DECEMBER 1981

I was 26 years old and visiting my brother who lived in Albuquerque at the time.  He suggested we go ski Taos.  We stayed with his friends in the Ranchitos area who had several horses, a latilla fence strung with bleached cow skulls, and a corgi named Guido who liked to roll in horseshit.

The skiing was okay – a bit too extreme for my taste – but afterward we drove out to the Rio Grande Gorge for my first view of that magnificent crack in the earth.  Standing on the east rim, freezing in the December wind, I felt the earth vibrate under my feet … what I would later come to know as the infamous “Taos hum.”

 

Much like a lover, Taos has tugged at my soul ever since with irrational adoration, frustration, comfort, the excitement of discovering something new, longing, and a need to return over and over again.

There’s a magic in Taos that’s impossible to explain to someone who doesn’t belong there.  The natural beauty, art, music, the pueblo, the vibe  … and the people … are unique.

The legend of Taos Mountain says that the mountain will either embrace you, or spit you out.  There is no middle ground with Taos.  After many vacation visits and a failed attempt to move to Taos, the mountain finally embraced me in the fall of 2009.

I pulled my moving van into the rest stop at the top of the canyon.  Overlooking the gorge, I stood on a rock, spread my arms, and felt as though I would soar.  I was finally living my dream.

Three years later, the mountain spit me out.  I’m still not clear about why.  I have wonderful friends there.  I still adore the mountain, the river, the community, the art, the music, and the magic of the mesa.

I’m fortunate to live close enough to visit often.  When I need sacred ground for healing or a lover’s embrace for my soul … I head north.

I’m NOT DONE YET with Taos.  In fact, that’s where you’ll find me celebrating my 60th birthday … hiking the rim, soaking at Ojo, dining with friends at The Love Apple. Yumm.