It's 6:30 a.m. and the sun is teasing the eastern sky. It will be several more hours until its beams pierce the shadows imposed by the Hondo Valley in Southeastern New Mexico. I wake to the smell of coffee on and my grandfather, Clem Weindorf, preparing for his day. He's already braved the morning chill up the long gravel driveway to retrieve the morning paper. "Hey boy!" he'd greet me, "We've got a lot of work to do today," much to the delight of my 7-year-old ears. Grandpa Clem lived on a 10-acre farm/ranch oasis tucked away off of U.S. Hwy. 380, where he had carefully hewn apple orchards, pastures of Hereford cows, chickens, and a large vegetable garden from the seemingly vast expanse of parched earth. It was just the sort of place where an adventurous young man could explore the wilderness and play until the sun went down.
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