RV Winter Rambling 2006-07

Belle Starr’s Silverado


We knew that it was somewhere between Bisbee and Douglas, Arizona on highway 80 – a 23 mile stretch along the Mexican border. I had gleaned the information from my online research. I didn’t expect a big sign out front welcoming boondockers but I thought for sure there’d be some clue. But we drove the whole 23 miles to no avail. We stumbled upon the Douglas tourist bureau and I asked the woman running it if she knew of Belle Starr.
“Oh yes, she’s the elderly lady who has all the animals” she said and when I asked her how to find the ranch, she gave perfect directions. We had driven right on by it.
“Twelve miles back on the south side of the highway, you’ll notice all the horses and burros in the front – that’s it!”
It was easy this time but we hesitated on driving right in and instead pulled up on the shoulder across the road. After all, my info was third hand or more from my online sources. A large sign offered “Stud and Boarding Services” and the adobe pueblo-style ranch house was submerged in greenery - cacti and other shrubs and trees. I ran across the highway and tiptoed over the cattle grate between the gateposts at the front of the property. I felt like ‘Alice in Wonderland’ – I’d stumbled into a netherworld of animal life – what heaven. The most beautiful peacocks whisked across my path displaying their gorgeous blue and gold tails like vast fans. The burros sauntered over to line the fence sticking their ungainly heads through to nuzzle me while looking for food. The huge Arabian and Appaloosa horses were a bit more standoffish but sidled over just in case a snack was apparent. A large colourful rooster walked alongside me as if to show me the way, while a myriad of hens ran around haphazardly while pecking at the ground. A flock of black and white geese showed interest from afar but kept their distance. As I rounded the back corner of the fenced ranch house, I could see movement near the back door and I called out “Hello-o-o-o-o”.
I heard a faint unintelligible answer so carried on and there was Belle, a tiny frail-looking elf with the most beautiful serene smile. On her head was a mauve, felt hat decorated with coloured jewels, here and there. It sat up on top of her head rather than pulled down, which gave her a quirky pixie-ish look. Silver curls crested below and circled the cherubic face with cheeks pink from the desert air. Mustard yellow jersey tights on her little chicken legs were tucked into dusty rubber boots and a bright blue snuggly sweater completed her rainbow hued outfit.

“Are you Belle?” I asked rhetorically. “I understand that you welcome boondockers on your property”
“That’s right dear” I had to strain to hear her gentle whispery voice and she had a slight speech impediment as well. “I’m sorry I don’t move too fast – I’m in the early stages of MS” she continued as she shuffled towards me. (Early stages at her age??)
“I’m so sorry” – I didn’t know what else to say.

She struggled to open the wrought iron gate but refused any help and two large mixed breed dogs with wildly wagging tails wriggled through to greet me as soon as there was room for their bodies to squeeze by.
“Oh, it’s alright – we have to accept these things and staying active is the best medicine – where are you from?” she said without taking a breath.
“Canada – Vancouver……”
“Oh you’re my first Canadian this year – I’ve had Ohio, Oregon and California though”.
Belle will soon be 80. As she put it “I’m cruisin’ 80”. She was married three times – the last one widowed her.
“He was a university professor but I didn’t know he was in the mafia and they killed him”. She shook her head as she remembered. “But I’m not marriage material – I don’t like anyone to take charge of me – so I won’t do it again.”
“His name was Santos and I was Belva Santos – everyone always called me Belle so I legally changed my name to Starr”. She left Kentucky when she was 65 to start a new life in Arizona. She purchased the forty acre property which was once owned by her 5th or so cousin who was the original infamous “Belle Starr”. What a plucky little lady

“I was an only child so animals were my friends and this was my dream” she said wistfully. She clambered into a dilapidated golf cart and patted the seat beside her “Hop on” she said. The rooster jumped in back and a big spotted dog tried to get in front with me but there wasn’t enough room and Belle shooed him away. As she backed the cart out, the rooster scrambled down too. Belle proceeded to proudly show me around her property at all of 2 miles per hour. Several more dogs of various sizes but all with wagging tails and smiling faces ran out to greet us as we crawled by. You can park anywhere you want back here she gestured to the hard packed spots between the desert plants and you can stay as long as you like. “See – over there” she pointed to a pup tent “those two lovely young men are from the University of Ohio”.

A large circular patch, about 100 feet in diameter, was cleared of all foliage. “That’s going to be my exhibition area. In October, there’s going to be a real Indian Pow-wow – dancing and such in all their feathers” she mused for a minute “but it’s nice for a group who want to camp together too”. Down a bit further, we stopped beside a huge galvanized tub of water (about 10 ft w x 4 ft deep). “That’s for the quail and the deer –they come every night”. This little woman has so much love for all animals including humans who are the hardest to love.
“I’m going to put in a large septic tank over there for folks to dump their sewage” I didn’t ask how it would be emptied – I was just taken by her inclination to want to make people comfortable at her expense.

“But I don’t want to get into the campsite business. Oh, no! I want folks to just come and enjoy the desert and the animals” I was now ready to put her name in for sainthood. “And I’ll put in a couple of solar showers too” she continued. I noticed a crooked sign by the outhouses that said ‘Shower’ but maybe there’s no hot water.

In one of the enclosures, there was a mix of burros, mules, Shetland ponies and a petite miniature horse. “There’s some miniature donkeys too – over there – they’re very rare”. They were sharing their enclosure with some long-eared mules. Belle used to have a wolf that followed her wherever she went but I hesitated to ask her what happened to it in case it made her sad. I couldn’t bear to do that.

At the front of the property, just behind the big horse corrals on a large patio, stood some majestic bentwood furniture and an ancient table surrounded by rickety but comfortable looking chairs, some odd wire and metal sculptures, a plaster statue of a sheep or goat – couldn’t be sure because it was missing its head. A battered old sign proclaiming “Route 66” and a large painting leaned against the sculptures. “I got that sign myself right of Route 66, years ago” she said.


“I’m going to have hay rides in them wagons over there” she pointed to two finely crafted but obviously antique wagons. She chattered non-stop as we mosied on. “Too bad you weren’t here last week, we had a lovely potluck supper – it was so much fun”. She drove me right out front across the cattle grate and let me off with “Now, have a wonderful time” and she tootled off.

We settled into a spot quite far back from the road, but we could still hear the wonderful sounds of the braying donkeys and the early morning rooster crowing. We stayed for three days and each day, we’d wander the property picking up debris and litter that had been left by previous campers – we wanted to show Belle that we appreciated her hospitality.

The last morning, I took a stroll around to visit all the animals – I was going to miss waking up to the rooster crowing and the burros braying. I ran into Richard the horse wrangler. He looked the part – a twin of Willy Nelson. Long grey hair under a straw cowboy hat, his face was etched in deep lines from the outdoor life. He was dressed in jeans and a jean jacket with a plaid western shirt under and scuffed cowboy boots. We chatted a while generally about the running of the ranch and I asked him about all the border patrol agents patrolling the desert with their pistols and rifles, some on foot and some on horseback. He lived within ‘spitting distance’ of the Mexican border and he said “It’s a total waste of taxpayer money – there ain’t no terrorists tryin’ to get in, just some poor little wetbacks trying to come over here and make some money to support their families”. I told him we’d be pulling out shortly and he tipped his hat and carried on to the corrals.



While we were preparing Maggie to leave, we heard the whirr of the golf cart and down the trail we could see Belle approaching. Fernie still hadn’t met her so I was happy he’d get the chance. She had her usual beaming smile and she reached her hand into a bag on the seat beside her and said “Look what the hens laid for you” and handed us a half dozen freshly laid eggs. Such a kind lady. Fernie chatted to her for a while. He asked her about her wolf, something I was afraid to ask about.
“I had to have him put down just last year – and I still miss him. He was wonderful and went everywhere with me. He loved all my other animals but you know I had him from when he was five weeks old. I had him cremated and his ashes are in an urn in my house – along with some of my dogs”.
We swapped email addresses and she bid us farewell.
“You be sure to come on back now” and off she puttered back down the trail.

posted by O'Leary @ 4:33 PM