Santa Fe

 

  Travel is uncomfortable. Why do we subject ourselves to it? We get restless sitting at home. We want to see distant relatives. Our people will listen to us and we'll listen to them and together we'll make medicine.

  We took four days driving to Mesa, Arizona from home on a combination of interstate and two lane secondary roads. The interstates are helpful to shrink the distance but they're monotonous. On the back roads you view the countryside and the towns up close. You see humans and their effects. Sometimes you meet one.

  We spent three days with Uncle Vern (age 101) and Cousin Kelly (youthful), the fourth of his five daughters who helps him stay in his condo duplex on the east side of Mesa. Mesa is flat with lots of tall palm trees and all kinds of cactus. I especially like the giant saguaro, standing with their arms up like desert yeti.

  We were in Mesa during the solar eclipse. I had ignored the hubbub because we were too far west to see the show. On the day of the eclipse Kelly, Teresa and I were hiking in the Lost Dutchman State Park when some other hikers offered their dark glasses to us. With the glasses I could see the daytime moon slipping in front of the sun. Even a two thirds eclipse is awesome if you know how to look.

  After three days in Mesa we headed to the Grand Canyon, a five hour drive north. In 1997 Teresa and I had gone on a seven day guided hike into the canyon, but had not spent any time exploring the rim. That's what we planned to do on this visit. I love kids but there were a multitude of them on spring break running around while their parents tried to direct their attention to this wonder of the natural world.

  We wanted to have lunch at a lodge overlooking the canyon but the dining rooms were packed. We beat it down to Flagstaff on old Route 66 for the night. Next day we headed to Santa Fe where there was a house we had arranged to stay in waiting for us. It would be a long day’s drive but I thought we could work in some scenic back roads along the way. While on the interstate Teresa saw a sign for the Petrified Forest National Park. 

 I felt a resistance to leaving my 75 mph cocoon but soon we were driving the 25 mile loop through the park. The ranger had said it would take 45 minutes but with all the stops at scenic overlooks, ancient dwellings, etc. it took an hour and a half. In my childish imagination I had pictured a forest of vertical stone trees, but the actual forest resembled giant chopped up hot dogs scattered about the plain. I checked the Petrified Forest off the bucket list. There would be no back roads to Santa Fe. I-25 all the way. 

  My brother Bill who lives in Maine has a friend also named Bill, who also lives in Maine and has a vacation home in Santa Fe. Friend Bill said we could stay at his house as long as we liked. Nice. We arrived at Bill's place on a gravel road in the hills west of the city. Don't call the area desert. There's lots of 20 foot tall juniper bushes and other desert adjacent flora. There are tumbleweeds. But even Minnesota has tumbleweeds. Bill's house was like a beautiful user-friendly museum. I could have spent my whole time relaxing there, but we needed to explore Santa Fe.

  It would take a couple of weeks to start to sample everything Santa Fe has to offer. We stuffed it all into a couple of days. They say there's inequality in America. We saw things in fancy stores around the plaza that if bought would quickly wipe out our retirement nest egg. Sitting in cozy nooks outside the plaza we saw grizzled men wrapped in blankets. We saw an indigenous man drumming an empty plastic pop bottle on his thigh while singing, eyes closed. I dropped a dollar for seed money in his hat. He wasn't bad.

  We went to Sunday mass in the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi. The Spanish built the first church here in the early 1600s and tried to make the Pueblo Indians into Christians. The Indians didn't like this and killed most of the Franciscan Friars, burned the church and sent the Spanish packing. The Spanish came back twelve years later. They agreed to let the Indians incorporate part of their religion into Catholicism. The Indians let the Spanish rebuild their church. 

  A hundred and fifty years later when Santa Fe was part of New Mexico Territory, the French bishop wanted a bigger church. He thought there were enough adobe buildings in town and had his architect design a Romanesque-style church which was built right over the old adobe church. When the new church was done, they tore down the old one and took it out the front door. They left one adobe chapel as a memento. I lit a candle in the chapel for all those who have read this far. Bless you.

  I found my favorite thing about Santa Fe at the Saturday morning Farmers Market. There was much to see there: artwork, clothing, goat meat, vegetables...but my eye was caught by the poem writer. He sat at a small folding table tapping away at a vintage manual typewriter. I gave him some words and ideas and some money and wandered around for seven minutes while he worked his magic.

w C= William Curius, Troubadour