In this issue…

Rain, rain, rain
The Garlic Festival
Opt-out schooling
Who controls the floods?
Battle for the San Pedro
We’re #3 in Arizona
McNeal Food Bank
The “tamale bill” in Bisbee
Cowboy etymology

Howdy, neighbors.

Look — I’m not saying the monsoon gods read this newsletter. But I am saying that the last time I presented our desert mascot Cochēz embracing the rains with a guitar, the clouds cracked open like a shotgun blast in a tin shed. Coincidence? Sure. But you don’t bet against a streak like that. So I made another image. This time with arrows and fury.

My one rule: never complain about too much rain. That’s how you end up with none. But of course, we can all hope the clouds hold their fury long enough for us to go full garlic mode at this year’s annual Garlic Festival, July 26–27, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., at Triangle T Ranch.

The festival is still accepting vendors if you’ve got something to offer tourists and locals. Custom crafts, magic brews, enchanted rocks, or scrumptious treats — if you got ‘em, sell ‘em. Hector Acuna with the Herald/Review has more details:

Who knows — you might see me there in a garlic costume. And if you plan on wearing a garlic costume as well, it better be good, because you don’t want me outshining you. Here’s a few pro tips to remember:

Don’t: Show up looking like a goth marshmallow.

Do: Point at everyone with double finger pistols.

Don’t: Be surprised if no one gets your “yogarlic guru” joke costume.

Do: Steal this look.

Don’t: Steal this look.

Do: Go all-in with this Midsommar Garlic Cowboy energy.

Don’t: Be fooled by online costume shops that just photoshop garlic over a munchkin costume.

Do: Coordinate outfits with your best friend.

Don’t: Walk up to children and say “Psst, hey kid, wanna buy some garlic?”

Do: Give people high fives when they figure out your “elephant garlic” pun costume.

And definitely do buy some garlic and bread from Zee Farms at the festival. It’s really good (and I would know, I used to be their neighbor!)

Local News

If you want to opt out of the standard education system, know that a new school is blooming in Hereford. The Sky Island School of Nature and the Arts is opening for grades K–5. They’re promising actual childhood for your kids — the kind with dirt and fresh air. Founder Heather Heredia says this “non-traditional” school, in a scenic tree-shaded locale, will focus on children “not just mentally, but emotionally and physically,” while also helping kids form a deeper understanding of the natural world. Enrollment is open for the next generation of barefoot philosophers.

Gabions for the greater good was the pitch from Supervisor Frank Antenori at the latest Flood Control meeting, where he suggested using tax dollars to help landowners in the Willcox Basin build rock barriers along seasonal waterways. He acknowledged it would benefit private ranch lands but framed it as a strategic move to keep more water from reaching the Willcox Playa and evaporating. Flood Control Director Jackie Watkins pointed out that public funds usually can’t be used for private projects — even those dressed up as regional water strategy — and that her department’s job is to fix flooding that actually disrupts public infrastructure.

At the supervisors’ request, the San Pedro River is getting some of its Flood District budget slashed, cutting off funds for the Babocomari, Riverstone, and Three Canyons recharge projects. But the Center for Biological Diversity is back in court, asking a judge to make the Department of Water Resources do what, they say, federal law already says it should: protect the river.

According to Niche magazine, Cochise County ranks as Arizona’s #3 best county to live in — ahead of Maricopa — with Greenlee taking the top spot thanks to cheap homes and decent schools. As for Cochise’s “B” grade in nightlife? Either someone’s never been here after dark, or the coyotes and skunks are throwing better parties than we thought.

Cochise County ranks #1 for cool people on my scorecard. Consider Marcie Bennett in McNeal, who opened the McNeal Food Bank in January and now helps feed over 200 people each month. It’s kept afloat by the Local Coop, some kindhearted donors, and Marcie herself, who quietly chips in from her own pocket. No grant, no fanfare — just someone doing the damn work.

The Ground Party Papers is supported by local folk who value local news.

Bisbee Community Market manager Weedy Weidenthal is jumping on HB2509 — the “tamale bill” signed into law last April — which expands what home cooks can legally sell without a commercial kitchen. Thanks to the new rules, Weedy just got the green light to offer up home-cured meats and fresh sausages. It’s a big win for local flavor and small-town food economies.

And yes — this means I’m legally one step closer to launching my long-delayed boutique salsa empire: Sawyer’s Fourth-Dimensional Salsa™.

Cowboy Etymology

Where do words come from? That’s the question at the heart of etymology — and I’ll admit it, I’m a sucker for a good origin story. Every word has a trail of breadcrumbs behind it, and the same goes for the phrases and slang we toss around without thinking. Here’s a few cowboy phrases, and where they came from.

Giddyup

Get ye up! → Git ye up! → Giddyup!

Born in the 1800s, it morphed through everyday use and dialect into the cheerful “giddyup!” you hear in every Western ever made, often followed by a hearty “hyah!”

Howdy

How do you do? → How do ye? → Howdy

It’s an old British greeting but I suppose settlers and cowhands didn’t have time for full phrases, so they made do with “Howdy.” Some Arizona lawmakers are trying to make it the official state motto.

Varmint

Vermis (Latin) → Vermin (Old English) → Varmint

The original “vermin” referred to worms and disease-carrying animals, but in the American backwoods it came to mean any critter you want out of your barn — or any person you’d like to see less of. Everyone knows at least one “low-down varmint.”

Tarnation

Eternal damnation → Tarnal damnation → Tarnation!

This is called a “minced oath,” those phrases we use to avoid cursing outright, like “gosh darnit”. When you hear someone in an old film or cartoon say “what in tarnation,” they’re basically saying “what in the hell!” — but in a slightly more polite way.

Awnry

Ordinary → Ornery → Awnry

In the early U.S. South, “ordinary” became a polite way to say that something wasn’t so great. Kind of like how we say “meh” today. Over time, it shifted into a go-to word for someone, or some animal, acting cranky. Though, in the Midwest, it gained more of a “trouble maker” connotation. Some people still use the “ornery” pronunciation while others use the further-abbreviated “awnry.”

Goodbye

God be with ye → God b’w’ye → Goodbye

This one’s not a cowboy word but it’s still interesting. The original phrase was a blessing; over centuries, it got shortened and smoothed into “goodbye.” The sacred became everyday — a holy farewell turned habitual wave from the porch.

If you enjoyed this newsletter, forward it to a friend. Or print it out, roll it into a cigarette, and smoke it during a lightning storm.
If you really liked it, tap that Paid Supporter button so I can afford festival garlic.

Stay awnry.

And God be with you.