Can I Get A Witness?!

By Ben Ikenson, 3-28-07

Spring officially started last week but it made a formal appearance yesterday. Tuesday morning: My dog starts to grumble; the knock comes at the door; the dog is barking. Wearing ruffled pajamas, I open the house to a pair of young ladies dressed in the starched fabrics of the latest pious fashion. Jehova’s Witnesses. (In my neighborhood you can expect people to come by now and then wanting to paint your address number on the curb, pull weeds or push a little god before Palm Sunday.)

Outside, it’s 65 degrees and climbing, the flowers along the driveway are coming up. It’s almost too nice to be annoyed by the intrusion. The dog slips through the door and sniffs at the biblical-looking sandals as I am invited to remember “the greatest man who ever lived” on the upcoming anniversary of his death.

This is my second spring back in New Mexico and I am filled with childlike glee. When I left Albuquerque in 2002 for a job in Washington, DC, I had no idea how strong of a hold the place had on me. Not many people do quite understand what accounts for the pull (though Alan Kleinfeld does a respectable job here in an old NewWest post.)

In his book The Absolutely Worst Places to Live in America, Dave Gilmartin writes this of Albuquerque: “A melting pot of body odor, psychopharmaceuticals, Mexican food, strip clubs, jam bands, and trailer parks, the city is an ideal destination for anyone looking to relive the sixties or not challenge themselves in any tangible way (save for hiking).”

Before the Jehova’s Witnesses move on, they offer me a flyer from a stack the size of which tells me they have a long day ahead. I take one, sparing them a small rejection and perhaps the bother of one soul in a mood more foul than my own.

It’s good to be home. And it’s spring, Hallelujah! A hike sounds good.