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Órale, the onda this week in Caló is the word vago. In modern Spanish, it means alternatively vague, vagabond or vagrant. In Caló, however, vago means somebody who’s mischievous or misbehaved. The key element of a vago is agency. That is, vagos don’t stumble into trouble or misdeeds, they willfully commit them. In this sense, a young child or pendejo adult—maybe also a tapados—can’t be vagos. But a pendejo can be a vago if, once told what is right and wrong, they do males anyway out of spite or defiance.

Órale, the onda of the week is the word tapado. In modern Spanish, it means covered or clogged, as in a lid or drain pipe. But in Caló, tapado means somebody can’t connect the dots or see what may seem obvious to others. The term doesn’t fit within the 5-tiered scale of stupid (baboso-pendejo-menso-sonso-tarugo). It’s not that a tapado lacks an IQ point or two. It’s that they are blind to particular insight, perhaps locked on the wrong paradigm or simply too wishful for the opposite result. In this sense, a die-hard fan of a team that always loses is a tapado. Someone who believes in a candidate or romantic interest and overlooks obvious flaws is a tapado. Fortunately, being tapado is not congenital or an irreversible state because tapados can overcome their deficit, but they inevitably need help or an intervention of some kind to finally see the light.

Zone-tailed hawks are among the birds of prey that rely on riparian forests – woodlands along creeks and streams – as nesting sites in the Big Bend. Each summer, these hawks return from the tropics to raise young in the same creek-side cottonwoods.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is raite. It’s adopted from the English word ride. But in Caló, its meaning is narrower than how it’s used in English. It means only the act of giving or partaking in a ride, never the vehicle itself. Although it’s a noun and is expressed as el raite or un raite, it’s solely an act, not a material object. You don’t park, sell or even drive your raite, only ask for, accept, give or experience it. Furthermore, it’s a grace, something that’s done for free. So a seat on a bus for which you pay a fare, is not a raite.We’re gonna continue with the theme of working in the files (farm fields). But a quick note on this. Field work comes in many forms and modes in the world of Caló, including work-for-pay work performed by seasonal migrant and weekend workers and self-employed farmers. A common mode of engagement was day labor, where workers, usually high school kids, were trucked into the fields on Saturdays and Sundays or weekdays during their summer vacations. And they got there via a raite provided by the raitero paid by the farmer to haul in workers.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is dompe. It comes from the English word dump, but in Caló it means more things than it does in English. A dompe can mean the class of hauling vehicles larger than a troca but smaller than a tractor-trailer. It can also mean a dump site, the public landfill or a dive, as in a place few people want to visit. And it can be a pejorative for an unattractive person, physically, emotionally or otherwise. Why don’t your popular friends ever go to the cantina at the end of the street? Cuz it’s a dompe.

Órale, the featured word for this week of Caló is yonke. It comes from the English word junk. As it’s a recent adoption into Caló, you see it in signs through the border region on both sides of the Rio Grande today. Unlike the English use of the term, however, it applies as much to animate as to inanimate objects, including man-made objects, unwanted plants, cultural kitsch and even people. A pichirilo that won’t run at all anymore is yonke. Weeds and unpopular songs are yonke. A chirion former boyfriend or girlfriend you don’t wanna see anymore? Yonke.This is gonna be the last of the Spanglish worlds we’re gonna feature in Caló. There’s many others, but we’ll get to them further down the road.

In March, a hunter on the O2 Ranch south of Alpine found what appeared to be an ivory tusk in an arroyo bottom. Ranch Manager Will Juett contacted archeologists at Alpine’s Center for Big Bend Studies. They confirmed the find: this was a mammoth tusk.

In 1944, near the town of Plainview - 45 miles north of Lubbock - archeologists discovered two dozen examples of a previously unknown spearpoint – the Plainview style – among the bones of at least 100 Ice Age bison.

Órale, this month, we’re gonna focus on some Spanglish terms that have entered the Caló lexicon. Like all languages—maybe even moreso, Caló adapts to the times and takes in words that circulate around it and fits them into its internal logic and aesthetic. Some of these words have become so ubiquitous and ingrained that people come to think of them as Caló words. Of course, Caló is neither Spanish nor English, nor any other language for that matter, but it’s flexible enough that it easily takes in new words without causing much disruption or imbalance to its integrity. I’m sure that, when listeners hear the words, they’ll quickly agree they fit in Caló perfectly. Here they are, chiriár, troca, rite, dompe, and yonque. There are many others, but we’re gonna go with the obvious ones first.Also for this month, we’re gonna focus on a common setting that’s informed Caló for many generations; namely, the adventures of working in the farm fields—also going to and from them.The word for this episode is chiriár. It’s a verb that means to cheat. In the logic of Caló, the verb always attaches to the person who cheats, the chirión, and there’s no chiriada nor chiriadero, that is, the subjective version of the term.

Órale, the featured Caló word of the week is pocho. In Caló, it means alternatively Spanglish, a jumble of Spanish and English, or someone who can only speak Spanglish. It’s a contraction of the Spanish words poco (little or scant) and mocho (short of a whole). To be sure, you can be pocho as much to English speakers as Spanish speakers, but you can’t be a pocho if you speak either Spanish or English well.