Uncategorized

Hello, New Mexico

As I drove south on I-25, the Great Plains to my left and then a succession of mountainsthe Rampart Range, the Wet Mountains, and the Sangre de Cristo Mountainsto my right, the exits to places with obviously Spanish names multiplied: Aguilar, Trinidad, Alamosa, and La Junta in Colorado; Raton, Cimarron, and Las Vegas in New Mexico.  Beyond Las Vegas, I began wending west.  For miles, the southern edge of the Sangres rose to my right and an array of mesas, dark green with piñon and juniper, towered to my left.  After I drove over Glorieta Pass, tame by Colorado standards, and a through place called Apache Canyon, there exploded before me a land of tawny plains and scattered mountains, what geographers call America’s Basin and Range Province.  Prospect and refuge: my new home.

I skirted the southern end of Santa Fe, plummeted down the side of a huge plateau, La Bajada Hill, and negotiated a bridge that crossed a broad, meandering bed of dry sand, identified by a highway sign as Rio Galisteo.  I crossed more dry watercourses, passed more exits to mystical-sounding places: Cochiti, Santo Domingo, San Felipe, Algodones, Placitas.  

I approached Albuquerque’s city limit in a lavender dusk.  My window rolled down for the first time since Denver, the cool, soft, spring-like air surprised me.  Driving south toward the city’s center on a broad, gently-sloping plateau that climbs east to the Sandia Mountains and descends west to the Rio Grande, I became aware of the huge, dun-colored, and seemingly uninhabited upland that borders the western edge of the city.  Not long after my arrival, Linda revealed to me that she feared I would find Albuquerque’s surroundings too barren to ever call home, with her fear particularly rooted in that stark upland visible throughout much of the city.  On the contrary, I was thrilled by that yawning landscape to the west, resembling as it does a cosmic stage just waiting for the sky above it to enact its dramas, and waiting for me to explore it. When I emerged from my parked car on Madeira Drive, my Valentine waved to me from her 3rd-floor balcony.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s