The Wedemeyer Family

It’s been a rough week for Sarah, with lots of applications, presentations, and assignments all coming due at the same time. So, after a long stressful week, we took some time to relax on the porch Sunday.

The dogs were quite happy with it too

Shelby Park is named for a famous border crosser, Confederate General Joseph Shelby. Unlike most border crossers today, General Shelby crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico. He refused to recognize Robert E. Lee’s surrender at Appomattox in 1865. He forded the shallow Rio Grande at Eagle Pass with a band of soldiers and stopped midstream—to bury his unconquered Confederate Flag. He never realized his dream to lead a future South uprising. After crossing the border, the group was detained by Mexican rebel authorities loyal to Benito Juarez. The Mexican authorities gave the band free passage southward, and allowed each man to keep his horse and rifle after they surrendered their artillery. Shelby’s band made it to Mexico City where Maximilian refused the general’s offer to help the French-imposed emperor fight the Juarez rebels in the north.

There is a black dog that roams Shelby Park nowadays. It looks like a black lab with a white streak on its chest.

“The agents have different names for him—Blackie, Pancho …”

“Chuy,” added the second Border Patrol agent. The two agents were parked in two white SUVs. The vehicles had the green stripe and BP seal. They were parked on the landing under the United States flag pole on the bank of the Rio Grande. The bathers on the shaded Mexican bank could see the two SUVs clearly in the descending hot sun in the Middle of July.

“He swam across three months ago and couldn’t swim back. Now he’s just here in the park. Some of the agents feed him,” said the first agent, “He’s always here.”

The agents seemed bored as they exited their vehicles to stop Blackie from snapping at Lucky, who looks just like Blackie, only female. We were out for an evening walk. The sardonic humor of the dog’s various names revealed the agents’ reaction to the long hours of waiting, watching, feeding a dog and naming it.

I went fishing the previous night at my favorite spot in a clearing among the Carrizo just north of the park. As twilight fell, I climbed up the bank on the earthen steps that another angler had cut before me. I did not catch anything.

A third Border Patrol agent drove up slowly on the soft dusty road that parallels the river with only the thick Carrizo-covered bank separating the road from the water.

“Catch anything?” he asked me.
“No officer, how about you?” I replied.

Unlike the other agents, he was working the night shift. Blackie was trotting alongside the slow moving SUV.

“I don’t know his name. Border Patrol K-9? He’s always here,” said the night shift agent.

The night agents enjoy less sardonic time. As the night cools, the action heats up. People illegally cross the river and hide in the Carrizo cane until nightfall. Then they cross the dusty road, scramble up the brushy bluff, and disappear in the old Loma de la Cruz neighborhood of Eagle Pass.

Blackie made tracks on the clean dusty road that the agent had just finished clearing by towing the old tractor tires with chains behind his SUV to smooth out the road. This way he could see fresh “signs,” like Blackie’s paw prints. Blackie didn’t know. Neither did he realize the irony of his situation. He didn’t belong to any country, really. The Border Patrol couldn’t, or wouldn’t return him to Mexico. He was just a stray dog. No collar or dog tags, let alone registered papers or the required vaccination card for crossing dogs at a port of entry. The Border Patrol had not called the city’s vector control. Instead, the agents fed him from their vehicles and named him various names for various reasons.

Unlike the human crossers, Blackie did not venture farther north, but rather stayed near the river and always accompanied the constant Border Patrol presence. Thus, Blackie’s master was the Border Patrol and not any one agent. The agents had their shifts, which were always changing, but someone in a white vehicle with a green stripe would always be parked in Shelby Park with some leftover food. The river provided plenty of water. The vehicles provided the shade.

Why did Blackie cross the Rio Grande? To find a better life away from the packs of dogs that roamed the crowded streets of Piedras Negras? Did he leave a family behind that watched helplessly as he swam across? Blackie had found space—a whole, empty park to himself. And he found a niche in the border and the Border Patrol.

The Border Patrol had zero tolerance for human crossers. Detain, imprison or deport as fast as possible. But a canine crosser was okay. Were the agents cruel, hypocritical, and inhumane? Or did their care for Blackie show their humanity? The duality of meaning reflected the duality of the border. Two countries: one rich, one poor. Two animals: one human, and one beast. One river with two banks molded by erosion and accretion. Two populations, both loving and hating emigration and immigration. As much as natural forces pushed the two worlds together, artificial forces kept them separate. But there were real differences, like people and dogs, and those differences remained as the water of the river flowed past and the people of the south trekked north.

I wondered if Blackie qualified as an “OTM.” OTM stands for “Other Than Mexican,” which is a term usually reserved for Central Americans. The OTMs used to cross the river en masse daily. They preferred crossing at Shelby Park and the adjacent municipal golf course because the river is shallow and the city is less harsh than the south Texas chaparral.

They would seek out the Border Patrol or city police, get detained, and then be paroled into the country for a future hearing before an immigration judge under the now abandoned “catch and release” policy. Mexicans were simply deported by dropping them off at the border and watching them march across the bridge. I saw it once a couple of years ago at International Bridge No. 2 while I waited for inspection in the long US-bound lane. A column of young men filed out of an ultramodern windowless white bus with the navy DHS seal. They walked single-file along the bridge sidewalk heading west, to Mexico.

The word spread that Eagle Pass and Piedras Negras—“La frontera blanca del norte”—was a nice place to cross. The pair of rural border cities enjoys a clean reputation of culture, romance, and safety unlike Nuevo Laredo, Ciudad Juarez or even nearby Acuña. The novel and movie, Like Water for Chocolate, was set here. The local politicians have invested in the slower, but legal, economic development of maquiladoras, aided by the massive mining and electrical operation twenty miles south that generates 10% of Mexico’s electricity. Corona is building a “Mega-plant” that will be the largest brewery in Latin American. All for export north, like the maquiladoras.

Tens of thousands of OTMs crossed and overwhelmed local law enforcement. They were paroled and released with a future immigration court date in San Antonio and never appeared. The Border Patrol nicknamed Eagle Pass, “Illegal Pass.” The OTMs knew to actively seek the Border Patrol to expedite the process.

Then came Operation Streamline, a pilot program that began in the Del Rio Division of the United States District for the Western District of Texas, an expansive border district from Eagle Pass to El Paso. Zero tolerance. No more catch and release, detain and parole. All illegal crossers—Mexicans and OTMs—would be prosecuted and imprisoned. Subsequent offenders would become felons. Enter “cattle-call” assembly line justice; lining up the orange-jumpsuited defendants before the federal judge. The judge reads them their boilerplate rights in English and asks the row of defendants if they understand. The simultaneous interpreter deftly repeats the utterances in Spanish.

“Sí,” “Sí,” “Sí,” “Yes,” “Sí,” “Yes,” “Sí,” “Sí,” they say with the interpreter echoing “Yes” when needed. And they all understand their rights, almost every time. Almost all plea guilty.

More U.S. Attorneys were hired, but not as many federal public defenders. More Border Patrol agents, but not more judges and magistrates. The federal courts are swamped with the prosecutions of two crimes: illegal entry and illegal reentry. Marijuana backpack smuggling is big too, of course, usually in conjunction with illegal entry. The War on Immigrants is becoming as entrenched as the War on Drugs.

The courts have become a model of innovation and efficiency. The few judges and magistrates keep pace with the new enforcement policies. Technology helps compensate for limited resources. The courts also prefer more efficient, but controversial litigation structure. Groups of co-defendants are tried together; severed trials are disfavored despite the benefits of separate trials for less culpable defendants.

The pilot program worked and spread to other border districts. Illegal crossings are down. The policy has been dubbed “Crimmigration” by unnamed defense attorneys quoted in the Dallas Morning News. The Western District has its share of hardened border criminals, yes, but now many more nonviolent offenders.

More prisoners and more prisons. A new jail is being built outside Eagle Pass. Maverick County is eager for the federal dollars for federal inmates. A private company will run the prison. The county just awarded the telephone contract to a Pennsylvania firm. The firm will pay the county $25,000 up front and up to $500,000 per year. That is a lot of international calls to family members back in Oaxaca. The county needs revenue. Maverick County is one of the top ten poorest counties in the country. It was so broke it could not provide EMT services and one person died last fall when the city refused to assist the county anymore.

Operation Streamline reduced the surreptitious entries but the OTMs’ historical statistics remain. Those statistics have been cited as rationale for the border wall in Eagle Pass. The proposed border wall will consist of steel tubes with spaces in between. Rumor has it that the prison industrial complex will construct the steel tubes. And now, thanks to Operation Streamline, much of the prison labor could be convicted border crossers helping to secure the very border they crossed. They did find employment afterall, but not what they sought, and for much lower wages than the underground labor market.

The border wall will shore up the “Thin Green Line” that is the Border Patrol. In Eagle Pass, the wall will span two miles, only in the city along public parkland and the golf course. There will be a 50 mile gap to the north to Del Rio and a 150 mile gap to the south to Laredo; no border wall is proposed for the private river-front ranches with no public access to the Rio Grande.

Blackie the Dog does not need the border fence. He never leaves Shelby Park. He will continue to roam the vega, get handouts from the Border Patrol and drink from the river. Blackie might not have access into Eagle Pass or the greater United States, but he does not want it. His niche is the border, the U.S. border.

Yesterday, I went for a Sunday morning jog with Lucky down to the park. An agent approached me at the edge of the boat ramp parking lot. Blackie was standing resolute near two other Border Patrol vehicles. Lucky was making playful forays at him across the lot. Blackie did not like it.

The agent did not know Blackie’s name, but he said that one night the dog “saved their life.” They were patrolling north of the park near the thick Carrizo, and Blackie “alerted to some wets.”

“A man’s best friend. Ever since then, we bring him food. Some of the agents buy dog food at Wal-Mart and bring it to him. Agents even give me food to give him.”

Blackie probably crossed the river by accident. He likely misjudged the current and found himself in the middle with two choices: return or continue, live or die. Blackie chose to live, like so many of the people that cross.

I returned from Israel last week after two weeks. Ale and Jacobo will be there until the end of July 2008. We stayed with Silvestre in Elat, and saw the sights. Silvestre is approaching his third year anniversary working at a copper mine there. One of Solomon’s mines. His stay is indefinite. I’ll post some photos of our adventures eventually. Ale still has the camera over there.

The family time and rest were great. Silvestre’s apartment was so simple, comfortable and cool. Lot’s of naps, Bible-reading and Uno games with Jacobo. I took the Bible as my trip reading. I got through the Torah (first five books of Moses) by the time I left. Reading it there was really interesting, especially visiting Jerusalem, the Sinai and Negev deserts and Egypt.

~Trying Tourism: Israel, Jordan, Egypt~

The tourism was difficult–everything overpriced, everyone seeking money, everyone treating you like an American tourist. The Israeli people had little respect for waiting in lines or other people’s space. Navigating the streets, sidewalks and businesses seemed like a constant competition devoid of rules or sportsmanship.

We swam in the crystal clear water of the red sea at Elat a couple evenings at the beginning. We took a group tour to the ancient city Petra in Jordan, and drove around Aqaba before returning to Elat.

~Weekend trip to Jerusalem: A nice visit~

We drove by ourselves through the Negev desert, past the Dead Sea and through the West Bank to Jerusalem for two days over the “Shabat”–sabbath–and saw the main sights in the Old City. I enjoyed Jerusalem the most. We went without a tour group and Silvestre was a very knowledgeable and efficient guide after visiting several times. We spent the night at the Pontifical Institute of Notre Dame, a modest hotel run by priests to host tourists, pilgrims and priests to the holy land. The hotel was situated at the upper gate of the Old City–perfect location. We made friends with two of the priests–Josh from Atlanta whose brother is named Jake, and Father Kelly from Ireland who spoke Spanish. They did a scientific presentation on the Shroud of Tourin at an exhibit in the hotel. The tourists and merchants in Jerusalem were much nicer there than everywhere else, though a Spanish couple did cut in front of us in line to see Jesus’s enclosed tomb inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. WWJD? I learned so much about ancient Israeli history at the Tower of King David museum. The nexus between history and the Bible became much clearer. On the way home, we stopped at the Dead Sea and Jacobo and I took a float.

~Egypt: Land of pyramids and tipping~

We took a “group” tour to Cairo, Egypt for two days. Our Egyptian handlers created the group in our 15-seat mini-van: driver, tourist police escort, guide, “accountant,” and customs “major” who was actually a lieutenant who hitched a ride back to Cairo in our empty van. It was supposed to be a group tour, but we were the only tourists. A lot of one-on-one attention for better or worse. We saw the pyramids and many other sites. We went to the old museum and hit the highlights with Nasr our knowledgeable guide. Learned lots of Egyptian history in a nutshell.

Everyone wanted “tips.” For example, a tourist police officer in his white uniform and machine gun stood in the pyramid parking lot. He caught Ale’s attention, who was shooting photos from inside the van. He posed proudly with his gun and motioned for Ale to take a photo. Why not? I said happily, and she did. Then he motioned for a tip with the international gimme-gimme hand gesture. My happy mood vanished, as it did so often, despite my constant attempts to maintain a positive attitude. She should have taken a photo of that pose too. We ignored him in the closed van.

~Israeli Security~

The Israeli security was very refreshing after living on the US-Mexico border. They were so professional, polite and nice, a real treat. They are mostly young men and women in their late teens, early twenties doing civil (or military?) service. They never stopped us at the several checkpoints to Jerusalem, and gave us no hassle at the Jordanian and Egyptian border crossings. I walked through multiple metal-detectors and never had to remove my belt or shoes.

They only really questioned me once, when I departed at the Elat airport. A young woman questioned me briefly before handing me off to her supervisor, another young woman. She questioned me for about 25 minutes–”for my safety”– and I recounted our whole trip day by day. She wanted to see receipts from the places we visited. She asked my occupation and then wanted to see my card. I gave her one, but she continued questioning me undeterred. She questioned Ale and Jacobo separately within my sight in the lobby. She finally thought she tripped me up when I told her Silvestre didn’t go to Egypt with us. “You came to visit your father-in-law, but you went to Egypt without him? Why?”

“Because it was our only opportunity to go,” I said.

“And where is your father-in-law now?” she replied.

“In Geneva…for work,” I answered.

“Oh really, Geneva? Why was he there?” she asked as my complicated story unfolded.

“Because he speaks English, and he needed to buy some mining equipment,” I replied.

She finally relented, and said with a smile and accent, “Okay, you can go through,” and another young woman did a thorough bomb check through my luggage, rubbing each layer of packed clothing with a swipe and then running it through a machine. Luckily all my clothes were clean, literally and also literally!

~Survey by the Israeli Ministry of Tourism~

I flew to Tel Aviv to catch my flight to Newark, NJ. While waiting alone, reading my Bible at the gate in the Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv, a young woman approached me. She was from the Ministry of Tourism, doing a survey. I politely participated and the questions were benign at first–where did I go, how did I travel, how much money did I spend, etc. But then she asked me to rate the experience. “Fair,” I answered, which was only above “poor.” Would I return to Israel? Probably not. Would you recommend it to others? Probably not. Do you have some comment? The people are so rude, but the security is really good, really professional. She said that maybe if I had stayed longer, I would have had a better time. I shrugged and smiled, but didn’t reply. Maybe. Maybe we’ll find out next time.

Our good friend Chris Spivey is going on vacation to Australia and has decided to keep a blog of his adventures. I’ve already added Rompin’ Round Oz to my feed reader so I can be the first to know when he gets punched in the face for saying something about shrimps and barbies.

Good luck down under!

We’ve been living in our house for almost three years now, and we’re finally starting to get some return on our “investments” in the backyard. It’s really gratifying to see what sunlight, water, and a well-dug hole can become. So, for your viewing pleasure, a glimpse into our luscious green manicured jungle.

As always, there are more photos in the album.

I’ve worked at ViTrue for a week now, and I love it. It’s the perfect environment, as everyone is smart, friendly, and invested in the project. There’s a huge emphasis on teamwork, and everyone is willing to help me figure stuff out. Being the new guy, that’s really great.

Working together

We all get together every day in a window-enclosed meeting room. It has been set aside specifically for the developers to work in. Questions get answered instantly, plus it’s easy to organize a lunch run whenever noon rolls around.

Food!

My first day on the job, they took me out to lunch. Plus, since we’re downtown, we have access to tons of great restaurants. A two block walk gets us to Broad Street, which is pedestrian friendly, and lined on both sides with tiny restaurants with outdoor seating. We can have a relaxing sit down lunch and be back in the office in less than an hour.

Oh, and did I mention, we get free snacks? It’s kind of junk-foody right now, but a few of us have petitioned for fruit and other health-nut stuff. We’ll see where that goes.

Party time Friday

Since it was a crazy successful month (all thanks due to the other developers, not me…), we celebrated by taking the afternoon off on Friday. A couple beers and some Rock Band, and you’ve got a guaranteed good time.

You can see more images in our photo gallery.

This past weekend, Sarah and I went to a wedding of our close friends, Bart and Anne-Marie. As we’re fans of acronyms, we abbreviated them down to BAM.

The weekend was fun, but went very fast. We were hoping for some relaxation time, but between the driving and the wedding stuff, it was pretty packed.

The drive down

The drive to Jacksonville was pretty easy. Sarah drove pretty much the whole way, as I hate driving, and she says it gives her something to do. We followed the directions of our GPS unit, and it took us on some strange roads. Still, getting off the interstate was nice, as we saw some nice Georgia countryside. Plus, we saw several tree farms. It’s strange to see trees lined up in rows like that. Passing by is somewhat hypnotic.

Beach day

On Saturday, we focused on going to the beach. We don’t have any pictures because it’s a real pain to try and juggle the camera when we’re playing in the sand or in the water.

The water was really cold, so we avoided it for the most part. However, at one point, I said “Let’s do it!” and we ran headlong into the waves. Jumping right in was the key, as it wasn’t so bad once you were completely soaked. So, we played in the waves for about 10 minutes, then went and laid in the sun (with sunscreen…)

The bet

There were two college girls throwing a football on the beach, and I commented that their form was all wrong. Sarah said I should go show them how. Then, she bet me $15 that I couldn’t get the football from them. I’d get $20 if they both slapped me.

So, I walked right up and said, “Hi! My wife bet me $15 that you girls wouldn’t play football with me.” Without a thought, they tossed me the football, and we played catch for a minute. Sarah said I cheated by giving away the bet, but that wasn’t specified in the rules, and she agreed.

Afer the beach, we stopped off at the Hot Dog Hut, and it was pretty disappointing. I’m always in search of a good Chicago Dog, and they managed to screw it up. On the bright side, Sarah put her wedding makeup on in the Hot Dog Hut bathroom. Nothing like getting ready for a wedding in a seedy dive’s bathroom.

The wedding

BAM’s wedding was our real reason for being there, and it was great. It was completely non-religious, and Anne-Marie’s brother was the officiant. We’re guessing that they did a judge wedding for the legal aspect and then did the ceremony with a non-legal officiant. That’s a great idea that I’ve been telling people for a long time.

The ceremony was quick, and then the rest of the night was spent dancing. Sarah and I had been taking group dance lessons in preparation for the wedding, but to our dismay, it was a “dance like you’re in an 80s bar” type affair. The Electric Slide, You Make Me Want to Shout, and Livin on a Prayer were just a few of the numbers. Despite having a great time with the 80s hits, we thought all our lessons were for naught, until the final song, where they played something we could show off to. We did a few of the turns and steps we had learned, and earned some applause from the bride and groom. So, we ended the night on a high note!

Following the wedding, we went to a late-night Philly Cheesesteak place and ordered some calzones. It was a nice small place, and Sarah paid the tab, thereby covering her $15 bet as promised.

On the way back to the hotel, our car turned over 70,000 miles, and I managed to get a picture. Take note: the car was stopped (as you can see from the speedometer), so no danger there.

The way back

We headed home on Sunday, and Sarah got some nice pictures of a funky 60’s looking building in Alma, GA.

If you want to see more pictures, you can head over to BAM’s wedding site.

Ever since I first read about it, I’ve wanted an El Chopper. It’s a regular motorcycle with the engine removed and replaced with a small electric motor and a ton of batteries.

Unfortunately for me, I’m completely technically inept. I work with bits and bytes, not nuts and bolts. So, the e-motorcycle has been out of my range. Recently, however, I have been talking more with a friend of mine (Paul) who fixes up motorcycles for fun, and has actually sold a couple. I showed him the plans for the El Chopper, and he was instantly on board.

Just last Friday, Paul let me know that he had picked up a dead Honda 19?? Interceptor, and it’s currently residing in his basement. So, we’re officially out of the “talk and dream” phase and into the “buy and build” phase.

Expect to see a ton of pictures over the next few months as we get our parts together and start putting this thing together. I’ve got to slow down a little though. My first step is to get my motorcycle permit

I got a new job! Starting April 23rd, I will be working for Vitrue, a hot Internet startup here in Atlanta.

You can read the full details at my development blog.

Year 2007 was full of transitions. I finished law school in May, Jacobo finished first grade in June and Ale graduated with her teaching certificate in December. In May, we had a party in North Liberty with lots of family and friends: Micah, Sarah, Zac, Blue, Jerry, Jacque, Tom, Sue, Lana, Greg and Susan (Uncle Mark was conspicuously absent and I took it personal–just kidding), Ryan, Liz, Peter, all the kids and our pet snake, Lucy (loose body–Jacobo’s idea), who got away that night (outside).

Last October (2006), we attended Jan and Short’s 50th wedding anniversary in Kalona. In the spring, we were deeply sorry to hear about Short’s battle with cancer and we wish him the best. The “Short Reports” kept us updated, and it was nice to see the ole spunk shine through the adversity.

In mid June, we went canoing on the Wisconsin River again with Ryan, Liz and lots of other friends. We camped one night on a sand bar. It was a big adventure for Jacobo–frolicking in the wide, shallow river in the sunshine, seeing a painted turtle, paddling the canoe, huddling in his canoe chair while it rained and thundered, crying, then falling asleep after Nick bundled him up in adult rain gear.

Near the end of June, we moved from North Liberty, Iowa to Eagle Pass, Texas, “where Yee-hah meets Olé.” We said good-bye to lots of friends and family from Iowa after seven fruitful years of learning and growing. Moving was pleasant because Kevin helped us load the truck, and we stayed with Preston, Margie and Ely in Omaha, then Don and Naomi in Missouri, and finally Loraine in San Antonio (See earlier post).

I studied for the Texas bar exam for two months and then took it over three days at the end of July in San Antonio. I learned in November that I passed. Over the summer we lived in Piedras Negras, Mexico in Silvestre’s house. While Jacobo attended art and music classes in the Casa de Cultura in Piedras Negras, I studied my audio bar review lectures in the library of the same building.

In August, I started work at Texas RioGrande Legal Aid, Jacobo began second grade and Ale started student teaching 8th grade in Eagle Pass. We moved into a modest apartment near downtown Eagle Pass and two blocks from the Rio Grande.

Jacobo and I like to ride our bikes down to the river to fish.

We have great new neighbors, la Doña Maria, her son Rudy and her brother Rito.

I helped coach Jacobo’s soccer team, the “Border Bucks” (sponsored by a bank). Jacobo played forward and did very well, trying out his fakes and moves during the games. I played soccer in a men’s league in Piedras Negras–well, sat the bench mostly, waiting for the captain to put me in near the end of each game. The level of play was high, and it was fun to play with such dedicated amateurs on various fields throughout the neighborhoods of Piedras, including inside “El CERESO,” the municipal jail. The jail’s team was named “Los Angelos.” The inmates beat us by 5 goals, including a goal on a brilliant bicycle kick by a petty thief who had once played in the Mexican second division. The jail’s field was all dust and rocks with no grass, and the inmates knew it so well that they got “lucky” bounces will every rock and pass. I also learned the difference between “tacones” (high-heels) and “tachones” (soccer cleats)–the hard way…with plenty of laughs.

Over Labor Day weekend, we visited Bridgeport, West Virginia to attend a series of events to mark my 10-year high school reunion. It was great to see my old friends. They reminded me how “crazy” I used to be, no really, multiple people the whole weekend.

In November, Silvestre flew in for two weeks from his job in Israel. Alejandra cooked a fine Thanksgiving dinner all day at our apartment in Texas, then we packed the hot food in coolers and drove across the border to eat at Silvestre’s house in Piedras, joined by Cesar, his friend and long time neighbors Hector, Leti and their family.

Alejandra is happy to be near her family now, and has taken several short trips to visit her aunts, uncles and cousins in “La Region Carbonifera” and Monclova.

In December, we visited Bridgeport again for Christmas and New Year’s. We spent a great Christmas Eve at Larry’s house with Larry, Bonnie, Dan, Hillary and Nate and Noah. We had Christmas dinner and opened presents at Jerry and Jacque’s, then spent the evening at Larry’s again where we played the card game “Apples to Apples.”

I went hunting the next day and shot a deer in the wooded hills south of Salem, WV, with the Remington .30-06 that Uncle Stuart (and Grandpa Willard) gave me a long time ago. As my high school graduation present, Jerry bought me a lifetime West Virginia hunting license–to ensure I’d return every once in a while.

Matt, Stephanie, Sadie, Josh and we went snow tubing at Canaan Valley Ski Resort.

A couple days later it snowed in Bridgeport, and I took Jacobo down Hall’s Hill for a couple runs on a Flexible Flyer.

On New Year’s Eve we all went out for dinner at El Rincon. A couple days later we went to visit Ale’s host family in Salem when she was a foreign-exchange student in high school in West Virginia (when we met). Great people.

We flew into Laredo, late, and stayed with my coworker, Roman. The next day we went to visit Roman at our new Laredo office, down the street from the restaurant, the “Burger Patrol–Dept. of Homeland Hunger Suppression.” Jacobo began playing with a puppy at the neighbors behind the office. I told Roman how we had promised Jacobo a dog before we moved to Texas to sweeten the deal for him . . . then we promised a dog for Christmas . . . then we promised a dog for his birthday. Just then, a boy came out of the house and said, “¿Lo quieres?” (Do you want it?). “Oh boy,” said Roman. I looked at Ale, we shrugged, and said okay. I told Jacobo, “See? I promised you a dog, and there it is.” We named the dog “Lucky” . . . mostly because it was lucky for me and my promises.

We’ve had many positive and negative experiences since moving to the borderlands. We invite all of you to visit us some day to see the good, bad and ugly of the new place we call home. We love to host visitors, especially because we don’t have many in isolated Eagle Pass. We wish everyone the best in 2008!