Even Though We Live Miles Away, We Are Neighbors

I laughed reading a friend's email yesterday because she looked forward to a neighborly gathering, and she lives 27.9 miles away, a 49 minute drive, according to Google maps. But yes, we are neighbors.

Our closest neighbor is half a mile away as the crow flies.  If one doesn't have wings and must drive or walk, it's closer to a mile.

Yesterday I visited a friend who lives about three miles down the road to pick up some carrots because she planted way too many. Since my carrots didn't do too well, I'm all for picking up some carrots. Earlier I gave her some garlic and she said I may have some pesto, too. Yum!

Here's our road. The road grader was here since our last rainstorm, so it looks good.

It's fun looking at our neighboring ranches. This one is around 1300 acres and has pines, cacti, and ferns: three different ecosystems at work.

 Friend Raye lives closer to the village with neighbors nearby.

Her house is adobe and the original structure was built in the early 1900's. That's Goldie, the almost fourteen year old Labrador.

               A smiling farmer out standing in her field, ready to dig. We barely made a dent in the row where Raye is standing, but I still ended up with plenty of carrots.

That's about five pounds of carrots, a zucchini, yellow squash and a lemon cucumber.

Goldie decided to cool off in the acequia, one of a series of water ditches that runs through many of the ranches in New Mexico.

Labradors and water equal fun!

We had some tea on the porch and Goldie had a few more pets. She's a happy oldster.

And then it was back toward home. Don't you love those clouds?

Now about those carrots: Stay tuned.

California Dreamin' With A Little Mad Max Just To Make It Interesting

It was a week ago that we returned from a two week family and friends visit to Southern California, bringing our flu bugs to a new climate and time zone. I hope they enjoyed their stay.

We had just enough time and stamina to bring in the groceries we picked up at Santa Fe's Trader Joe's and store the perishables before we took to our bed, fever dreams and all.

My best fever dream was a dusty, post apocalyptic Mad Maxian video game scenario. When I coughed, mud huts blew up.

When I wasn't having bizarre dreams, I looked at this photo.

That's Newport Beach on a weekday in January, uncommonly warm for a California winter, with a few people lazing on the sand, a killer view of Catalina Island on the horizon. It was a "best time" among the good times we had during our visit. That's MBB going out for a polar bear swim on the right.

Here in Northern New Mexico, it's warmer than usual, too, and the flu bug has flown, leaving us with a nasty cough and weak constitutions.  Ms. Pearl and I may go on a little walkabout today to check out the ranch and breathe some fresh air.

Oh, yeah. I think I will empty the Trader Joe's bags still there on the kitchen floor, too.

Belonging

Our county is small, just around 4,700 people or so, which works out to around 2.5 people per square mile. I can drive six miles to the post office and not meet one car coming or going. Something I just read says we aren't even considered rural, but a frontier. Who knew there was something more rural than rural?

So when our community has an event, it will be well attended, even if the temperature outside is 19 degrees. It's a chance to meet up with family and friends, have some Frito pie or a tamale, do a little gossiping, a little people watching, and buy art, crafts, and baked goodies from the folks at the tables and booths lined up on the elementary school's gym floor. Santa makes an appearance, too, so there are kids, lots of them, waiting for the old guy to show up.

This is my third consecutive Winterfest, always held the first Saturday in December.

The first time I went alone, knowing no one, feeling like everyone was leaning over to their friend from their perch on the gym bleachers, asking, "Who is that?" I felt self conscious, alien, and alone and quickly bought some baked goods and got the heck out of there.

Last year was a bit better, but this year was different. Maybe it's because I went with a friend, but that was only part of it. About half way around the gym I heard someone call my name, "Bridget! How are you?" Vicki was at a table selling baked goods with some high school students earning money for a trip to Europe.

A few steps later, Darlene and Jonathan stopped to chat. There was a short conversation with Veronica, whose hoop house we helped to finish last spring.  Roger and his sister stood behind a table selling their Rancho Carmelo goodies and bath and beauty potions. Across from Roger, John and Pam's daughter displayed her home baked designer cupcakes.

I sat down at the bleachers and chatted with Rita who sold us some beef cattle about a year ago. She introduced me to her mom and I immediately missed mine.

From my perch on  the bleachers I scanned the gym and spotted Betsy, our driver to Winterfest, and a new friend, Barbara. We all have the initials B.B. and may start a club.

After a lunch in a local diner, surrounded by friends both old and new, I went back to the ranch realizing something had changed.

This place feels like home now.