadas buzz on-then-off, from trees somewhere in the dizz-tance. Doves fly away, their wings squeaking.
The mesquite trees are so green and lush now. Their leaves almost glow in contrast to their dark branches. The red and yellow blossoms are dainty, beautiful, reminding me of some exotic bird. The ocotillo reach up high, high above me, their stalks covered with small green leaves. Their squiggley shape against the sky remind me of capillaries. As I look down again to see where I step, purple morning glories are numerous and add a gentler, garden-like atmosphere.
I must watch where I walk. I almost stepped on a sleeping, coiled rattlesnake a couple weeks back. It was a bit unnerving. Fortunately it was like today - still in the cool of the morning and Mr. Rattler wasn't moving too swiftly yet. He seemed to stare, that's all. Perhaps he knew I wasn't there to harm him.
This time I stop and watch a tarantula rambling to nowhere in particular, on the lookout for a female to mate with probably. The horn of a train is just audible off to the south--must be a Mexican train, I surmise. I reflect on what it must have been like when there was no border. I wish I had been there.
As I proceed farther away from the edge of town, everywhere are remnants of so-called illegals: plastic water jugs, backpacks, someone's underpants. As I walk over a culvert I hope I'm not alarming some Mexicans that may be sleeping down inside. I imagine some of them must be a little edgy.
I discover a pile of old cans and broken bottles, so I poke around looking for pieces of purple glass or some other interesting artifact. Instead I find a fairly old Cheez Whiz bottle complete with lid, and some mysterious dark lumps inside. Not a keeper. I leave it and stand up again and see the sun has now peeked over the edge of the horizon, and realize I'm suddenly warmer. Life is good.