First there was the incredible afternoon in the rain at Taos Pueblo.
I could tell you what happened to me, but without the context, it would only sound ridiculous, and the context is considered sacred, so I can’t reveal it. But as far as San Geronimo day is concerned, you can say I was a participant, and typing this right now, I understand for the first time why the Pueblo elders tell everyone not to divulge the details of the sacred traditions.
Suffice it to say it was very important for me, and I didn’t want to do anything after that. Not drive back to town, not do work for clients, nothin’. That was Wednesday. Thursday I just felt depressed and empty: what was I living for, what did it all mean, etc. I usually get this way after leaving extraordinary circumstances for the mundane and the known. On road trips to Iowa, for example, I feel awful when we first come out of the eastern Colorado grasslands and encounter the Interstate again, and anytime I’m way up in the mountains, it feels like losing when I leave and come back down.
So today we had to get away. I didn’t even want to turn on my computer. I still don’t, even though I’m using it right now. But we did get away and had an exhilarating six-hour trip from Taos to Tres Piedras, over the mountains to Chama, over some more mountains to Antonito, Colorado, and then back home. We saw tarantulas, antelope, longhorns, hawks, and llamas. When we got back, the mountains were on fire. Never a dull moment around here.
On the long climb to Tres Piedras, there were numerous tarantulas crossing the highway. I managed to take a photo of one, but the video didn’t turn out. Chama was a trip, and we ate lunch in a nice little place that served the biggest sandwiches we’d ever seen. Across the street was a hissing, smoking steam locomotive. From there we drove all the way up to 10,230 feet above sea level on a road almost empty of traffic in blazing sunshine with nothing but unspoiled mountains and valleys all around. [You can get a taste by visiting FotoFeed now and all next week.]
This area is so different from what most Americans experience on a daily basis. Yet in the old days, say 100 years ago, you could live there in those mountains, walk or ride to a railway station at Cumbres Pass (10,022 ft.), and take a narrow-gauge steam railroad all the way to Denver! FROM ALL THE WAY UP THERE in a log cabin you built yourself to the big city and back on public transportation, folks. I find that staggering.
Things are different today, all right. Not necessarily better, just… different.
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