“I’ve lived here since 1950,” the old timer says, gripping a walking staff he calls a shelalagh. We’re on the viewing platform at the park in White Rock called Overlook. Far below, the Rio Grande twists through the striated rock, brown and glittering in the clear morning sun.
“Why is this town called ‘White Rock?’” I ask.
“Scientists lived in trailers here before it was a town,” he says. “There was calcite on the rocks. Guess that’s why. But it got covered up when they built the houses.”
He points to a bend in the river. “Den of diamondbacks there.”