Destination Known – Santa Fe

Here I sit on worn furniture in an adobe house built at least fifty years ago. Round log vigas line the ceiling. Rounded white doorways tease you into the next room. Ceiling sun windows are in every room so that you don’t need to turn on lights during the day; the sun becomes the light through the windows. Aside from the occasional cars driving down tiny Canyon Road, it’s utterly quiet. I can hear Dan thinking across the room from me.

It’s a small place. The sink is virtually in your lap when you sit on the toilet. The kitchen is a tiny aisle. But it’s tiled and it works. Slowly we’re finding places to store our things. There is storage, but it’s often stacked high, like New York City thinking: wise use of space.

I long to get a new red chile pepper ristra to hang. There are two already here. One is so old it’s faded almost white. The other is mostly red. And I long to get sage and burn it through the house, a Native American tradition. And I’d like to get some cedar wood to burn in the kiva fireplace. Navajo rugs, or maybe one very large one, are needed on the rough wood floor of the living room. New Mexican blankets are needed over the dirty, old rental furniture.

Here I will write the story of Pansy Stockton and begin organizing a process to photograph and catalogue her works, a daunting task because there are many.

A short walk away is the beautiful home where Pansy Stockton lived, now a million dollar home. My mother sent a photograph of Pansy building the rounded kiva part of the house. It’s amazing how open and rural the land was back then and how tightly built and full of buildings and streets it is now.

We decided to make a home base in Santa Fe while we were in Charlotte, North Carolina spending an early Christmas with Dan’s daughter and family. When it was clear that Dan would go to Iceland and China himself while I stayed with Kiva and the truck, Santa Fe was our first choice. Not only a beautiful and culturally rich location, it would give me the chance to find out more about my great grandmother, write about her life, and explore a possible Pansy Stockton House where her story could be told and her work viewed by visitors to Santa Fe. Since we’ve arrived, we’ve also discovered that it appears to be one of the walking capitals of the world. There are so many beautiful trails everywhere and it is very dog friendly. There is a cool narrow alley of steps between adobe buildings just across the street that leads down to a big park that is perfect for Kiva to run and catch her frisbee and meet other dogs. She also likes the stream that flows alongside the park.

On our way to Santa Fe, we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in Natchez, Mississippi. We’ve grown fond of Natchez and I imagine we will visit there again, probably on our way to visit Charlotte in the future. On December 26, we headed west, stopping overnight in cold West Texas and crossing into the Land of Enchantment on December 27.

Christmas and New Years is a busy time in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We were fortunate to find a place to stay at the La Quinta. Every room in the huge hotel was occupied on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

We spent New Year’s Eve at the Santa Fe Plaza: bonfires, music, food, festive lights. It was crowded, but no alcohol and everyone was so friendly. During the countdown to 2018, the Zia sun symbol was raised and fireworks went off. On the peaceful stroll back to the truck, a local couple wished us a happy New Year. I liked the way it felt: friendly, family-oriented, welcoming.

On New Year’s Day, we drove an hour and a half north to Taos Pueblo, an ancient Native American village. Its buildings and church are so beautiful, but cameras and cell phones are not allowed. The best part about that rule is that technology addicted guests could actually absorb their surroundings: speak with each other, listen to the rushing of the ice crusted stream, feel the wind and warm sun on their faces. The turtle dances would happen at some time around the pueblo, but the time was not determined by a clock. There were places open to buy food and art. I bought fry bread and sat in front of a lighted kiva fireplace in one of the most comfortable chairs, it curled around my body and supported my back. I didn’t want to get up.

The sounding of the drum announced the turtle dancers. They came from the houses of the pueblo and crossed one of the foot bridges over the stream. They stood in a line. Their torsos were painted the color of the adobe buildings. They wore headdresses with fur pelts and feathers. They stomped together with beaded moccasins of various colors. They shook gourds, which may have been made of turtle shells, but we don’t know. During the dance, they would turn, lifting their shakers high. We don’t know much about the dances because they are sacred and questions are discouraged. Once finished, they moved to a different spot in the pueblo to dance again.

Four days into the new year, we moved into the little, old adobe house we rented for the next year at the eastern end of the famous artist gallery street: Canyon Road. We are next to a beautiful adobe Catholic church and Desert Montessori School. People are friendly and tend to be non-pretentious and there is so much beauty everywhere. Every day is aroma therapy because of the cedar wood, sage, and piñon smells that are pervasive. Every sunset glows.

In a little over a week, I’ll fly from Albuquerque to New York City to see my son Zachary on his return from two years in Argentina. He’ll be in New York City to audition for a school to pursue his Master’s Degree in Violin Performance. After spending a week there with me and his Uncle Alex, he’ll fly to Fairbanks, Alaska to figure out his next steps.

Five days after I return from New York City, Dan will fly to Reykavík, Iceland to drive for the visiting Chinese baseball team members. He has a one way ticket. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I’ll wait in the warm embrace of Santa Fe, which means “Holy Faith” in Spanish.