Camping in the Santa Fe National Forest

A perfect end to a life-changing trip.

 We left Albuquerque early for the long road to the Santa Fe National Forest and took our time along the way. We stopped in another small town to do some slugging around and shopping. By now we were all exhausted and had seen just about every tourist town in Northern New Mexico so we mostly just relaxed and enjoyed some low-key time at coffee and gift shops.

            After a couple hours of beautiful New Mexican desert flying past us in the windows we finally entered the forest and started the long journey up winding roads into the mountains. Tall Pines and a rippling river entertained us the entire way up, and only a stop for far too much firewood gave us a break from the curves.

            Eventually we reached our campsite, the last location before National Forest ended and the Pecos Wilderness Area began. We set up camp and soon got to exploring. A few of us went up one of the hills next to our site to find a good look out and take stock of how far we had come in those three short weeks. I can still remember sitting there thinking “in a couple days I’ll be back home sitting in my kitchen typing away about this moment”, and now, here I am. After a few existential hours we headed back down and joined the rest of the group for dinner and card playing for the rest of the evening.

            In the morning we awoke and decided to go for a long hike up the trail we had found next to our camp. The next day seven of us set off, and were soon trailing far behind Jeff, who apparently decided to sprint up the mountain. We took our sweet time, stopping for pictures and sidetracking on different trails. We lost two people to naps and reading back at camp, but soon found ourselves at an incredible place atop the mountain.

There were enormous boulders lying everywhere at the peak and we climbed to the highest ones to take in the best view. We could see rolling hills of green trees, snow-peaked mountains in the distance, and behind us the seemingly endless Pecos Wilderness.

Being from the suburbs of Chicago I had never experienced a wilderness area before, but it is basically an area with little or no significant impact by human beings in the way of infrastructure like roads or pipelines.  It’s really incredible to know that we still have “wilderness”, at least in name, around these days. As I grew up the focus always seemed to be on technology, what’s new, what’s next, how far can we push the human mind upward and onward. I love the idea that there is a still a place that will challenge you on some of the most basic principles of finding food, water, and shelter. There is so much to be taken for granted in our fast paced society today and sometimes it takes something as simple as being in the “wilderness” to realize just how temporary those comforts are.

I know there is much debate on the idea of true “nature”, but I know for a fact that I experienced a truly incredible natural place with simple wonders waiting everywhere we went. Pecos, The Santa Fe National Forest, and New Mexico in general are all places I plan to some day revisit, but my first impression was so overwhelmingly amazing that I wonder if my return trip(s) could possibly be as fulfilling. The winding roads away from camp at 7am and the long 14 hour drive filled my mind with reminiscing about the countless memorable times I shared with my trip mates. I could not have asked for a better experience in my three weeks in New Mexico. Life changing seems like too small of a phrase to sum up the way I changed during my time there, and I can only imagine what lies in store for my return. New Mexico quickly became home to me and my trip-mates, and I know we’ll all miss it, but it will always be there, in some places changing every day, and in others staying the same as its been for thousands of years. 

Connor Corley.

Lama.

It was early, cold, and we were heading into the mountains North of Taos to visit an intentional living community. I was nervous with anticipation about this unknown commune. Would everyone be sleepy-eyed and spacey and doing drugs? Would there be “free love” posters and used up, burned out hippies strolling around smoking?

            We arrived at a parking lot at the end of a long dirt road and were greeted by Joe, a soft-spoken twenty-something year old man with a clean-shaven face and short hair, and my nerves were put at ease.

            The day started with a 30-minute meditation inside a huge dome shaped building with a circular window overlooking the valley below and the mountains on the horizon. The only sounds we heard were wind chimes singing softly and the quiet footsteps of one of their cats circling us while we sat. I admit, I was uneasy about the whole situation, but Joe calmly relaxed our minds with an explanation of what the Lama Foundation was.

            Founded in the 1967, the Lama Foundation was created to foster sustainability, community, and spirituality, and the cycling of “residents” over the years has carried on their traditions. Their spirituality is not focused in one certain direction, and they regularly practice the traditional ceremonies and dances of local native tribes, Judaism, Hinduism, Christianity, and Buddhism, to name a few.

            Around every turn, there was something more wonderful to see. From their beautiful mess hall, complete with a covered porch overlooking the valley below, to their mud brick residences. Their entire 100+ acre compound is run off of a few solar panels, and they grow much of their food on site in their sprawling garden.

            The music room, and private library on site aroused much excitement amongst the group, and the seemingly endless amount of shrines around the compound were a constant reminder of the diverse spiritual currents running through the residents

            We took a group tour around the entire foundation, and helped ready campsites for the arrival of retreat groups in the summer months, and ended our day with a long hike through the mountains above the site. Along the way we discussed the fire that nearly destroyed the entire foundation in 1996, and witnessed the visible scars to the landscape that were caused by the fires destructive force.

            As our day ended I couldn’t help but feel like I was waking up from a wonderful dream, like the joy and intrigue, love and happiness shared with the residences and fellow group members would not be the same once we left Lama. We parted with kind words, and as we hiked back down the mountain to the gravel roads and highways back to Taos, I vowed to come back to the Lama Foundation, no matter how and when, to share in their community and spirituality, and spread to others the same experiences that had been shared with me.

            Connor Corley.

Ernesto Mayans: What is the environment?

     Conversing with Ernesto, both as a group and individually, was something I will never forget. He is very engaging, bringing everyone into the conversation and slowly drawing out their points of view; even those who are timid and soft-spoken cannot resist taking part. He was ready and able to converse on any subject, from art, to the environment, to philosophy. Moreover, he has friends in every field doing incredible things, and he is always excited to tell you about them.

     Not surprisingly, my favorite time with Ernesto was talking to him about philosophy. He introduced me to a school of thought called Phenomenology, gave me many recommendations on philosophical works that I should read, and provided a very realistic and down-to-earth approach to a subject that is often caught up in abstractions and theoretical discussions.

The best philosophical conversation I had with him was one pertaining to the environment. It began with him posing the question, “What is the environment?," a seemingly simply question that proved very difficult to answer. After making several attempts at giving a definition of the environment, only to have Ernesto politely shoot each one down, I finally said something along the lines of “our definition is always changing”, and instantaneously his eyes lit up. “Yes,” he said, because the environment is always changing, and before we can effectively address the environmental problems we have, we must first realize that the environment is change. To try and define the environment as something constant and absolute is both futile and silly, for such a definition would be missing the core idea of what the environment is, which is a dynamic balance of life and energy that is constantly in flux. Things live and die, energy is used and released, reactions occur, and all the while a delicate balance of interdependence is maintained; this is far from being static or constant. The idea was very mind-altering for me, and from the look in Ernesto’s eyes I had the feeling that had deliberately led me down this path of thought hoping I would come to this realization.

Ernesto was one of a kind, as they say, and I am very thankful for the time that I was able to spend with him.

The Poets Are Coming! (Arthur Sze Edition)

     Before I focus in on my encounter with Arthur, I just want to say that the morning that we spent with Carol and Arthur was a truly wonderful experience. They are two very charming people who are obviously very passionate about their craft, and it was great being able to talk to them about their work.

     Arthur is a self proclaimed “science dropout” who was enrolled at MIT prior to deciding that he wanted to pursue poetry. After being recommended by one of his professors at Berkley to move to Santa Fe, Arthur took on a series of seemingly odd jobs, such as working on a reservation and in a prison; these experiences were crucial influences on his poetry in that they provided him with very raw insights into the cultural tensions that exist in New Mexico. (On a side note, he is also an avid mushroom hunter, and if you bring it up in conversation it never fails to put a smile to his face.)

     As a Chinese-American cultural tension is something that Arthur is very familiar with; he often infuses his Chinese heritage and the tension that it generates into his writing. Arthur’s work also highlights the cultural tensions in New Mexico between the Anglo, Hispanic, and Pueblo cultures. He referred to his work (and, more generally, New Mexico) as “a braiding of cultures”, and the tension between those cultures generates “friction, heat, light, and vitality” that make both his work and New Mexico vibrant.

     One particular part of the conversation we had with Carol and Arthur was very meaningful to me, especially as a person who makes a hobby out of poetry, and that was towards the very end when they described their own writing process. They talked about how, in revising a poem, one is really re-envisioning it and that one must surrender oneself to the poem, for it is all too easy to lose the poem in revising it. They also spoke about the tension between tradition and innovation, which is always present during the creative process, and how they go about balancing tradition with innovation in their own work.

     Overall, the time we spend with Arthur and Carol was awesome.

Taos Pueblo and Earthships

It wasn’t until we were nearing the end of our week in Taos that we finally made our way to the Taos Pueblo. The village lay at the edge of town and consisted of ancient adobe buildings, some over 1,000 years old. We were given a tour through the dusty streets by a young Pueblo woman, who pointed out the notable features of the area, such as the church and the natural spring where the Pueblo people continue to get their drinking water. After the tour, we were free to wander around the premises and explore the ancient homes, which had frequently been converted into shops for artisans to sell their goods. I bought a piece of fresh fry bread from a young woman who chatted with me about growing up in the pueblo as I watched her roll out a ball of dough and drop it in a vat of bubbling oil. As I munched the fry bread drenched in honey and wandered through the adobe structures, I was struck with the familiar mix of guilt and curiosity that I had become accustomed to on this trip. Despite my efforts to be a respectful tourist, I found it hard to shake the feeling that I was allowing myself to be a part of a system which inevitably exploited a native culture. Of course, I wanted to support the artisans and the people living in the Pueblo. I wanted to buy their goods and pay for their tour guides, because I knew that they were, like the rest of us, just trying to make a livelihood. I also appreciated that experiencing and witnessing first-hand what life was like on the Pueblo was an important and eye-opening opportunity to learn about another culture. However, it was hard not to feel like my presence was inherently disrespectful and invasive, as I and the other visitors traipsed through homes snapping photographs. 

The afternoon brought a change of pace. We visited the famous community of earthships near the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. The homes all resembled something out of a post-apocalyptic fantasy movie, stretching across the desolate New Mexican environment and decorated with tires, glass bottles, and aluminum cans. We toured the visitors center, a beautiful building which resembled a cross between a typical home in a wealthy neighborhood, a greenhouse, and an ornate and earthy fortress. The homes were a fascinating example of merging architecture and sustainability, producing their own energy and recycling their water 4 times. Although we were only able to view most of the earthships from afar, the afternoon successfully peaked our interest in a new method of expressing creativity and simultaneously striving for sustainability. 

-Leslie Reynolds

A Day in the Life of a Lama Resident

        I’ll admit it; I was skeptical at first. I wasn’t exactly sure what a “spiritual community” entailed, and I wasn’t sure if I bought it, whatever it was. My cynicism and weariness regarding self-proclaimed counter-culturalists, anarchists, hippies, and their ilk led me to approach the Lama Foundation with some degree of hesitation and judgement. Based on my interactions with disgruntled youths and unmotivated derelicts, I was anticipating a bevy of unshaven, hemp-laden, self-important bohemians, holding hand and singing Kumbayah, or else eager to expound upon the many ills of modern society, technology, government, etc. As we stood in the early morning light, stung by the bitter wind which whipped angrily about the mountaintop, Joe, our friendly guide, informed us that we would first participate in a short (thirty minute) group meditation. I struggled not to roll my eyes and scoff at the suggestion. I had never attempted to meditate, and had never exactly seen the appeal. Nevertheless, as we sat in the great octagonal room, perched upon round cushions, I tried to relax and clear my mind. It seemed an impossible task as my brain refused to cease its perpetual rumination, and it continued to scour the contours of my memory in search of amusing tidbits to keep me occupied in the utter silence. Luckily for me and my ever-active brain, kindly Joe cut our meditation short to allow us to introduce ourselves and proceed on to breakfast. 

        Upon reaching the dining area, we were greeted by a motley group of hippies from all walks of life: overzealous young people with ample facial hair, wizened old women with kind features, and everything in between. This greeting might have solidified my predetermined antagonism had I not been surprised by the warmth with which we were inducted into the group. Before eating, we all held hands while one member of the community led us in a song (not Kumbayah perhaps, but close). Then we were invited to eat the ample breakfast provided for us. During the meal, the community members approached us with curiosity and kindness, expressing their pleasure at having us as guests. I had anticipated a clan of bitter, opinionated hemp heads who would either be too blazed to engage me in conversation, or else would eye me with scorn as if they could tell that I ate meat, occasionally enjoyed TV, and sometimes shaved my legs.  However, the after being met with such an amicable and welcoming reception, I was suddenly ashamed of my judgmental outlook. It appeared I had been wrong about who exactly was the bitter one.

After breakfast, we returned to the octagonal room, this time with all of the Lama residents. Sebastian, a bearded redhead with glasses and a charming smile, invited us to listen to a song, in order to appreciate the intricacy of the music, the feelings which it aroused, and the process of listening in general. We sat in silence for a few minutes as he played a lively yet somehow heartrending melody sung in a language I didn’t understand. When it was over, we formed small groups to discuss our experiences while listening. In my group, a tall, boney boy with an eyebrow ring explained an internal checklist he assess every time he hears a new piece of music. Another man attempted to voice the powerful emotions which the piece evoked in him. I shared a memory, long dormant, which the music and awoken in me. 

We then turned our attention back to the whole group for the daily practice of “heart tuning.” Everyone went around in a circle and said a few words about how they were feeling in whichever way they felt appropriate. People shared a few words, some serene and pleasant, others marked by pain and sadness. Others recited verses of poetry or sang short songs to convey their state of being. When it was my turn to speak, I was surprised by how easily and comfortably I was able to share with the group. Speaking in front of people, particularly candidly and with little preparation, often leaves me gripped with anxiety and dread. However, all I felt was the welcoming and accepting atmosphere created by the residents. 

After the group disbanded to take on their various responsibilities for the day (cooking lunch, cleaning the alters scattered around the grounds, washing the meditation pillows, etc.) Joe led us to the campgrounds, where visitors slept during summer retreats. As our contribution to the community, we helped clear off the tent sites and cover them with hay to make them more comfortable. After only a few hours of work, the sun had come out, we had stripped off our coats and scarves and were sweating in our t-shirts. We were more than ready when we heard the bells chiming to signal lunch time. The residents had cooked an authentic Thai lunch, which turned out to be one of my favorite meals of the entire trip. While we ate, we mingled with the others and heard the stories of how they arrived at Lama. Again, I was impressed with their openness and willingness to share their stories, as well as hear our own. 

When it was time to go, many of us had fallen so in love with the community that we were ready to move in. Despite my initial hesitation, even I was sad to go, although I certainly would have missed indoor plumbing had we stayed much longer. Although I may not ever really grasp the point of meditation, Lama certainly helped me shed some of my unfounded and unwarranted antagonism.  


-Leslie Reynolds

"One day at a time"

I woke up on the morning of May 20 in Santa Fe and strained to remember what was on the agenda for the new day. The memory of Jeff chanting "THE POETS ARE COMING THE POETS ARE COMING!" the previous night reminded me that the poets--Carol Moldaw and Arthur Sze-- were in fact coming to speak with us, and also reminded me that I had put off the reading of their work until that morning. After a quick breakfast I decided to face my shameful procrastination and read the selected poems that were assigned to us. I started with Carol's poem entitled Summer Sublet which abstractly describes some of her memories and struggles from her early years in Santa Fe. I immediately fell in love with Carol's poetry. After reading the remaining selections, including the impressive Lightning Field, I identified the beauty in Carol's work as her attention to both subjective and objective elements and her ability to weave them together so skillfully. I began to get really excited when I remembered that the talented artist that I had just discovered was going to be arriving at our Santa Fe house in just a few minutes. When the poets arrived, she was everything that I had imagined. Carol and her husband Arthur read a few poems aloud to us and engaged us in conversation. Many of us had questions for the couple and we discussed things such as the balance of community and individuality in Santa Fe, the influx of the art community since the 1970s, the importance of physical environment to identity, and the sensuality of words, along with various other topics. Our time with the poets seemed to fly by but we had some great conversations. Although my procrastination was unintentional, I feel lucky to have gotten to fall in love with a poet's work and meet that same poet all in about an hour. I was able to find a collection of Carol's newer poems called So Late, So Soon at Collected Works, a great local bookstore near the plaza. Meeting with Carol and Arthur was very interesting and rewarding and I feel privileged for having the opportunity.

Monica Chatterton

Bandelier National Monument

Our trusty van pulls up to Bandelier National Monument on a typical New Mexican afternoon, marked by dry heat, wind, and blindingly blue skies. Having only a vague conception of what to expect, I recall a visit to a similar national monument I made with my family as a child while I lather on sunscreen and fill up my water bottle. The memory is dulled and warped by many years of stagnancy in my brain, and I can conjure up only disconnected snapshots—my father helping me up a wooden ladder; peering through a tiny window in the stone wall; the coolness of the air inside the small, dark rooms. At the time, it had felt like my own personal playground, an archeological adventure waiting to be explored. I had hardly even taken note of the fact that those dwellings had once served as shelter and protection for other people.

            The cave dwellings at Bandelier have the same playful and inviting quality. Perfectly formed and intricately designed caverns beg to be explored, narrow rock stairways want to be climbed, and dangerously steep ladders dare us to scale them. As we set off on our hike among the long-abandoned dwellings, I again have to remind myself that we are exploring a site that once housed a thriving community. We walk along parallel to the cliff face, which stretches smoothly up to dizzying heights. From afar, the cliff appears to be punctuated with holes of various size and shape, peculiar enough that they might have been formed by some trick of geology and weather. But upon closer inspection, the caverns’ careful intent marks them as something much more than an accident of nature. The trail takes us to a series of larger caves, spacious and structurally sound enough to hold nearly our entire group. We take advantage of the unique photo opportunity and pose for snapshots inside the cool stone walls. The caverns are so far removed from my conception of a home that it is difficult to imagine people inhabiting them. But once I do, they hold such a greater significance.

            Toward the end of the hike, the trail winds through a wooded area, tall pines lining our path. I wonder how the environment must have looked so many thousands of years ago, when the area was first inhabited by the Pueblo people. At the end of the trail are a series of steep wooden ladders, some reaching up 40 feet or more. When we finally scale them all, we are allowed to enter a small circular room used as a ceremonial kiva.

In this room, more so than any of the others, I attempt to be a respectful visitor, admiring the scene with reverent curiosity.

            It is nearly impossible for me to imagine the lifestyles of the people who once inhabited the area, but Bandelier helps visitors to visualize this phase of American history first-hand. While it’s easy to separate the monuments from their original purposes and their historic significance, they can provide a unique and interactive learning experience for visitors who are willing to treat the area with the respectful interest that it deserves.

-Leslie Reynolds

Visiting Ernesto Mayans Gallery and Joel Greene

One of the first truly sunny days since being in Santa Fe, the group arrives at Ernesto Mayans Gallery. Ernesto greets us as door, jubilantly, and we enter the gallery. With much laughter, Ernesto makes a genuine attempt at learning all of our names, and immediately I feel welcome. The gallery is small but cozy, extending from the small room we entered one room to the right, a hallway to the left, and another small room beyond that. The ceiling is low, reminding me of the characteristic 'human scale' of classic adobe structures. With warm laughter and friendly conversation as a backdrop, I wander into the room on my right. Monica is delighted to find a sculpture; a twisted branch made to look like a strange and warped giant pencil. I notice one oil painting on the wall, a landscape of New Mexico, by Joel Greene. I study it for a moment before moving on, watch the warm colors of the hills flow together, appreciate the sweeping clouds. I wander on through the gallery, in the hallway now, and stop at these impressive screenprints. Ernesto and Jakob are engaged in an interesting discussion of philosophy, but Ernesto comes over to share a little about the screen printed pieces. He casually discloses his insights, dropping some facts about the artist, who I see is world-renowned for their talents, intermixed with Ernesto's own thoughts about the beauty of the pieces. I follow the hallway into the back of the gallery and find a few more interesting works before the group gathers with Ernesto in the front room off the hallway. We're here after all to get a look a some of Joel Greene's artwork, and talk to with Ernesto about, among other things, Joel Greene. The second part of our day is visiting Joel Greene at his studio. Ernesto has this whole room full of pieces by Joel, and a portfolio of some of his early work and sketches. It's a good day, Ernesto and his gallery are great, and it seems like everyone is excited and seems genuinely interested. It can't hurt that laid out on the table with some of Joel's cards was a bottle of sparkling cider for us. As we sip on cider and look around, I observe that Joel's work is a mixture of flowing tones and geometric landscapes. On one wall there is a collection of paintings depicting thunderstorms, other paintings are of rock faces, vast skies, boulder fields, desert vistas, and pine trees, but there is definitely something cohesive about his style. His images seem simple, his color palette, indicative of the natural landscape, doesn't overwhelm you. Even still they're impactful, coming together in impressive representations of the New Mexican landscape. His paintings grasp the vastness of the sky here, and simple power of the elements. Ernesto ensures us we're in for a treat, meeting Joel. He tells us, unlike many artists, he's very laid back, and has a good sense of humor which we should enjoy. As we begin to file out, almost done with our gallery visit, I follow the deep red of the wooden floorboards. The painted floor is the only thing tying all the rooms together, worn in little paths from room to room, from so many people's footsteps. In one last little story, Ernesto tells me the story of the floor color. When he started the studio only one room had a red floor, painted over years of other colors, but red was the most apparent. He decided to paint them all to match, so all the wear we see is is just from the beginning of his gallery to now. I was so surprised that all of that wear, giving so much character to the little gallery, could have happened in such a relatively brief history from people just like us walking back and forth appreciating the artistic vision of others.

After a short drive out of town, we arrive at Joel Greene's studio. There's an old truck parked in the driveway of a very nice looking building. I would have called it a house, but I knew it was the studio. We walk in and right away the good nature and boyishness Ernesto described seems apparent. Joel is smiling, and welcomes us to his studio. We enter into the print shop and it isn't very long before Joel is explaining the some aspect of how a small press works. The second large room, with large sliding glass doors looking out to a beautiful view, is the painting room. His whole studio is very open, helped by tall ceilings and neatness. He has a couch, and chairs, a bookshelf full of movies and books, a little TV, and of course his two easels and a drawing table. Everything looks like it has a place, and we settle in. Everyone asks questions, about his technique, how long it takes him to finish a painting, his experiences in New Mexico, he answers all of them thoughtfully and usually with a chuckle. Some of his paintings decorate the walls of his studio, and someone, Connor I think, asked a question about the development of his style. A few of the paintings seems to have softer rolling look, while others are morethe great light out here, which we had heard about, and clear air that makes the landscape all that more appealing to paint. I won't try to quote, but in explaining his color palette, Joel pointed out that the desert can tend to blend into a mess of tans and beiges if you're not looking for the colors, but they're there. It was so wonderful to visit with his, he was light hearted and modest, very welcoming, and kind. He so readily answered our questions, whether they were practical and about his process or some object or tool in his studio, or about his thoughts, ideas, and inspirations.

Meeting with Ernesto and Joel proved to be a great day in my book, they both had interesting stories and were wonderfully welcoming. Their willingness to share their experiences and work allowed me a moment to take away, a true 'expereince' to reflect on and tie together in the future, rather than just a visit.

-Laura McCaughey

During our free day in Santa Fe, I was sitting by myself in the plaza, enjoying the beautiful weather and interesting sights, when a Native American man came and sat down beside me. We began to talk, and the conversation quickly came to be about cultural history and relations in the area. Our conversation was easy and heartfelt, not at all uncomfortable in the way that conversations with strangers sometimes are. Upon my phone ringing, we said good-bye. A little while later, as I sat on a bench with my sister, he approached me and told me to hold out my hands, into which he placed a pair of beautiful dark blue earrings. He said that he wanted me to leave New Mexico with something, to have them. Then he told me the story. His young nephew was in the army, and was sent to Irag twice and then Afghanistan. While in Afghanistan, a bomb blew up nearby him. He said it looked like it was raining blue. He and the other guys went to check it out- the bomb had hit a quarry of lapis. His nephew brought home a large chunk of the deep blue rock, and made jewelery from it. The man was wearing a ring and a bracelet made from that chunk of lapis, and the earrings that he'd given me were made from it as well. He told me that he wore those earrings while he danced; people would say why are you wearing those silly dangling earrings, but you know. He also said that his nephew was sick, and they don't know if he'll mentally recover from the war. He then shook my hands and said May the great spirit be with you. My thank you wasn't sufficient. But each time that I wear the earrings, I will be sending good thoughts to the man and to his nephew. We never did exchange names.
emily

Forest Encounters

    The forests of northern New Mexico are central to discussions of its complex interplay between culture and natural environment. After spending time hiking through some of the gorgeous woods, we got the opportunity to hear from the National Forest Service, at their office in Santa Fe. First we met with Ruben Montez, then with the public affairs officer, Lawrence, who each gave us some idea of the Forest Service's role and current projects. Traditionally, the Forest Service has played a major role in fire prevention and fire control, emerging with the internationally known Smokey the Bear as the mascot for fire prevention. Smokey, who is from New Mexico, is still widely used in campaigns, especially for kids, and the Forest Service is still active in fore prevention. However, science has come to discover that not all fire is bad; in fact, the forest has evolved with natural, periodic fires, and thus our total prevention of them over the last century has not been beneficial. Small, low intensity fires help burn away the underbrush in the forests, keep tree density favorable, and allow for healthier new growth. When underbrush is allowed to build up, and tree density is not thinned, then those human-caused fires that get out of control cause incredible, unnatural amounts of damage, as they are able to rage through the high-fuel woods. Thus the Forest Service now aims to manage the forests through periodic thinning and burning. Their current focus is on the CFRP: the Collaborative Forest Restoration Program. This program aims to incorporate and find agreement among several concerned groups that have historically fought over forest issues, including  local community members who rely on forest use, environmentalists, the National Forest Service, Native American tribes, and local business owners. A federal advisory committee, consisting of these various people, chooses which proposed projects receive grants.
     Later that afternoon, after satisfying our sudden, urgent need for donuts, we got to meet with a CFRP grant recipient, David Cordova. David's father, Max Cordova, is known for his activity with the Alianza, a Chicano group who fought for local rights to the forest. Many New Mexican communities, including Truchas, have historically relied on logging as a livelihood. When the Forest Service began to ban forest use by locals in the 1900s, they naturally fought back, and this tension still exists today. David explained that they never felt they were misusing the forests; they only took what they needed, and came to intimately know those woods, yet a federal agency controlled their relationship to the land. However, the Forest Service has better intentions now than it did at times in the past, and the CFRP seems like a step in the right direction. David walked us through the forest, explaining the process of tree thinning. We also saw the deadly effects of the mistletoe fungus, one of the natural phenomena that can emerge despite man's careful management of the forest.
    It was wonderful to hear two different perspectives on forest issues, from our nation's forest managers,  then from a local native who understands the community. The perspectives were not completely in agreement, yet not completely at odds, and it gave us a fairly well-rounded picture of this complex topic.
    Emily Deitchler

Leaving Chaco via Acoma

Our last morning in Chaco Emily, Laura, and I woke early to hike up on the Mesa to watch the sunrise.  At 5:45am the sky was already mostly light but the sun had yet to peak over the lip of the canyon.  Due to fires that had began the day before in arizona we weren't sure if we were going to be able to see the sunrise when we got to the top--sometimes smoke/pollution make the sunrise brighter, sometimes they obscure it.

At the top we waited and waited, watching the arch of sky become lighter but unable to find the sun through the bank of thick smoke to the east.  A hole of color appeared in front of us, a tiny island that smeared the otherwise dusty gray expanse.  It was through that hole that we watched the sun, which judging from its distance from the horizon had been risen for a while, surface and then slip back beneath the cloudy smoke from arizona fires.

Since the beginning of the trip Jeff had been warning us of the perils of the south road out of Chaco.  After all that warning and hype, however, it was much milder than we had all anticipated.  We arrived at Acoma Sky City mid morning.

Acoma is built on a mesa and sits above the valley in which it is built.  All of the homes on top of the mesa are family homes and are owned communally by Acoma families.  Not all homes are occupied but to me Acoma feels more like a place that people actually live than a tourist destination.  After visiting Taos Pueblo several days earlier Acoma offered us a very different look at life in a native american pueblo/tourist destination.  At Taos Pueblo once we had paid the entrance fee we were allowed to wander at will around the Pueblo.  Acoma, in contrasts, requires that all visitors enter the village with a guide and stay with the group.  Several members of our group commented that this made them feel very uncomfortable and aware of their role as outsiders.  To me, however, this uncomfortableness felt right because it did not all us, as visitors, to forget that we were encroaching on other people's private space.  Although perhaps not always the best feeling I feel that this feeling of awareness is incredibly important and that visitors should not be allowed to forget the role they play when entering someone else's space.  This feeling is one that we struggled with frequently, the balance between embracing community and a feeling of a 'sense of place' but also acknowledging that we were only briefly there to experience that feeling.  Acoma challenged us to consider this idea anew and to think about the ways in which tourism can intrude into people's private lives and the ways in which we, knowing this, can be as respectful of tourists as possible.

-Maya Lemon

Ghost Ranch and the Beginnings of Chaco Canyon

On Tuesday, we packed up and headed out from Heron Lake. Fortunately, Ghost Ranch contacted Jeff the day before to say that we could come tour the Ranch after all. We were all excited and headed that way. On the way, we stopped to see Echo Amphitheater, which is a natural rock formation that makes a perfect echoing amphitheater...who would have guessed from the name. At Ghost Ranch, which Jakob and I read about in Deeply Rooted, two ranchmen talked to us about their cattle grazing program that is open to ranchers in the community. A rancher can put up to 40 head of cattle in the program to graze on the Ranch over the winter months. It is a really great program because many ranchers would have to sell their cattle before the winter because they could not feed them all. About 1,000 cattle roam the pastures of Ghost Ranch on a rotating basis during the winter. Every two weeks, ten of the ranchers help move all the cows to the next  pasture. While it would be better to have smaller pastures that were rotated more frequently, Ghost Ranch's practices are far better than letting the cattle roam free all winter, a practice called "Columbus grazing" because the ranchers must "discover" their cattle in the spring. We saw a plot of land that had never been grazed since a CCC group fenced it in in the 1950s. It had more tall bushy plants, but the grass was very much the same as the grazed land all around it. Our visit to the Ranch was informative and gave us some input from actual ranchers, rather than scientists or ecologists.
Next we headed to Chaco Canyon. We stopped for lunch in Cuba, NM and had some delicious new Mexican food. We entered the canyon via a 37 mile long dirt road that was rather bumpy, especially in the van. Somehow a few people still managed to sleep for most of the road. Once we got into the Canyon, we stopped at the visitor center to register and then headed on to our campsite. The part of the Canyon we could see so far was breathtaking and we were all excited to go exploring. We set up camp in our large group camp site and then went on a tour of an ancient kiva ruin. GB was our guide and he was very informative and excited to tell us new information. The kiva was a 'great' kiva both because of its size and use. A kiva is a large, round, usually subterranean room that is used for religious ceremonies. The doors were facing due North and due South, with perfect alignment. Not much is known about the use of the structures inside. The two large rectangles could have been used for foot drums, for planting seeds, or for fire wood. A bench surrounds the entire inside of the kiva and there are a few niches inside the walls. Most are evenly spaced, but a few seem to randomly inserted into the wall. A roof probably covered the kiva and was supported by large wooden poles. A window on the east side of the building allowed light to shine into the kiva in a perfect rectangle during the Summer and Winter Equinoxes. The kiva had many parts of its architecture aligned with the cosmos; one would assume they were all planned intentionally, but we can never know for sure. After the tour, we hiked around to a few more pueblo ruins and then we went back to our campsite to hang out until 8:30 when a pharmacology professor that also studies herbal medicine gave a talk about plants in the canyon and their medicinal and food uses. The talk was really interesting and he even had samples to pass around. We all tried a bitter plant that helped numb the throat to reduce coughing and he passed around a plant that induces vomiting that we did not try. He knew a lot about plant uses and had made a powerpoint to illustrate some plants he did not have with him. The next day when we went hiking, we even recognized a few of the plants. The day was long but very informative and fun. I really enjoyed going to Ghost Ranch, even though I wish the cows had been there. It was neat to see the place that I had read about. Chaco Canyon was breathtaking and awe-inspiring. So many people lived there between AD 900 and 1150. To see the ways they routed water and built housing that was up to three stories high was so mystifying. If we had to do that now, I don't know that we would even survive. I had a lot of fun in the canyon and it continued to the next day when we went hiking and exploring even more.
-Katie Kilpatrick

The High Road

    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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jakob, Leslie, Katie, and Emily enjoying the nature :)

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-

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
    

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