It has been said that in Chihuahua there is no green and burgeoning Eden; that it is a kingdom of yellowing plains — eroded, dry, and desolate; a land of high, rugged mountains shot through with narrow passes. The sparse and torrential rain, when it falls, leaves stagnant pools in the desert bowls, which later evaporate or hurl themselves down among the rocky canyons. The sun blisters and cracks, the wind burns, the winter scourges. The inhabitants of Chihuahua throughout the ages, whether miners, farmers, or priests, have always been warriors. And this is because their environment has demanded of them a little more than their best efforts, not just in terms of courage, but tenacity of spirit and strength of character.
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