My Tiny Vegas: Las Vegas, New Mexico News, Stories, Photographs, and More!

A River Falls Through It

by Birdie Jaworski

Until the mid-1800s, gristmills in New Mexico were small, primitive, difficult to use, containing two rotating grinding stones powered by water. Called "molinos" in Spanish, early gristmills were most often used to grind the hearty corn grown to make tortillas and tamales. By 1850, wheat flour crept into the local consciousness, and as the population of Mora County grew, farmers added wheat to their crops. The founding of Fort Union increased demand for wheat even more. New Mexico was hooked. Flour became local king.

In 1901, Joseph Fuss built the two-story Cleveland Roller Mill, the last one constructed in northeast New Mexico. Fuss sold the mill to Daniel Cassidy, an Irish immigrant, and by the 1920s, the mill reached peak production in the Mora Valley, with over 500,000 bushels a year being ground through the Cleveland Roller Mill and other smaller local operations.

Today, the Cleveland Mill is part of a historic museum where, once a year during Labor Day weekend, visitors can watch as water once again flows over the massive 18 foot cast iron wheel. This year's Cleveland Millfest, being held this Saturday and Sunday from 10 a.m until 5 p.m. each day, offers a celebrated look into the past.

"This is our twentieth anniversary," says Millfest organizer Dan Cassidy, a direct descendant of the original owner. "Last year we did a head count, and realized we had over 3000 people attending the fest. It's gratifying - we know we're doing something right. Folks like to see this piece of history."

Visitors to the mill can feel the weight and groan of Mora River's water against wheel as the machine churns. The process of grinding wheat is deceptively simple. The wheat seed is fed through a first set of roller mill stands, breaking the outer wheat hull. Secondary rolls continue grinding until all possible flour, bran, and germ is extracted. Gravity chutes help move wheat and flour around the mill as part of a semi-automatic transport system. The Mill Museum shows the full production methods as well as a photographic and historical overview of north central New Mexico, emphasizing the wheat farming and milling industry that existed in Mora County until World War II. The three-story adobe will offer two tours each day of this weekend's event at 11 a.m. and 2 p.m.

Sponsored by the Historic Mora Valley Foundation and Mora Valley Chamber of Commerce, the Cleveland Millfest features over 45 artists from New Mexico as well as a great variety of native foods and baked goods, fruits and produce and continuous musical entertainment.

"The dance presentations are always well-received," explains Cassidy. "We put them in the center portion of the day so that everyone can enjoy them. A lot of local kids are involved, it's just wonderful to see. We'll also have barbeque, arts and crafts, all different kinds of foods."

The entertainment begins Saturday at 10 a.m. with Los Dos Amigos, a group of San Miguel County residents who play traditional New Mexico folk and American country including rancheras and old style country western music. Crowd favorite Los Zapateados, a dance group that uses only authentic costumes and dance fold dances from Mexico and New Mexico, will take the stage at 12:30 p.m. with their swirling and emotional homage to local culture. Other performers include singer-songwriters George Adelo and Gwen Lenore, homegrown Mora musical group Nueva Vida, and dance group Ballet Folklorico Arco Iris Fantasticos.

"The mill itself adds something to the fest, the setting, it all works together," muses Cassidy. "We put it all together and package it with arts and crafts. There's magic in this event, and the music has a lot to do with that."

Cleveland Millfest, at the  Cleveland Roller Mill Museum. The museum is located just off NM Hwy. 518 two miles north of Mora, New Mexico near the village of Cleveland.  The Museum is located 160 miles north of Albuquerque, 35 miles south of Angel Fire; 32 miles northwest of Las Vegas; 100 miles north of Santa Fe; 45 miles southwest of Taos. For information call 505 387 2645 or 505 387 6367.
Admission is Free for the entertainment and the arts and crafts area located on the museum grounds. A nominal admission ($3.00) is charged for admittance into the Museum. Parking is $1 per vehicle.

Scenes from Mineral Hill

Some photographs of the Mineral Hill area:

Hermit's Peak peers over the horizon

Native chokecherries offer a sweet and tart snack. They make excellent jams and jellies!

A creek is home to trout and bullfrogs.

Wildflowers grow in abundance this rainy season.

Mushrooms grow on an oak tree.

A hike up Hermit's Peak

I posted a new photo album of our hike up Hermit's Peak. If you ever visit Las Vegas, or if you live here, you must make this hike at least once and experience the solitude and beauty the mountain offers.

A Drive to Ojitos Frios

A drive through Ojitos Frios, in photographs.

Hermit's Peak... or Bust!

My boys and I climbed Hermit's Peak yesterday. You can click on the photo to see a larger version. I will post a story and some incredible photographs soon, as well as photos and notes from Saturday's Las Vegas Synergy Fest.

Stonefridge fell.

My beloved Stonefridge fell last Sunday. The harsh spring winds pushed it over, pushed it into pieces, into the muddy ground. It was the big news in the paper this week, and I plan on scooting out there this Sunday to take photos of the remains before they are hauled to the dump. The city refuses to allow anyone to rebuild. It ends up I was the very last journalist to visit the place before the fall.

I made some t-shirts and other paraphenalia from my Stonefridge photographs, check out the sidebar if you need a new look.

Stonefridge, Santa Fe

I have a story posted at Brad Listi's most excellent The Nervous Breakdown. Please read my story: Thirty-Six Days Past Solstice in a Circle of Dead Refrigerators, about my visit to Stonefridge in Santa Fe.

108 Degrees of Bliss

I moved to Las Vegas, New Mexico, from a frantic coastal town north of San Diego. I moved to be closer to the gifts of nature, to escape the endless highway crawl where cars roast in the road, sit and oscillate against a backdrop of perpetual construction. I choose Las Vegas over the internet, chose it over a thousand other small Southwest towns when I saw photographs of the tree-lined Plaza, of Hermit's Peak, of Bridge Street, of the Montezuma Hot Springs. A good place to raise a family, I thought. A good place to settle.

The hot springs called my name as I hauled kids and pets and my household goods in a rental truck through the arid plains of the Mojave. I recalled the online stories of Spanish explorers who believed they found the Fountain of Youth, or at least a cure for syphilis. Native Americans knew of the springs for centuries before them, knew the waters held healing properties.

The first time I visited the springs, I hesitated before stepping into the water. Montezuma Castle loomed large across the Rio Gallinas, a statement of stark architectural beauty and elegance, framed by a hillside of cultivated foliage. The springs, by comparison, were homely, rock-lined pits coated with slick green algae, a hundred thousand weeds between them and the fading river. These weren't the blue-watered miracle pools of my California dreams. But I dipped my toes into the heat, let the liquid rise to meet my ankle, then my shin, my thigh, my waist. I understood what others have known for hundreds of years. The aching heat, the scrape of my back against uneven rock, the rush of water from one pool to the next caressed my body into a state of hyperawareness, of pain mixed with relaxation.

The last two weeks brought monsoons to Las Vegas. The Rio Gallinas now runs stronger than a man's will to live, sprints like an Olympic champion past the castle, past the springs, through a town now as lush and fragrant as the Midwest. And though the sun casts August fire most early afternoons, I found myself on the edge of the springs once more, to soak thermal under the sparse shadow of the simple branch fence.

Two boys rested in the lower pool. The younger child swept his arm across the water, let it ripple and fade into his chest. Their mother sat in the middle pool, across from me, her dark hair melting into heat-sealed ringlets. She didn't speak a word. The water spoke for us, gave our muscles ancient mineral messages. Three old men yelled to us from the river. They jumped into the rushing current, their bellies soft and colorless, let the Gallinas carry them fast, far, into a pool of muddy reeds. I laughed out loud, at the sheer joy of watching old men play, of watching young boys rest, the world upside-down, insane.

I drove home, my body saturated, content. I didn't see another commuting car. The street lined a town filled with history, with quiet passion. I belong here, I thought. I'm a Las Vegan now. The waters called me home.