Wildflowers

About two miles west of my home there is an overpass stretching across I-40. Currently there is a gorgeous display of bright blue wildflowers covering the entire hillside which drivers on I-40 pass on their way to Albuquerque. I love this brilliant burst of color, even though the allergies they bring cause me to moan almost daily due to headaches.

A few weeks ago little bouquets of purple wildflowers could be seen everywhere. There are still some signs of them in the cooler areas where the warm sun has yet to eradicate them. Also I have seen bright stalks of Indian Paint brushes, (bright yellow and red) and little blue bell -like flowers no larger than my pinky nail. Soon wild sunflowers will blanket fields for miles. These are my favorite, they are so hardy and friendly at the same time. They all go to seed so fast, a lovely view for a moment fading until next year.

I've tried collecting the seeds, but I always seem too late. This time of year things change so quickly, and the Spring winds are quick to blow it all away.

Backroads

I grew up in New Mexico, and I spent many a day playing in the mesas, the arroyos, (where I would never let me child play in now) along the foothills of the Sandia Mountains, and building forts underneath sprawling Piñon Trees. It was not a unusual experience for me, and it did not occur to me that anyone else might have grown up differently. I knew that in other places they had many more trees, and a great deal m ore water, but I didn't know how unique my experiences of growing up in such a different culture really was until I moved to North Carolina at 13 years old.

There my friends asked me if I had to have a passport to move to the U.S., complimented me on my fine grasp of the English language. They had never heard of Piñons, or green chili or pueblos. They'd never been in a Kiva or seen a Navajo. They thought my poncho was a rug. When I brought beans, tortillas and jalepeños to school for lunch. they were disgusted. I didn't know that many of the words I used for the things in my life were Spanish or Native American in origin.

When I had children of my own and I was living in Florida, I wanted so badly for them to have a taste of my childhood. I wanted them to see the Balloon Fiesta, hold a Horned Toad, help me light Luminarios for Christmas, and see the wide expanses of beautiful acreage you can only find in New Mexico. They've both lived with me here now for close to 12 years, and they love it here. I know where ever they might move, they'll always have a piece of this in their heart to keep close.

We're still part of the United States here, but a little different from the one you might find just anywhere. It's off the beaten track, a sweet spot on the back roads of America, and I am lucky to be here.

The Bare Bones Truth

My good friend recently introduced me to her beau, a very nice young man originally from Virginia, now living for the moment in Utah. He was visiting his sweetheart hear in the Land of Enchantment, and she was showing him the sights.

I am not sure how the conversation steered in the direction of bones, (pardon the pun,) but he amazed at what he called our obsession with bones. My friend had found a tiny animal skull the week before, and was trying to clean it so she could use it for a decoration. He was surprised. (Surprised isn't the word, but disgust may be too strong. Maybe.) I pointed out the cow skulls in my yard, I have three in different areas of my garden, placed strategically so that mint, flowers, and strawberries grow in, and around them. His reaction was anything but subtle. I think he was beginning to suspect that he had stumbled onto the New Mexican version of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre".

Trying to placate him, I pointed out that hunters frequently keep the mounted heads of deer and other prey over fireplaces. Quite correctly he mentioned there is a difference between trophy mountings and keeping the bones of varmints found on the roadside.

I admit I was a t a loss for words and explanations, and so he left my home quite sure I am crazy.

It wasn't until he'd was long gone before I realized that my inclination for collecting bones isn't as morbid or as unusual as it sounds. The New Mexican culture I have grown up in is heavily laced with influences from many cultures, most pointedly, the Native Americans.

Historically Native Americans as a culture have used whatever was available to them in order to survive. Wood, shell, stone and beads and clay from the earth; meat, hide, hoof, horn, and bone from the animals they hunted. Never a culture for waste, they created flutes, tools, utensils, jewelry, and other decorations of all kinds from what was left.

When I was a little girl my grandmother gave me a bone-bead necklace for my birthday. I have seen cow skulls all around me, painted with riotous color hanging on the walls of even the Capital Building. I had a friend who owned a beautiful horn cup, made from the natural shedding of a huge mountain sheep.

I sometimes forget that everyone hasn't grown up this way. Even though I have lived and traveled all over the US and some of Europe, I often take for granted that everyone hasn't been a part of this rich experience I have owned.

It's a place like no other, and that's why I come home after so many years. It's why I and so many love this wonderful place we call The land of Enchantment.

Downtown Albuquerque

Downtown Albuquerque at night. I love this city, "A big little town" as some people call it. A place where so many opposites exist. High rises and old territorial style homes on the same street. Business suits and cowboy hats. A city teeming with life, with a multitude of people and cutltures incredibly diverse, blending to create a wonderful culture of it's own.