James A. McClure

When we saw a couple of women in hoop skirts and sunbonnets walking across the dusty parking lot, we knew we were in the right place: the annual re-enactment of the Civil War Battle of Valverde near Socorro, NM.

The New Mexico campaign is a Civil War footnote. Confederate Brigadier General Henry Hopkins Sibley invaded the New Mexico Territory with a brigade of Texas volunteers in a grand scheme to capture the Colorado gold fields and open a supply route to California. His force of 2,500 men met a Union force of about 3,000 from nearby Fort Craig at Valverde ford on the Rio Grande in February 1862.

Before the battle we wandered through the Union and Confederate camps, where re-enactors were living in rustic comfort with canvas tents and folding wood furniture. Womenfolk and kids in vintage costume were cooking hearty meals over campfires, though a few hardcore re-enactors subsist on coffee and crackers that simulate Civil War hardtack.

Despite their zeal for roughing it with historical accuracy, the re-enactors were more comfortable than their 1862 counterparts. The Confederate invaders were lightly equipped and learned that living off the land is not a good strategy in the New Mexico desert. Shortly before the battle of Valverde they lost some of their supply wagons and mules in a skirmish, and were desperately short of water because the Union battle line was between them and the Rio Grande.

Civil War re-enacting is a serious hobby. An “authentic” wool uniform costs around $200 and working-replica muskets are $700. Vintage tents start at around $200. One re-enactor couple even had a Matthew Brady-style camera and their very own cannon. A weekend Civil Warrior may need a fatter checkbook than the average golfer.

Re-enactors come from all walks of life. We met a history professor and a grad student. A few women wore uniforms instead of hoop skirts and carried muskets. There’s also a lot of fraternization with the “enemy.” The Confederate and Union camps were about 50 yards apart. One re-enactor told me he owns both Union and Confederate uniforms and joins whichever side needs to fill its ranks.

No re-enactor admitted to playing the role of Confederate Gen. Sibley, who had a drinking problem and was “indisposed” in his tent during the entire battle.

This year’s battle left much to the imagination. The re-enactment site is about 30 miles north of the Valverde ford, where shifting of the river’s course obliterated a battlefield that’s now part of Ted Turner’s wildlife reserve. Spectators set up folding chairs on a bridge overlooking the scene, and a narrator with a megaphone described what was happening.

By necessity, re-enactments are a microcosm of Civil War battles that involved tens of thousands of troops. On this day a couple of dozen re-enactors represented about 5,000 soldiers in both armies. Unlike the re-enactment I attended a few years ago, neither army had horses (and, happily, did not attempt to simulate cavalry with Monty Python coconut shells).

Still, the re-enactors soldiered on and accurately portrayed a Confederate infantry charge that captured a battery of Union cannon. The mini-armies exchanged cannon shots and musket volleys across an open field. Then the Confederates advanced and a few soldiers on both sides fell as “casualties.” (In larger re-enactments, participants draw cards to select casualties in advance.) A final Confederate charge overran the Union line and the battle was over. Then the casualties came back to life, and everybody shook hands and lined up to pose for pictures.

The original battle of Valverde was a costly Confederate victory. Sibley’s depleted force marched on to capture Albuquerque and occupy Santa Fe. They had expected local farm workers to rise up against their Spanish landlords and join their army, but New Mexicans disliked Texans more and supported the Union.

The final battle of the New Mexico campaign took place a month later at Glorieta Pass, northeast of Santa Fe. The Confederates again won the battle but a Union raiding party, guided by local Hispanics, attacked the rear of the Confederate force and destroyed its supply train – forcing the Confederates to retreat back to Texas.

This year’s battle had a happier ending. The re-enactors strolled back to their camps for lunch, to gather later in nearby Socorro for a Civil War fashion show and “fandango” party. My friends and I got in our cars and left the field in search of green chile cheeseburgers.

Pumpkin chunking! Elaborate, home-made machines hurl ripe pumpkins high into the air to smash down hundreds of yards away. What’s not to like?

Pumpkin chunking under the New Mexico sky

I stumbled across the World Championship Punkin Chunkin on cable TV a few years ago and was immediately fascinated by this odd sport’s  geek/redneck eccentricity: Big Bang Theory meets Dukes of Hazzard. So when I heard about the annual pumpkin chunking festival in Estancia, NM, I just had to be there.

Estancia is a small town about an hour’s drive over the mountains from Albuquerque, down a straight road through billiard-table flatlands of farms and ranches. The pumpkin chunking contest was started by local farmers 20 years ago and evolved into a full-blown local festival. I missed the town parade and by the time I arrived, Estancia’s main street was eerily empty. As I approached the field on the outskirts of town, I saw the chunking machines towering over most of the population of Estancia. I parked in a dusty field, trudged past the kiddie carnival, funnel cake and green-chile cheeseburger vendors, and found a seat in the bleachers.

An air cannon fires

The machines, about 10 of them lined up at the edge of the field, had colorful names such as Chunk Wagon, Patriot, The Judge and (with an all-female crew) Bea Dazzled. Most were air cannons that use compressed air to propel an eight to 10-lb pumpkin through a gun barrel up to 100 feet long. Chunking enthusiasts spend tens of thousands of dollars to build these behemoths and tow them on trailers to places like Estancia and, if they succeed, to the world championship in Delaware.

It’s not a fast-paced competition. An air horn sounds and a pumpkin is launched with a loud whoosh. You have to look hard to see the pumpkin flying through the air: I missed it most of the time. Then there’s a wait for the ground crew to locate the pumpkin and record the distance of the shot. That’s a little easier in New Mexico because the pumpkin kicks up a cloud of dust when it hits the ground. The ground crew, sheltering from errant pumpkins in a horse trailer downrange, races to the point of impact in an ATV and radios the distance to the referees. Some of the air cannons recorded shots of more than 2,000 feet, nowhere near the world record of more than a mile but still impressive.

A muzzle-loader

Using produce as cannonballs is an inexact science. Some pumpkins disintegrate upon leaving the cannon barrel in a phenomenon known as pie. “There’s more pie on the field,” the announcer said.

Impressive as the air cannons were, I wish I’d seen more trebuchets: modern versions of medieval siege engines that use a counterweight, long lever and sling to fling projectiles. It’s fascinating to watch the ungainly contraptions (and wonder whether they’ll fall apart).

I’m not sure who won because I didn’t stick around. The winner didn’t much matter to me because I got such a kick out of watching the pointless but satisfying spectacle of big machines… chunking pumpkins.

It’s hummingbird season at my house.

The Rio Grande, a few hundred yards from my house, is a bird superhighway with seasonal flyovers of geese and sandhill cranes. Quail and roadrunners trot across my yard every day. But the hummingbirds put on the best show.

I read about hummingbirds as a child but never saw one until I came to New Mexico. They’re tiny critters, about three inches long, with short, rapidly moving wings that allow them to hover and a needle-like beak that taps the nectar from flowers. They actually do hum, though it’s more of an angry, insect-like buzz generated by wings that beat about 80 times per second.

You wouldn’t think birds that feed on flowers would flock to an area that’s mostly desert, but apparently there’s enough vegetation in the Rio Grande valley for them to thrive. So if you want to see hummingbirds in Albuquerque, all you have to do is hang out a feeder with faux nectar and they will show up.

The hummingbirds arrive at my house in late April and patronize my feeders through the summer. Traffic picks up in August, perhaps because there are fewer flowers and my sugar-and-water hummingbird chow is the next best thing. Their extremely high metabolism makes them sugar junkies.

I have two feeders outside my office window. Each one holds about a quart of liquid, which lasts a week or so in the spring. Now I refill the feeders every day with a mixture of one part sugar to four parts of water, and am considering buying sugar in bulk at Costco.

The hummingbirds swoop in, hover and dip their beaks into the flower-shaped nozzles of the feeders. Sometimes they perch on the feeder but often stay airborne while feeding. Then they fly backwards a few inches, hover for a moment and go back in for seconds or thirds. When not pigging out they hang out in a nearby tree and beat an airborne path back and forth to the feeders. The cats and I enjoy watching them through the window.

Cute as they are, the hummingbirds are voracious and fierce. When I go out to change the feeders several of them whizz past my head. If the feeders are empty for a while one or two hummingbirds zoom up to the window and hover an inch or two from the glass, as if to say: “Where the hell is it?”

At this point the hummingbirds may be bulking-up for their fall migration. My flock probably will self-deport to Mexico. But they’ll be back in the spring.