DIRT ROADS by Barbara Jean Ruther ... a poem for New Mexico

DIRT ROADS
by Barbara Jean Ruther

A relaxed mailbox out by the ditch
might have a name scrawled on it.
Otherwise, they say,
“Take the second dirt road past the arroyo.”
Weeds spill from clumps of dry soil,
tired fences of discarded vigas
are held together with reused barbed wire,
keeping the heifers at home.

Adobe haciendas grow from the earth
with modest windows, a little uneven
and screen doors that don’t quite close.
There’s a gathering of rusty garbage cans,
a couple peculiar dogs lying in the shade.
Monstrous and shaggy cottonwoods
decorated with clusters of stubborn hollyhocks,
no one thinks about watering.

Occasional pickup trucks stir the dust,
brown clouds glisten in the sun —
announce a visitor.
They come to spend evenings
on a rickety porch swing,
watch the sky change hues, drink iced tea.
There’s a peacefulness and calm
like the breathing of a sleeping baby.

Review - The Fat of the Land by R.Allen Chappell

The Fat of The Land by R. Allen Chappell
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A book of short stories ... I'm not able to finish it. Although some stories were interesting, there wasn't one compelling enough to make me want to more on to the next. Perhaps the timing is wrong to read this particular book so I'll put it down for now and pick it up again another time.

View all my reviews

Review: Bone Horses by Lesley Poling-Kempes

Bone Horses by Lesley Poling-Kempes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This was a fabulous story, close to my heart. Having lived in New Mexico going on near 24 years, I can attest to this author getting every sensation, every breath of hot desert air rising just right. Her sense of place is acute and her characters live and breath in the readers mind. I hope she will write a sequel. This will be a long time favorite for me.

View all my reviews

The stars must be aligned!

I looked for this post in my archives because something incredible happened tonight that is really a chance in a million.. I was looking at YouTube videos and I came across a video in which an old friend, who I met in Northern New Mexico many year ago, showed up. My friend who brought a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers from her garden for me to carry down the aisle. Amazing!! Just amazing that I could stumble upon a video in which I recognize an old friend. The stars must be aligned!

<<<<<<>>>>>>

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Bone China

I was married once, well twice actually but that’s beside the point.

On this occasion of marriage, I was in that place I know so well. Like a troupe of actors, we took our parts, unlike most parts played by the more traditional of folk. The priest was summoned to a forlorn church, old beyond time, unused except by the small group of people whose purpose was to insure the churches antiquity, a population of twenty or so all within a small village one road long and miles wide. All soon to be my relation. To write it sounds as if I lived in another time, another place and that would almost be true but for the fact that it was not long ago and it was in this reality.

It was an incredibly beautiful blue sky day punctuated by a cast of friendly characters some I continue to hold dear after all these years. Dressed in our country finest, we prepared for the festivities. The few in my cast of characters were wide eyed and questioning but accepting as they knew the oddities of the ways in this enchanted land.

       A handsome group,   they were ….

As we all prepared, there was one character for whom we waited, the bearer of the bouquet. My dear artist friend for whom all of life was captured on canvas. She would bring life to the brides bouquet from her garden and bring it along. As we were in this land of enchantment where time is suspended and does not follow any reality most know, being comfortable waiting is acceptable, well almost expected and allows for adventure in the waiting moments. Even though one may have a part to play in a days event, there are higher callings … callings so strong one can not reject them. It’s the call of the yard sale. Yes, the call of the yard sale. Unexpected, sure. Necessary, no. Like hearing the pied piper’s call, my bouquet bearer could not pass up the offering.

A set of bone china was shining in the bright high sun … calling from the yard sale. So our wait was not in vain, we were to learn of her adventure soon enough and revel in her prize. We would ooh and ahh as we inspected the bone china giving it the power it needed. We all knew in our hearts, the bone china would be the winner of the day but we didn’t speak about those things, all was already in motion. And the bone china became the best remembered guest of the day and it continues to grace the bouquet bearers shelf … it’s longevity a testament to choices.


Like a minstrel, the trickster laughed and the bride and groom are no more, and the wheel  of life continues to spin.

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In the dark

You have to get up early. 

When the sky is still dark.

Let the world unfold before your eyes, 

watch the break of day come over the mountain, 

follow the rays of sunshine that spray over the foothills. 

Listen to the wind, to the sounds of the day ahead. 

You have to get up early. 

  © Maria Norcia Santillanes 

ngm.nationalgeographic.com

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It's a fiasco ...

Well, it's the 23rd and still the moving truck has not arrived. It's a fiasco and I'm getting a bit perturbed.

Sorry for being away so long but it's pretty difficult being without your stuff ...

What would you do if it happened to you?

~M

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Oh Boy!!!

Well, I am in New Mexico ... I'm not quite settled yet ... because ........

I . am . still . waiting . for . the . moving . truck . to . arrive!!!!!!!!!!

Which is making it hard to get anything done. I may not be posting often during this transition but I will return once all is running smoothly.


~Maria 

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Unfinished stories

She woke to the sound of a harsh wind through the cottonwoods. Grayness enveloped her and a tingle of ice crept up her spine. The dream, still present in her minds eye, punching her in her gut. The scream, the deafening sound of hooves beating against dirt, the acrid smell of smoke and the lingering taste of ashes caught in her throat. The familiar name formed on her lips, "Cole." It was always that way. The dreams were always there, time after time since she was small girl. She'd never told anyone about them. As much as the dreams made her weep, they were hers and hers alone. 

Georgia O’Keeffe Cottonwood III (1944) Oil on canvas (49.53 x 74.30 cm.)
Unsigned, The Butler Institute of American Art. 

As she lay in bed, somewhere in that nether region that is dreaming and being awake, her lips formed the name again, "Cole," this time a warmth rose in her stomach and she closed her eyes again to bring the dream back.
...
...

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Coyote songs in my head

As I get ready to return to my soul's home, I'm remembering some of the things that gave me great satisfaction living there. So many memories, so many life lessons.
Today, I'd just wanted to share a post I wrote in 2010 about living on the ranch. You can find the original and other stories about New Mexico under the tags Short Story and New Mexico. I hope you enjoy!
The coyotes song ... In the shadow of a mountain, I learned to respect what is plain to this world, the land, the weather and the wildlife. It’s hard to even believe as I sit here just 23 miles north of New York City that I was ever dug down in the canyon, work clothes and boots under the high sun. What I remember most vividly is the cattle coming down the road pretty fast and O flying across the pasture on his bay. My heart beat faster than I knew it could. It was the first time I had seen such a sight being just a transplanted city gal. I ran as fast as I could to get back to the house, over the fence without a care for my being, just wanting to get out of the way.

When I first went to that place, I didn’t really know what to expect. I didn’t know that I would have so much learning to do, about life, about myself. I thought I knew it all, after all I had been around the block a few times and finding myself in the high country of New Mexico was a choice. But learn I did and now I hold those lessons dear as I look back and wait for the moment when I can return.

I learned to wave at every truck that came down the road ‘cause that’s what you did and ‘cause your neighbors were important people. I learned it was too far to town to forget something at the market. I learned which wild weeds and herbs were valuable, what could be used in teas and cooking. Incredibly, I learned how to pull sap from a pinon tree. I learned it was called tremintina and that it had more uses than you could imagine. I learned how hard it could be to keep up with a quarter acre garden. Just wasn’t as easy or as pretty as Martha Stewart said it would be. But food grew and I learned how to put up for the winter and share with the ranch ladies nearby.

In giving, I did some receiving. I was taught how to make fresh tortillas from scratch and how to cook a pot of beans to perfection. I learned how to roast chili and preserve it till the next harvest.

I learned that you don’t mess around when the sky looks fierce, better to head on in or run the risk of being stuck in mud. I learned that chopping wood is back breaking work but worth it to heat your home. The warmth that a wood stove gives is like being wrapped in a security blanket.

I learned that some things in life are free, like the Christmas tree you cut from your property or the snack you have right from the apple tree down the road. The best thing that was free was the view, the beautiful mountains, the horses running in the pasture, the sunsets over the mountain, the way the dark just slipped down the canyon, the stars in a completely black sky and the song of the coyotes at night.

Being in that place was purposeful and even though I sometimes felt isolated and often longed for the lights and the doings in the city, it was good for me. I remember that place fondly and on most nights if I listen hard enough, I can hear the coyotes sing.

~Maria

Buggin' out

Photo: Unknown Source

Skeeter season is coming ... I was just reading an article about those nasty little mosquitoes.

I. am. sure. God had a reason for them. I just don't know it. 

But it started me to thinking about a time when I was living at the ranch and my ex was with his cousin stacking hay in the old barn down in the field. Well, they must have been down there almost all the day and at a certain time of year there are plenty skeeters. I had practically forgotten about them as I sat in my favorite surveying position on the front porch. (My surveying position was pretty sweet, could see most all the valley). Around sundown, they pulled up in the truck and got down to start into the house.

It was a sight I will never forget. 

Both my ex and his cousin were covered with skeeter bites. Big ones, puffy and red ones. They looked like ompalompa's from a distance and 'creatures' close up. It was hard not to stare. 

My ex had bites on his scalp, his legs, his ears. Somehow the buggers got up their pant legs and into the nether regions or they somehow went straight through their denim. His arms were covered and his face ... jeez, I'd never seen anything like it. I'm sure they ate their share too. 

...but the hay got stacked and the work was done. Now when I think back, it gives me a good chuckle and I wish I had taken a picture of my ex ... ... ... hmmm ... well, maybe not.

What’s that out by the pool?

I just read a story in the Albuquerque Journal about cattle wandering around Rio Rancho. Well, knowing Rio Rancho, ‘The City of Vision’ that dates way back to the roaring 1970’s when Amrep reigned supreme, I find this to be pretty funny since Rio Rancho is a mecca for city folk from other bigger cities, namely New York. It’s no longer the arid mesa land that crooked Amrep Reps sold to unsuspecting New Yorkers in the 1970’s but a qualified city boasting the “fastest growing community in New Mexico”
Perhaps some of the Cowboys and Cowgirls from Corrales, Los Lunas and surrounding areas will find some extra work, or a bit of practice for their next event, roping and returning the cattle to their rightful owners. 
I wish they would have posted a picture …

Wandering Cattle Trouble For Rio Rancho Homeowners
By Associated Press on Fri, Apr 13, 2012
POSTED AT: 8:40 am
Cattle wandering off the open range are creating problems for residents of some Rio Rancho neighborhoods.
They’re complaining that herds of a dozen or more cows are tearing up their properties.
The suburb just north of Albuquerque is the fastest-growing city in New Mexico.
The cattle come in search of grass and water, and if the properties aren’t fenced, state law says there’s nothing homeowners can do to recover their damages.
KVOA-TV in Albuquerque reports that Rio Rancho Police Sgt. Nicholas Onken keeps a rope in his squad car because police are called to move cows off roadways about twice a week.
The only thing the homeowners can do is fence off their properties. Then they can bill the livestock’s owner for any damages.

To drive or not to drive … that is the question!

So that is my question of the day … drive or not drive. Although I have driven across country several times, up and down and all around, I am seriously considering letting the moving company take my vehicle and my boy and I can fly out to New Mexico. I just talked to Miss M who works for the moving company, conveniently owned by my childhood friend and who has moved me several times in the past and has always done an excellent job. I also like that I get a bit of special treatment. Miss M is my friends daughter and such a sweetie. She got the scoop from her father so she knows all about me which makes me feel very comfortable.
It’s not such an easy decision. With the cost of gas, hotels and food, it might be about the same cost as moving the vehicle. Driving would include a stop in Mount Pleasant, SC, then Mandeville LA, on to Breaux Bridge LA, Dallas TX,  Keller TX, a possible stop in Amarillo TX and finally Albuquerque, NM. 
… but it’s not about cost … it’s about the drive and the long days of being on the road. I guess I am getting old, so is my vehicle.

How nice is this??

So, I'm thinking I have a lot of changes to make as I plan my return to my soul's home in July. I don't really want to take furniture that I have fallen out of love with and plan to sell or donate several things. The first will be my kitchen set and I am drooling to replace it with this luscious set, particularly those wonderful chairs … stylized after mid-20^th century varnished steel chairs. So fresh and clean!! They can be found at Sundance so you know they are much more than I would chose to afford ... but boy they sure are nice. I’m hoping I might be able to find something similar that is less expensive.

I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a good many of my plans for my move here and plenty of pictures of my fancies. Wish me luck that all works out well. 

Los Greigos

Count down

Day 221  ...

Count down to freedom!

Freedom from crowded streets

Freedom from bright lights

Freedom from unatural living

Goin' for wood

Image by GodsMoon via Flickr

I love autumn. It’s a time of getting ready for a much quieter season. In that place that I lived it was a time to ‘Go for wood’. Without the wood there would be no way to warm your home come winter. So, this was an event, a coming together of family for one purpose; to make sure everyone had enough wood for the winter and then some. Along with all the other chores of this season, the harvesting, the putting up of canned goods, the brandings and filling the barns with usable hay, going for wood stood out in my mind because it was one of the more physically demanding chores that I participated in.

On the appointed day, coolers were filled with canned lunch foods, jerky and plenty of water. Pickup trucks were readied; chain saws were loaded along with sharpened axes. The ride up the mountain along roads that weren’t really roads was always a treacherous and challenging time but when you reached the top you were rewarded with a sight to behold. A view of the land for miles and miles, with crisp, clean cool air that invigorated you and made you bless the day.

The work begins and the sound of the chain saw echoes through the trees and the only sense of any other person is the sound of the same far off in the distance. As the sun finds its place high in the sky, jackets and shirts come off as sweat drips and dirty hands grab rags to wipe brows. Someone saws the trees, someone splits the wood, and someone picks up the kindling. The city girl in me had to be taught what real kindling was and how much was needed. That same girl had to learn how to split the wood so it would stack in the pickup and eventually fit into the wood stove.

Once the truck was full, it was time to eat and rest before the trek down the mountain began. Sometimes, after some rest, we’d look for pinon nuts that could be harvested. It was on once such trip that I learned how to harvest tremintina sap which could be used for everything from simple glue to a temporary wound covering. Not a bad thing to know about.

With the truck heavy now, it would be slow going on the roads that weren’t really roads. Mostly they were shale, rock, and some dirt that stretched around drops and holes and crags and ridges where shifting sand changes the terrain with each travel through. The work is not done when the truck pulls round the back of the home to where a wood shed sits far enough to keep animals who like to hang around wood piles away from the home but close enough to get wood to bring in when the air bites with cold and snow. It’s just as much work to empty the truck with one person climbing up and throwing the wood down and just as much picking it up to stack the pieces by size inside the covering. The worth of all this effort is in the cozy comfort of a pinon wood warmed home where a sense of security fights off the blistering cold just beyond the walls.

A different way of things ...

Image by The Library of Congress via Flickr

The sadness had mostly passed. The people in the line had paid their respects in the days and nights before. The men had gathered and held vigil with the box all night long praying long prayers and taking turns napping at the back of the little church. All that was left was for the box to be put low. So on that sun bright and cloudless morning a line of trucks proceeded out to the family cemetery.

The box didn’t have the honor of a fancy car to keep it secure or lend an air of dignity; it only had the bed of a family member’s truck to rest on. A bed too short for the pine to settle comfortably so it shouldn’t have been a shock when the box slid back on that last bump causing the line to stop short and the people following to gasp and grab their mouths. As if it were an everyday occurrence, the boys got down from the truck and lifted the box back into place. It was a different way of things.

The box arrived at the place where it would finally rest. The trucks from the line flooded the small dirt road, causing dust to rise. The men got down from their high seated trucks and crowded a small area where they began the task of digging in the dirt. Under the high sun, their shirts got stained with dust and sweat. Some cussed under their breath. When they had dug enough it was the son that jumped down into the depth of its six feet or so. Perhaps it was to check it was dug right or maybe, he just wanted to see how it felt. The wind picked up just then and the trees rustled their leaves. As the son climbed out and dusted his hands and pants, he motioned to the men it was time. With ropes wrapped around, they surrounded the box, lifted and lowered it down, then pulled hard to bring their ropes back up. Those were ropes needed for all manner of things life brings and couldn’t be wasted.

The woman stood around noticing the other woman, noticing the first wife, the other children. Except for the very old vieja who just leaned against the fence and prayed, there was nothing somber about this event. The men still sweating returned the dirt from where it came, taking turns as the day was getting hotter.

There was nothing more, it was over. Just a wooden box and a hand dug grave.

One by one, they all found their way to a small barn nearby where some woman had set up pots of beans and tortillas, shredded pork, trays of pineapple cake and brownies, Kool-Aid, coffee and beer, lots and lots of beer. Then as if day turned into night, then day again, all was new and what had been was faded into memory.

The coyotes song ...

Image by jimmywayne via Flickr

In the shadow of a mountain, I learned to respect what is plain to this world, the land, the weather and the wildlife. It’s hard to even believe as I sit here just 23 miles north of New York City that I was ever dug down in the canyon, work clothes and boots under the high sun. What I remember most vividly is the cattle coming down the road pretty fast and O flying across the pasture on his bay. My heart beat faster than I knew it could. It was the first time I had seen such a sight being just a transplanted city gal. I ran as fast as I could to get back to the house, over the fence without a care for my being, just wanting to get out of the way.

When I first went to that place, I didn’t really know what to expect. I didn’t know that I would have so much learning to do, about life, about myself. I thought I knew it all, after all I had been around the block a few times and finding myself in the high country of New Mexico was a choice. But learn I did and now I hold those lessons dear as I look back and wait for the moment when I can return.

I learned to wave at every truck that came down the road ‘cause that’s what you did and ‘cause your neighbors were important people. I learned it was too far to town to forget something at the market. I learned which wild weeds and herbs were valuable, what could be used in teas and cooking. Incredibly, I learned how to pull sap from a pinon tree. I learned it was called tremintina and that it had more uses than you could imagine. I learned how hard it could be to keep up with a quarter acre garden. Just wasn’t as easy or as pretty as Martha Stewart said it would be. But food grew and I learned how to put up for the winter and share with the ranch ladies nearby.

In giving, I did some receiving. I was taught how to make fresh tortillas from scratch and how to cook a pot of beans to perfection. I learned how to roast chili and preserve it till the next harvest.

I learned that you don’t mess around when the sky looks fierce, better to head on in or run the risk of being stuck in mud. I learned that chopping wood is back breaking work but worth it to heat your home. The warmth that a wood stove gives is like being wrapped in a security blanket.

I learned that some things in life are free, like the Christmas tree you cut from your property or the snack you have right from the apple tree down the road. The best thing that was free was the view, the beautiful mountains, the horses running in the pasture, the sunsets over the mountain, the way the dark just slipped down the canyon, the stars in a completely black sky and the song of the coyotes at night.

Being in that place was purposeful and even though I sometimes felt isolated and often longed for the lights and the doings in the city, it was good for me. I remember that place fondly and on most nights if I listen hard enough, I can hear the coyotes sing.

Dear Diary

I went for a long walk this morning and remembered the journey is always different on a paved road than on a dirt road.

Theres's no road in between!

Scoot 66 photo

Hearts Home

Image by srharris via Flickr

It was just a decree and a gavel, the possibilities endless, and the open road in front of me. No plan, just the butterflies in my stomach. Coming down nine mile hill, the lights of the city shown bright and I felt the promise that it was my life, part two. I had left the east, the place of my youth with all its pomp and tradition, my white house and my cats, morning coffee on the beach and the man of my youth.

Found myself riding into that beautifully enchanted place. So easy it was, to fall in love with the land, the people, the wide open space and the freedom to create with abandon. Slowly, my world happened, and each night I stared up at the mountain glowing pink with a wish for all that was good. It brought me good friends who are forever, new love that couldn’t stay and a child who will always be my true life inspiration.

But once again, on the wrong side of the country, with all its pomp and tradition, no white house or cats, no mornings on the beach and no man to fill my time. Where my heart calls out, it’s time to go home … to that spirited place, where the people hold rein on my heart, to the wide open land, where the freedom to create with abandon lives and start my life, part three.