The Burro Ranch: A Professor's Fantasy of a Burro Ranch Withers in the Desert Sun of New Mexico

By William Elihu Palmer

A retired professor of Spanish attempts to convert his fantasy of a Burro Ranch into a reality among the descendants of the original Mexican settlers near the pueblo of Bosque, New Mexico. Living in an adobe house on a ranch of about three acres, the professor sets out with the intention of
restoring the lowly burro to the dignity and glory of its rightful place in the history of civilization. Neighboring ranchers, however, have a different view of the rightful place of the burro--somewhere out-of-sight and out of earshot.
In THE BURRO RANCH the author reflects upon the traditions and patterns of human behavior that still exist in old New Mexico and reflects upon the strains and drawbacks of intruding upon an entrenched culture. He also observes the rare beauty and daily hardships of life in the desert.
In the vast desert lands of New Mexico, beauty there is often tinged with danger. There is, of course, the enchantment of vast vistas, the glory of the sunsets beyond the arroyos and mesetas, and the splendor of the moon as it sets the mountains aglow. But it's hard to hear the music in the rattle of a snake and harder still to admire the architecture in the structure of a centipede. Much of the desert land around the burro ranch is the realm of the yucca plant, and to behold its beauty is to understand the hardships and suffering it must endure to rule over its realm: desert winds, blandishments of hail, frost-bit nights, and thunderheads that fail. To love the desert is to see the beauty in thorny things,
dried-up streams, and dusty crawling things.
Over a period of ten years, the professor comes to realize that this reality of The Burro Ranch is far more precious than his wildest fantasy.



Once I began to spend time at the Burro Ranch, one of my friends tagged me with the name "Wild Bill." I now admit that the Burro Ranch was a wild scheme but from the men I met in Bosque, New Mexico, especially Bonifacio Chavez, and from the traditions that I observed there, I reached an understanding of the continuity of all things--an understanding of the eternal beauty in the natural function of all things.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477116678

William Elihu Palmer

William Elihu Palmer grew up on a farm on the Eastern Shore of Maryland during the Great Depression. He enlisted in the Army at the age of 17 and served n Occupied Japan and fought in the Korean War. He married Angeles Palmer in Madrid, Spain in 1960. They have four children. He spent his career as an educator, teaching at universities in the USA and abroad, including Ohio University, the University of Salamanca, Spain, and at Salisbury University in Maryland. He and Angeles moved to Coronado, California in 2017.

Book preview

A New Frontier

I thought when I retired from the University that I had left all of the jackasses behind. In fact, I told the students in my 8:00 a.m. Spanish class, I said, I’m leaving this University. I’m moving to a Burro Ranch in New Mexico. When I heard nary a whimper from the sleepy-eyed lot, I went on to say that I aimed to teach the burros on my ranch to speak Spanish—because I’d had a lot of experience in that regard. And once again, when I heard nary a whisper in protest, I was sure that I was leaving all the jackasses behind. Now, though, speaking as a Burro Rancher with no burros, I may have proved myself to be the biggest jackass of them all.

You see, all the neighboring ranchers make fun of my way of ranching. I have a ranch all right—a spread of about two acres in Bosque, New Mexico, just south of Belen, and most of my neighbors here are Hispanics. I know they talk about me; I’ve heard them call me el gringo loco. At first I thought I would fit right in by speaking to them in Spanish. But I soon found out that the lingo they speak is far different from the Spanish I taught at the University. When I say camión for truck, they say la troca. When I say comida for lunch, they say el lonche. Even when I speak to them in Spanish, they think it’s gringo Spanish.

I first met my neighbors at the tiny post office beside the old church just at the end of the dirt road in Bosque. I got out of my black Buick Park Avenue with the Maryland license plates in plain sight. Lined up on the right and on the left were dusty pick-up trocas with mangy dogs in the back. Even then I knew that my image as a burro rancher was in jeopardy.

Later, I overheard one rancher say to another, And that gringo with the fancy car—what is he doing here from Maryland? Quickly, I slinked around the corner of the old adobe post office and sped back to Albuquerque. My wife Angeles is now driving the Buick. I now drive an old 1978 Chevy work van with a cracked windshield and rusty hubcaps.

I thought I could get to know the local ranchers by eating at the Whiteway Café in Belen. I saw pick-up trucks parked around the place and bow-legged men with straw hats going in and out. I knew the Whiteway Café was the gathering place of my neighboring ranchers. On a hot day I pulled up to the Whiteway Café in my rusty old ‘78 Chevy work van and parked beside the dusty trocas with the mangy dogs in the back. I felt like I was beginning to fit in already.

I walked into the Café wearing my Australian shepherd’s hat with the brim turned up. The place was crowded; all the tables were filled with sweaty ranchers wearing boots and big hats. The waitress was dodging about with trays of food and calling each man by his first name in a familiar way. I sensed that there weren’t no strangers there. When they spied me in the doorway, all talking ceased. A sudden quiet settled over the tables. Every one of them stared at me standing there in my Australian shepherd’s hat with the brim turned up and wearing sandals with white socks. I felt sadly alone. I took the hat off and slithered over to a seat at the counter. I was about to sit down when I saw the sign hanging on the wall. It was written in both Spanish and English: SERVICO RESERVADO. We reserve the right to refuse service. Not knowing whether to stay or run for the door, I heard the waitress say, Sit down, honey. I’ll be right with you. So I sat down. Loretta, the waitress, served me the special of the day: chicken-fried steak. I looked neither left nor right, but ate quickly and left without waiting for the change from the bill that I gave her. I sensed that everybody was looking at my sandals and white socks.

Not long afterwards, I met my closest neighbor, Bonifacio, whose ancestors settled this land. In fact, he was born in the old adobe ranch house that now belongs to me. I told Bonifacio about my plan to become a Burro Rancher. Bonifacio raises livestock, cows and sheep, and he grows alfalfa and hay to feed them. He comes by my place about sundown to sit and talk. You see, he’s discovered that I keep a good supply of Budweisers in the refrigerator. After drinking two cold cans of Budweiser, Bonifacio gets a little sentimental, even philosophical, and sometimes he even approaches the spiritual. The evening that I told Bonifacio about my plan to become a burro rancher, he was just finishing his second cold Budweiser. Burros! he shouted in protest. Ain’t no good them burros! Burros good for nothing! Then he jumped up from the bench where he was sitting and with the cold Budweiser in one hand, he jerked on his ear with the other and shouted: "All they got is big orejas and all the time go Hee Haw! Hee Haw!" And he jumped up and down and brayed prettier than any donkey I ever heard. At that point my dream of becoming a Burro Rancher was just about shattered.

I guess my