Southwest Serenity

Growing up in New Mexico, Oregon and the Northwest were places where it always rained and everything was green, all the people drank coffee 24/7 and lived in Gore Tex lined homes. After moving here in the fall of 2005 I've learned that, for once, most of my preconceived ideas were not only true but didn't go far enough. Now, I have yet to see a Gore Tex lined home but I think waterproof tents should qualify. Of course, not all of Oregon is like the western half. Central and eastern Oregon are much more like what I grew up around. Central Oregon resembles northern New Mexico and parts of eastern Oregon remind me very much of southern New Mexico. The wide-open spaces and azure blue sky make those areas feel like home.  However, it took a lot longer for this part of Oregon to feel like home. Who knew moss grew on sidewalks and roofs, that dogs would have their own raincoats and that the phrase "the mountain is out" was another way of saying there was a clear sky?  Another thing I didn't expect was that the green surroundings would make me appreciate the desert vastness and the sporadic beauty that instead of being out in the open was more like a hidden treasure to be sought after.

One of the sights that greets you as you drive from El Paso to the town of Carlsbad is El Capitan, Signal Peak, or Guadalupe Peak. It doesn't matter what you call it really because it's all the same. This sudden uprising of rock out of what up to that point is a relatively flat and not too exciting drive is the highest point in Texas and one of my favorite sights. I never get tired of looking at it because each time it's different. Sometimes there are clouds hovering near the top, casting their shadows on the rock face. Other times it's totally clear and there's nothing but blue sky over the craggy outcroppings.


During the last few visits I've made to see family and friends, my dad and I have taken a day to go out exploring and picture taking. Some of the shots here will be his because I, inexplicably, forgot my camera and had to make do with one I bought at a department store. Now, I take full responsibility because somehow I had it set on macro so all my pictures were very fuzzy. We were both clicking at the same things so he got exactly what I was aiming for. But I digress. One of our excursions took us to a large area of white sand between Salt Flats and Dell City. Don't feel bad if you've never heard of either of those places, most of the people in Texas haven't either. But those of us who frequent the road between Carlsbad and El Paso are quite familiar with both of them. Neither of us had ever heard of any white sand dunes except for those in the Alamogordo area so when we discovered these not far from the peak we decided it would be a good excursion.

The following year, we found yet another place to view the peak. This one involved what the park service guidebook described as a "well traveled road." Let's just say that their definition of well traveled means huge ruts and lots of rocks. The picture of my dad's truck at a cock-eyed angle doesn't really do it justice, but you get the idea. Our goal was called the Williams Ranch. It was a ranch house built in the late 1800's by a man named, oddly enough, Williams. He had built it for his wife, complete with Franklin stove and wallpaper. But the isolation and hard desert conditions forced them back to more civilized surroundings after a fairly short time. The house is now owned by the park service and is kept locked. Getting to the ranch requires a little planning because you have to arrange for a key to unlock the gate and then it's quite a drive on that "well traveled road." At one point, the road intersects with the Butterfield Stage route. After much jostling, we finally reached the house. By this point I had built up a lot of sympathy for poor Mrs. Williams. And yet, there was a certain calmness and serenity in the absolute stillness of the place. Literally the only sound was that of the wind as it whistled through the Guadalupes on its way to the wide-open spaces. There was a feeling of isolation and yet absolute peace.

There was an ancient truck of some kind not far from the house. The wooden spokes were still intact and you got the feeling it fell apart from lack of use rather than too much. It most likely gave up when its owners did.

Dad and I headed off on what was not so much a trail as a line of breaks in the scrub and mesquite bushes. He had heard of an abandoned well station in the area and was hoping it was nearby. After about 45 minutes of literally wandering in the wilderness we gave up and headed back for the truck. As we turned around, the line of the Guadalupes ending in the defiant peak was perfectly placed against a flawless blue sky. I probably already had 30 pictures of it, but figured one more couldn't hurt.

We made our way back down the well traveled road and both of us kept looking in the rear view mirror at the ranch as it dropped away behind the hills. It was like being in a time machine and watching the past  fall behind as the sounds of the highway got closer and closer.