Granny's 1973 Trip to Old Mexico, Part 1

While on her journey to Old Mexico and her home in Dublan, Granny wrote a letter each day to her sister Luelle. I've attempted to type them just as she wrote them.


June 25, 1973

We left Blanding at 10:00am. Just Caroline, Francis and I. We had everything in order. The car was serviced, new tires, extra fan belts, etc. I was really tense or tied up inside or whatever, but about as soon as we got down the road a few miles I relaxed and the day has been just wonderful. We drove straight to Shiprock, but I saw no old landmarks there. Of course, the road is hard surfaced all the way. No relation to the goat trail of 62 years ago. In such a few short hours we had passed Gallup, (no white dress). Then on to Luna, and Alma –saw the river with the trees, and rocks where George sent word by the town children that we were a circus. Guess we looked like it. There is no town there, just a few houses—no store, no post office. The cemetery Hill is still there, and the vivid picture of the little group walking up as the woman wailed, and the horse coming down for water we supposed when the poor woman fainted. Then we came over a beautiful stretch of road marked “Saliz Pass”, that gave me a thrill. Of course, the old hill we knew was east of it and Uncle George was told it was so me miles east of the Pass, and would either have to use a jeep or maybe walk it. Caroline is all for doing it one day and I would love it. Now at 11:00pm we are in a beautiful Holliday Inn in Silver City. I have wanted to come here since that long ago night when dad turned us around to go back and retrace about six miles to the watering place for our camp. As I remember it, though, George was not sure, was when Mary was “starving to death and we never would camp.” But when I think of the days and weeks it had taken us to get this far, and I realize that if all goes well, this time tomorrow night we will be in Dublan or maybe in a motel in Nueva Casas Grande, I have to pinch myself and say again, ‘lack a mercy on me this can’t be I.” How I wish you were with me. I wish I could just get off any place without all this fear and apprehension, but guess I can’t. Hope this brings you in tune with me thus far and more tomorrow night. Luv Ya. I should say that George and Lone, Rosemond, DalMar and Fred are here too. They left a while before we did but stopped for George to point out a few things. Mainly where he freighted to the Gray Hills or blue, which ever, while we were at Shiprock. Mercy, what a man. As you know he was just fifteen. I am so grateful to be along with him and I think Francis could listen to him indefinitely. Bye now.


June 26, 1973

Oh my! Such a little way and short time to get to Deming for breakfast, and before you had time to think we were in Columbus where the troups were stationed and our dear American flag waving us into the United States. Not the same wire fence, but another more sturdy and imposing one. A Pancho Villa Museum and State Park which were most interesting. Of course, all the old remains of the big Camp Furlong camp where Black Jack Pershing made his stand in 1916—not much at all there, only the old railroad station with they are trying to restore now. George didn’t seem to remember the little white church near our camp, but I am sure I didn’t make it up. Anyway, it is gone so no way to prove it one way or the other. Fun, should you want to call it that, started when we went through the gate into Palomas to get our birth certificates checked. We had, thank goodness, bought our car insurance in Deming. All went well until the found that DalMar’s children, 10 and 14, could not come in without certificates. They hadn’t known children would have to have them. It got pretty tense for a while with Rosemond really getting on the soapbox and expounding, and seemed to me that she was right but she made the officer mad and it looked for a while like they would not get them through and then, pity heavens, George offered him some money then the sparks did begin to fly. I went across the street and got a man who spoke English very well, don’t know if he helped, but they did finally get them through and then we were ready to be on our way only to find that the keys were locked in Uncle George’s car. Oh mercy! Well we or I should say they found some wire and the calmest person you can imagine, Francis, in the boiling hot sun, finally got it open. By that time we had an audience of little Mexican urchins selling a “chicli” gum for 10 cents and holding out their dirty little hands for nickels or dimes. We were glad enough to oblige and be on our way. A beautiful road and with two more stops by officials in about two hours we drove into Dublan. Oh memories, memories! At first I thought I would never find a familiar thing, but it was early so we got a motel at Nuevo Casas Grande and set out. It had been 15 years since George was here and many changes had taken place since then but not so many as 1911. There is no way to describe my feelings. We kinda started together, then took off in different directions. Do you know that in half an hours time we drove up to our little old house at the same time. We had been told that the Pratt house was gone, but it wasn’t and it was the landmark we both saw. Not changed at all, only it is painted which and a picket fence around the corner. Well I never expect to have a feeling quite like that when the little Mexican lady let us in. Caroline and Francis cried along with their mama. George did too, thought it was not his first time to be there and count the holes where we hung our stockings. Nothing is the same outside. The old shop is gone, the barn and the windmill—no pond with hollyhock dolls, but I walked around and felt like I was on holy ground. Of course, the little lean-to kitchen is gone, but the hole is still up on the end where the swallows came to build their nests. From there we found many familiar places, many new ones, and many old ones we were not sure of. George knew more than did I. Grandma Hurst’s house is gone, one room of Aunt Beckies is still there. Grandma Terry would be unrecognizable but for the Johanson house and Uncle Jim Youngs home. That is about all we got done today. More tomorrow.