Hello Dolly

The remnants of Hurricane Dolly made their way to New Mexico on Sunday, devastating the town of Ruidoso with flash flooding sparked by six inches of rain in 24 hours. New Mexico Business Journal reports that most of the town was unaffected by floods, but other sources report 200 homes either damaged or destroyed, one person dead, 13 bridges washed out, and 70 people stranded in Upper Canyon.



Though the Ruidoso flood topped New Mexico's news for several days, there was little national coverage, which I attribute to a world so caught up in the parade of climate change catastrophes that we become jaded to these events. There is no doubt that recent midwest floods eclipse the Ruidoso flood, but I was baffled that national coverage was so dismal. I am also coming to realize that important New Mexico news is often neglected in the non-local media, as if the state isn't even part of the U.S. Sometimes I feel like I live in a third world country within U.S. borders - a country often neglected and ignored. I try not to take this personally.

While Ruidoso was being pummeled, Dolly was kinder to northern New Mexico. Storm clouds and heavy rain moved in on Sunday afternoon. An hour later the sky cleared. At sunset we went for a walk along the ridge. It's always nice to be outdoors after rain scrubs the air clean, but the sticky clay that adhered to the soles of my hiking shoes was another story. As it quickly built up, the clay added two inches to my height. Now I know what it's like to hike in platform shoes.

Monday morning we rose early, packed up, checked out, and drove to the lake for one last dog swim. Tired and happy, the damp dogs settled on their futon in the back of the minivan for the ride home.

On our way out, we stopped at the Heron Lake Dam for dramatic vistas of the silt-laden, cocoa-colored Rio Chama.


As we approached Highway 84, which would take us all the way to Santa Fe, the steep cliffs of Brazos Peak, at 11,286 feet, loomed in the distance.


Just north of Abiquiu we marveled at the multicolored sandstone formations that whispered, "Georgia O'Keeffe country."





We stopped for a picnic lunch at Echo Amphitheater, a magnificent natural sandstone formation that causes people to make weird sounds and speak strange words just to hear them echo. Telly's shrill, loud bark echoed nicely.









After lunch we drove a few miles further to Ghost Ranch, where we took in more breathtaking scenery and considered the dinosaurs that once roamed the area and the geologic significance of the ground on which we stood. Ghost Ranch was bequeathed to the Presbyterian Church a number of years ago and now serves as a non-denominational conference center that hosts retreats. (This week the Center is hosting a conference on peacemaking and non-violent communication, in an astonishingly beautiful setting.)





Heading south, Cerro Pedernal, a 9,862 foot flat-topped butte in the northern Jemez Mountains and the subject of a famous Georgia O'Keeffe painting dominated the distant horizon. Pedernal means "flint" in Spanish. Ancient Puebloans living nearby used Pedernal’s agate and stone for arrowheads, scrapers, knives, and spearpoints. Today Cerro Pedernal is one of the most recognized landmarks in north-central New Mexico.


Several hours later we were back in Albuquerque, where the temperature was close to 100, mountain breezes but a distant memory. This is the hottest time of high desert Albuquerque summer. Our inadequate, too-small swamp cooler is working hard, but the load is great at this time of year. So we sweat and remember happy, cooler times at El Vado.