Last Friday would have been my husband’s 75th birthday. I knew it would be a tough day for our family, so we decided to spend it outdoors, in a place he loved. Ed was an avid hiker and wilderness walker, and he adored most everything about our adopted state of New Mexico.
I thought about him on the way to Sandia Crest, gazing out the minivan windows, trying my best to ignore the grandkids loudly announcing in singsong voices the text on every sign we passed. Oh well, kids are a part of life, and not a particularly quiet part.
Ed was a quiet man, preferring the soughing of wind in pines, interspersed with occasional birdsong.
But still, he had his quiet moments with the grandkids, holding them gently in their babyhood and admiring their artwork and clever ideas as they grew older.
This Enchanted State
Ed and I were both fascinated with New Mexico, and we fell in love with the land, the people and the food. We’d spent time on the pueblos (in the days before covid) watching the colorful, ancient dances performed during feast days. We were even invited by some of the pueblo elders to join their post-dance family feasts, and dined on a cornucopia of homemade food prepared for family and guests by our generous Native American acquaintances.
Ed and I thought the time to explore everything lay ahead, over a span of many years. Our plans reached out across the state, and often involved doing something to help our fellow New Mexicans. (We were active in the Truth about Drugs campaign, educating children and adults on the dangers of drug abuse on some of our weekends off).
Of course, there was not enough time to do more than just start that reach outward. But we did what we could in our 4 years together here, from passing out information about the dangers of illicit drugs at town art festivals, to enjoying a soak in hot springs in Truth or Consequences, to exploring petroglyphic art on volcanic formations edging Albuquerque.
Back to Last Friday…
The minivan pulled into the parking lot…we’d arrived at Sandia Crest, at over 10,000 ft elevation. The six of us piled out, gathering backpacks and water bottles and headed down trails still mushy and slippery with melting snow. But the views were magnificent, spanning what was once all wilderness, but now encompassed the city of Albuquerque as well. Ancient volcanos loomed distantly, far off on the other-worldly looking dry plains.
I wasn’t sad. I love my family and watching another generation growing up close to hand is a special kind of gift.
So life continues on in its messy, loud, beautiful and sometimes not so beautiful way. But there are those moments still…the ones with birdsong and pine trees, hikes and remembering my New Mexico years (and all my years) with Ed.
Your Animal Loving Artist,
Merry