fall in the mtns

we don't have to drive up very far to find snowy patches. we cut lots of wood on wednesday, all the while under the tallest trees, and our boots crunching in the snow. I found a hollow tree, and took pictures of it, wondering who might call the little wooden cave home. 

today woke to a cloudy, rainy morning. the yellow leaves darkened by the rain, looking orange in the trees.

I keep having these dreams with an old theme, that I've been forgetting to go to class. and not that I forgot one day, that I manage to go entire semesters without remembering. and when I do decide to make sure I get there, everything gets in the way--I have to wade though long, muddy fields or I can't find the street...and I always have to walk, no matter how far away the "school" is.  

D. tells me that it is just my own unfortunate beliefs in my own inabilities, haunting my dreams. 

city weekend

occasionally one must leave the ground and fly off to the city. we'd both been to this city before, but it is one we don't mind seeing again, and this time it was with each other. & we had a wedding to attend, with me to stand up with the bride. our first morning was grey & windy, as we walked up & down the lake. tall buildings cloaked in clouds, and our noses pink from cold. 

the next morning, sunny. everywhere looking up, I was distracted by decorative moldings, sun's light carved into brick & stone, the awe that people live among such tall buildings in the sky. we kept losing our sense of direction without a horizon to gauge.

we were staying in one of Chicago's historic hotels downtown. and the lobby was a bit breathtaking, in its art & opulence and also in its energy, as it was always a bustle and filled by the din of voices from everywhere. we managed to sip coffee there, with friends. and also have a late night cocktail, allowing the overpriced drink to be admission for the enjoyment of the view.

managed to see friends who were also in town from faraway, though not for the same reasons. ate deep-dish pizza & found time to chat in the midst of so many things. 

I used to go to weddings alone, and it always felt like I was missing something. it took me forever to find the love of my life, and now having him with me, for weddings or for traveling, or even for figuring out the propane bill... is in itself a happiness. I used to have to grab hope for these things. And even though I was perfectly capable on my own, now having a partner to share all these things, is something I know I deserve, but also something that makes me feel like one lucky-ass woman.

while d. had time to explore the city, I spent quality time with the bride, as hair & makeup was done, fancy attire put on, and nerves bounded all over the place. all-in-all a wedding that went as planned, and the bride was happy. and so were all the guests. and even though I cried giving my toast, I wasn't as nervous up there in front of the microphone as I'd expected. but I think it was because I was on my 2nd drink on a hungry stomach. the wedding ended the trip, & we were up early with the sun for our journey back to la tierra. the first thing we noticed, on the ground in new mexico, was our incredibly warm sunshine. 

colors & finds

fall colors high up in the mountains.

we were up cutting wood. and we found the finger bones of a bear.

but, they didn't come home with us.

fall walks

I've been trying to take a short walk each day on our road. (I'm not the best at getting out and exercising.)

this little walk takes me from the bottom of our driveway, winds down to the river, and curves up our little mountain. I feel my calves burn a little from the climb, and I feel my lungs wonder where all the oxygen is. I see the changing colors, hear the river rushing by, walk past bear shit and convince myself to be curious rather than afraid. today I noticed leaves falling, and noted I should find out what kind of tree they are from. 

sometimes I find myself counting my steps. and I can't quit. even if I distract myself with real thoughts, eventually I again hear in my head the numbers in pace with the steps. 

and I take pictures.

we have an old camp chair by the acequia, next to a large shady tree. yesterday morning I sat there for a little while reading a book, feeling the warm warm sunshine on my arms & face. when I looked up I saw a coyote coming through the overgrown brush along the water, he was heading my way. short, quick and with his nose down. he didn't see me until I moved suddenly, out of shock. then he ran the other way. oh why did I move at all, I could have watched him cross the water over to the pasture. his coat was red in the sunlight.

I stepped inside, waiting for him to come back. he didn't. he kept going the other way.

in most native american folklore, the coyote is known as a trickster. some believe the coyote is responsible for teaching the people how to hunt. many think that witches disguise themselves as coyotes as they travel the land. one pueblo legend credits the coyote with spilling the jar of stars which mother nature had been hoping to hang nicely in the sky, thus being responsible for their scattered twinkling.

a friend of ours who grew up here, he pronounces it like a taoseño. I try to let it roll of my tongue this way. coy-yo-té.

as fall arrives

as fall arrives, so do the colors change. I can see in the light, that it is losing the reflection of all the green, and gaining more yellow, orange & brown. the field outside our adobe, turning into a plain of rust, gold, lavender, bright red and sand. oxido, oro, morado y rojo. 

though am trying to stay thrifty, visited the farmer's market on saturday. didn't let myself buy a piece of lavender/sage art, and admired the brightly colored ristras now on everyone's stall. I bought butternut, zucchini, candy onions and garlic. and some little apples. manzanitas. 

an older farmer, with cowboy hat and a crisp, tucked-in western shirt, stopped me as I walked by his booth. he was excited for me to try some of his golden apples. with his heavy taoseño accent he insisted I try a piece. I couldn't say no. and he was right to press me, they are sweet & crisp and full of a green taste. I bought a pound for $2. knowing that later some of them would become chopped, covered in cinnamon & sugar, and folded into a buttery pastry. (the exuberance of which d loves these pastries, makes me almost addicted to making them for him.)

the night before we had our first hard freeze. and it did hit hard. everything that had been so full of life, now wilted and brown, closing down because of the cold air. this is summer into fall.

friends, music, trees & an oven

sometime in the late 1970s, when I was seven or eight, my dad took us to a bluegrass festival in southeast kansas. the festival was only as old as I was at the time. we've pretty much attended every year since. 

more than a music festival (though the bluegrass makes us all happy), it is a reunion for us. old friends and every so often, new children, travel from all over to meet again in kansas.  we camp, cook & eat together. we spend afternoons under our coveted canopy of shady walnut trees. (sunny kansas days can still get hot in september) and then on our evenings we sit by the fire sipping drinks (unless a big rain comes through). or we go for walks around the grounds, seeing music played or just run into other friends from other places. 

it was this annual reunion which d. and I would always see each other, and which on year we finally started flirting & he asked me out on our first date. 

this year we spent a week at camp. the early days being quiet, with only a few of us. we set up our tents, and a community kitchen. no electricity or running water, but we went ahead and built a brick oven so we could bake whatever we felt like (zwieback, cinnamon rolls, pizza -- helps to have bakers in the camp). and when the larger crowd (& all the kids) arrived, we had the camp ready for them. (and though we love seeing the whole group, the quiet early days are always missed.)

really it is just the being there that feels so needed, and it is hard to describe it to folks who have never been. but our pop-up community, this september gathering, and the quiet afternoons under the walnut trees seems a necessary chapter each year. 

with the freeze

last pick before the first freeze. (though this morning the freeze forecast seemed more dire than it is forecasted to be now)

regardless, the freeze season is here.

we also picked a large bowl of roma tomatoes, which means more sauce--I really have to learn to trust canning over freezing because our freezer is stuffed full.

it is too bad neither of us would eat green tomatoes, in any of the ways they are prepared. I thought this as I lamented how many tomatoes we left on the vine. 

I also picked all the blooming zinnias. all those bundles of red & orange just make me smile. 

we carried over loads of wood from the shed, filling up the wood box by the stove, and stacking some by the door. though i'm not sure we will need a fire tonight, and hopefully a sunny day tomorrow will warm up the house. there is something about the first time you turn on the furnace (or in this case, build the first fire). it is the official goodbye to summer. 

we wait to hear about the truck. I wait to hear about a temp job and the insurance I applied for. tomorrow I attend a meeting with my art-show organizers. and also browse the squash & apples at the farmer's market. and I wonder what our valley is going to look like when the day comes it is all covered in snow.

waiting for the nasturtiums to go to seed.

and these poppies too. I have a goal of not buying seeds for next year, using only seeds I've gathered & saved.

cutting herbs to dry. thinking about winter meals. 

finding sunny spots indoors for the plants which were so happy outdoors.

earlier today we took a short walk. the sunshine is so warm, and the high desert oddly green. one of the rainiest seasons ever recorded. the chamisa is about to turn its brightest golden yellow, and soon the aspens will too.

otherwise, i've had far too many phone calls already in figuring out the expense and lingo of getting insurance. our truck isn't working, and so we wait to find out what the issue is and the cost. realizing I worry too much about money to enjoy unemployment. we're anxious to go up the forest for more wood. we have five cucumbers waiting to be eaten, and about 16 pints of sauce in the freezer. and occasionally, when outside, we can smell green chiles being roasted somewhere in this little valley. 

fall means preparing for what's next. getting ready for the winter days when the air is frozen & everything gets a little more still. 

driving colors

pretty colors of early Fall in Kansas. (pictures from from the passenger seat, on our drive back to New Mexico)

during september

new mexico is known for its green chile. in our restaurants you are asked, for every dish, is that with red or green (chile)? this is the time of year when all the chiles are picked & roasted. the grocery stores sells them to you by the bushel, and offers free roasting on the sidewalk outside. (roasting involves dumping them into huge barrels which are then rotated over high-powered propane flames)

the roasting smell is a part of Taos, where ever you go. it reminds me of wheat-harvest time in Kansas, when the air is full of the smell of the fields & the dust of the wheat.

I haven't picked up on the green chile love yet. I still prefer the red. but we bought a bushel (how often does one get to buy a bushel of anything anymore?) and had them roasted. then at home, they filled up six one-gallon bags, and the chile is all headed for friends in Kansas. 

we had 12 straight hours of rain overnight. which is simply odd for taos county. 

as the third week of september nears, so does our annual reunion of friends at a campsite on the walnut river in kansas. ostensibly for a bluegrass festival, but truly for the days spent together in our own pop-up community. 

we knew each other before we started dating, because we both went to this reunion, and we share this group of friends. and it makes us both happy (and so lucky) that we share this history & enjoyment of the festival. 

the truck is packed, all we need to do is sleep, wake up before sunrise, make coffee, tell the cat to be good, and off eastward we go.

forest time

it was a warm afternoon, and we knew a rain was coming in, but we decided to load up the truck and see what firewood we could find in an hour or two.

this time we drove just north of us, to the forest, and after running into a few gates on dirt roads we eventually found ourselves a spot. the key is finding dead, downed trees that haven't yet rotted.

we gathered only a small load, before huge raindrops began to fall. but in the meantime, we smelled the deep pine, I marveled at finding desert cactus next to tall forest trees, d. cut, and I carried.

it always occurs to me that this would go faster if I too had a chainsaw. but to have a chainsaw is to be brave enough to use one. reminds me of a video I once watched, of women who live in Taos discussing what it means to be a woman here, and one of them commented that you'd better know how to use a chainsaw.

we don't know how much wood we'll need to heat the house. this is because we are new to this house, but also because we don't know how cold or long the winter will be. so the best we can do is prepare & plan & hope that we've made the right decisions. 

detoured

we took a walk this morning up our backyard mountains. on our usual route, we noticed bear shit on the path. seeming fresh, it changed my mind about taking that walk. (well, we aren't just going to follow the bear, are we? I think is what I said) so d. suggested we take a turn we had not taken before.

we headed up our detour, until we hit a high flat spot to rest. a perfect spot, really, for camping if you wanted a view of the valley. we could see our house and the garden. and per usual we looked for interesting rocks at our feet. and I picked up a fragment of an arrowhead. 

and then our walk ended and became a treasure hunt.

we also began to find pottery shards, a grinding stone, chiseled rocks, and other arrowhead material. and we realized, with the view and all, that once upon a time this was a great camping/overlook spot for people who needed a view of the valley. and that these were probably the same people who hundreds of years, maybe 1,000 years ago, drew the petroglyphs on nearby boulders. we'd been told these remnants were all over our valley, and now we know it is true. 

this is what the two of us call, a great morning walk. 

and yes, I brought a couple mementos home in my pockets. but most of the treasure we left up there where we found it. 

picking up pieces of things once made, held & broken by people who exist now only as spirits in the these mountains & this land, almost makes me feel closer to this land I touch each day. 

afternoon

it was a hammock kind of afternoon. hot in the sun, warm in the shade. breezes & the acequia rolling by. I managed to read one short story by mr. steinbeck, the chrysanthemums, before my eyes got too heavy. and then d joined me for awhile. (and hammocks are more fun when shared.)