Recently I recalled a scene in a popular movie from years ago, where this guy from New York City goes to the Deep South. He is in a hotel room and the air is warm and humid, the night is still. He can’t sleep until he puts in a cassette tape of city sounds and noises. Heavy traffic, horns honking, sirens whizzing past. He settles into bed and happily drifts off, having filled the unwelcomed silence.
That scene was one of the most memorable in the entire film, and has stayed with me mainly because I was more incredulous than amused when I saw it. No way could I relate to his preference. I have a friend who moved from the East Mountains back to the city because even though her husband loved the two acres on which they lived, she couldn’t stand it. It was too quiet and she felt isolated. Last year they sold their property to move back to Albuquerque. I just sold our two acres, which wasn’t far from theirs, and bought 48 acres south of Santa Fe.
There are obviously lots of folks who love city life, with all the cultural activities, great restaurants, night life, and shopping, shopping, shopping. While I very much appreciate many of these amenities and conveniences, I like to visit then head back up to the top of our mesa. With all of my heart I want these vast reaches of open space, the stunning vistas, the wildlife, the black night skies with countless stars so bright and so close they seem within reach, and the deep and absolute silence. And in order to have it we are currently, albeit temporarily, living in a camper – with our three dogs. A Standard Poodle, a Wire Hair Fox Terrier and a little Jack Russell Terrier mix who “found” us and decided to stay. To say the space is cramped is a bit of a humorous understatement. Everything takes longer and is more involved, each task and activity of daily living has more steps. It is a great exercise in patience and feels like a spiritual practice, sharing such a confined space, that blissfully comes with forever views.
Our camper has a slide-out which contains the dining table and cushioned benches. Today our poodle and wire hair fox terrier took a nap, side by side, underneath the table where I work on my laptop computer. I thought it was worth a picture; and the picture, to me at least, is worth the proverbial thousand words. While the boys were happily snoozing under the table, our little Sophie, the Jack Russell mix, was draped across the cushioned bench opposite me, supervising my work.
There are those who truly enjoy living in a quadraphonic world, with multiple sources of stimulation and the ever-present possibility of sensory overload. In contrast and by choice, the majority of my day is spent not in surround-sound, but in surround-silence. Throughout the day various birds provide momentary concerts; and at night we hear boisterous coyotes, and the hauntingly beautiful melodies of an owl who lives somewhere near.
An “off the grid” lifestyle seems to appeal to some intellectually or conceptually, but few are willing to actually do what it takes. Living simply is not easy, and putting in the infrastructure to be self-reliant is very expensive. There are many costs, not all of which are monetary. Choosing to live this way understandably appeals to a relatively small number of folks. We have encountered those who appreciate it as adventuresome and many who think we are courageous, crazy or a combination of both. The decision and the conviction to pursue this dream is a direct result of my becoming an entrepreneur and an Internet marketer. While that may seem peculiar, it is true. What I have learned about mindset, personal growth and visualizing has emboldened me. Coming to understand the profound truth that “in order to have something you’ve never had before, you must do something you’ve never done before” has been transformative.
As Abraham Maslow has said, “One can choose to go backward toward safety or forward toward growth. Growth must be chosen again and again; fear must be overcome again and again.” At this point in my life, I am embracing this wisdom in a way I never before would have considered.
It is said that New Mexico doesn’t have spring, it has wind. As in rip-roaring gusts that can re-arrange your clothes and threaten to literally sweep you off your feet. Yesterday was like that. Today it has been completely still, becalmed. A stillness that is so calm and peaceful, I am overflowing with wonder and gratitude. Until I lived here I didn’t think much about wind. Certainly would not have imagined it as one of the four seasons! In California we had windy days and about the most I would say, think or feel about them is that I didn’t like them. Here it is different. The wind is a force with which one must grapple. It can be fierce and unwieldy and there is absolutely no getting around it. But more than that, it has captured my attention and caused me to become aware, curious and respectful.
Wind in the desert has so many moods and voices. On our mesa-top it can go from complete and profound silence infused with a deep stillness, to whispering through the trees, to howling winds of such velocity and volume that it is almost deafening and disorienting. The winds can rip branches from trees, just as they can gently carry the melody of a songbird, or the scent of sage and cedar unknown distances. The winds artfully re-arrange countless cloud formations with an elegant choreography that is captivating to watch. And when the breezes are just so, the ravens appear and windsurf on invisible currents, frolicking to and fro as they dip in a free fall, only to make another ascent, climbing higher and higher into the bright blue sky.
This experience, this off grid adventure, is turning out to be its own season. And it is a most joyful one at that, high up here where one can watch with unobstructed views as the sun rises over the Sangre de Cristos and sets beneath the Jemez. In addition to those mountain ranges, we live in visually intimate proximity to the Sandias, the Ortiz, and the Cerrillos Hills. The expansiveness and spaciousness of our 360 degree views come with a breathtaking landscape that has been repeatedly visited by sun, rain and snow, and is alternately sculpted by wind and soothed by silence. This enchanting place we now call home, on the top of a New Mexico mesa.









