Desert Blooms and Northwest Raindrops

Recently I took a trip back home to New Mexico. As an explanation, whenever I'm in Oregon, home is New Mexico and vice versa. It's been very dry in New Mexico these past few years, with the average precipitation falling well below the average. Whenever I lived there, the sand dunes would absolutely shimmer with wild purple verbena throughout the month of May and the verse from Isaiah 35 about the desert blossoming like the rose would always come to mind. This year I was afraid there wouldn't be any kind of blossoms, be they roses or dandelions. But, I was pleasantly surprised.


The beauty of the desert is much subtler than in the Northwest where everything is green (even the sidewalks in some places). I had to do a bit of searching and listen to friends ask me where on Earth I was going to find anything pretty to photograph. It's really not that hard, you just have to look for beauty. Maybe it's just part of being an optimist.

Last Thursday afternoon, I went on a walk with a good friend of mine. We decided to go along the edge of the irrigation ditch that runs by her office. I asked her which direction was the most scenic and after she looked at me like I was crazy she said neither direction was particularly scenic so it didn't really matter. In the big scheme of things, she was right. It was so dry and the dirt was like cement under our feet, but every now and then a surprise was hiding behind a rock (and it wasn't the kind with rattles either). The only problem with taking pictures when you're with someone is they don't always know when you disappear behind a shrub or fall to the ground to get the right angle for a flower shot. It's rather amusing to see them abruptly stop talking and look around for you.

Back in Oregon there is no shortage of rain and the flowers are anything but subtle or hidden. On my lunch hour walks they all seem to be saying "pick me, pick me!" One of my favorite challenges is finding blooms with raindrops on them. That may not sound hard, but if they have raindrops on them then that means it's either still raining or threatening to. In either case, carrying a camera around is a bit chancey and often involves me wearing it under my raincoat, which is such an attractive look from the side. I'm not exactly fashion conscious but adding what looks like 20 pounds to my form is something I usually try to avoid. The sacrifices we make for art! This past week the rain was nice enough to wait until after 2:00 to start so there was ample opportunity to capture the last of the magnolia blossoms before they fell to the ground. Friends tell me they are the messiest trees to have because of all the petals that litter the street and, because of their leathery texture, they are rather difficult to sweep up. One of the joys of apartment living is being able to enjoy things like this without the work. But don't tell anyone, it's a secret.

Oregon is prime tulip country and at the local tulips farms it resembles a miniature Holland. I have yet to go to those particular areas, and for now I'm perfectly content with the blooms that dot the local neighborhoods. If you close one eye and squint with the other one, you can almost imagine you are in the middle of a vast field of tulips, and maybe even hear a windmill or two in the distance.

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.