Yesterday we left the desert country of Roswell. In the distance there was one sharp peak on the horizon out my window. We speculated as to what it was, how far. Maybe it was near Elephant Butte, our destination. Then, after miles of expansive desert, it seemed as if we were slowly coming into paradise.
First there was the sign with the town name: Riverside. What followed was the fulfillment of what the name implied, reiterated in the small villages that followed. Recalling or verifying their names now feels like a detour, away from the bliss of entering a valley with trees drawing the curves of a river we couldn't see. Leafless lush branched Lombardy poplars arrow straight above the rest; horses, horse ranches, sunlight; bush-spotted mountains, shades of rusty reds and gray and gold, adobe structures, old bricks and stones. Textures of grass, fences, bushes, sharp sketched trees. Here, there, a small turquoise pond behind what felt like a homestead.
Signs announced that we were entering Lincoln Historical District, site of the Lincoln War. Something to do with a murdered merchant, then fighting ranchers, and Billy the Kid. Now, tree-lined streets, beautiful, rustic, old homes, highlighted by a round stone fortress with apertures for weapons. Everywhere traces of adobe brick, curves, stone, old wood.
As we continued to drive through this unexpected landscape, strong winds arose. I could see Andre working harder to steer. Over the miles the wind strengthened, and at one point was frighteningly intense. It battered us relentlessly until until it ripped out the rivets that held the tarp over our slide-out. We stopped by a park and as the wind lashed at him, Andre devised a way with wire and plastic ties to secure it. A couple stopped to ask if we needed help. Then we anxiously drove off again.
Before long, it was ripped away again, and again, in a littered truck stop Andre secured it, using a clamp, strong plastic ties, a short ladder, ingenuity and strength against the sandy wind. We set out again, the wind lessening after a while, back into open rolling desert, flanked by mountains. Nearing our destination, the blue lake of Elephant Butte in sight, we saw that the awning on the passenger side was blown loose, and upon our arrival, jerry-rigged that with plastic ties.
Today, it was cool and sunny. Chip came with his helper to re-rivet the slide-out tarp, re-align the awning poles, fix the parking brake, and will return tomorrow to do more. I drove to Truth or Consequences, played with my camera, ate a lovely lunch in peace. and returned to find Chip still working. Despite the wind, which just inspired us to retract the slide-out and endure confinement, with the strong sun, the blue skies and carefully groomed RV Park, with motor homes positioned over several tiers, despite the wind, there is a feeling of peace.
And yesterday seems like a dream of contrasts. The nurturing beauty of the landscape, the powerful imperative of the wind. Both monumental.
This place was a weaving shop, with drinks—I wanted to go in.
On the highway/main street in Lincoln
Outside Lincoln
Our first repair stop
On the road again
Our second stop
On the road again
Andre goes in to register at the RV park
Still windy. Dinner in Elephant Butte, NM
Truth or Consequences, NM, up hill.
Lunch in Truth or Consequences. Tasty and serene. The sun so blinding on my table by this window that I had to move
Back at the RV park
First there was the sign with the town name: Riverside. What followed was the fulfillment of what the name implied, reiterated in the small villages that followed. Recalling or verifying their names now feels like a detour, away from the bliss of entering a valley with trees drawing the curves of a river we couldn't see. Leafless lush branched Lombardy poplars arrow straight above the rest; horses, horse ranches, sunlight; bush-spotted mountains, shades of rusty reds and gray and gold, adobe structures, old bricks and stones. Textures of grass, fences, bushes, sharp sketched trees. Here, there, a small turquoise pond behind what felt like a homestead.
Signs announced that we were entering Lincoln Historical District, site of the Lincoln War. Something to do with a murdered merchant, then fighting ranchers, and Billy the Kid. Now, tree-lined streets, beautiful, rustic, old homes, highlighted by a round stone fortress with apertures for weapons. Everywhere traces of adobe brick, curves, stone, old wood.
As we continued to drive through this unexpected landscape, strong winds arose. I could see Andre working harder to steer. Over the miles the wind strengthened, and at one point was frighteningly intense. It battered us relentlessly until until it ripped out the rivets that held the tarp over our slide-out. We stopped by a park and as the wind lashed at him, Andre devised a way with wire and plastic ties to secure it. A couple stopped to ask if we needed help. Then we anxiously drove off again.
Before long, it was ripped away again, and again, in a littered truck stop Andre secured it, using a clamp, strong plastic ties, a short ladder, ingenuity and strength against the sandy wind. We set out again, the wind lessening after a while, back into open rolling desert, flanked by mountains. Nearing our destination, the blue lake of Elephant Butte in sight, we saw that the awning on the passenger side was blown loose, and upon our arrival, jerry-rigged that with plastic ties.
Today, it was cool and sunny. Chip came with his helper to re-rivet the slide-out tarp, re-align the awning poles, fix the parking brake, and will return tomorrow to do more. I drove to Truth or Consequences, played with my camera, ate a lovely lunch in peace. and returned to find Chip still working. Despite the wind, which just inspired us to retract the slide-out and endure confinement, with the strong sun, the blue skies and carefully groomed RV Park, with motor homes positioned over several tiers, despite the wind, there is a feeling of peace.
And yesterday seems like a dream of contrasts. The nurturing beauty of the landscape, the powerful imperative of the wind. Both monumental.
After seeing this fortress in Lincoln, and taking some disappointing shots of the house next to it, I set my camera on sepia, because of the colors of the sandstone. I tried that for a while, then switched to black and white—which brought me back to where I began with photography, in the seventies.
This place was a weaving shop, with drinks—I wanted to go in. 
On the highway/main street in Lincoln
Outside Lincoln
Our first repair stop
On the road again
Our second stop
On the road again
Andre goes in to register at the RV park
Still windy. Dinner in Elephant Butte, NM
Truth or Consequences, NM, up hill.
Lunch in Truth or Consequences. Tasty and serene. The sun so blinding on my table by this window that I had to move
Back at the RV park
posted by Susan at 6:14 PM
2 Comments:
that first photo looks like a bellybutton
we're lucky that guns can't be poked out from them...
Post a Comment
<< Home