Will the Cows Come Home?

Yesterday I had the pleasure to meet the Gillman’s, a lovely couple driving cross country from Denver who decided to cruise by our remote border branch so they could reserve space to view the eclipse. They were driving a state-of-the-art custom travel van, much to the delight of my sons, though I was more fascinated by their pictures of the 2017 eclipse.

I was a bit shamed by their arrival as the ranch is in spring shambles, in the awkward time when we have neither cleared out debris from the winter, nor seen the new growth of seedlings. We have construction materials everywhere because we are working to convert the old sheep ranch into a comfortable campground.

Despite our mess, it was cool to meet people who understand the magnitude of a solar eclipse and are excited to view it from our little piece of the border. We are endeavoring to build little picnic areas throughout the ranch so people have comfortable places to chat. Sunday, April 7, we will be hosting a meat-and-greet complete with brisket chili, grilled hot dogs and all the fixings. This will give everyone— including us— opportunity to mingle and compare shared experiences.

I am interested in hearing what animal behaviors y’all may have observed previously. There is some debate regarding cows during eclipse. In some countries, ranchers report that the cows come home during eclipse, their habit to eat as dark approaches. Other places report that cows take no interest whatsoever in an eclipse and continue grazing as usual. We have cattle and I can’t wait to see what they decide!

I’m also looking forward to seeing how the road runners react to sudden darkness. Little has been written about the quirky birds’ behavior, but I hope to write a Western about the eclipse of 1806 which passed over a completely unsettled wild west over what is now the state of Arizona. Our roadrunners have no fear of humans and will strut right through your camp.

Excitement is starting to generate in the community of Eagle Pass, not just because of the number of people that will be visiting, but also because they want to see what will happen. Will the dark daytime fill with Mexican freetail bats? Will the birds stop chirping? Will the cows come home?

Roadrunner vs Rattlesnake

Southwest Texas is tough. Besides the extreme heat— we hit 99 degrees this year in February— there is the stifling humidity, despite almost constant drought. In February, 75 mph winds whipped up the dust and grit. We had to wear sunglasses at night and spit mud for days. Braden, a 7-year-old boy in our RV park said he spent the windy night screaming, positive the RV was about to tumble like a west Texas weed across the plain.

Last week, the afternoon hit a high of 87 degrees, then dropped into the 40s at night. Another officer and I had to escort a Mexican asylee to the hospital after fellow travelers inadvertently shoved her off a moving train. Snakes that had emerged prematurely from hibernation suddenly needed a warm place to sleep. Entering the ER through the ambulance entrance, we were surprised to encounter a five foot diamondback rattlesnake coiled against the warm brick wall.

There’s a saying that everything in Texas wants to bite you, stick you, sting you or poke you. Even the trees in south Texas seem hostile. The mesquite, with its pungent bark, adds for a sharp bite to the meat. The thorns on the branches are inches long. They penetrate ever sole manufactured, except hard rubber boots issued to Border Patrol, and of course, cowboy boots.

Interestingly, though, mesquite trees drop seed pods that not only make them the most prolific plant in the desert, but can also save a dehydrated soul. The pods can always be sucked of their life sustaining liquids, but when the pods turn red, they provide a juice sweeter than any soda.

Then there is the prickly pear, the cactus described in “The Streets of Laredo” as the treacherous flat cactus. It’s a mean, spiteful plant, but housed inside it’s prickly petals is water. Every desert animal will risk the ugly, poisonous thorns if they need water. Prickly pear yields a fruit, called cactus apples by old west cowboys, heartily consumed by modern Mexicans, who refer to them as “tunas.” For a year in recent history, we saw tunas shipped by the truck load to the eastern U.S. via the Mexican border because why? Mexicans swore that tunas could fight COVID. I believe it because the prickly pear petal is a fierce warrior against diabetes.

The scorpions, the snakes, the coyotes the bobcats, the mountain lions, the badgers— nothing will hurt you as much as the tarantula wasp. The wasp that paralyzes tarantulas to suck the juices from its abdomen, delivers the most painful sting a human can endure in the Americas. Yes we have them at the Turtle Ranch. No they don’t mess with humans, because as entomologists point out, they can already kick our ass all over the planet. Unless you initiate physical contact with a tarantula wasp, they will fly by.

Then there is the africanized bee, a species of honeybee that has evolved as a super territorial bee that can survive drought conditions and produce honey almost twice as fast as other bees. If you don’t mess with them on their territory, the bees won’t bother you. They can flit from flower to flower all around you without ever being bothered by your presence.

We usually find the black widow spider in cool shady places, like under a porch or in a stack of cinder blocks. They don’t strike unless poked. The brown recluse are indeed reclusive. I haven’t seen one at the ranch, but they are here. For a healthy adult, they pose no threat, but diabetics should stick to the walking trails. Scorpions hide almost universally under rocks. I’ve been bit by scorpions numerous times because I am constantly digging through piles of rock. For me is a quick sting, 20 minutes of numbness in the region, then return to normal.

Rattlesnakes sometimes bask on the roads.. A rattlesnake doesn’t wish to strike a human and makes it's presence clearly known. Simply back off and let them go about their business. Do not mistake a bull snake— same size and colors of a western diamond back— for a rattler. Bull snakes eat rodents and eggs, the same prey as rattlers, and imitate the diamond back’s rattle by hissing. They scare off rattlers with their majesty, raw girth, fatter than a big man’s bicep. Bull snakes are non-aggressive and non-venomous.

Black indigo is a snake so black that in sunlight it appears blue. I find it the most beautiful snake native to north America, thick and strong and rippling. They can grow to eight feet, are non-venomous, and live predominantly by eating rattlesnakes. We have only seen a few in 12 years, so if you see one, please, pull out your camera and shoot away.

The roadrunner, more dinosaur than bird, has no fear of humans. He/she is one of the best photo-ops you will get on the turtle ranch. Male and female are virtually indistinguishable by both plumage and behavior. We have invested hours watching mom and dad care for babies equally. They make awesome noises, loud trills, clucks. They kill and eat rattlesnakes in epic battles, where they seize the snake by its throat and slam the head against the ground repeatedly before swallowing the snake whole. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raBdMWEyKmo

Zoning In

Our surveyor is out of town taking his dad to the doctor— yeah we are at that age— but deposits are coming in so I decided to pull up the Google map of our property so we can get an overview. It’s an old picture, maybe 8 years old, before we fenced the property and built the turtle house, but still illustrates the existing zones.

The green zone is the lowest point on the property, a green belt catching water from either side. The green zone is now a march larger pond that our tractor guy Rodney dug out years ago. Rodney, needing to displace the dug dirt, built a high pond wall, creating a plateau tall enough to see not only the entire ranch, but also the surrounding properties. Across a land bridge is an equivalent plateau formed from the original pond. The tan X’s mark the plateaus.

The yellow zone, while the lower elevation, has better viewing for a moving shadow. The property runs east to west, and the eclipse runs northeast to southwest. The shadow should move from the highest end of the property diagonally across the pond area and onto the cow pens at the elevated homestead. If I buy a time-lapse camera, I will set it up in the yellow zone. Fortunately, we are in the path of this year’s partial eclipse, so I will get a trial run.

The red zone is the highest elevation on the property, probably one of the highest elevations in Maverick County. That area will most likely have more amenities because we already have a line of permanent RV lots there. There is at least one area up top that looks down over the valley, but mostly it’s flat, flanked in all directions with mesquite trees.

The black zone is the homestead, the turtle house, the rental village and the livestock. That zone has the most amazing view of the sky, with its fantabulous sunrises and sun sets. The blue zones around it are overflow camping spots. Those spots have no amenities, but are a short walk to where we are building permanent outdoor restrooms. (Plumbed and wired, but not yet built. No guarantee of accessibility.)

First Choice Viewpoint

I am up and running with a new laptop. A little about us:

Theresa— I started my career one week out of high school when I went to Parris Island, SC for Marine Corps boot camp. I trained as a combat correspondent, i.e. journalist, but in the civilian pre-internet world, that was a highly competitive vocation that required much formal education and didn’t pay particularly well. I wandered into restaurant/ retail management until I met Orlando in 2006. We met at a busy crossroads of life where he was busting his hide at 3 jobs and I was struggling with 2 jobs.

Over the course of months, trying to find careers, we both wandered into the Border Patrol, him as a telecommunications specialist, and me as an agent. He’s still a satellite/ camera/ radio genius, but I have since moved to Customs officer. Orlando moved to Eagle Pass and bought the ranch in 2011, and I followed a year later. We started with 20 acres of raw property of hard, unforgiving rocky soil with a 900 square foot cinderblock cabin.

In 2016, Orlando’s daughter turned 18, so we embarked upon our next adventure, find 2 brothers in the Texas foster care system in need of a family. Almost immediately we were presented with Eric, 10, and Scott, 7, runty biological brothers who had been abandoned by their bio adults, and suffered 2 failed adoptions. Their problems were significant. Now at 17 and 15, they are tall, healthy and friendly, still managing their struggles, but doing well in school and adapted to mainstream living. They will be your hosts, eager to offer you a tour, meet your basic requests and insure needs are met.

We are guaranteeing zero amenities, beyond a safe and pretty place to gather. We are working, however, to provide a comfortable and majestic viewing experience, and hope every extra will be an unexpected delight.

Our highest elevation can comfortably fit up to fifty units and will be the best chance of immediate access to water spigots. Currently our VIP list is only 13 parties, so we have ample time to get everyone their first choice location with plenty of space to accommodate groups.

An Elevated Perspective

The Turtle Ranch sits on 60 acres that are high on the east and west ends, creating watershed for the greenbelt that runs through the middle. A few years ago, we hired Rodney, a skilled earth mover with almost 40 years experience to help us capture more water. To dig out acres of pond, Rodney built giant plateaus from the displaced dirt. From the top of each plateau, we can see not only the entire property, but some of the surrounding ranches.

The land closest to the pond has the softest dirt, the most abundant wildlife, and the best opportunity to film the lunar shadow crossing over the land. The area is farthest from whatever amenities we will manage to provide, but realistically, the property is pretty small, and and everything is accessible with a five minute walk. Featuring fantastic bird watching and catch and release fishing, the pond sites offer the best pre-eclipse photo opportunities.

The top of this this plateau offers the best view of our ranch and the surrounding properties. For tent campers and serious photographers, the bottom will be the choice location. Besides the plateaus, there are currently 3 deer stands that greatly increase the viewing area.

Tecumseh’s Eclipse

In 1806, Ohio had just ratified, the first official expansion into the plains. To date, the frontier was wholly undeveloped, a truly wild west. The northern plains was home to several native tribes, most notably the Shawnee, led by the warrior shaman Tecumseh and his brothers.

Tecumseh, a self-proclaimed prophet, was arguably one of the most influential Americans of that day. Not only did he have the ear of all of the plains tribes, but conferred with white men of note, mostly educated men like scientists, mathematicians and inventors. His younger brother Tenskwatawa, born slightly deformed as a triplet, had fallen to the white man’s whiskey and was recognized for years only as a drunkard. One day Tenskwatawa claimed to have been visited by the Great Spirit who convinced him to free himself of the demon alcohol and work with his brothers to unite the plains tribes in defiance on the rapacious expansion of the white man into the tribal plains.

William Henry Harrison had just been appointed governor of the territory of Indiana by President Jefferson. Harrison, working to establish civility in the territory was greatly disturbed by the influence of the warrior strategist Tecumseh and saw the various tribes banding together as the greatest threat to westward expansion. In a public gathering, he called upon Tecumseh to prove he could indeed invoke the powers of the Great Spirit. "If he (Tecumseh) is really a prophet, ask Him to cause the sun to stand still or the moon to alter its course, the rivers to cease to flow or the dead to rise from their graves.”

Some days passed before Tecumseh replied in note of the public, "Fifty days from this day there will be no cloud in the sky. Yet, when the sun has reached its highest point, at that moment will the Great Spirit take it into her hand and hide it from us. The darkness of night will thereupon cover us and the stars will shine round about us. The birds will roost and the night creatures will awaken and stir."

June 16th, 1806, exactly 50 days from Tecumseh’s proclamation, a moon shadow passed from Massachusetts to Baja California, casting the eastern plains of a forming nation into total solar eclipse. Many have speculated about how Tecumseh was able to predict the eclipse. One theory is that he received the information from a white scientist. Another is that the natives had long studied and tracked stellar events, as evidenced by Mayan calendars and other relics. Some theorized he was truly a prophet who could receive advice from the Great Spirit. He did, after all, predict the 1811 earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri, the largest recorded earthquake in American history.

Moon Shadows

Orlando never proposed— he just asked me one day where I wanted to get married. I chose the Grand Canyon. Why not marry in church built by God Himself? And we chose to marry 10/10/10 not because we are numerologists, but because we thought it would help us remember the anniversary. (Both of us forget every year, to this day.)

The day we married, we were climbing up the north rim when hail started pelting us. There had not been a hailstorm in the Grand Canyon in more than 80 years. There are no caves or trees in the bottom of the canyon, so we had to run for a man-made shelter a mile up the trail. When I say run, I mean vertical travel after 3 days of arduous hiking, which is like swimming in molasses. By the time we ducked into the shelter, showers filled the canyon with a clamorous roar. The rain cleansed the canyon walls of its dust and looses dirt, and we were surrounded by waterfalls that looked to be milk chocolate. I thought that was the most spectacular natural event I had ever witnessed until we crested the rim of the canyon and saw that God had blessed our union with a full arc rainbow over the Grand Canyon.

I have been forever obsessed with moon shadows, so why have I not taken an interest in lunar and solar eclipses until recently? Don’t know— busy I guess:

I attended Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island, SC where we were hit with Hurricane Bob in August 1991. We got breaks when the days were too hot and humid to train. The drill instructors didn’t want to explain why a recruit passed out. But a hurricane, apparently, was a training opportunity. My most vivid training memory was squeezing my kevlar helmet under barb wire while my recruit sisters and I low crawled through trenches, dug by the dragging bodies of thousands of Marine recruits who had trained before us. The rain fell in sheets and we were choking on mud while dynamite exploded around us in every discernable direction. Fake combat was exhilarating.

June 27, 1992. 24th Marines arrived at 29 Palms, California, the middle of the Mojave desert, 6 miles north of Joshua tree, and 4 hours from Death Valley, the hottest place on planet Earth. Wanting to train before the sun started torching the sands around us, our commanders woke us next day pre-dawn to run. We formed up outside the A-frame quonset huts in two lines. I was the second shortest Marine in the unit, and the only girl, so they put me third from the front, to help set a pace that the whole platoon could maintain. I don’t think we had run a mile when I got dizzy and began staggering. I was dismayed, embarrassed, that at 19, in the prime of my physical fitness, I was performing so poorly in the company of my male counterparts. The next thing I remember was the master gunnery sergeant screaming, “How the f*** did you guys get beer last night?”

I looked around and saw Marines, bent over at the waist, arms stretched for balance. Later in the day, Master Guns would describe feeling sick, looking back at the platoon and seeing jagged lines of men where we had just been parallel rows. We were running through the desert during a 7.3 earthquake, one of the largest quakes ever recorded in California. I returned to the quonset hut where I slept, away from my unit, to my cot surrounded by the few females in the desert in an era where the male to female ratio was 500-to-1. The girls had just risen, not victims of our exuberant command. They pulled on their boots, lacing them tightly and asked, “Hey Handrahan, did you feel the ground shaking?”

At that moment, I did not know we had felt an earthquake and I replied, “Hell yeah. That was 24th Marines out for a run.”

One girl fell back laughing and said, “Damn. I bet even you underwear is camouflaged.”

Every American of a certain age remembers Hurricane Katrina, the storm that reshaped New Orleans in 2005 and completely obscured the next hurricane, Rita, that nearly destroyed Galveston Island, Texas. Why does no one remember the devastation of Rita? Because Texans are self-sufficient.

In the year before I met my husband, I was living in Austin, working for HEB, the family owned grocery chain that sells more groceries per square foot that any company in the world. Exclusive to Texas, including a few satellites in Mexico and Louisiana, HEB was built on Christian foundations, and has donated millions to the betterment of Texas. They have an entire fleet of eighteen wheelers, ready to deploy at any time to devastated areas, bringing pallets of bottled water, staple groceries and basic supplies.

In 2005, I joined the deployment to Galveston, so immediately after the storm that we were second behind only the National Guard. Our bus rolled in to a broken town. Family businesses with metal roofs rolled up like sardine cans. I remember a barber shop, windows blown out, glass sprinkled like ice on the sidewalk.

We stayed in a premier hotel, two to a bed, with no running water. Our stores had no electricity for several days, and the people of the island were running out of food. The stench was indescribable. We emptied coolers by the pound, rotting meat, rotting vegetables, into a row of what may have been a hundred dumpsters that we had somehow requisitioned. After hours of that, we passed out bottled water, loaves of bread, jars of peanut butter. The locals who worked for our stores went home to broken houses, and their co-workers arrived with chainsaws, cutting out the giant trees that had fallen into their living rooms.

The moments of beauty that followed, still eclipsed by the horror of New Orleans: a plywood sign, propped by a tree stump— “Free chain saw sharpening.” Another sign, outside the same mom-and-pop barber shop with the blown out windows, “Free haircuts to all rescue workers.” Someone had wrestled a barber’s chair out to the sidewalk. We set up there, making sandwiches for whomever showed up to help.

My favorite moment from that trip, as we returned to the hotel, nasty, stinking, to learn the hotel had obtained cots and rolling beds so now we could each sleep in our own space. But still no running water. At some point I said to the crew, “This is ridiculous. We are on a f***ing island.” Not my most eloquent moment, but it inspired a mission. We gathered our hygiene items and filed down to the beach. We soaked in the healing salts of the Gulf of Mexico, and that night the hotel donated an open bar.

2024 Eclipse Celebration

The challenge of becoming the premiere camping host for the 2024 eclipse is finding the balance between reasonable pricing and available accommodations. Rather than offer a lower price, attract many people and offer few amenities, we are opting to charge a little more and offer more ways for enthusiasts to celebrate one of the sky’s most spectacular shows.

The City of Eagle Pass has set aside a massive budget to welcome eclipse viewers. Officials authorized the construction of at least three new hotels, is fencing off a festival location near the river, contracting private security to keep traffic structured and peaceful and booking live entertainment for a three day city-wide event.

The Turtle Ranch is focused on the MSCs— the Moon Shadow Chasers. MSCs are not casual viewers of an interesting stellar event. They are people who have caught a fever, the need to see a great shadow move over the earth as the moon graces the hot spring with it’s path of temporary coolness. They’ve done the research and hope to hear birds go oddly silent or perhaps glimpse the Mexican freetail bats fly in the early afternoon.

Partial eclipse begins at 12:33 pm CDT, total eclipse begins at 1:51 pm CDT. Duration is 4 minutes, 8 seconds. Partial eclipse begins at 1:43 pm EDT, total eclipse begins at 2:59 pm EDT. Duration is 3 minutes, 47 seconds.

The Turtle Ranch Mission

Our two mighty tortoises, Rocky and Juke, were a condition we set upon purchasing the property from people who had good intentions when they rescued the turtles, but were unprepared to handle the challenges of such large animals. At a reported 34 years old, they come in just over 100 pounds each.

We had no earthly clue how to care for tortoises, but with the help of internet forums, a fantastic veterinarian and a few zoo keepers, we built a fitting habitat and worked out a diet plan. It seemed a shame to keep these magnificent reptiles to ourselves, so we established a Facebook page where people could track our progress on the ranch.

That page prompted people to reach out and ask for help with animals they were unable to care for, and just like that, we found ourselves in the animal sanctuary world. Currently we have six tortoises, 2 water turtles, and anticipate the arrival of a Chinese water turtle in the near future.