By Baxter Black: On the edge of common sense
Years ago I crossed the Arizona border into the village of Sasabe, Sonora.
The public statuary that marked the plaza was not of Father Kino, Coronado, or Pancho Villa. It was a nose-dived Cessna 182 nestled in a pile of rubble. I don’t know if the drug smuggler walked away from the crash, but he left an indelible monument.
The other thing that added to the bucolic scene was a crossbred bony heifer grazing on a cardboard box under the wing.
I had d