About 4Fords: 2 years in

Sometime in the fall of 1967, when I was 13, I bought a used copy of Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. The bright orange cover caught my eye at one of the ubiquitous NYC book stalls across from the Pierre Hotel (coincidently where Alan and I spent our honeymoon!).

I started reading it on my way home on the train, and didn’t stop until I’d read it twice back to back. That’s when I began a meditation practice, which I still do today. I started by spending hours staring into a candle flame (probably stoned). I don’t do that now. I went from Yogananda’s Hindu teachings to Tibetan Buddhism a long time ago. But what I’m excited about is that for the first time ever, we have an actual space dedicated to meditation and yoga in our house. Never had that before.

I don’t consider myself a Buddhist particularly, although I honor the 4 Noble Truths and try to practice the 8-fold path. But I dislike religious dogma, so have never gotten deep into the religion of it all. Since COVID, Alan and I enjoy attending the Monday night dharma talks via Zoom at the Durango Dharma Center.

I did get to meet the Dalai Lama twice, though, once in London at a small gathering in 1970 where he was soliciting donations for the Free Tibet movement. He spoke a few words to me during the Khata ceremony. He said “Keep learning. Go to the mountains”. I think. His accent was very strong. The second time was in NYC around 2004. I was chosen by lottery to attend a day-long retreat for American-Vietnamese monks who had been waiting for years to be ordained by HHDL. It was amazing. This time during the Khata, he said to me “It’s time to give back”. Those words changed my life.

The house here has a floor made from red clay, chopped straw, sand, and linseed and mineral oils. When we first looked at the place, back in August, I first thought it was stained concrete, but when i touched it with my hand, it was warm and had slight undulations. I fell in love with it, although it needed a deep cleaning!

After moving in, I started researching earthen floors, and spoke with the builder who made this one. She said that the dirt and sand came from right here on the property. It’s packed in hard, soaked with oils, allowed to dry, then sealed with multiple coats. I bought a book (Earthen Floors by Sukita Reay Kimmel, a crafter from Santa Fe). Reading that has helped me understand both the long history of this amazing art, and given me the tools I need to bring ours back from years of neglect. It has some gouges and a few cracks.

This floor feels like silk to the feet. I love to walk barefoot on it. It has a soft, forgiving texture. But earthen floors, contrary to what you might think, are very tough. Spill stuff, drop things, drag furniture across it, and it won’t show a mark. You have to do some serious damage to hurt it. Once brought to full luster, it needs only a coat of food grade linseed/mineral oil annually to keep the surface shiny, waterproof, and hard. Cleaning is done with a broom and mop, using only water.

Originally, ours was a bit lighter, more brick red/brown. The years have added a patina, so it’s more like chocolate brown now.

Went into Chama this morning for a cup of coffee from one of the best coffee shops I know.

Then home, down our tiny and muddy County Road

To an enjoyable afternoon in the sun

More tomorrow.

The summer I was 16 (1970), my mother and I took a course from Rutgers University titled “Pollution and Global Warming”. We had both read Rachel Carson’s breakout book, Silent Spring and wanted to know more. It was an intensive class, designed to make citizen scientists/environmentalists of the students. And it succeeded. From then on, my mom and I were bonded over environmental issues: we joined hands on the first Earth Day in NYC, marched in several environmental protests.

The day before my mother died in 2009, we spoke on the phone for over an hour. (She was in the hospital in NJ, expecting to discharge home the next day; I was in Bayfield, planning to fly there soon to help her out. Instead I flew out to scatter her ashes in the Atlantic with my sister). Our conversation revolved around the possible drawbacks to solar energy. She had read about the harm in processing silicon and thought it might be too toxic. Alan and I were just starting to build our first solar array at our house and very gung-ho. Typically, my mom and I got a bit heated in our opinions. At the end of the call, she reminded me that, in spite of her concerns, there need to be risk-takers (what we now call early adopters) and that she was proud that I was at least trying to make a difference. That meant a lot to me.

I think of that conversation. A lot of what Alan and I do is based on trying to make a positive difference. To live in such a way that moves others to see that it is possible to live a less “earth-expensive”, or maybe a more “earth-friendly” life, and still enjoy that life to the fullest. It’s been my passion since that class in 1970. I thank my mother for that.

6 months ago today, Alan and I sold our home of 21 years in Bayfield to head out on this adventure. It was not a sudden decision but one we’d made back in 2018. Dismantling a working small farm takes time: selling cows, finding homes for chickens and ducks, figuring out what to do with 3 freezers of food, etc. However, after Alan got Covid in Feb., 2021 and spent a week in the hospital, we decided that life is too short to keep dilly-dallying, and we pushed to get the house on the market. It sold quickly for a good price, thanks to the insanely hungry real estate market, but the other side of that story hit us immediately: there were no properties available around SW Colorado that we liked or could afford.

So we moved into Pippin, our 14-foot camper, and lived in it for 3 months while we searched and made offers and searched some more. We found 4Fords in early August, but it took 3 months to close, forcing us to keep looking. The seller had Alzheimer’s; there were lawyers and family and courts and psychiatric assessments to be done. All the other potential properties either were without water, had strict HOAs that wouldn’t allow us to built a yurt or live off-grid, or were asking the moon (and stars!).

Luckily, we love camping and managed to find remote boondocking spots throughout the area. Those 3 months were full of amazing hikes, stunning vistas and wonderful night skies (and great hotspots for internet!) I continued teaching online throughout, often lecturing on Zoom from the little table outside the camper.

Ultimately, we were in love with this 80 acres right here in Rio Arriba County. We moved in on November 1.

Do I miss our old house? No…other than the kitchen….it had the most amazingly perfect kitchen.

January 26, 2022

More than a few have politely asked us “why did you sell your home in Bayfield”? Or “What are you doing in New Mexico”? Alan and I know that, to yourselves, you are saying stuff more like “Those guys are insane!” Or “They’re so far from a hospital, at their age!” Etc., etc. We say the same things to ourselves sometimes.

That said, I wanted to put down some thoughts on the matter. Maybe convince you (me) that we’re not crazy or considering age or health or money or whatever. It may take me a few posts.

Today I spent an hour playing with Clair out back, throwing her favorite red Jolly Ball around. She chases it, kills it, then gnaws on it for a few minutes before bringing back for another go. Between throws, I’m watching the cliffs above, looking for sign of predator birds. I know they’re here, but haven’t spotted one for awhile. Maybe I’ll pull out the spotting scope. I’m designing our future water-capture system in my head, too. 2 1600-gallon cisterns buried behind the house, with a culvert “vault” buried next to them containing the pressure tank and filter. It would be plenty for the winter, but we’d need more for irrigation in the summer. Maybe from the well, maybe additional rainwater from the barn roof.

Once Clair got tired of the game, we came in for some tea, and I painted the walls for an hour. It’s our least popular chore, so Alan and I take it in turns, an hour a day. The natural plaster finish is rough and hard to cover, filled with sparkly bits of mica from a local quarry and I hate to paint over it, but the original color has gotten dingy and dull over 25 years, so the room needs brightening. Don’t know the final color yet.

I’m not sure if I have ever felt more at peace than I do here in this remote, hard-to-access canyon. It’s a combination of having a concrete purpose to each day and time enough to enjoy what’s here, without having to compromise either. Too much of our lives we have to choose between work and play: do you live to work or work to live? I feel as if I am finally doing both, together. Mark Boyle, in his book “The Way Home”, about living without technology. makes the argument that living simply is actually quite complicated, but the problems lie within your own ability to solve. I like that.