There's not much out there except the endless miles of the very striking Chihuahuan desert. You know, I thought we were in the Sonoran desert until I watched a ranger presentation a couple weeks ago and I found out I'm not in the Sonoran desert. I'm in the Chihuahuan desert. Hhmmph.
My friend said he wants to camp out there a couple nights when it warms up, but I tell ya, I'm a fraidy cat. Maybe if I'm with a ranger or someone who has a weapon for protection, but I don't know about staying out there alone. My friend the journalist, he's up for it though. He's got a wild side.
So can you see Rock House? It's that leetle, tiny, house made of, um, rocks, on the left, that blends in with the desert. It was hard for us to see and we were driving there. It's 17 miles off the interstate. No one knows who owned it. Even the historical society doesn't know who built it or who lived in it. That's a bit peculiar. The desert can be a peculiar place.
And here's a shot of the house. This is its best side. The inside was no great shakes. I can't imagine who could have lived out there.
Here's a silhouette of a pecan tree. It was a cloudy morning in the 40s. Shiver-me-burrrsky cold! I had on a big warm coat. My husband picks good coats. Although it was cold at Rock House too, at least it was mostly sunny.
