More Snow Pictures

Snow in the Jemez

In the last few hours we have had rain, hail and snow.

I took this picture for the cover of the recent request of our water board for additional capital outlay funds.

Sunrise

I got up early this morning and headed into Albuquerque to participate in the annual convention for school board members. As the sun came up, I pulled over to take this picture.

As the sun sets in the mountains, a glow descends on the landscape. It begins to look like a lush underwater scene.

The closets of this little cabin got cleaned out just a few days ago. Seems like special company must be coming.


Swings need to be swung, slides need to be "slid", and the little playhouse needs some play. We need to get some kids out here, and I think some kids are coming!

Fall in the Jemez:

A cold mountain morning.

This is my favorite season in the mountains of Northern New Mexico. As morning progresses, a brilliant, warm sunshine rolls across the land. But the mornings are crisp and cold. This morning was below freezing. If you love a warm fire like I do, that is not a problem, but an opportunity. The wood has been cut, split and seasoned. We enjoyed the fruits of our labor this morning. Heat, light and a perfect atmosphere for our morning coffee.

The land where elks bugle

This is the time of year when the big elk start to gather their harems. Barb and I went to hear them this evening. All of this takes place in the high country twenty miles up the road from our place.

You don't hear the bugling until it gets close to dark. And this high in the mountains, cold comes along with the darkness. It is an erie sound in an erie place. It is a place, a sound, and an experience you will never forget.

Valles Caldera and a night with no safety net.

The place I described as "The land where the elk bugle" is now officially called the "Valles Caldera National Park", perhaps the newest of the federal parks. For many years this land was the privately held Baca ranch, consisting of over 89,000 acres. You can google "Valles Caldera" for some amazing geological information about this special land. Barb and I first discovered New Mexico as bicycle tourists. And this is the one place, over many years of cycling, that we got ourselves in serious trouble.

We had been following our planned route. We were well conditioned and experienced cyclists. From the Albuquerque airport we had biked to Sante Fe. We left Sante Fe for the high mountain community of Truchas. I was coming down with a bug, and struggled mightily that day. As you approach Truchas from Sante Fe the last eight miles of the trip are steeply uphill, and at high altitude. What would normally have been an enjoyable challenge turned into a very hard day, and all of my physical resources were spent by the time we reached Truchas. We had no vehicle, and no option except to get on the bikes the next morning and head out for Los Alamos (another steep climb) and then a steep assent out of Los Alamos to a small campground adjacent to the borders of the Baca ranch.

The previous day had taken a big toll, and I was totally spent when we got to Los Alamos. I was laying on the grass in the park long past the time when we should have headed up the final mountain climb. Staying in town that night wasn't a very viable option since we had to pedal ourselves and our bicycles all the way to the airport in Albuquerque by the afternoon of the next day. When I knew we couldn't possibly wait any longer for me to recover we got on the bike and started the long steep climb.

As we got a few miles out of town a ride that I expected to be difficult had become impossible. This was 25 years ago, and there was much less traffic than you would experience today. We were now walking the bikes, which is a pretty grim prospect when it is too far to go back and you are several miles from your destination in a wild mountain area you have never seen before. A cowboy driving back to the Baca ranch stopped to pick us up, throwing the bikes in the back of the truck. He was the silent type, and the only thing I remember him saying was he never picks up people just standing by the road. He liked the idea that we were still trying to get over the pass, even though we were reduced to walking.

He let us out before he turned into the long dirt road leading to the bunk house. It was only a few miles, somewhat down hill, to the campground that was our destination. Though utterly exhausted we managed to get our little tent up and sleeping bags unfurled. It was already cold, but we had no idea that it would get much colder before morning. You can't carry a lot of equipment on a bicycle trip in the mountains. Our bags were not nearly warm enough, and our physical resources were spent. We heard the strange sound of elk bugling all around us. I knew this was going to be a bad night, but we had run out of options. The campground was empty except for our little tent, and it was too dark, too cold, and we were way too tired. We were going to spend the night with what we had, there was no safety net.

We did everything we could think of to stay warm. Coming from Minnesota I knew the signs of hypothermia, and they were there in our little tent. Everything was slowing. My life felt like a rheostat, and the power was being turned down. The next thing I remembered was the sun hurting my eyes through the tent. As I stirred and bumped the tent a little ice storm, the remnants of the nights frozen breath, fell on us.

The warmth of the New Mexico sun was going to bring us back from the brink. We laid out on a picnic table and it felt wonderful. I think Barb said something about us having a new bond with the little lizards we had seen out on their rocks, and now we really knew how good it could feel. We were thirsty, and our water bottles had frozen solid. They were frozen but intact, and we knew the sun would solve this problem as well. We got on our bikes and got into the Albuquerque airport with a little time to spare.

Twenty five-years later we still love to hear the bugling of the elks. And when we drive up the road to Valles Caldera, we always take warm clothes.

Wildflowers in the Jemez Mountains.

The Wall.

Things get a little tight going through Gilman. Years ago, not even the most agile Jeep could get through here. Travel through here was by foot, and with care. There were, however, substantial lumber interests that needed an outlet for timber taken from the forests behind this rock.

It was a great deal of hard and dangerous work, but two tunnels have been blasted through the rocks. Once I get around this corner the road will continue through the tunnels. If you know what you are doing, and have sufficient nerve, you can get all the way to the top of the canyon wall seen in the center of the picture (the portion showing some blue sky). As you might imagine, the view from the top is spectacular.

My faithful automotive companion.

If you want to get some of these pictures you have to have a way to get there. There has been some talk about too many cars in the Smith household, but I don't think my little red companion is going anywhere soon---except out to the back country.

Fall approaches the Jemez.

Fall has arrived in the Jemez. The weather in New Mexico is glorious this time of year. We have received a lot of rain, as is evidenced by this beautiful green field.

Three inviting roads.

A road to solitude.

Road to a mountain spring. The drop offs are steep. You dont want to meet someone on this little road.

A road deep in the Cabezon wilderness.

Another bluebird.

Bluebirds.

For some wonderful reason, the canyon is full of bluebirds these days.

Bees also love a Mexican sunflower.

Morning in the Jemez mountains.

What a lovely morning. There was a very soft light as the ipod woke itself at the appointed time. With it’s connection to the main stereo system, this little miracle of music found my designated pick, and quietly began to fill the room with a soft, but eventually swelling choral masterpiece.

With my head still on the pillow, I looked out our window, towards a dimly moonlit mountain, and saw tiny tail lights working their way around this ancient and gigantic neighbor. Their journey places the mountain between us, and their lights are soon gone. I suppose those lights were 15 to 20 miles away.

I looked past the top of the mountain and saw Venus, so rightly called the morning star. We are on a ledge of the canyon, many miles from the lights that will rob your view of the night sky. Our night sky is dark except for stars, and the morning star blazes forth with undiminished glory. No mere mountain can block its view. The light that greets my eye this morning has travelled over twenty-three million miles, and now illuminates this small portion of the Jemez mountains.

It is quiet enough to hear the gentle breathing of my wife. Thirty eight years of waking up beside her. I am indeed a rich man, surrounded by treasure no vault could contain.

I slip quietly out of bed. There are two things this house needs every morning: coffee and a fire in the wood stove. Mornings in the mountains can be cold, and it will be my pleasure to provide coffee to warm the inside, and a bright fire to warm the outside.

An arial acrobat.

When I pulled this picture from the camera I was surprised at the position of the wings. I believe the camera has captured something we can never see with the naked eye. These guys are small miracles of flight.

Hummingbird enjoying a "Mexican Sunflower".

The hummingbirds love this flower.

On the path to where I saw the "Christmas Elk".

This was written in late December, 2006. We live in the Jemez Mountains of Northern New Mexico. I have been back for about 4 months since having my aorta valve exchanged for a fancy mechanical replacement in August. With my new valve, I am back to hiking about a mile up the large mesa behind us, to the spring that supplies our water. A few days ago, Barb and I rounded the last bend and ran into a magnificent bull elk standing near the spring. His rack had 12 points, and was at least 5 feet across. I judged his weight to be in excess of 650 pounds. He seemed very old and tired. He moved his huge frame behind a few trees, but they weren’t sufficient to hide such a magnificent animal. We quietly looked (I believe) into each other’s eyes from 50 yards away. I thought about the old battles he must have fought and won, the harems he had gathered and guarded, now a king soon to fall.

Late yesterday I went back to the spring, and the old monarch had gone down for the last time. I turned around and quietly departed. I guess it doesn’t make sense, but I had hoped he would make it past Christmas.

But life is complex. I saw a young mountain lion a few weeks ago. It is likely that close by were his sibling and mother. This great elk will probably provide a wonderful feast for the mountain lion and her two large cubs which claim a fifty mile range across our mountain. Perhaps a Christmas feast, if you care to use your imagination. What has the elk provided for me? That question might take a long time to fully answer. But I am going to draw my family closer than ever. I think I will enjoy the warm fire a little more. And I will try to remember that all of this is precious and temporal, God’s gift to each of us. I want to remember that the life we are given is not meant to be trivial. And each Christmas should be more precious than the last.

A winter's view of Mount Redondo from the hot-tub.

Weather coming in from over Redondo.

This was taken from our deck looking nort towards Mount Redondo. The mountain is a very important factor in our weather.

Pictures in the Jemez.

A foggy morning in the Jemez mountains. This picture looks north from our deck.

Our little Jemez Cabin.

This is our little guest house/cabin in the Jemez. There are two rooms, with a fireplace, deck & 3/4 bath.

Married for thirty-eight wonderful years.

My left arm fits across your shoulder as we lie in bed each night.
I have grown an old man’s tummy, and there is a place for it up against the small of your back.
You sleep so peacefully, my body at your side, my ticking heart a comfort to your dreams.
We married young, but I had looked for you for years.
Life had worked on me to form a serious demeanor, and I searched in earnest for you.
Despite my youth, I somehow knew-everything else depended on this choice.
 
I will claim one great strength-a sense for what is beautiful and permanent.
You are beautiful, and will always be beautiful-your beauty is permanent, and my eye will never cease to see that beauty.
There was a day I knew that I must ask-a day that you said yes-and I have walked in beauty from that day.
And it was true, as I knew it must be. Everything depended on that choice.

A long goodbye.

I can say a long goodbye from my small piece of the mountain.

We have said goodbye many times, my lovely, strong and independent girl. We have our little understandings, no delaying the inevitable. And so we didn’t drag it out. But now that you have pulled away, I needn’t hide how hard it is to say goodbye. You cannot know that I hurried to just the right spot, that I shielded my eyes against the sunrise, settling for the smallest glance, the weakest clue that all went well.

Because I know just where to look, I see the metallic flash of the rental car, daughter and granddaughter riding together. They are traveling a twisting rock-dirt road, beautiful but unforgiving. No safety barriers, and no second chance for careless mistakes.
I see another flash, and now I know this new mom, my daughter, has taken her little one safely through the switchbacks. Now I see you again, just a little silver dot, headed down the highway.

I watch for the dim, small flash of taillights, and there they are. That little flash of red tells me that your dear mother, my little daredevil of many years, now wise and cautious with this precious child, decided to slow down just a little for the sharp turn at Battleship rock. Good girl, I say to myself, still slow to know, at my heart’s deepest level, that my little girl is a grown woman, with a miracle of her own, strapped tightly in a little car seat.

No safety barriers indeed, and now you are gone from sight. There will be nothing between you and the mountain, just the way you always wanted it. And I am so proud. My lovely, strong and independent girl.

View of Battleship Rock from our deck.

The elevation at our house is about 7,200 feet. Battleship rock lies to the north, just past Humming Bird music camp. When Barb and I first came to New Mexico on bicycles, we got as far as the park at Battleship Rock before our time ran out and we had to get ready for the long bicycle ride bak to the airport in Albuquerque. This was the beginning of our love for Northern New Mexico.

In anticipation of a new life and being a grandpa.

In anticipation of a new life and being a grandpa.
And to our kids-who, so often, live too far away.

We plant our feet and try to stand,
sometimes on rock,
but sometimes sand is what we find,
beneath our feet, between our toes.

The rock is stable, safe & true.
But sand can move-it swirls and flows.
Sand can polish, sand can hide-
the smallest crack lets sand inside.

Do you like sand,
or is it rock that fits your mood?
We stand on both,
we smile, we brood.

There is a secret to the sand.
It’s true it blows across the land,
but it returns, and you will find
it nestles in the rock from which it came.

Sand and rock-
these are our lives.
Sand and rock and we survive.
So what is grandpa, sand or rock?

Grandpa says, “I have been sand, I have been rock.
Where rock is needed there will be none so sure as me.
the little one may nestle in my clefts,
and she, her mom and dad
will have whatever I possess that they may need”.

There will be time to swirl and flow.
Time for me, and time for them.
But they will always have a rock,
me and grandma, strong and true.

“There is a secret to the sand.
It’s true it blows across the land,
but it returns, and you will find
it nestles in the rock from which it came”.

Bathed in sunlight.

Santa Fe ballon festival.