Musings

Gallery doorway. Sign is at opposite end of building; building faces Old Santa Fé Trail, with a narrow sidewalk between the curb and property wall.

Main, front entrance to the NM capitol. Strange choice to have single row of trees that visually block the doors; usually there are two rows flanking the view.

Arched doorway of the NM history library, built, as you can read, as a public library—which is now across the street.

Arch over base of walkway up Marcy Hill.

Fence-gate near the rear of St Francis Cathedral.

Filled in doorway in wall next to Santa Fé River. The paint I think is to obscure graffiti.

Rarely used gateway.

Utility gateway.

Eroding spooky cranium topping a gatepost. [I thought this might be a head-newel, but newels are only by staircases, if I have it right.]

Posted at 10:38 PM | Comments Off on Doors and gateways

Nature of course offers harsh edges and lines. Today I kept seeing subtle changes of many sorts. Notice how the variations in juniper dimensions help your eye note the landscape’s folds and creases.

Add some snow-dusted high elevations to a steeper juniper plus pines landscape.

And tall pines! And more snow…blanket more than merely dust.

Even these amazingly tasty Brussels sprouts have layers. And that honey-mustard sauce…otherworldly. We lunched in Taos on not-New Mexican cuisine.

Real verticality. Meadow/pasture at base….

And a gorge! Downward verticality. That’s the Rio Grande.

Meadow-to-peaks verticality again, this time with a line of fence-posts angling across.

We climbed to higher elevations, and thus more snow accumulation. Even lines of animal tracks crossing the white.

Always, since we were driving and the road was plowed, the road wends across the landscape, a scar in the snowiness.

Hoar-frosted trees. Layers here are branches and between-branches.

This town is named Los Ojos, which means eyes, but is also used for springs. If you were an anciano*, wouldn’t water emerging from the ground be pretty darned special?, an addition to the complexity of the Underworld.

Erosional remnant…all about layers. And graduations of color.

And dusk…on a clear night. With a big moon, off to the way left, to be imagined. Full tomorrow night….

* anciano = ancient one in Spanish.

Posted at 9:25 PM | Comments Off on Layers and graduations

Our first big adventure was to drive into—and out of—an extinct volcano.

We followed the Jemez River up. It’s in the previous shot, too. Between the river and the road is a ridge locally called soda dam. Long gone hot springs created the deposit, layer upon layer.

This is approximately the crest of the caldera rim. It’s not edgy and distinct. We were glad it was warm and sunny, and the crud on the road was melting, even in the shadows.

This is the Valle Grande of the caldera. It’s huge. You are looking at no more than a “corner” of the interior. All those ridges across the VG are on the floor of the caldera. Huge.

Descending toward Los Alamos (the willows) on the other outer flank, we could see the mountains on the other side of the Rio Grande Valley. Such landscapes!

Outside the lava territory of the volcano-lands, we saw different kinds of rock and landforms. That is the extent of my geology knowledge on this. 😇

Our second big adventure was to walk downtown for a fancy dinner, just as the sunset was glowing over the rooftops in the neighborhood…very soon to fade.

The plaza trees are festooned with lights. And the moon was up.

Food porn. I had elk tenderloin with mushroom sauce and veggies. Perfection.

Plaza lights as we traced our steps homeward, after full dark.

Highly computational photo. Stunning.

And the super-great adventure? Thirty years since our wedding. 🥂🍾 😃

Posted at 6:32 PM | 2 Comments »

During today’s walk, I passed the NM Supreme Court building, with an entrance overlooking the Santa Fé River. I know it just looks like channelized run-off, but this river was a main water supply for pre-modern visitors.

I wound my way up Marcy Hill, and had this view back at the city. Fogged in. Fort Marcy is up here, just foundation ruins now, being worn down by foot traffic. A sign said it was the first fort built west of the Mississippi by the US military. It was not where the troops lived, but a place of secure refuge if needed. The star fort was built in 1846, and abandoned in 1868.

I checked out a little-traveled area, and found this trio. Notice how the young one is trailing the adults and not so alert. Checking social media, perhaps.

Homeward bound, I checked out the rear of the capital building. Looks like children engaged in tug-a-war. Metaphor for activities in the building?

At some point I followed the Old Santa Fé Trail, and found this marker.

And a faux stable. No flies, I’m guessing.

Posted at 11:23 PM | Comments Off on Marcy Hill ramble

While the coffee was brewing, I stepped outside. The birdbath was frozen solid.

We’re somewhat overdosed on driving, so we didn’t today. Walked to do our errands. Mini-crabapple?

Sample of the residential architecture in our neighborhood; these units are a bit larger and fancier than ours. Same feel, however.

First chore trek took us to the Farmers’ Market. I talked to a bean guy, and bought some black beans from him. Also got a turkey leg, butchered yesterday (TMI?), the grower said. Stew to come. This is a watermelon radish, the sign said, with black radishes on the left edge. Did not buy or taste either one.

Near the FM is the northern terminus of the Railrunner commuter train that goes down to Albuquerque and beyond largely in the Rio Grande valley. Love the roadrunner graphic that flows from the locomotive across the trailing cars.

During a later errand trek, we found a largely untended urban cemetery behind a Mickey’s and similar fast food places, nail salons, and the like. On a slight hill.

Companion shot to the first one from the cocktail hour.

Apparently this sky warns of ❄️. The highest peaks nearby are already 🏔.

Posted at 6:41 PM | Comments Off on No driving

Billy the Kid was incarcerated here at the combo courthouse/jail in Lincoln County, New Mexico, in 1881. He managed to escape, and was murdered by a “friend” about ten weeks later.

That gap is Capitán Gap. It’s where a singed bear cub was found in 1950. He soon was named Smokey the Bear. And the rest was history.

Saw feeding sandhills by the dozen, plus ducks and geese of various sorts at Bosque del Apache, in the Rio Grande valley. We didn’t ask officials about this strange dark coloration; that creature clearly had the red details on the head, however.

We did enjoy the arboretum etc walk by the Bosque visitor center. I will spare you from any more of the dozens of photos we shot there.

Stopped at the Harvey House Museum in Belen. Businesses all around the area each sponsored the decorating of a tree or a room. It was great to see the community support, but I found it difficult to imagine this as the dining room back when it was a Harvey House. The waitresses had rooms upstairs.

Special night at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center in Albuquerque. We got to see the Apache Dancers and hear their caller/singer, who also drummed. How special. This was the before-dark performance.

The second, after-dark performance was super-charged. The fire made a huge difference. We got ashes from the fire afterward to keep with us in the pickup for good luck, as directed by the chanter, along with most of the folks who stayed until the end (cold, about 40°F, brr). Actually, these are religious and spiritual events, not presentations or performances. I liked that.

This entry might have been better titled “Hinge points,” but I couldn’t resist “Swing nose frog.” It refers to a particular switcher set-up for rails. Thank you, Harvey House.

Posted at 10:22 PM | Comments Off on Swing nose frog

I almost titled this “Sin papas,” which is Spanish for without potatoes, which is how I ordered my breakfast—in English—and actually what the order-taker told the cook. Delightful veggie scramble bowl, I had. Sin papas.

More mundanity: traffic light being fixed. Under solid overcast.

Sky is clearing as we pass below Buchanan Dam, holding back the Colorado. Which today looks blue not colorado, Spanish for reddish, dark rusty brown, I think.

We needed to stretch our legs and stopped in San Angelo. Immediately when we opened the doors, we heard a band playing across the lake, another dammed up section of the Colorado. We walked toward the band shell and found this lady posed with her own shell.

Band was playing piece after piece of band standards, mostly several together in medleys. Is this what bands typically do? The musicians were separated into two groups, each with its own conductor. The upper conductor was leading the whole thing, I’m pretty sure. There were active duty folk in the audience, several dignitaries on stage (one in uni), and I think the event was to honor a group that works with wounded warriors.

We are standing as requested for the final song, “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

On the road again, and the scrub oaks we had seen most of the morning disappeared and we saw wind plants on the horizon.

Continuing westward, the skies became almost clear and we got into irrigated cotton lands. However, they have had some rain, and we saw puddles here and there, and water in the creeks/dry washes. For a time.

Cotton harvest. Round bales and large rectangular stacks. I think the four-digit numbers may designate which farmer is to be paid for the cotton.

Another gorgeous sunset, this one with a line of peaks in the far distance across a valley. We lost another hour and I’m rather discombobulated. And tired. G’night.

Posted at 5:26 PM | Comments Off on Things can change when you keep moving

A relic loblolly pine forest…so unexpected to me in my ignorance. Scientists have looked at the genetics, and these trees are closely related to others to the east. Thus, this is the westernmost stand of the eastern forest in this part of North America.

Of course, over a century ago, a big forest meant that loggers showed up. And the mills were built in Bastrop, and many people there became wealthy. Now the town seems bent on being uber-charming, to attract visitors (with credit cards and puffy pocketbooks) from nearby Austin, especially, and elsewhere.

Bastrop’s mills were powered by the water of the Colorado River, and here’s the old vehicle bridge (current one to the right), which is supposed to be a pedestrian bridge, but is closed presently.

Onward. Look: traffic. And more traffic. Look: a capital. Yes: Austin.

Post-dinner stroll: hey, Stevie Ray Vaughan, a man from a line of three-named men.

Riffles from passing crewing skulls. Yes, in the dark. And, yes, there’s a Goooooooogle “G” on the building opposite.

Playing with computational photography in the darkness under the railroad bridge over the Colorado. In between taking this and the previous photo, I was looking up for the lone star, but I saw more than one.

Posted at 8:52 PM | Comments Off on Into the political center

Turns out our word bayou is from a Frenchified Native American word. Most I’ve seen are like this—dredged and channelized.

Photographically, the high point was a morning walk in a wildlife preserve also known as a swamp. Lots of Spanish moss but no Spanish.

The trail took us back to open water—a lake? This bird kept its distance yet still was curious about us. Snowy egret.

Closer was this little blue heron, busy hunting and mostly ignoring us.

Back on the road we drove through an area with lots of ship-building, which appeared to be roadside but was really in nearby channels.

Later we got into a cane-growing zone. It is harvest season and a few guys and many machines were active. Lots of trailers, full and empty, moved the chopped plant material to…to…I assume presses?

Many bridges, a few high enough for ships to pass.

Much later we were in a traffic jam (no alternative routes), and the Guru made a new friend. Kinda.

And another spectacular sunset. Life is darned good. We sleep in Texas tonight. [Those two sentences not logically connected.]

Posted at 6:22 PM | Comments Off on Bayou territory glimpses

Coming in from the east, we began our New Orleans wander in the Lower Ninth Ward. It’s mostly still abandoned with some pockets of trash remaining.

The Claiborne Avenue bridge crosses the flood control levees and a shipping canal, hence the section that will rise out of the way.

Downtown, finally. River. Riverboat.

Statue honoring emigrants to New Orleans. I might have chosen “immigrants.”

Jackson Square, with statue in the middle. [We won’t discuss which Jackson.] Cathedral named after Louis IX of France, the only French King who is a saint, so the name is Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis, King of France. Seems strange to have saint and king linked. So New Orleans.

New Orleans means beignets and café au lait at Café du Monde. Yes, the business has changed greatly since I first came here in 1967, but it’s still beignets and café au lait at Café du Monde.

New Orleans means street cars.

New Orleans means the maid of Orleans…here Joan is gilded.

New Orleans means upstairs balconies and architectural detail.

Sometimes the balconies are double-tiered.

Down at the market we found this gigantic bow, so large it takes multiple loops of chain to hold it.

Then we shifted neighborhoods and walked past legendary Tipitina’s. I was surprised to read it opened in 1977; I thought it was older. Must be the archaeologist in me.

Random building in the Touro quarter. It is quieter and very residential compared to the French quarter.

And, as my dear friend KW sometimes writes, that is all. 😀

Posted at 1:20 PM | 2 Comments »