Ghost Ranch, green chile stew and the lure of New Mexico
Two degrees below zero, I pushed the white Toyota across the mountain pass south of Chama. The moon had just set in the west and the sun was poised in the east, just below the horizon.
After seven days in the Land of Enchantment, reluctantly, my wife, Diane, and I rolled southeast to Texas. I'm a sixth-generation Texan. My ancestors floated across the Atlantic and landed in Galveston Bay before the Civil War.
But I'm ready to move on. Here's why.
Windswept red ochre mesas near Santa Rosa, topped with soft white frosting like a birthday cake. A truck stop in Clines Corners with a friendly waitress who kept the hot java coming.
Two days and nights walking downtown Santa Fe. The state capitol at ten p.m. - backlit by street lights reflecting off a blanket of snow. Blue Corn Café, with locally brewed beer and a bowl of green chile stew. Dashing into a street vendor's warm hut, rubbing hands together for warmth and coming out with a multi-colored knit hat. Georgia O'Keefe museum featuring her landscapes of Pedernal, a 7,500-foot prominent mountain top that has been trimmed flat by a divine hand.
Then north to Ghost Ranch, former home of Georgia O'Keefe. Hiking the trails up into the nearby foothills until the icy path forced us back. Then northbound on US 84 to Echo Ampitheater, a geological marvel with it's sheer sandstone cliff that has eroded into a semicircle. Shouting hello, waiting a second, then smiling as the word circles around and comes back again and again.
The Rio Grande gorge, a deep cut into the high plateau that stands testament to the power and beauty of water and time.
Further north to Chama. Fresh grilled trout at the High Country Inn. Crossing the Great Divide, trudging through calf-high snow, exploring a 50-acre tract with a small cabin for sale.
Instructing the real estate agent who is now a new friend to keep looking for us, because we will return.
So we drove 800 miles home to Cedar Park in one day. Now we wait for an opportunity to return, not just for a week, but for months at a time. To our mountain cabin we've yet to find or build.
New Mexico beckons.
Roll On.
