While they were talking, I went to look for a bush but the moment I saw the rock I forgot why I had come. "Pepe," I called. "Pepe... come here!" And, while I waited, I examined the thing to insure it was what I thought. Women had done this and I wanted Pepe's confirmation. "What're you doing out here?" he chastised, not understanding why I'd called. "Look at this," I said, pointing to the rock. "Is it real?" Pepe was shocked, too. He looked but, not believing his eyes, examined it as I had while I went to get a camera and the women. We were in the Huatamote. We had planned a birthday celebration for a neighbor who was departing soon for the States.

The five of us, Pepe, Em, Dolores, Freda and I headed into the Huatamote to show our neighbor a landscape beyond compare. By departing the house at nine, we could do our arroyo sight-seeing and head for a beach for more satisfying surroundings for a party.Besides, we invited others who would meet us at the beach with the birthday cake and champagne. The Huatamote is an exciting place because the story of its birth is there to be read by all. When I think of The Cloisters in Hidden Valley, or Quartz Mountain hiding in a nearby draw, I think of the hand that sculpted this incomparable desert terrain and it seems impossible to have a favorite. I'm guilty, however. The Huatamote is mine and I admit it.

Known by none but a few, the Huatamote is a humble thing the old road to Puertecitos crosses. Initially unremarkable-there is a sudden dip, the smoke trees, and a little more gravel than before-a mile or two to the west the dip exists no more. The riverbank is eight, ten and twelve feet high although five miles farther west it is fifty and that is where we enter.

Down the hill, along the bank, and around the bend. Five hundred meters to the west the first formation appears: Ten feet high, Hawk's Beak is at the entrance to First Basin, a half-mile-wide bowl where three streams came together to form a lake before the final channel was cut. Bear right at The Beak and follow the road to the Gargoyles who've been perched where they are (50 feet above) for at least a thousand years. It was here, at our second stop, that I took my walk and called Pepe. It was a rock about a cubic meter in size with five 8-inch holes worn into two of its granitic sides. They weren't ordinary holes made by water. No, these were morteros made by a mano as Indian women, over many years, stood by its side to grind the seeds they'd gathered for a meal. This was a very real and very ancient Indian relic!

Nature placed the rock with no way for us to determine when. Its presence, however, tended to verify my claim that the early Indians posted sentries at commanding locations above the arroyo for security. This, you'll recall, was Pai Pai country and some of theirneighbors less friendly.

My mind wandered as I thought about one of my gardens at home, "Weighs about a ton. I could pull it with my Sandrail... " Interrupted by more practical minds, we continued along the twisting, turning channel until we arrived at Castle Dome. Normally a pleasant drive, this day's run was difficult because recent rain had left tons of debris on the roadway. Now, however, because it was her birthday, Dolores got the full tour which included more cubic-meter rocks deposited thirty feet above the riverbed by storm-driven water: A view that enables an understanding of the arroyo, the Dome, and the five million years since the arroyo's original cutting.

To the west, she saw where it all began. To the south, a plateau of water-deposited gravel. To the north, a narrow passage leading to a water-carved crypt. To the east, two lonely tire tracks indicating the route over which we'd arrived. "Wha…? Eleven thirty?

Impossible!" It was a dozen miles to the old Puertecitos Road, two more south, three east, and a final seven miles to our beach. We made it in an hour.

Unknown by Dolores, our friends had arrived before us to prepare the site with table, tablecloth and napkins, a fire with white-hot coals, music and shade. We did our best to convince our guest the meeting had been a coincidence. So, while Freda, Em and Dolores chatted with Alicia, José, Pepe and I broke out supplies to dress the table with fresh-baked buns, chopped onions, relish, mayonnaise, Poupon, sliced jalapeños, a pasta salad with black and Spanish olives, and a bowl of freshly baked beans. So now, with the table fully prepared, it was time to spring our surprise.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.... ." When Freda handed her a glass of champagne, Dolores was standing with tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks. It's the way things should be when you live in a retirement village. No, San Felipe is not thought of like that, but there's enough of us here to warrant stereotyped planning for the future. And, speaking for those who enjoy the great outdoors, this is the way things are done in San Felipe. Whether the Huatamote or any of a dozen equally exciting places, we share each other's company around a fire, by a waterfall, or on the beach. It makes no difference, so long as everyone enjoys.

We cooked hot knockwurst, bratwurst and hot dogs; served frosty beer, chilled soda and piping hot coffee. Pringles for munchies and a walk with friends down memory lane. After the birthday cake, Dolores took the hammock while the rest of us sat on chairs. There were more stories, more laughs and another song. And then it was into the sea for an hour-long swim in sixty-eight degree water. Do you wonder why we call it Paradise?

We went to school for twenty years,
And later worked for forty.
We still want to learn,
We do our chores,

But more of the stuff that's sporty.
A lady never tells her age.
A gentleman thinks its fun.
We celebrate the day

With a birthday gal,
Whether or not its A Big One!