After spending week 1 in Santa Fe, we were headed to Taos for week 2, house 2. We were all excited to move to a new home and see new sights, and it was especially exciting that we were taking the scenic route, called the High Road to Taos, a journey that exposed us to so much more culture and environment than the interstate. The first stop was the Santuario de Chimayo, an old, sacred church in the mountains. The catholic church was built in 1816 in the small village of Chimayo, and is known widely as a pilgrimage destination. A dirt path led us past an old horse, whose fence was filled with crosses made of various materials, then up to a courtyard. The adobe and wooden church, with its mountain backdrop, was beautiful. The village and the church itself had such a distinct feel; this is how I described it at the time, and I'm still not sure that I can pinpoint what that feeling was. It was peaceful, but really it just felt so spiritual, sacred, and full of history. Quietly sitting in the church, I sort of understood the claims of its power. We each gathered a small bit of sacred dirt from the crucifix hole, which is said to be miraculous. After a delicious lunch of green chile tamales at Leonita's de Chimayo, we got back on the road.
Next stop was Truchas. Truchas is a small town with a spectacular view of the mountains, and is a point of focus in the novel Understories, by Jake Kosek (which I recommend). The town was just how I pictured it while reading the book: huge piles of chopped wood sat outside humble houses, all overlooking the National Forest. Being Monday, there were few people around, but some roadside workers looked up to watch as we passed. A small weaving studio displayed incredible blankets, and there were a couple other small artist studios, but other than that there was a single bar next to an old general store. Truchas is also the setting of the film "The Milagro Beanfield War". I found the town intriguing, perhaps because it showed a somewhat different aspect of northern New Mexican culture than we'd previously seen.
A few miles down the road, we stopped in Las Trampas, another little town with an old church at the center. Here we walked down the road to see the last wooden canoa, the part of an acequia that carries the water across a ravine. It's sad to think of plastic piping replacing this traditional structure, which looked so natural and right in the landscape. Anyways, the rest of the High Road was a windy road through the forest, which eventually opened up to Taos, a sunny town completely surrounded by mountains, in which we'd spend the following seven days.
-Emily Deitchler
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Hero of "Santa Fe" Style
David Rasch
I see you, mister,
Patrolling through Santa Fe,
Style as your law.
Santa Fe is undoubtedly a unique city, especially for someone accustomed to the plantations and swamps of the Antebellum-styled South. Adobe homes appear to erode into the desert landscape; even Taco Bell and Burger King seem to "blend" into the mountainous region. But the fascination with the upkeep of this seemingly traditional architecture quickly faded as my peers and I met with David Rasch (the subject of my opening haiku), a passionate member of the Santa Fe Historic Design Review Board. The Review Board, as we learned, is responsible for maintaining the aesthetic of historic areas of the city. Basically, David and his team make sure that Santa Fe maintains its "unique" exterior that outsiders find so appealing and reminiscent of a romantic past. David had prepared a presentation that touched on the history and evolution of what was previously Pueblo and Spanish Colonial architecture, and what eventually was fused and transformed into the widely appreciated "Santa Fe Style." The long and low adobe structures with recessed porches (now fancily known as portals, pronounced portaaaaahl), and wooden vigas were adopted from traditional Native American cultures and are now perceived as the most characteristically "Santa Fe" structures. Spanish Colonial style, including use of stone, large domes, and intricate woodwork, have also become a heavy influence on what David called "Territorial Revival Style." To preserve the "historic integrity" of Santa Fe, David's Board polices the historic district making sure that construction, alteration, or demolition has not occurred within their jurisdiction without the approval of the Board. In this way, the autonomy of home and business owners is limited by the ordinances of the city. While some, especially David, believe that this enforced perpetuation of a "historic" style of architecture is working to preserve the dignity and originality of Santa Fe, others like myself and some of my peers are disturbed by the inevitable fakeness that these ordinances call for. It is no longer practical or necessary like it once was to build out of adobe, and often homeowners are finding it less "green" or energy efficient to keep these traditional-styled homes. David also talked a lot about maintaining the vocabulary of Santa Fe Style (vigas, portals, adobe, etc..) while utilizing more permanent materials than what was traditionally used to build adobe structures. He showed us examples of buildings that were constructed with steel, concrete, and foam yet looked strikingly similar to real adobe. This new permanent Santa Fe adobe seems to be in conflict with the traditional Pueblo Indian belief that their homes are living structures that after they have served their purpose they perish and erode back into the earth. This disregard for the traditional purposes of adobe homes along with the use of adobe as an aesthetic appeal comes across as fake and somewhat disrespectful. While I found Santa Fe undoubtedly enchanting and beautiful, I could not remove myself from the strangeness of its prescribed style. For the amount of influence that the art community has on the current Santa Fe, I would hope and expect to see more creativity in the structures of the city. Despite all of these critiques, I loved my week in Santa Fe and hope to visit again.
Monica Chatterton
Monica Chatterton
Santa Fe Farmers Market
We got up bright and early last Saturday to head to the Santa Fe Farmers Market. It did not disappoint. We had read a bit about it through Stanley Crawford's essays, where he talked about the beginnings of the market. We expected it to be large, but I think we were all a bit blown away at its enormity. At least 20 booths were outside, with another 25 or so in a large warehouse-like building that had all the doors rolled up. Everyone there seemed happy and excited and ready to buy some great food. Most produce booths had greens galore, with lettuce, spinach, asparagus, and onions. Several booths had meat of all kinds- including one that had at least 15 kinds of sausage. About three had goat milk and cheese made into all kinds of delicious looking spreads and mixes. I bought some cheese that had dried tomatoes mixed in and it is delicious. Booths overflowing with baked goods were easy to spot, and easier to smell. Monica bought the most beautiful ciabatta loaf with leaves and onions baked into the top of it. Several of us purchased mini-quiches to be cooked for dinner that night. A few booths had handmade crafts, baskets, and lotions. Emily found an awesome basket and Leslie found the coolest tape dispenser that looked like a chicken. Everyone found something tasty to buy and our next few meals showed it. The market was exciting not only because of all the delicious food, but also because the people all seemed very happy to be there and excited that others were too. (Some vendors were maybe even a little too excited, as Emily and Monica found out.) We left laden with veggies and excited that Santa Fe had a vibrant market for local, mostly organic foods. -Katie Kilpatrick
Sunday, Free Day
Last Sunday, we had a free day in Santa Fe. Most of us slept in a little and then ventured out for lunch or stayed in and cooked. Later in the afternoon, a group of us went to REI and the area around the railyard, where the Farmers Market took place the day before. REI was cool as always, and Maya bought a cool pocket knife, Jakob got a flashlight, and I got a skirt. Then we headed to Second Street Brewery to have a sit down and a drink (of tea, of course!). After that adventure, four of us headed down to the plaza to do a little last minute shopping and people watching. Of course the store I was most excited about was closed on Sunday, but that was alright. We had a cup of tea at a bookstore/coffee shop we had frequented the whole week and then headed back to the house to start packing and do a little laundry. It was nice to just have a semi-lazy day and still hang out with everyone. Some people had an even more exciting day, like Emily, who got to see her sister, who lives in New Mexico. We all got to meet her later that night too. Then for dinner, we all cooked together and shared more time before gearing up to leave for Taos the next morning at 10. -Katie Kilpatrick
The Valles Caldera and the Role of Science
The front seat of Bob Paramenter's pickup truck is cleaner than I expect it to be. When I asked him if I could ride along with him I made the request knowing most of the other members of the group would later give me a hard time and banish me to the bad seats in the van as punishment for taking the prime tour seat. Climbing up into his big pickup truck, however, Bob's comfortable manner, big sweat stained cowboy hat, and wide smile make me feel instantly at home.
We are visiting the Valles Caldera National Preserve. Driving up it looks as if you have suddenly come upon a giant bowl of grasslands framed by trees and mountains. And basically this is what you have come upon. The easiest way to conceptualize a caldera is to think of it as an inverse volcano. It is a volcano that, when it erupted, became became so hot and weak that it collapsed in upon itself--leaving the giant bowl that I earlier described. It essentially looks like a giant crater, a huge sunken area cupped by uplifts that created mountains. This formation is interesting because it creates an inverse tree line. On mountains the treeline is the point where temperatures become cold enough that most vegetation ceases to grow. On the caldera dense cool air sinks to the low points, the bowl area, and is trapped there-- which, along with the grazing elk which eat almost all new tree growth, is why the caldera looks like a giant mowed lawn.
Our first stop is one of the only old growth stands of ponderosa pine--or frankly any kind of tree on this 89,000 acre preserve. Bob tells us that the trees surrounding us are between one and two hundred years old and that they are some of the only that were spared when the land was clear cut in the early 1900s. He explains that this spread out 'park' like forest with grass and wildflowers growing underneath well spaced old growth is the model that they strive to achieve in their restoration and management projects. This model is ideal because of the ways that this type of forest will respond to fire compared to the thick 'dog hair' forests that tend to grow up after old growth is clear cut. This dog hair forest is incredibly susceptible to hot fires that burn everything they touch, leaving nothing behind and no ecological benefit for the forest. With these ideas in mind we load back into our vehicles to see more of the preserve.
About a mile down the road we stop to help one of Bob's biologists, a graduate student from Texas, tag a new born elk. They are currently tagging and tracking baby elk on the preserve in order to gain an understanding of why the mortality rates are so high among their elk population. Katie is the lucky student selected and while the rest of our group watches from a distance she and two biologists approach the baby and tag, weigh, and measure it.
Over the course of our day at the preserve Bob shows us restoration projects and data collection sites. The Preserve relies heavily on the data they collect from projects and collection sites because this information allows them to present factual information to justify their programs and policies. We look at riparian restoration, talk about animal tagging and data collection, and discuss and examine the ways in which properly managed forests can help to raise the water table-- a benefit to everyone in arid climates like this one.
As we leave the Preserve I feel both inspired and a little bit depressed. Talking to Bob it is impossible to ignore how much time, work, and thought goes into recreating what nature naturally makes and man destroys. Clear cutting done over a 40 year period will take years of time and hours of work to restore to its natural condition. Bob, however, seems to like this about his work and his hopeful attitude is infectious. As he says-- "well, at least I've got my work cut out for me until I retire. Things are good here on the Preserve and the future looks good as well."
-Maya Lemon
We are visiting the Valles Caldera National Preserve. Driving up it looks as if you have suddenly come upon a giant bowl of grasslands framed by trees and mountains. And basically this is what you have come upon. The easiest way to conceptualize a caldera is to think of it as an inverse volcano. It is a volcano that, when it erupted, became became so hot and weak that it collapsed in upon itself--leaving the giant bowl that I earlier described. It essentially looks like a giant crater, a huge sunken area cupped by uplifts that created mountains. This formation is interesting because it creates an inverse tree line. On mountains the treeline is the point where temperatures become cold enough that most vegetation ceases to grow. On the caldera dense cool air sinks to the low points, the bowl area, and is trapped there-- which, along with the grazing elk which eat almost all new tree growth, is why the caldera looks like a giant mowed lawn.
Our first stop is one of the only old growth stands of ponderosa pine--or frankly any kind of tree on this 89,000 acre preserve. Bob tells us that the trees surrounding us are between one and two hundred years old and that they are some of the only that were spared when the land was clear cut in the early 1900s. He explains that this spread out 'park' like forest with grass and wildflowers growing underneath well spaced old growth is the model that they strive to achieve in their restoration and management projects. This model is ideal because of the ways that this type of forest will respond to fire compared to the thick 'dog hair' forests that tend to grow up after old growth is clear cut. This dog hair forest is incredibly susceptible to hot fires that burn everything they touch, leaving nothing behind and no ecological benefit for the forest. With these ideas in mind we load back into our vehicles to see more of the preserve.
About a mile down the road we stop to help one of Bob's biologists, a graduate student from Texas, tag a new born elk. They are currently tagging and tracking baby elk on the preserve in order to gain an understanding of why the mortality rates are so high among their elk population. Katie is the lucky student selected and while the rest of our group watches from a distance she and two biologists approach the baby and tag, weigh, and measure it.
Over the course of our day at the preserve Bob shows us restoration projects and data collection sites. The Preserve relies heavily on the data they collect from projects and collection sites because this information allows them to present factual information to justify their programs and policies. We look at riparian restoration, talk about animal tagging and data collection, and discuss and examine the ways in which properly managed forests can help to raise the water table-- a benefit to everyone in arid climates like this one.
As we leave the Preserve I feel both inspired and a little bit depressed. Talking to Bob it is impossible to ignore how much time, work, and thought goes into recreating what nature naturally makes and man destroys. Clear cutting done over a 40 year period will take years of time and hours of work to restore to its natural condition. Bob, however, seems to like this about his work and his hopeful attitude is infectious. As he says-- "well, at least I've got my work cut out for me until I retire. Things are good here on the Preserve and the future looks good as well."
-Maya Lemon
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
One night down, 20 to go
In the early morning of May 15, we all arrived with duffle bags in tow, essentially as strangers. Knowing each other perhaps peripherally, or at most casually, we loaded our van as the 7 a.m. sun warmed our bleary faces, not knowing what to expect from the next three weeks. After the requisite group picture and a few hurried hugs from parents, we took off down I-40, bracing ourselves for the 13 hour drive that stood between us and Santa Fe.
Seven or so hours later, we had finished the first leg of our trip. After several pit stops and snack breaks, we spilled out of the van at Black Kettle National Grasslands, eager to stretch our legs. We were greeted by perfect weather and an otherwise empty campground. We promptly set off on the first of many hikes, ambling among the rolling hills and occasionally stopping to examine an interesting plant.
If seven hours together in the van wasn't enough to turn strangers into friends, our first night together certainly was. We went to bed soon after dark, the eight of us dispersed between three small tents. Although many of us had barely met, we soon grew much closer by necessity. Lying shoulder to shoulder in the cramped tents, well fell asleep to coyotes crying in the distance and the muffled snores of our trip mates. We woke early in the morning to tear down our tents and begin the second half of our drive. We were all unshowered, deodorantless, and sporting last night's clothing, but we easily shed our insecurities in the knowledge that we were all in the same position, and would be for the next three weeks. Although we were in the campgrounds for barely more than 12 hours, it was long enough to bring us together as a group. The sense of isolation and independence, the closeness to nature, and the closeness to each other all helped to reinforce the import of our trip and what we would be studying. We may have begun the long drive as barely more than strangers, but after one night in the Black Kettle National Grasslands we were already much more.
-Leslie Reynolds
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Adventuring Down the Acequia
On Thursday, Jeff set out from the house at a quick pace as usual and we all did our best to keep up. We all met up at the Santa Fe River near the plaza and Jeff briefed us on the river and acequias' history. Through time, the government tried more and more to take away the native peoples' water rights and were semi-successful. Now the river is a lot smaller and much less meandering than it used to be but it is still flowing. Many changes have been made to it to keep it from flooding the city in the monsoon season and have therefore altered it permanently. The acequias flowing off of it have much less water than they used to, but most are still flowing at least part-time after many fights over water rights. What Jeff told us about the history of acequias matched perfectly with our readings from Stanley Crawford and his views and facts about the long past of acequias in the areas surrounding Santa Fe.
After Jeff's informed history of the river, we began following the Acequia Madre. We followed it as long as we could (until it entered backyards and finally flowed off through the woods), which ended up being about 3 miles. Along the way, we saw lots of cool houses and interesting doors on the walled-in yards. The most upsetting part of the whole adventure was that the acequia was dry. David Rasch actually drove by and stopped to say hi and told us that the acequia only ran on Wednesdays. However, that did not deter us and it meant we got to see the all the gates in detail. Everyone had their camera out the whole time and photographed everything in sight. There were beautiful flowers all along the road and lots of fascinating entryways and doors. Maya climbed a huge old, dead tree and Jakob climbed precariously along a narrow fence-line on the inside of the acequia. We found a statue gallery that had several animal statues outside that, of course, we took pictures with. Later on, the acequia ran into some backyards next to a park. The students all played on the playground while Dr. Hardin and Dr. Kosiorek tried to peek in all the backyards that the acequia ran through, which was rather amusing. Finally, the acequia ran under a bridge in the road and went off into the woods. We explored the last bit of the acequia before it flowed off and then headed back to town for lunch. Some of us went into the plaza to eat while others headed back to the house to cook. Our adventure down the acequia was informative and fun because we learned more about the history of the Santa Fe River and it's effect on the acequias, which added to what we had learned from Estevan. Everything we've done on this trip seems to inform another part of our adventures, making this trip the ultimate liberal arts trip.
-Katie Kilpatrick
After Jeff's informed history of the river, we began following the Acequia Madre. We followed it as long as we could (until it entered backyards and finally flowed off through the woods), which ended up being about 3 miles. Along the way, we saw lots of cool houses and interesting doors on the walled-in yards. The most upsetting part of the whole adventure was that the acequia was dry. David Rasch actually drove by and stopped to say hi and told us that the acequia only ran on Wednesdays. However, that did not deter us and it meant we got to see the all the gates in detail. Everyone had their camera out the whole time and photographed everything in sight. There were beautiful flowers all along the road and lots of fascinating entryways and doors. Maya climbed a huge old, dead tree and Jakob climbed precariously along a narrow fence-line on the inside of the acequia. We found a statue gallery that had several animal statues outside that, of course, we took pictures with. Later on, the acequia ran into some backyards next to a park. The students all played on the playground while Dr. Hardin and Dr. Kosiorek tried to peek in all the backyards that the acequia ran through, which was rather amusing. Finally, the acequia ran under a bridge in the road and went off into the woods. We explored the last bit of the acequia before it flowed off and then headed back to town for lunch. Some of us went into the plaza to eat while others headed back to the house to cook. Our adventure down the acequia was informative and fun because we learned more about the history of the Santa Fe River and it's effect on the acequias, which added to what we had learned from Estevan. Everything we've done on this trip seems to inform another part of our adventures, making this trip the ultimate liberal arts trip.
-Katie Kilpatrick
The Van
Ah, the van...My words cannot effectively convey the cordial and amicable atmosphere that is the van, but I will make my best attempt.
The van is a white Ford capable of seating fifteen people: two in the front, three in each of the three middle rows, and four in the back. However, a mere physical description cannot capture the qualitative experience. No, the van is far more than that.
Prior to 7:30 on Monday morning, May 15th, I hardly knew the seven other students with whom I was going to spend the next three weeks. As we all piled in, still groggy from a late night of last minute packing (at least, in my case), I was slightly apprehensive. I wasn't so much concerned about the other students because I was familiar enough with them to know that they were all kind and intelligent people; rather, I was worried about what they would think of me: Would they think that my perspective as a Philosophy major is ridiculous and inapplicable on a trip pertaining to the relationship of the environment and the culture of New Mexico? Would they have similar tastes as me and share some of my interests? Would they even like me?
However, my apprehension quickly faded away as the miles started to roll by: we began to share personal stories, talk about bands or artists that we like, and gradually came to develop an understanding of one another. After an epic game of would-you-rather, belting "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey in unison, repeated emphatic fist bumps in the air, and so many other experiences that are far too numerous to list, we went from being mere acquaintances to being friends. Now, whenever we ride together in the van, I don't feel as though I'm with a group of acquaintances; I feel like I'm with family.
-Jakob Lorsbach
The van is a white Ford capable of seating fifteen people: two in the front, three in each of the three middle rows, and four in the back. However, a mere physical description cannot capture the qualitative experience. No, the van is far more than that.
Prior to 7:30 on Monday morning, May 15th, I hardly knew the seven other students with whom I was going to spend the next three weeks. As we all piled in, still groggy from a late night of last minute packing (at least, in my case), I was slightly apprehensive. I wasn't so much concerned about the other students because I was familiar enough with them to know that they were all kind and intelligent people; rather, I was worried about what they would think of me: Would they think that my perspective as a Philosophy major is ridiculous and inapplicable on a trip pertaining to the relationship of the environment and the culture of New Mexico? Would they have similar tastes as me and share some of my interests? Would they even like me?
However, my apprehension quickly faded away as the miles started to roll by: we began to share personal stories, talk about bands or artists that we like, and gradually came to develop an understanding of one another. After an epic game of would-you-rather, belting "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey in unison, repeated emphatic fist bumps in the air, and so many other experiences that are far too numerous to list, we went from being mere acquaintances to being friends. Now, whenever we ride together in the van, I don't feel as though I'm with a group of acquaintances; I feel like I'm with family.
-Jakob Lorsbach
Walking in the Sangre de Christo
After spending a lovely morning listening to Estevan Arellano tell us stories, we traveled up to Dixon, a quaint mountain town, for lunch. After eating and spending an impressive amount of time in an old used bookstore, we took a side trip to see an unusual rock formation. As we headed back down towards Santa Fe, slumber took over the van; the first few days of the trip had gotten to us. When we got back to the house, however, some of us decided to go ahead and drive up to the Santa Fe National Forest for an afternoon hike.
As we began to wind up into the Sangre de Christo Mountains (north of Santa Fe), the roads got steep and curvy; Jeff remarked on our lack of fear. It’s true; gaining height, becoming level with the tree tops, sliding around corners…it’s a bit nerve-racking. But nbd. After passing several trail heads and a few camping spots, we parked the van a little ways below the peak. It always surprises me how much change occurs over the short drive up into mountains, in the temperature, wind, and of course the vegetation. The temperature became noticeably cooler. The pinon pine and juniper gave rise to spruce, fir, and aspen, and the air felt a bit thinner.
Anyways, off we went, up the trail. Within about three minutes, Jeff was at least 100 feet ahead of everyone else. And so here we discovered the pace of Dr. Kosierok. Somehow he can cover the ground of a jogger while appearing to stroll, an ability we’ve seen in action since. So as Jeff trail-blazed on, and Monica and Laura got on ahead on their own adventure, I hung back with Maya, Katie, and Dr. Hardin. We took our time, viewing the flora that lined the trail, which makes a totally different looking forest than Arkansas, even while many species do overlap. Dr. Hardin impressed with her identification, and Maya started pulling out medicinal herb knowledge. The yarrow, used as natural absorbent/ gauze kept catching my eye. The herbal knowledge made me think of Ultima, the curandera in Bless Me, Ultima, one of the trip readings. Ultima is magical indeed, but in the way that she understands nature so thoroughly that she can use it: an ability that was once ingrained in cultures here. (Monica, I have faith your curandera potential)
After crossing a fire road, we continued up on an uncleared trail. Aspen are soft, and the wind knocks them over easily; the number of downed trees was crazy. We stopped by a flowing creek, and eventually came across some huge boulders. From the top of the rocks, we were level with the tops of the trees, and could look out over the horizon. The huge stands of aspen, the mountains in the distance, and the fresh air were invigorating. Hiking in the mountains is certainly a humbling activity, and reminds me of my small place in the vastness of the landscape. To get borderline sappy, it’s awesome to be on a trip with people who all hold an appreciation for nature and an enthusiasm for exploring it, both physically and intellectually. The hike helped familiarize us with the forests of northern New Mexico, which have a central role in some of our readings and discussions.
Santa Fe Style and City Planning Revisited
Many people say that Santa Fe, like Disney World, is a fake environment, a city created more for tourists than residents. Despite the ways that this rings true the sense of place, the symmetry, and the cohesion of Santa Fe as a city is also a very positive thing. After meeting with David Rasch of the Historic Review Board we had began to consider the complications and contradictions of this 'created' environment but our brief meeting with Harry Moul, who used to work as a city planner in Santa Fe, further revealed the complications of this difficulties of Santa Fe's historic style.
As we stand in the courtyard of Ernesto Mayans art gallery Harry tells us that Santa is and was much more eclectic than the ordinance associated with Santa Fe historic style reveals. He says that he feels that the ordinance imposes a narrative on something that is much more diverse than the endless rows of adobe and portales suggests. He discusses the ways in which a lot of actual Santa Fe culture was lost by the imposition of historic style and the romantic notions and imaginary ideas associated with it. Harry tells us that he feels, and that when he was working as a city planner he tried to encourage, that development should reflect the times in which they are being being built.
Interestingly, as far as city planning goes Harry tells us that his work was mostly concerned with infrastructure, or rather the lack of infrastructure in Santa Fe. Beginning in the early 70's planning problems had to do with basic structural issues such as sewage and water. Additionally he tells us that Santa Fe is, and has been for a while, in a somewhat difficult situation because the size of Santa Fe has began to conflict with people's idea of what Santa Fe is. The image that people hold about Santa being a small sleepy town is threatened by expansion and development--things that cities frequently encourage due to economic benefits.
In passing though Harry offers me an idea that gives me a clearer way of understanding Santa Fe and the people that inhabit it. He says that when he first moved to Santa Fe his Spanish American friends called him and other Anglos like him 'ex-patriates'. This characterization of the kinds of people who have been historically (and currently) drawn to Santa Fe provides a very plausible explanation for the romantic, created aspects of Santa Fe. As a city many aspects of the culture, architecture, and structure are driven by an outsiders idea of what the Southwest should be.
To me Santa Fe may always be a city of ex-pats. A city occupied by well intentioned individuals seeking escape and redefining and creating their environment in doing so. I do not fault them for this but this perspective does provide me with a way of understanding the aspects of Santa Fe, both culturally and structurally, that seem forced and leaving me feeling slightly unsettled.
-Maya Lemon
As we stand in the courtyard of Ernesto Mayans art gallery Harry tells us that Santa is and was much more eclectic than the ordinance associated with Santa Fe historic style reveals. He says that he feels that the ordinance imposes a narrative on something that is much more diverse than the endless rows of adobe and portales suggests. He discusses the ways in which a lot of actual Santa Fe culture was lost by the imposition of historic style and the romantic notions and imaginary ideas associated with it. Harry tells us that he feels, and that when he was working as a city planner he tried to encourage, that development should reflect the times in which they are being being built.
Interestingly, as far as city planning goes Harry tells us that his work was mostly concerned with infrastructure, or rather the lack of infrastructure in Santa Fe. Beginning in the early 70's planning problems had to do with basic structural issues such as sewage and water. Additionally he tells us that Santa Fe is, and has been for a while, in a somewhat difficult situation because the size of Santa Fe has began to conflict with people's idea of what Santa Fe is. The image that people hold about Santa being a small sleepy town is threatened by expansion and development--things that cities frequently encourage due to economic benefits.
In passing though Harry offers me an idea that gives me a clearer way of understanding Santa Fe and the people that inhabit it. He says that when he first moved to Santa Fe his Spanish American friends called him and other Anglos like him 'ex-patriates'. This characterization of the kinds of people who have been historically (and currently) drawn to Santa Fe provides a very plausible explanation for the romantic, created aspects of Santa Fe. As a city many aspects of the culture, architecture, and structure are driven by an outsiders idea of what the Southwest should be.
To me Santa Fe may always be a city of ex-pats. A city occupied by well intentioned individuals seeking escape and redefining and creating their environment in doing so. I do not fault them for this but this perspective does provide me with a way of understanding the aspects of Santa Fe, both culturally and structurally, that seem forced and leaving me feeling slightly unsettled.
-Maya Lemon
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Post-finals week is always an interesting time on campus. Some choose to hang around campus and enjoy their last times together with graduating seniors, or friends from out of state. Some speed home to reunite with friends, family, or significant others. Others however, choose to load their schedule with as many events and travel excursions as they can to squeeze the last bits of excitement out of being free of finals. This does not, however, always go as planned.
I returned to campus Saturday the 14th after having woken up at 4:00am that morning to fly home, take a driving class, and immediately drive back. My room in shambles, I collapsed with the hopes of a late morning wake up and a full day of packing up my room, and spending some time with friends before I departed on Monday for our Odyssey trip. My plans were shattered as I woke up at 7:45am to a call from Leslie, asking if I would be ready to leave for the trip soon, or if I was on my way to meet them. I broke into a panic. My room was not organized at all. My car was a mess. I would not be prepared to leave for at least a few hours.
Through the miracle of my girlfriends help, and after sweating profusely for about 3 hours, I was moved out, had a bus ticket to Elk City Oklahoma, and was eating Burger King on the way to the bus station in Little Rock.
I've always been told that Greyhound Buses are a little questionable, but my worries were calmed as I boarded a beautiful coach bus, complete with outlets for phones and computers, and free wifi (which was actually faster than the Hendrix wifi...) to boot. I had my own two seats, and spent the majority of the ride chatting with some friends I made who were en route to Amarillo, Albuquerque, and Tucson, watching 180 South on Netflix, and dozing as a watched the endless plains of Oklahoma pass by outside my window.
After 9 hours, 2 sticks of beef jerky, 1 bus transfer, and 1 questionable knife salesman in Oklahoma City, I finally arrived in Elk City, OK and was picked up by Jeff. When we finished the half hour drive to Black Kettle Grasslands, I could finally rest easy knowing that I was with the group. Although it was a strange way to start the trip, it was an important part of the fantastic memories I will have from this trip.
-Connor Corley-
Friday, May 20, 2011
Under the Apricot Tree: a Visit with Estevan Arellano
Is it a cool spring morning. Our group of ten is seated on around a picnic table, squeezed onto the wooden bench or else sitting in rusty metal chairs, under a immense apricot tree. We have come to Dixon New Mexico, a small town north of Santa Fe, to meet with Estevan Arellano and discuss the ways that the northern new mexican irrigation system of acequias is connected to culture, life, and environment in this region.
Estevan is in his sixties or seventies, stooped and stiff his voice unmistakably identifies him as a northern new mexican native. Although he speaks english perfectly his accents carries the unmistakable lilt of someone who only spoke english once entering school. Over the course of the two hours that we sit under his apricot tree, Estevan he tells us about acequias, his childhood, northern new mexican identity, and the ways in which these ideas are interrelated and connected to life and culture in northern new mexico.
Because they are one of the main themes of our visit, Estevan begins by telling us about acequias. Acequias are community supported and maintained irrigation systems that Estevan says are first mentioned in Yemen around the year 5000 BC. Here, in the mountains of new mexico, every acequia has a locally elected commission made up with a president, treasurer, secretary and mayordomo. The mayordomo is the only paid position on the commission and is responsible for the daily operation and maintenance of the acequia, walking its banks to insure that water isn't hogged and that the ditch does not become clogged by trash or debris. Acequias are used to irrigate feilds, trees, and pastures and traditionally are the way in which agricultural life was made possible in communities like this one. Estevan tells us that acequias aren't just about the water they carry, or even the vegetables, fruits, etc. that they feed. Instead he tells us that they are also about culture, that the acequias are like the veins in a body, taking nutrients to the land and a way of life to the people. The system is entirely community based, which is a good thing because, as Estevan says, "We do a better job because we are here on a regular basis." As he talks about the acequias Estevan weaves in other stories, a fact that seems fitting due to the ways that these waters weave in and out of daily life.
I ask Estevan about the term "Hispano", an ethnic and cultural identifier that I have never heard out of northern new mexico. He says that it originates from the word hispanola, that it is a new idea--a word that replaces mexican or even mexican-american identity, and that the development of Spanish Colonial art in Santa Fe is central to the development of this term and the identity associated with it. Estevan says that as artists and collectors have sought to market the idea of a spanish colonial culture the term "Hispano" has become a central way of erasing or ignoring mexican and indian lineages. This is interesting because it essentially has allowed individuals to chose what cultural history they want to inform their lives. It has also legitimated a shift in lifestyle and culture, framing history in terms of more elite social groups instead of rural individuals.
Listening to Estevan speak it is impossible to ignore the ways in which culture, environment, history, and modernization all intersect. The establishment of the lab at Los Alamos led to the cash economy that made the acequias and the fields they traditionally irrigated seem less important. This has led to the abandonment of landscape, the creation of a "landscape of poor people", and the avoidance of traditional farming practices The ways that education erodes culture has facilitated what Estevan calls the 'exportation' of youth of villages. This in turn is part of the reason that Dixon has shrunk so much and that its population has become both older and also made up of retired professionals from bigger cities instead of families with roots in Dixon. And all of this, he says, connects to the acequias, the ways that they preserve culture, the ways that they are tied to the environment, to growing food, and to public health. For Estevan, and as we listened I think to us as well, it is impossible to consider life in Dixon without considering the historic importance of acequias and the implications of their disappearance for the culture and environment of this region. For now the acequias continue to exist, but Estevan tells us that it is getting more and more difficult to find individuals to fill the commission. For now, however, there are enough individuals who still use them, both for practical purposes and for the ways that they maintain a sense of place and feeling of rootedness , that they are maintained.
When Estevan was young he worked collecting oral histories of individuals of the elders in rural new mexican communities. As he speaks about political engagement, quotes Freire, and discusses environmental practices you can only hope that someone collects his history so that, like the acequias that loves and works to protect, his stories can act as the veins that carry the 'nutrients' of the past into the present and future of life in northern new mexico.
-Maya Lemon
Estevan is in his sixties or seventies, stooped and stiff his voice unmistakably identifies him as a northern new mexican native. Although he speaks english perfectly his accents carries the unmistakable lilt of someone who only spoke english once entering school. Over the course of the two hours that we sit under his apricot tree, Estevan he tells us about acequias, his childhood, northern new mexican identity, and the ways in which these ideas are interrelated and connected to life and culture in northern new mexico.
Because they are one of the main themes of our visit, Estevan begins by telling us about acequias. Acequias are community supported and maintained irrigation systems that Estevan says are first mentioned in Yemen around the year 5000 BC. Here, in the mountains of new mexico, every acequia has a locally elected commission made up with a president, treasurer, secretary and mayordomo. The mayordomo is the only paid position on the commission and is responsible for the daily operation and maintenance of the acequia, walking its banks to insure that water isn't hogged and that the ditch does not become clogged by trash or debris. Acequias are used to irrigate feilds, trees, and pastures and traditionally are the way in which agricultural life was made possible in communities like this one. Estevan tells us that acequias aren't just about the water they carry, or even the vegetables, fruits, etc. that they feed. Instead he tells us that they are also about culture, that the acequias are like the veins in a body, taking nutrients to the land and a way of life to the people. The system is entirely community based, which is a good thing because, as Estevan says, "We do a better job because we are here on a regular basis." As he talks about the acequias Estevan weaves in other stories, a fact that seems fitting due to the ways that these waters weave in and out of daily life.
I ask Estevan about the term "Hispano", an ethnic and cultural identifier that I have never heard out of northern new mexico. He says that it originates from the word hispanola, that it is a new idea--a word that replaces mexican or even mexican-american identity, and that the development of Spanish Colonial art in Santa Fe is central to the development of this term and the identity associated with it. Estevan says that as artists and collectors have sought to market the idea of a spanish colonial culture the term "Hispano" has become a central way of erasing or ignoring mexican and indian lineages. This is interesting because it essentially has allowed individuals to chose what cultural history they want to inform their lives. It has also legitimated a shift in lifestyle and culture, framing history in terms of more elite social groups instead of rural individuals.
Listening to Estevan speak it is impossible to ignore the ways in which culture, environment, history, and modernization all intersect. The establishment of the lab at Los Alamos led to the cash economy that made the acequias and the fields they traditionally irrigated seem less important. This has led to the abandonment of landscape, the creation of a "landscape of poor people", and the avoidance of traditional farming practices The ways that education erodes culture has facilitated what Estevan calls the 'exportation' of youth of villages. This in turn is part of the reason that Dixon has shrunk so much and that its population has become both older and also made up of retired professionals from bigger cities instead of families with roots in Dixon. And all of this, he says, connects to the acequias, the ways that they preserve culture, the ways that they are tied to the environment, to growing food, and to public health. For Estevan, and as we listened I think to us as well, it is impossible to consider life in Dixon without considering the historic importance of acequias and the implications of their disappearance for the culture and environment of this region. For now the acequias continue to exist, but Estevan tells us that it is getting more and more difficult to find individuals to fill the commission. For now, however, there are enough individuals who still use them, both for practical purposes and for the ways that they maintain a sense of place and feeling of rootedness , that they are maintained.
When Estevan was young he worked collecting oral histories of individuals of the elders in rural new mexican communities. As he speaks about political engagement, quotes Freire, and discusses environmental practices you can only hope that someone collects his history so that, like the acequias that loves and works to protect, his stories can act as the veins that carry the 'nutrients' of the past into the present and future of life in northern new mexico.
-Maya Lemon
Querencia
To love who you are (or to love the place where you are or to love.........)
A common theme from the first few days of the trip expressed by a farmer, a historic preservation employee for Santa Fe, an archeologist, an art gallery owner, a painter and two poets. All wonderful people who are energized and nurtured by this place called New Mexico.
JMH
A common theme from the first few days of the trip expressed by a farmer, a historic preservation employee for Santa Fe, an archeologist, an art gallery owner, a painter and two poets. All wonderful people who are energized and nurtured by this place called New Mexico.
JMH
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