What the hell is this? Where are the people? What are all those funny colors? What’s that long thing in the middle? What happened to the grass? What’s that pointy thing in the background? How deep is that hole? Are there rattlesnakes? Does anybody live out there? Who does this belong to? Where do you buy groceries? Is this even in America?
Looking west from Taos Valley Overlook, gorge just beyond the shadow
There was a time once when I declared this wasn’t a photo-blog. I wonder why I bother. The main thing is, I’m sharing something. The view above lifted my spirits in a most delightful way when I first encountered it. The air was bitterly cold, but just the sight of all that sunshine on the glowing frozen dirt made life worth living. This is what we call the essence of el Norte.* A wise friend once said, “You can’t live on scenery.” She was right, but that’s not quite the way it is. Here it’s more like the ol’ ranch gate clangs shut and JUST SHUT UP, THE NINETY-MILE VIEWS ARE ALL YOU GET, you stupid commie Nature freak.
* Sometimes referred to as the “Stockholm syndrome.”
Taos Mountain’s in there somewhere but I love the clouds
That was the temperature when I took off yesterday to walk. It was just a little past ten o’clock. The trail at Taos Valley Overlook was suck-your-boots-off muddy just before it snowed the day before, but I hoped the mud would be frozen hard that early and it was. No one else was hiking.
There was a stiff breeze, too. I wore good boots, cargo pants from Walmart, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a zip-up sweatshirt, a big wool cowboy hat, and cheapo motorcycle gloves. Everything was black. At first my ears were cold, but then my blood ran faster and they didn’t hurt so much. When the sun came out, the hat absorbed enough solar energy to warm my head some more, and I was fine.
My heart was heavy when I started out, but I blamed no one and soon that went away. Who doesn’t love to be the first to walk a trail right after a snow? An inch of fresh powder meant that animal tracks stood out quite well. Footing was slippery in spots, but it was beautiful, by God, and I marched all the way to my two-mile cairn before I turned around.
Several times along the way, a raven came close by, suspended in the wind. I always heard it first. The pattern was that it would circle once or twice as it slid past, sunlight glinting off its glossy wings, then rise to catch another gust before it disappeared. Must be some hot blood inside that bird, I thought—inside me, too, I guess. The sight of it against the clean blue sky, gliding out above the gorge in total solitude, was absolutely grand.
I stood in awe and didn’t try to pull my camera out. No time for monkey business, anyway. Let the moment have my brain, that’s exactly what I need.
Near Picuris Peak south of Taos
Oh, never mind. Was doing more editing, got off the track, and decided to go with just the photo for a while. Oh sure. I took this one with a telephoto lens from the mesa at Taos Valley Overlook, looking back toward the mountains that run along the highway from Picuris Peak. Yee-haw daddy-o.
Meanwhile, we haven’t gotten a newspaper since Tuesday. And before that, nothing on Sunday or Monday. I know it snowed, but hey. This would be the Santa Fe New Mexican, except it’s been so long since I saw one, they might have changed the name. I’m not so bad with this because I’m Johnny Digital. My wife, on the other hand, views non-delivery of her morning paper as the moral equivalent of intentionally running over a kitten. So she’s pissed.
Now the headline makes no sense. Well, I tried.
Wiping condensation off the single-pane window
A part of me likes this. After all, if it’s cold as hell outside and snowing besides, everyone’s excused. Down to zero tonight or close to it, real numbers-don’t-matter-we’re-all-frozen-dead territory. Vehicles, house, your own damn self: if something’s not fixed right, tomorrow it’s broke.
The cat’s going crazy from being inside. Sniffs at the threshhold and turns right around. Snow and a fox, you know. Had to stop feeding the birds because the fox laps up birdseed—who knew?—but as you can see, I’ve cheated. Saw a couple of juncos looking so sad and just had to. It snowed enough all day to leave a fresh blanket of white. If the fox is still in the neighborhood and comes looking, I’ll find tracks in the snow. Then what?
Old friends from Maryland are flying into El Paso this weekend to visit their son in Truth or Consequences. We’ve been through there. Once I even pulled off and bought gas. Makes you wonder, all right, but then look where I am. Anyway, they thought we could drive down to meet up. I’m not saying we won’t, but New Mexico is huge. That’s almost 300 miles, and today we’d have run into a blizzard. As another friend told me a long time ago, you have to “pay attention” in the West. If the ice doesn’t get you, the rock slides will. When the sun comes out and thaws the cliffs in the canyon, boulders come loose and roll onto the road. Skid on a curve, land in the river, get your own cross—wait, I’m getting into this!
We don’t mess around here in the Land of Enchantment. The sun goes down so fast this time of year, from day to day it’s like it’s racing with itself—by the time I wake up and get dressed, it’s almost time to go to bed. A little like being sick or held for ransom or aliens are out to kill the world by dialing back the sun. That’s why I’m aiming for the solstice. After that, a man can dream a little as the daylight lingers on the frozen mud.
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