Got CALICHE? Chosen to serve as the U.S. Attorney for New Mexico by President Pierce in 1854, he moved to the Territory where he became a friend of Charles Poston, the so-called "Father of Arizona." Although it was Poston who eventually lobbied the creation of Arizona Territory into existence in Washington, he readily admitted that Jones supplied the name Arizona. Why that name? An early Arizona historian, James McClintock, argued that it came from a mineral strike in the 18th century just south of Nogales. Indians of the region called the place Ali Shonak, words meaning a "place of a small spring." The Herald suggested that Arizona's name arose from a story of the Aztec Indians in Mexico. Their legend suggested that the earth was once inhabited by giants who died off, leaving no people here. When Arizona's first territorial legislature met in 1864, Jones was chosen as one of Pima County's representatives. On his way to the meeting, he passed prehistoric ruins near the Salt River. That led him to suggest to the legislature that the first capital be built there. "Let's call our capital 'Aztlan,'" he suggested. "That was the Aztec name for the region." Stretching out for miles along the New York State Thruway, a convoy of hundreds of upstate residents traveled to Albany Saturday to urge Congress to protect them and all landowners from Native American land claims. "These land claims are not isolated events," said Christine Strebel of Upstate Citizens for Equality, the group that staged the protest. "The tribes are different but the fight is the same. Instead of a patchwork approach, Congress needs to deal with this on a national basis." The Oneidas, with the support of the Justice Department, are suing the two counties for the return of 250,000 acres of ancestral land. The cheerful crowd turned to mostly snickering and jeers when Treadwell told them that the state's solution to the issue was to engage in "serious and meaningful negotiations" with the tribes. Dr. J.F. Juarez, a Pueblo Indian who used to head the Puyallup tribal clinic, believes the rock was the center of a Salish village.,1113,78978,00.html State University, Stanislaus, will turn back the clock May 12 with a dramatic re-enactment of the controversial Scopes Monkey Trial of 1925. National Trust sponsors Preservation Week "Protecting The Irreplaceable" May 9-15, 1999. May/June issue of Preservation (pp 19) says time is almost up for Arizona tree carvings. Graffiti in the Wild Time's almost up for Arizona tree carvings. BY CATHERINE COGGAN COCONINO NATIONAL FOREST, Ariz.- When California's gold rush quieted down, Basque shepherds, who had been lured from their Pyrenees homeland, resumed their traditional occupation in the San Francisco Peaks of northern Arizona. Here several dozen of them discovered splendid grazing for their sheep. To guide compadres along hidden byways between mountain glens and to stave off loneliness and boredom, Basques carved messages into aspen trees. Today, north of Flagstaff across 50,000 acres, a century's worth of arcane geometric shapes, romantic musings, political commentary, and wisecracks creep up the bark of trees. "Vida infernal! Malditas sean las borregas" (Infernal life! Cursed be female sheep). "Viva Franco!" is carved into another tree, and next to it, "Muera Franco!" At least one woman ran the sheep: Sofilla Baca incised her name in the 1930s. Shepherds with lots of time on their hands carved faces and naked women into the bark. The carvings, or dendroglyphs, date from 1882 to I978, according to Phil Weigand, a research associate with the anthropology department of the Museum of Northern Arizona. They will survive only as long as their host trees do. An aspen typically lives 80 to 120 years, the age range of many of the carvings. Heavy snows and lightning also pose threats, as do vandals. Graffiti on trees in the wild may be impossible to preserve indefinitely, but the U.S. Forest Service, which owns the San Francisco Peaks land, is determined to record them. Because the Forest Service has little money to do this, it is training a dozen volunteers from the Elderhostel Service Program of Northern Arizona University to plot the mountain locations of the fragile historic documents to capture them in sketches and on film. The next step, says Linda Farnsworth, a Forest Service archaeologist, will be to show the photographs to local Basques. "I ran the sheep as a little boy," says Robert Auza, a 29-year-old Forest Service firefighter: "I was about 10 years old when I carved my name," much like his father and grandfather did before him.

[ Basque Aspen dendroglyphs are also present on the old Chevlon District, A-S Forest ]