MY Ghost Ranch

This is Ghost Ranch, New Mexico   

 

The daring Queen of Ghost Ranch. The soulful poet laureate from Santa Fe. The mystical yoga teacher. Sweet young Emilene. Catherine the Voice. Beautiful Brooke. Quiet friends Liz and Elaine. Kindred spirit Elaine. And me, Laura, coming here to wash herself in the hues of the painted desert.

 

Yoga in the mornings on the hill. An early morning trek to Chimney Rock. A secret hike to O'Keeffe's Ghost Ranch home with the spectacular NM sunsets walking us home. A long-awaited tour of O'Keeffe's home in Abiquiu - it did not disappoint, from the gardens to the rocks to Mino, the gardener's grandson, now grown, who slipped me a piece of sweet sage to take with me. 

 

A social whirl through El Rito - must watch Manhattan, the series! Met a writer, a sculptor and rescue dog Lilly, found roaming the streets of Espanola with a giant chain on her neck. Dined on takeout from El Farolito at their desert home.

 

An evening hike to the Bear, made by the sculptor we met. Yoga in the desert with the sun setting. We're surrounded by towering rocks, blue skies and the spirits.

 

We make lunches on the porch for our hike into box canyon where we find a magical cavern at the end. We do yoga, we do the hokey-pokey, we sing. I choose this place to build an altar, a stack of rocks like you see in many spots. Five rocks: life, love, purpose, patience and dreams. I ask the cavern to keep my troubles. I ask the well we pass the same. I splash its cold waters all over me. I feel alive, I feel new. Though I know my old stuff is still there.

I listen to our writing coach give a reading. A Jewish earth mother. I struggle with my own writing and am awed by the others' writings. I realize how I don't ever write about what's inside of me. Brooke and Elaine are the bravest, sharing their inner worlds with us. 

Throughout the week there are kids all around. Thursday night is "coffeehouse," when they get to strut their stuff - an interpretive dance, a Shakespeare and Star Wars skits, a comedian. They are silly and happy and its infectious.

Friday I'm a bit out of sorts, so I head out for a drive by myself, north to Tierra Amarilla, where I get coffee at the coolest little unknown spot. The owner plays his garbage can cello for me. I head back and the scenery is so big - it's all so big here. I stop at Echo Amphitheatre and shout to the cavern again to hold my troubles, free me of them. I say goodbye to sad Laura. I realize NOBODY knows where I am and I love it.

I get back and I am happy to see my new friends. I've seen each of them cry. We eat red chile enchiladas and other cafeteria fare and sit outside. Later, we listen to candlelit music and 10-minute plays.

The final day is our hike to Kitchen Mesa, it's long and scary, we scramble up rock crevasses. My heart is pounding. We get to the top - my heart is pounding from the view. We climb back down - I feel like a badass for doing it.

There is so much more. Always, there is the view - the mountains, the sky, the clouds, the colors. I pick up rocks wherever I got and mail them home. And the Pedernal, it is humbling to be in its presence, it watches over us, it changes everyday and yet stays the same. You can see why she was obsessed with it.

This is Ghost Ranch