Starts

A happy day is made, when you begin the starts. 

spring visit

Some of our favorite Kansans came to visit us last week, nine of them in all. The visit meant two big dinners at our house (which was very fun), several walks around our valley, trips to favorite sites and even a birthday party for the now six-year old (a reason to bake a chocolate cake, and decorate it in sprinkles).

I still find it surreal, showing my people from "home" what is "home" now. It reminds me of just how much I don't live in Kansas anymore. But it also gives opportunity for me to visit new places, and re-visit favorites. I never tire of the silhouette of the San Francisco de Asis, or a walk through a museum or two...and this time I finally saw the Martinez Hacienda (a sort of living history museum) and we had a chance to walk the Little Arsenic trail at Wild Rivers (and we encountered a herd of llamas on the way down). 

We are back to our day-to-day. A search for a new truck and a new job. And this weekend, plans to plant some greens in the cold frame. And maybe a long walk in the Spring weather.

evening glows

Yesterday evening D. suggested we take a walk, and enjoy the daylight-savings-change evening light. It has been a season or two since we took an evening walk. We saw several neighbors also walking, so we weren't the only ones inspired by the warm air & this new light.

The acequia is running. Since the community doesn't officially "clean" the acequia until April, we don't really know why it is already running. We guess it is due to drought, and the need for everyone to water trees & pastures. (As the acequias are natural irrigation ditches, they have to be cleaned of winter debris each Spring, and everyone who has rights to the acequia must contribute to clean-up...it is a community project that predates the Spanish.)

see the tiny moon up high

As we stood underneath the sunset-lit canyon, D., smiled and asked me if he's ever told me how amazing our neighborhood is. He of course has. Our luck at living here is reminded to us on every walk. But standing there, with the light glowing on rocks above us, the sound of the river rushing by, we were both pretty caught up in the romance of this land.

A number one reason for so many who have moved here, the light. The light is glowing, amber, & soft. It makes the bare, white Aspens glow, and the Red Willow shine. It even turns the boulders gold.

We'll be doing more of these.

tree years

overlooking home

We took a walk today. Hace muy ventoso en nuestro paseo pero... well, we needed a walk. Though it was windy, and bit cold, we are almost always hot about halfway into this walk. We jumped off the trail and headed up over rocks and through craggy trees. As we walked the clouds were spitting out snow. Just little bits in little spurts. Everything melted instantly. 

Plains Prickly Pear

a peaceful looking burrow

We spend much of our time on these walks, looking at our feet. We find rocks that someone long ago was working into an arrowhead or cutting tool. So of course we are fascinated. Sometimes, as we walk along the rocky dirt, I get worried I'm just stepping on artifacts. Crunching them underfoot.

The Rocky Mountain Juniper tree, one type found up here, can live up to 2,000 years old. I have no idea yet how to tell one kind of juniper from another. But of course I wonder just how many of these scraggly trees have been watching over this valley for a millenia or two. 

The walk was good for us. The rest of the day has been making some bread, working on a cover letter, and investigating truck stuff. We got bad news on the truck. We basically will need to invest in a new one, or invest in the old one. D., the owner of the truck is taking it all quite well. 

large old bones

Today we returned with a large animal bone, a crazy looking cholla root-ball and a few more rocks. We nicely arrange everything on our front porch.

I'm fully into the find-a-job frustration. Am I doing enough, am I doing the right things, what do I do next, when will something come along, should I have turned down the part-time, temp job, why didn't I get a degree full of practical uses, like medical or accounting or something. These questions buzz around in my head. And then I take a deep breath. My hope and point in finding a new job was to work in town, meet people, be a part of something in the community. But I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that I'll need to re-focus soon, and find another stare-at-the-computer work-from-home job again. Oh well. I know there are many people out there in much more desperate need, so my complaints and frustrations can ring quite hollow. Fingers-crossed, deep breathing, it will happen.

And actually, right now with D. needing to borrow my car to get into town for work, it kinda works out well that I don't also need the car. There's me, finding the positive!

some rain and reading

We had two days of rain & snow and humidity. It was a wonderful thing. Mother Nature has calmed our dust storms and smoky air. A feeling of Spring is now in the air. Hopefully more rain is to come. 

Taos is a place full of diverse cultures & lifestyles. And it is a small town, which has not grown much. The population having expanded only a couple-thousand people in 100 years. It is a town that was once a Pueblo, then became Spanish conquered land, then grew into a community of Hispanic farmers & ranchers, and then the Anglos showed up. First the Anglo "artists" who discovered the light, and were intrigued by a place that seemed outside of conventional America. D.H. Lawrence wrote, "...it was New Mexico that liberated me from the present era of civilization, the great era of material and mechanical development." 

Following them were the Hippies, Outdoor-enthusiasts, Minimalists..., other people looking to escape conventional America, and found here that a person can still live mostly "off the land" and even "off the grid".

I haven't yet figured out how/where/who I am, here in New Mexico. And I'm the sort that needs to feel I know where I am.

"What is New Mexico then? How to sum it up? It is a vast, harsh, poverty-stricken, varied, and beautiful land, a breeder of artists and warriors...It is itself, an entity, at times infuriating, and at times, utterly delightful." --Writer, Oliver LaFarge

It is a challenging place, a place that feels not really on the map of the America I grew up in; it is a beautiful place, sometimes heartbreakingly so; a place with mountains that are ever-changing shapes and colors; it is full of diversity but lacks in community; it is a place that encourages creating art; it is a place where Anglos live, but will never truly be from; a place where speaking Spanish is normal, and English secondary; a place where everything comes with green chile sauce; a place full of space and yet full of walls; and it is a place that relies upon the land and people before relying upon technology or any government.

I started a project of reading what other people have said, written, believed about moving & living here. In a way to help me piece together my own understanding.

"It is the land that holds us here. It is the unrelenting land, this great, fierce, challenging, canyon-gutted, mesa-muscled land, which holds us & which gives us space enough to write a life on---and leaves it to us whether we have courage enough & faith to fill the page." --Writer & Professor, John DeWitt McKee

lluvia oraciones

We are at 50% of the moisture we normally experience this time of year, and it is visible. On my last walk, the dusty road rose up to meet me at every gust of wind. As an ominous sign, wild fires started yesterday down south. Then last night, we had a dust storm so big, it felt like a glimpse of what our grandparents experienced during the Dust Bowl.

Dust devils rose like small tornadoes over the mesa. Strong, gusty winds full of dirt, blowing & swirling. They blew into town so thickly it looked like fog over the street lights. This morning, the feel of dirt still in our mouths. Everyone here prays for rain. Here's hoping those prayers are heard soon.

I don't have a picture of the dust out there, so I'm posting a post-rainy day picture from last year, full of green & moisture & optimism. Last year we had enough rain to pull us down from D4 drought to D3, so I'm going to keep hoping for a nature miracle.

Outside the other day, I stood from our yard and watched a hawk fly over our end of the valley. He appeared to have a fun time, floating, lifting, swooping in the wind current. Occasionally crying out. The cry of the hawk is a lonely one, a screech that pierces the air, and echoes in the rocks. It is one of those sounds you hear in Westerns, in a scene of big land and possible danger. After the hawk dropped from the sky into a large cottonwood near the river, I ran to get the binoculars. I just wanted one sight of him and that magic ability to so effortlessly fly. But he was gone.

We took a trip to Santa Fe for our v-day. We visited several thrift stores and then had Indian food for lunch. There are many things you give up when living in a small, out-of-the-way place, and here one of those an Indian restaurant. So its a special occasion kind of thing. The day was D.'s idea, and a very good one at that.

In December when we had lots of snow, it gave us cautionary hope that the winter would prove to be a decent one and fight this drought. But it hasn't. Little snow. No rain. The air is dry, the ground comes up in waves of dust. The trees are dry. And now, too early, the Spring winds have begun. We can still only hope. Maybe a rainy or snowy March? Those who deny climate change are fools, fools who believe living in denial is easier than confronting the challenges ahead. This high desert has existed for eons, getting by on just enough rain & snow, not a lot, but just enough. And now centuries of growth is dying. 

Around here you see the occasional bumper sticker, or poster in the window, "El Agua es la Vida"... 

getting dressed by the fire

I grew up in houses that were cold in the winter, they were old, drafty houses and my parents were not interested in high heating bills. so it is lifestyle ingrained into me that in winter, I wear layers of warm wools, inside & outside. at mom's farm, we had a wood stove, which meant the living room was always cozy. and as kids, we quickly learned, that to avoid being naked & cold in our bedrooms, we just needed to take our clothes to the living room, & get dressed by the fire. 

lately, I've been getting dressed by the fire again. 

& I admit that I have my mornings when I wish/miss just hitting the thermostat, hearing comfort in the sound of a furnace kicking on. but most mornings, I find this is part of my winter cycle now. I wake, I start a fire, the room warms up, then I change out of pajamas. 

we took a walk today, bundled up against frosty winds. the snow fell on our faces as we walked. we don't have the snowfall, la nieva, here at the house that the mountains up top do. they, las nevadas, newly white, are shrouded from view in white clouds. 

we took a different path today, taking the opposite direction, and this time looking over our little valley to the north where we so often walk. we found a trail, old and not often used. at one point, on a plateau amidst the boulders, I got a feeling that bigger things were around us. frankly, I got a little spooked. I don't know if it was the softly howling frosty wind, the fact that d. said he smelled an animal...claiming it must be a sheep though my brain went right to "hungry bear"...or just some sense that we were being watched--by something in the trees, rocks, air, mountains. this is when we turned to head home. 

but, we'll try the walk again. it was fun to see that, right here, we still have new trails to take. 

cycles of life. sadly learning that an uncle has passed away, far up in mountains of Alaska to which my dad & his siblings all then flew to join together. and then attending here a happy celebration of a baby's first laugh (a Navajo/Dine tradition), in which the baby's family & community, also join together.

yesterday we took a long walk up our backyard, to the boulder outcropping that overhangs a canyon, and this time discovered another pottery shard. resting under a tree, sheltered by rocks, it was made, used & broken by a people we call ancient. we looked for the rest, and found none. 

sadness in passing, celebration in laughter, and all the while, time keeps passing. 

today the weather has turned, a cold wind and dark clouds. the hope is for snow, as these mountains & their forests are simply too dry. 

puesta del sol

Last evening I took the camera outside, just to capture the pink that was hitting the mountains to our East. Turning then to the the West, I could see that the pink was going to fill the sky in all the directions. So I just put up the camera and took pictures as the sky changed all around me. 

For just a few seconds, the colors were so bright, that it was like daylight outside, but in pink and orange. My heart raced a little, and I had to remind myself to take a deep breath. And I wanted everyone I knew to be there and be bathed in that that overwhelming pink/orange/purple sky light. Fortunately that's when d. returned from work, drove up the driveway, and didn't see me in the yard, as he couldn't keep his eyes off of the sky. So, not everyone I knew, but at least my loving partner was there. 

awareness of light

Light can be soft, harsh and full of neutral or contrasting tones. When you study light, it makes the world you see around you full of new shadows and patterns. Behind a viewfinder it means understanding what the light will do to your colors and details. This is how being a photographer can make you a painter too.

Week two of photography class was about lighting. At top is an attempt to capture "flare" and the others are my just-after-sunset photos. As I took these I was thinking about how I was taking pictures of what can't be seen more than what can be.