En Todos las playas en todo el mundo

This always happens when I come to a beach. I consider a number so large that I cannot conceive of it. Yup, it is the sand that does it.

No wait! Stay with me. It is a little exercise for the mind. Move your mind from the beach to the universe. Still with me? Now, scientists have estimated -- postulated, roughed out, even SWAGed (that is a scientific wild-assed guess) -- that the number of stars in the universe is roughly equal to all the grains of sand in all the beaches in all the world.

I can't count the number of grains in my hand. I can't conceive of the numberof grains on this beach within my view. My mind hiccups when I try to think about all the beaches in all the world.

Carl Sagan called this number a googleplex (I think) and it was a number so large that it confound any attempt to consider it.

Well that is the universe we live in. And we think we are so smart.

Please think of this when you go to the beach.

Los Tres Vagabundos in Mexico, Tom, Kathy & PeeVee

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

Pollo Muerto

What are we going to eat? An old comic reply: “Dead chicken”. Then, the chicken somehow loses some off its taste appeal. But, here in the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco, we believe the lowly bird died for a good cause. Here they do wondrous things with dead chicken.

It is called Pollo al carbon, a type of roasted chicken, but not cooked with any type of flame. It must be roasted on a wood fire. And then there is the seasoning…. My Spanish is not good enough to discover much of it, but I know the marinade is chiefly orange juice.

We have recently returned from the chicken joint on Calle Benito Juarez and we need a nap. We are likely going to skip supper tonight and go directly to the hot tub where we will watch the sun sink into the sea.

I am really disappointed in myself, but my attention seems to have slid toward gluttony and other pleasures of the flesh. Already we have planned breakfast. Awakening slowly in The Minnow to the sound of the waves, we will lightly pan fry in butter some huge, fresh local scrimp, some asparagus, and a few new potatoes. Yes, that is breakfast, or perhaps we should call it brunch.

We promise to do better….in a day or so. Meanwhile, every day here on the beach is an awful struggle.

Los Tres Vagabundos gordos

En la playa

"El Peccecillo" esta en la playa del Mar de Cortez, Sonora, Mexico. Hey boy, this is the life. We have "The Minnow" nestled into a lovely spot right on the beach. The surf lulls us to sleep at night and awakens us in the morning. I have a picture for you but forgot to bring the photo card with me to the wifi spot.

Aqui quiremos muchos mariscos. Already this morning, without leaving the Minnow, we have purchased a pound of the largest scrimp you ever saw. Camarones mas grande. (Ok, so I can't spell in spanish either.) Our mouths are watering.

We plan to reopen Rock Eddy Bluff Farm on March 1 in time to enjoy a wonderful Ozark spring. But right now we are beach bums in Mexico. The pervasive fear of Mexico by Americanos has hit this place hard. We were here a year ago and find, this year, that the number of turistas is down be more than half.

I must tell you this: The temperatures are in the 70's --maybe low 80's in the day and then cool off with the sinking of the sun to perhaps the mid-to-high 40's. We have our nests made in The Minnow and snuggle down into our sleeping bags.

We have come back here for the beach, the seafood, the scenery and also for pollo al carbon (wood fire cooked chicken) It is nothing like pollo asada. This is stuff your mouth will remember. It is found in a little cabana somewhere in town, if we can find it again.

Hope we have made you snowbound folks sufficiently envious. Rest assured that some serious relaxing will occur here in Puerto Penasco. If I can shake myself loose I will send photos next.

We will see many of you in the spring at the Bluff.

Los Vagabundos del Mar, Tom, Kathy, and PeeVee

A Fall Day Afield

Seems like my recent postings here could be called, "Reflections of a mature gentleman", subtitled, "musings of an old guy". Well, let's suffer through this one more time.

Yesterday I climbed on my four-wheeler and went for foray out over the countryside hereabouts. Now, to do this you must be familiar with the land, where the old logging roads wind through the timber, where the wire gaps are in the fences, and where the old home places are hidden in overgrown pastures.

I had my camera with me and decided to take some photos of the old wrecks of houses and barns, the collapsed cabins that have settled to earth in a grove of trees, the faint marks of humanity on the land. Then it hit me: All these structures were standing when I was young.


The old relic of a house was inhabited then, a family tending the fields in the creek bottom. This pile of boards and logs was a place, though abandoned then, had the traces of children in the upstairs bedroom where I sifted among their scant leavings. I realized out there yesterday that I have experienced a broad span of years in the surrounding land. Let's just say that yesterday I felt experienced.

Twas a beautiful fall day and I gloried in it, accepting my continually broadening span of years as something more than simply a relentless aging. History resides in me. I know these things personally. They don't come from old books. In fact, in a certain way I wish I was older.

I wish I was personally acquainted with the folks that lived in that sunken house. I would like to see their faces in my mind, perhaps have attended a spare one-room school with their rambunctious offspring.

Then, I would have even more to muse about on a clear fall day in the Ozarks.

The Hired Man at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm www.rockeddy.com

Electronic connections between people

Every once in a while the depth of changes that have occurred in recent years really smacks me along the side of the head. The internet and electronic instruments have certainly changed the world -- even how we think. Further, they have drastically changed relationships between members of our species (humans).

I was reminded of this only this morning after receiving an email from our friend, Marta Fuster Roca. Marta lives in the southern Mexico town of Oaxaca. But, we did not meet her there. We met her while strolling around Pompeii (the ancient Roman town that was covered by the volcano, Vesuvius). During our afternoon together we found we had much in common. Later, we exchanged addresses and went our separate ways; we back to Rome and she continued on to Florence.

With my trusty pocket camera I took a photo of Marta. With the help of my computer I later sent the picture to her in Mexico. But astoundingly, I could also send that photo anywhere in the world instantly.

I will admit that perhaps I am so astonished by all this because The Hired Man has become a little 'long of tooth', meaning I am now an older fellow. Heck, I can remember the use of old crank telephones. There, instead of a phone number or an email address, folks were identified as "two longs and a short."

These days, folks who want to know about Rock Eddy Bluff Farm, simply go to www.rockeddy.com If they would like to book a vacation or getaway here, they can check availability and reserve right on line. The system then sends them a confirmation with lots of information, including driving directions. Then, it also informs us so we can prepare for their visit. All of this takes place in the cloud; we can access any of it from any computer anywhere.

Well, Marta's missive this morning was to show us a Chinese version of Swan Lake. http://www.nzwide.com/swanlake.htm It is beautiful and quite different from what you might expect. (Oh yes, it is a video. It shows people moving!)

Thanks Marta!