I’m in love with this new piece of ground I will call home for the next year. I’m procrastinating and putting off all of the things that need to be done because I am caught up in childlike wonder at the beauty I have been blessed with. Staring out the window, watching maple leaves dance in the gentle breeze, I notice there are crimson flowers high in the trees. The trumpet vines have climbed to the top. The hummingbirds do not lack. Dragonflies of every color zip across the property, swarming especially when a storm is coming. There is a gate that opens deeper into the woods and an old well. There is a stone picnic table and a deer statue. It reminds me of a scene out of one of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia books… A rock path leads around the house and in the thick of it there is an abundance of wild herbs. To the northwest of the property, there is a meadow where deer and horses graze. It’s peaceful here. So peaceful it almost makes me cry. In the background, Ludovico Einaudi softly plays, and I know I’m home, for now.
Tag Archives: Wandering
Shifting Winds
I don’t know who keeps hitting the fast forward button, but they need to stop… It was Summer just weeks ago. I vaguely remember Winter and now it’s Spring again. The wintered over onions are pushing bright green shoots out of their dry paper skins.
I’m not really feeling it this year and I’m not sure why. Of all the years to plant a garden, this would be the year. There’s a heaviness in the air. An uncertainty about what the future holds.
The garden is my happy place, or at least it used to be… I planted some seeds, more out of duty than passion. Spinach, beets, radishes, lettuce, arugula, kale. They’re coming up nicely but I’m still not feeling it. I barely looked at my seed catalog. I feel like I’m just going through the motions, but my heart isn’t in it. My head’s not right…. I don’t really want to be here anymore.
The winds have shifted. I think it’s time to go somewhere new. Start something new. Endless wandering in the desert isn’t taking the edge off lately. Feeling anxious, rough and lost. It might be time to hit the road.
I’ve acquired too much stuff. Why do I have this much stuff?! It’s a rhetorical question… I have been lingering and stagnate too long. Do I sell all my crap to other packrats or just leave it behind? Do I care either way? Not really. The wind is picking up now. Stirring my soul to take flight and land wherever. Have to wait until the kids’ braces are off. Then we’re gone….
The Desert Southwest: Chaco Canyon

The desert has always spoken to me, even though I was born and raised in the mountains. I’m an ectotherm and can relate to the lizards sunning themselves on the hot sandstone. I like being warm. An excerpt from Edward Abbey’s book Desert Solitaire explains my passion for the desert best.
“The wind will not stop. Gusts of sand swirl before me, stinging my face. But there is still too much to see and marvel at, the world very much alive in the bright light and wind, exultant with the fever of spring, the delight of morning. Strolling on, it seems to me that the strangeness and wonder of existence are emphasized here, in the desert, by the comparative sparsity of the flora and fauna: life not crowded upon life as in other places but scattered abroad in sparseness and simplicity, with a generous gift of space for each herb and bush and tree, each stem of grass, so that t he living organism stands out bold and brave and vivid against the lifeless sand and barren rock. The extreme clarity of the desert light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life forms. Love flowers best in openness and freedom.”
Sometime between AD 850 and 1250, Chaco Canyon, in New Mexico, was a major center of culture for the ancestral Puebloans. The people of Chaco canyon quarried sandstone blocks and hauled timber from great distances, assembling fifteen major complexes that remained the largest buildings ever built in North America until the 19th century. These people built an empire in the middle of nowhere, out of nothing!

It’s one of the greatest mysteries in North America. Supposedly a whole civilization decided one day to leave everything behind and wander deeper into the desert without anything but the clothes on their back. The theory is that there was no more water, so they left…. The conspiracy theorist in me says something else happened.
I needed to see it for myself, so I packed the truck and headed south to New Mexico. My son and I stopped in Santa Fe first to check out the art and music scene. I bought some beautiful earrings from a Navajo woman peddling her wares in the hotel parking lot and the next morning we went to Los Alamos for a dose of history. We explored the Science museum and learned about the destructive nature of mankind. From there we explored the Bandelier National Monument and Chaco Canyon. We roamed the rugged and beautiful canyons and mesas and got a feel for how people lived in this unrelenting wilderness 11,000 years ago.
After getting gas and checking our supplies, we drove a good distance from civilization. We turned left down a dirt road and onto the Navajo reservation and followed a rough dirt road for about twenty miles into the canyon.


Camp was set up by dusk, and we had supper by the fire. As the sky grew darker, the stars got brighter. We let the fire burn out before crawling into our tent. As I drifted to sleep, I heard the hoot owl call out and coyotes yipping in the distance. Voices of the ancients rang out in my dreams. The sounds of drums and singing and children playing while women talked as they weaved baskets and ground corn.
That first sunrise, we arose to a cool morning and a hot pink sky. Fajada Butte in the background drawing our attention. Breakfast consisted of pancakes and coffee over an open fire. We loaded our packs and started walking. The ruins were massive! They were intricate and expansive. I have been a ruin hunter for a long time and I had never experienced anything like that of Chaco canyon. This lent even more credence to my suspicions about what happened there. We couldn’t even cover all the territory that encompassed the entire complex in the three days we were there, as most of the area is off-limits to motorized vehicles. Next time, I will bring the mountain bikes!
Rough Country

Cumulus clouds wander across the sky, offering the hope of rain but never making good on their promise. It never rains here anymore… I turn off of the pavement and onto the dirt road towards the Bookcliffs. Past the dunes and the dry watering hole. I go as far into the canyon as the truck will take me. Sandstone walls tower high above. The terrain gets rough and the road narrows. Thankful for four-wheel drive but not willing to get stuck, I decide to start hiking.
My dog is ready to get out of the truck. He knows there are rabbits and lizards out there. He’s ready to run. The cactus is in full bloom. Spatters of hot pink and yellow crisscross the desert landscape. The Yucca is almost in full bloom as well. The beauty of this desolate land never ceases to amaze me…




Scavengers circle above and birds of prey scream through the sky. They watch us from high perches with keen eyes. Perhaps they are wondering if we will make it back to the truck. It’s hot today. Abnormally hot for May. The cows have been taken to the high country. No signs of the antelope anywhere. No signs of any four legged creatures. Not even a coyote… The river is not rising this year. Not enough snowmelt. We are in an exceptional drought and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon.
We duck into an alcove to get some shade and some water. My dog smiles at me. He’s happy to be on an adventure. The smells of hot sandstone and sagebrush and juniper delight my senses. I could stay here forever and the vultures are hoping I do. There is a wash down below. Water lines tell the stories of runoff and flash floods from days gone by.
Up above us, an abandoned coal mine. The hill is littered with old steel and sun-rotted timbers. Above the mine, high on the ridge, there are signs of wildfire sparked by lightning. Burned out skeletons of junipers and pinyon pine.
This has always been rough country. Only the strong survive here. It’s time to head back and get some lunch. We’ve been out here since sunrise and my stomach is telling me I’m hungry…

























