Robbin tells me the story Charlie told her,
on his way to Mariposa, Chukchansi
drummer for a jazz band thirty years or more.
Retired forester, he told me how his grandmother
sent him up oak trees to shake limbs from acorns
like a little bear—the animals taught us how to live.
His wife is Chukchansi too, knows Sylvia, neither
of whom participate in the proceeds of the casino
beneath Yosemite—don’t have the lineage to fit
tribal politics. One day her grandmother found
a well-rode horse in her empty corral with a note:
Look under rock. All-sized rocks everywhere,
she finally found some money, fed and cared
for the horse until it disappeared, replaced
by others with money left under the rock.
It was a mystery for years after the Mexican
bandit’s head was hauled in alcohol, displayed
in Stockton for a dollar-a-look, after the Rangers
got their five thousand and Arroyo de Cantua
became a historical landmark—but Murietta’s
sister claimed it was not her brother’s face.
en.wikipedia.org
thelastbestwest.com
drycrikjournal 
Great story to start the New Year, John. Some of the best seem to come from those whose lineage doesn’t fit the politics of the tribe. Did you read last week about how a wolf made it from Oregon into California? A number of years ago, I read that the last known wolf in our state was killed within 50 miles (or less) of here. Maybe the animals are still trying to teach us how to live. Looking forward to Dry Crik every day! Thanks so much for keeping it all going.
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