Earlier this year, my parents bought some land a good 150+ miles southwest of Albuquerque and built a yurt there to use as a weekend and all-purpose retreat/getaway from the city. It sits on the edge of the Cibola National Forest, in a remote area with no streetlights and few neighbors. Getting there involves driving for a couple hours straight south and then straight west, with emphasis on the straight -- at one point while crossing a very long stretch of plains, my friend called out something like "Look, a curve!" when approaching a less-straight length of road, and we all laughed.
The decision to make an investment in this land partly came from my mother's yearly retreats in a remote canyon, the dramatic beauty of which I got to experience first-hand a couple years ago. Having a cozy, quiet space in a secluded place that was also within driving distance from home has turned into a real treasure for both of my parents and I was eager to see it for myself after months of stories and spotty facetime videos. So, Mom, my friend and I took the first chance we had to drive out in July and spent a few days exploring the land and being quiet. Said friend opted to spend a couple days on his own, and made the airstream trailer on the land his home base while Mom and I cozied up in the yurt.
On the long drive out into the wild west of New Mexico, the clouds were as diverse and exciting as the ever-changing desert mountains, and we drove under some very dark and heavy layers of sky before arriving at our destination.
The view from the yurt and surrounding terrace is impressive to say the least, with the entire expanse of the San Agustin Plains through which we had just driven, and the mountains beyond. The storm system that had accompanied our route had finally sprung a leak, but far off in the distance. We didn't see any rain until the next afternoon. In the meantime, we got settled in before losing daylight, cooked up something tasty on the gas cooker, and watched darkness settle on the Crosby Mountains and valley below. I was hoping for a star show, but the clouds seemed quite comfortable where they were and didn't budge for a while. Later, I checked back outside and found myself confronted by the entirety of the universe. Never had I seen such a sky. Brain floored, I fetched a blanket and sat on the terrace for a long time, trying to look everywhere at once and hardly able to take in what I was seeing. Pure, astronomical magnificence.
That turned out to be the only chance for star-gazing, as the next two nights were overcast. Thanks for that, universe.
The next day began quietly, with soft pastels across the plains. Mom and I sat wrapped in blankets again outside, sharing slippers and sipping abuelita hot cocoa while the sun slowly stretched its beams in the east. Then, a long walk, and breakfast.
The yurt itself is quite splendid, and was assembled with the help of many neighbors in the surrounding area -- an old-fashioned barn raising. It is insulated against heat and cold, and protected from weather, wind, and lightning. Windows on all sides and in the dome in the roof let in light and view, but can also be blocked to keep heat in or out. There is no electricity, but a gas-powered fridge lets you live with the luxuries of fresh vegetables and milk, and the grill and gas cooker open up a world of possibilities in culinary camping. Solar-powered chargers keep you plugged into the world if so desired, and candles and solar-powered lanterns (not to mention old-fashioned flashlights) let you see in the dark. Dad had recently installed a woodstove, for later seasons. And there's a very comfortable outhouse not far away to help with any other needs you might have.
Later, we were out exploring amidst the alligator junipers when we both froze, sensing a very large, hoofed presence nearby. The large hoofed thing was soon out of earshot, and while trying to figure out which way it might have gone, our attention was drawn to a much smaller presence that was letting out soft squeaks from some nearby shrubs. We very slowly approached it, trying to figure out what it was, and finally found a tiny fawn, very wobbly on its thin legs, nosing about clumsily for something to nibble on, seemingly confused as to where it needed to go. There was no sign of a mama deer, or any other deer, except for the sound we'd heard earlier. We kept our distance for a while and just watched it, unsure of what to do. I was afraid of getting too close and our smell getting on it, which might cause the mother to reject it if she came back later. The little thing was so sweet and so weak and pathetic -- it was having trouble walking and we couldn't tell whether its legs were injured or if it was just rusty on them. It also didn't show any fear and came hobbling over to us, though I made sure not to touch it. Mom went to go ask the more wildlife-experienced neighbors about what to do while I kept my eye on it. Eventually it lay down and, consensus being that we should leave it and hope the mother would come back, we went home. Mom went back to check a couple hours later and it was still lying there, no madre. It probably didn't survive the night, weak and exposed as it was. But what could we do? Wish it well, and trust that nature's got this whole thing figured out, though it certainly melancholied an otherwise peaceful evening.
Mom and I went on another adventure the next day, wandering down an acequia in the national forest. Everywhere there were signs that water had been there, possibly from the heavy rain we'd had the day before, though the ground was again bone dry.
It stormed again that afternoon, so we holed up in the yurt, drinking tea, reading, listening to the rain and thunder, playing Rummikub.
I. Love. Rummikub.
The clouds were already active on our last morning, and after a short walk, we packed up, tightened the yurt against the wind, and headed back over and up the miles and miles and miles of straight roads towards Albuquerque.
A quick stop at the local gas station was a cultural experience. One side of the sign read "ANYONE BUT HILLARY". The other: "ANYONE BUT BERNIE". That didn't stop us from buying Klondike bars, though. I hope they're happy with how that mess turned out.
Another detour we took was to the Very Large Array, because, why not? Space is cool, but it was very, very hot outside the visitors' center and we didn't stay too long.
A couple other stops were made, solely for landscape-oggling purposes.
After several hours of driving, we finally arrived back in the world of wifi and traffic lights (for better or worse), the next adventure already in the works.
