Beginnings

     Of all the places I’ve lived, this one suits me best – in the bosque (woods) of northwest Albuquerque. That’s the thick ribbon of tall, twisting cottonwoods flanking the Rio Grande, running down the west side of Albuquerque, and southbound all the way through New Mexico. I’m a mile and half northwest of Old Town. The house sits in an aging gated community, which I refer to as “the pueblo,” on the fringe of the bosque, as close as development goes toward the east bank of the river.

     The house feels like it grew from the woods that border the open meadow out back. Much of the back wall is glass, leaving clear sight to the meadow, where wildlife wanders and congregates. In winter, my swivel recliner and binoculars aim directly out there, morning and evening, when the angle and texture of light reveal the divine essences of the foliage, even grasses and weeds, and time is nothing more than shifting shadows as the sun moves. Other times of year, I just go out and sit in the meadow, for coffee, meditation, and silent exchange with nature. The beauty of the composite scene there carries my thoughts and spirit beyond egoistic concerns. My day is made when coyotes come trotting by, which is often.

Though I gaze toward the same meadow each time, the scene changes with day, weather, season, and mood. It wears many manifestations from sun, shadow, wind, and rain, but all of its contours and colors, whether exhilarating or ponderous, proceed from eye to heart and lift the spirit. In my routine, it’s daily sustenance.

     The late builder, described as a well-loved, colorful fellow named Harvey, lived here for years, and has accommodated me well with his handiwork. He seemingly left a bit of himself in the house, which creaks and groans with variations of weather. I interpret this as his commentary, expressed through the voice of house timbers. Inspections advise me not to worry, though; it’s just Harvey speaking his peace as a front rolls through.

     Had I been able to design my own dream house, I don’t think I could have improved much on the fit, feel, or function of this one. Thanks Harvey! It feels like a part of me, and I of it, like a cocoon in the woods (bosque).      

     By merely stepping out the back door, I enter the Candelaria Nature Preserve, which is a large wooded open space that stretches eastward from the cottonwood thicket along the river. It’s managed by the City of Albuquerque as habitat for wildlife and migratory birds. To sleep out in the wilds of nature (albeit in the big city), all I need to do is put a cot out there and take blanket and pillow.

     “How rare is that!” whispered an internal voice, as I was first viewing the property. Then the voice came again, saying “hey, if you don’t go for that now, you won’t see another like it.” That sounded persuasive, and I didn’t hesitate to jump in, thus beginning this particular journey of discovery.

     The place reached out and found me, rather than the reverse, I swear. I wasn’t looking for a place in Albuquerque, but while out exploring I bumbled onto a listing for a house that purportedly backed up onto the nature preserve there. “Interesting, and probably worth a look,” I thought, if only for the sake of curiosity.

     But I also had a push factor turning my eye to the market (though not particularly in Albuquerque). I was tired of incessant conflict in the small condominium association I had been part of in Santa Fe for five years. It would come around semi-annually, like a tax on peace of mind. I owned two of the four units in the condominium and had recently voted to block initiatives pushed by the others, trying to make my voice heard above theirs, for once. I had thought it might invite negotiation and compromise.

After that met with intractable negativity, subsequent recovery efforts failed. I took initial steps to sell my residence, planning to use the proceeds to buy the place in the bosque, which I thought might help the association, by ending the deadlock. At that point, I moved into my other unit, as the one that had been my residence was on the market.

     I had had my eye on a ten-acre off-grid property outside of Madrid, just off the Turquoise Trail, in a beautiful notch of the Ortiz Mountains; but I gave up on that after I couldn’t arrange a deal. Just then, while out exploring, this place in the bosque tapped on my shoulder (so to speak), and I put wheels in motion to buy it. After some internal debate over selling or keeping the second condo as a Santa Fe getaway, I then put it on the market too, a few months later, to kiss my unit and the association a final goodbye. It had become a heavy ball and chain by then, and closing escrow set the chimes of freedom to flashing* for me (*apologies to Bob Dylan, ‘64).

     I had lived there for five years, just across east Alameda Street from the waterfall on the Santa Fe River (which I nominate as best location in Santa Fe). If not for the association’s troubles, I would have stayed there for life. The condo fit my needs and stuff extremely well, and the beauty and charm of the surroundings could hardly be beat, but I could see no end to the continual condo strife, which began the day I moved in and clouded present and future.

     “Are you sure that’s a good move for you?” was a common reaction from those I told about it. Santa Fe versus Albuquerque is a dramatic contrast in image and perception – America’s Number One Tourist Destination versus the mega-problems of Duke City. But I would then explain how there’s a big meadow in the Nature Preserve that literally serves as my backyard; and how coyotes, cranes, and a host of other creatures come regularly; and how it’s just a beautiful five-minute walk through legions of cottonwoods to the Rio Grande. Reaction to that was typically “oh, that sounds especially nice, but really, … Albuquerque?”

     For seven years previously, I had owned a second residence only a mile and a half north of where I am now; so, I knew the north valley and much of the city well. I knew the area to be desirable, and that, plus the nature preserve, was enough for me to go ahead and make this bet. The Nature Preserve was the prime attraction, house second, city third.

     Far from being a come down from Santa Fe’s Historic District, this in my opinion is a considerable upgrade. It just fits me better. Having the nature preserve as back yard is a blessing in every sense – and for every sense – holy church by light of morning, regardless of season. From the back patio, you have no concept at all of being in a big city, and if you’re patient, you can find yourself watching a porcupine climbing slowly out of a cottonwood tree, make steady eye contact with a curious coyote from ten yards away, or do some serious birdwatching (whether from preserve or recliner). And if you’re really patient, bobcats and eagles may also eventually appear.

     In light of all this, I ask – who, when they think about the special beauty of New Mexico, first considers Albuquerque? Few, I think; and perhaps that’s why literature about this environment – river, mountains, sky, and valley – is scarce compared to voluminous appreciations of northern New Mexico’s transcendent beauty, which has inspired so many others and me. Striking beauty is all around here also, from the mountains down to the river and beyond.

    Despite its formidable challenges, the city counts much in its favor – the natural beauty, moderate climate, abundant parks and beautiful open spaces, a unique cultural mix, plenty of fun things to do, and lots of good and interesting people. It gets too little credit for its impressive, unique attractions. Though I’m unlikely to rival Frank Waters, John Nichols, or Rudy Anaya as a writer, I’ll certainly raise my voice in praise of the bosque and the river that runs through it. Life as we know it in New Mexico depends on them, and the natural beauty adds immeasurably to its quality.

     I’m entertaining the working hypothesis that such a comfortable home in such a beautiful place should bring out one’s best. Monitoring body, mind, and spirit going forward constitutes the empirical test. So far, so good with that, but final results are not yet in. I feel as though I’ve landed where I’m meant to be at this time of life.