You are a soldier in one of the largest empires on the planet, exploring a new land. You are a Spanish Conquistador. Your commander decides to set up camp on top of a hill. You can see any threat coming for miles in all directions. You feel secure in your modern armor, holding the most advanced weapons, until nightfall. It starts as commotion around the perimeter, then the panicked screams start to work their way towards you.
“¡Ratón!”
This week, my friends, I'm in the beautiful city of Raton, New Mexico. Imagine the terror those soldiers must've felt, huddling all night inside a ring of fire that had already been breached by thousands, if not millions, of little piñon mice, swarming over everything and everyone.
Well before the Spaniards scrawled the word, “Ratón” on their maps as both a description and a warning, the native people called this land “Chuquirique,” which also means “mouse.”
I was first drawn to this city because of its name, and because it's in the state where I spent so many of my formative years. The first time I arrived, I stepped off the train, looked up, and saw the town's name bigger than life on top of a steep hill they've named Goat Hill. That first visit, I stayed in a 140 year old Victorian bed and breakfast, now permanently closed, called Heart's Desire Inn (off season, of course). I fell in love with the town and the people. I feel at home here.
For ten issues, I've been writing about the rat, and its resilience. I was dismayed to find that up here, in the high desert, the big Norway rats weren't able to make it here on their own. Not like their smaller cousins. These rugged mountain mice adapted to this environment, and have been thriving here since before the first people arrived. Two different cultures named the land after them. That deserves respect, and I gladly give it.
Then in 1880, the town was formed, complete with a train stop. Along with the train cars full of grain, came the rats, to the new town named mouse.
I'll be honest, there aren't many rats around here. I saw the name on a map, and knew I had to visit. I learned that the Spanish word ratón means mouse, and I learned that the little mountain mice that claimed this land commanded the respect of the native people, and the Spanish empire. And I've grown to love this little town named Mouse.
Stay bold, my friends.
– BigCrazyBaldhead