Ghost Ranch, Artists & Singers, Oh My
First I got lost. Stopped at a little market to ask directions, a country woman.
"You go north, just keep on straight."
"Is it marked?"
She gave me an appraising look.
"If you're looking."
I laughed and called over my shoulder.
"Land's too awesome, not to look!"
Did wander lost one more time, but satisfyingly, on rambling dirt roads above Abiquiu, having come from snow peaks to wild plum and apricot orchards in bloom!
I had traveled the back of the beyond route from burnt umber volcanic basalt though cliffs of stratified creamy-ocher sandstone. The mesas had begun to show peach and rosy hues. I was headed to Ghost Ranch, beloved of the painter, Georgia O'Keefe.
A wild-assed impromptu adventure. An old friend called on Spring Equinox morning, already chockablock with gongs and Chi Gong celebration, to mention an evening performance of a male a capella chorus in which her basso husband sings.
"You might come?" she wondered.
"To Ghost Ranch? Today?"
I came roaring back after gongs and sore Chi Gong legs, stuffed the car with sleeping bag, provender, maps, and headed out.
The land grew wilder as I neared the Ranch, burnt orange and fiery reds, crossing rivers, and a cobalt sky
Wonderfully arty folks were gathered for plein air painting workshops, out under the brilliant sun. My friend and I walked the land, among huge old cottonwoods, firs and wild plum in bloom. Early in the day, she had listened to honeybee music, a grand old plum tree alive with their sound.
And as suddenly she set.
A story about being bullied, for being different. The fourth Wayfaring Traveler book; color illustrations by Wayfarer's mother.