Hold the Silence

By Rebecca Powell, New West Unfiltered 5-12-08

We hike to Modoc mine, past an abandoned bunk-house, up the side of the Organs. The sun is setting, so we turn before we reach the spiny outcroppings. I yearn for those outcroppings. I watch them everyday from my window at work, as I run in the morning, as Sam and I play in the field at night. I promise myself next weekend -- next weekend, we’ll make it.

The desert has been my favorite surprise of this move. First, the Chihuahan desert has mountains of over 9000 feet. They sit like trolls with spikes above the Mesilla Valley. Second, the desert does things with light that make me want to hit my knees. Purple, orange, pink skylines every single night. And last, the desert has some of the hardest hiking I’ve ever encountered. Every footfall matters because you’re on shale. The paths are embedded with boulders, making every path uneven, every step treacherous. And if you fall, which I haven’t, but if you do, you’re falling into thorns and cacti. Big thorns.

The country is rugged. It all seems dangerous. The scenery in MT is beautiful, story-land beautiful, awe-inspiring. I always knew it could be dangerous, but it didn’t feel dangerous. NM feels dangerous. It feels like Billy the Kid and Pancho Villa might be around the corner, like outlaws still hide in the crevices. Yet beyond that feeling of danger, I find it beautiful.

The sun is a speck of deep orange flame above the Floridas (flor eedas) as we make our way down. The “A” mountain is black against a purple and orange sky. Sam is clapping rocks together on his father’s back, as Nate and I stand perfectly still, listening. The desert is silent. I’ll hold that silence all week. In the midst of casting a commercial, writing a brochure, cooking dinner, listening to Ol’McDonald, I’ll hold that desert silence. [End of article]