MOJAVE MULESKINNERS

It takes an uncommon personality to live alone in the desert. When we are alone out there on the vast sweeps covered with Joshua trees, greasewood and sage, the wind calls our name in the early hours before dawn and the canyon walls cast shadows that seem hard to explain sometimes. Then the dawn throws its light across the wide expanses and causes us to want to move on. Move on to what? To a new turn in the wash, a house, a hill, a wider view, a mine shaft, or to another mortal. Desert people are usually friendly because we like to be with another soul. We've been this way since our first memories.

 

Most desert dwellers come from deep within the populous regions of cities. They resent being told what they can and can't do with their property and retreat to the wide seemingly free stretches of relatively unsettled land. Such a man is Pete. But Pete, doesn't come from the barrio of East Los Angeles, or the Burroughs of Manhattan. Or even the prairies of the heartland. Nope. If you ask him he will tell you he comes from this place called Bavaria. So his words don't come warped with Texas drawl or a southern twang but rather with a Teutonic twist that conjures up views of Old Germany. But this man isn't interested all that much in his homeland. No - he seems seriously bent toward the old American west. So much so he has laid up wooden buildings biased along the lines of saloon and bunkhouses. Bottles of good bourbon, scotch and almost everything else alcoholic line the shelves. Even das gut lager bier!

 

So - it is little wonder then that Pete, has somehow become entwined or lured that suspicious selection of shooters known as the Mojave Muleskinners. They have even given him the name of German Pete, and repose and impose freely upon his bunks and hospitality. Said simply, if you build it they will come. And so the Muleskinners have come to German Pete's White Horse Ranch located about 20 miles northeast of Yucca Valley, and down this long dirt road and just across a sand wash sitting among the greasewood and sand. I wondered if it was maybe the whisky lined shelves that brought the Muleskinners? But upon experiencing a couple of visits here, I can tell you it's primarily the gathering of the Muleskinners themselves fetched here by the genuine open-handed friendliness of German Pete and the cooking of his woman.

 

You give the members of this clan a warm stove to sit by, a little bourbon or beer, some good conversation and you have a gathering place for the California Muleskinners that has already redeemed the presence of that eastern lot we call the Arizona Muleskinners. So come bring your old guitars, your womenfolk and meet this rancher who likes the smell of black powder. And best of all, who likes we Muleskinners. With six-guns and some powder one can enjoy yourselves at German Pete's Whitehorse Ranch. It takes an uncommon personality to live alone in the desert. Don't you think?

 

~ Weakeyes Cody