We stopped by the Mexican Kitchen in Vegas for a late breakfast before loading the truck up with hay. We had carnitas, papitas, beans, posole and sopapillas with honey. I had green chile. Dennis had Christmas (red and green chile). All washed down with iced tea.

A white van pulled up outside the big picture windows. We watched as one man after another poured out of the van in a what seemed to be an endless stream. "Oh, look," I told Dennis. "It must be one of those church groups." We see countless First Baptist Church vans in Northern New Mexico at this time of year, many of them headed for Glorieta. I still didn't get it as approximately 15 men came into the restaurant, pushed some tables together, and began ordering lunch in Spanish.

I continued to be clueless when after we paid our waitress and left her a nice tip, we passed another 6 or 7 young hispanic men waiting outside the door as we were leaving. They stared at us with dark, level eyes.

I took a look at the van, wondering what church all those men were from. The license plate was from Mexico.

My husband had a good laugh at me in the truck as he explained to me that, no, all of those nice young men, all twenty plus of them crammed into a white Chevy Van labeled American Tours weren't members of the congregation of the Southern Baptist Church in Dallas.

Nope.

It was a van full of illegals.

Great.