Homing (An Ode to Taos)
07/29/2008
I’m guessing there are a good number of people out there who live in cities and yearn passionately for wild places. I’m one. I wasn’t always the New York City girl, ignoring the hundreds of strangers on the subway and rushing around in heels (sometimes) and searching for a glimmer of serenity in the not-so-wild knolls of Central Park. No, there was a quieter time, when I was a whitewater rafting guide with a good tan and a passion for the craggy, terrifying pitches of Taos Ski Valley’s hikers-only double blacks.
That version of me—gone now; I’m pale and get most of my exercise from running paths and tennis courts—is a version of home. When I go back, as I did this weekend, I fall into my old self, and I’m able to let the days pass slowly, content to stare at the sky and scan for peregrine falcons as I float down the river. The place is magical. Artists say there’s no light like Taos light, since the town occupies that special place between soaring purple-green mountains and vast, sagey brown desert, and the people are at once ruggedly individual and somehow softer and more open than city people. Taos is so good that its Pueblo inhabitants have been there for thousands of years, occupying the same buildings for centuries. Perversely, it’s so good that you can’t even drive through town anymore; the single road is choked with motorcycles and tourists and big-car families from suburban Texas who have flocked to its beauty.
On Sunday, I hiked up the ski valley with a close friend, scaring marmots (not intentionally!) as we stepped as delicately as we could through the steep, blocky piles of orange-gray rock. Everything was silent: The pines bore witness to summer’s secret growth, and the wind bent the aspens below us. “I believe that trees are sentient beings,” a friend had remarked offhandedly at the boathouse the day before—and Taos is the kind of place where you can say that, standing in your swim trunks and drinking a beer after a long day of rafting, and people will nod in tacit agreement. It’s a place where people peruse Peterson guides for entertainment and everyone knows what basalt and garnet and cholla cactus look like.
For me, Taos is a place that is still wild. It has teenage gangs and family feuds and tourist traps and low-riders and a ski hill, sure, but it’s also filled with people who know how to live with and of the earth. This, of course, is an idealized description in the grand tradition of Rousseau’s noble savage. I left Taos because I felt the need to do—and be—something more. (It’s my own fault.) But it’s good to remember why you fight and write and dig and whine: There’s something out there worth saving, and someday, I hope to return to it.
Comments
This is a preachy, knee-jerk response to one sentence.
Really, I mean, is this what our world has come to? Struggles for life, freedom, and democracy are waged every day – claiming the lives of many – but no, it’s a holiday at Taos N.M. that makes everything meaningful. Have all the conflicts across the globe become so dreary and monotonous that the only thing we’re moved to fight for is “saving” Taos; and the only enemies we’re willing to confront (albeit obliquely) are the inanimate SUV’s, the abstract idea of Big Oil, and the consumerism of the “middle class?”
Yes, I know nobody’s arguing that world events don’t matter, but if we’re talking about what to fight for and what’s worth saving, perhaps the struggles where lives hang in the balance deserve a little more attention. Not purely for humanitarian purposes either. In addition to the human devastation, war and regional conflict causes irreparable damage to ecosystems and endangered species. (See Mark Jenkins’ "Who Murdered the Virunga Gorillas?" for an especially moving example.) Tyrannical governments such as Zimbabwe (once known as the “breadbasket of Africa”) that mismanage their way into economic and agricultural collapse also contribute. Destroyed infrastructure, and [in?]stability across an area increases the burden and competition for resources in another.
I guess I feel like this problem trips up many environmentalists, and yes – I’m generalizing. They lose whatever nobility they’re initially awarded because in a world of violence, genocide, terrorism, and tyranny (all of which figure, prominently I would argue, into the problems environmentalists are seeking to solve) it appears that the most they’re willing to do is pen a witty column about “going green” or “buying local.” [...] But, I suppose, there are good reasons why environmentalists shouldn’t focus on world conflict issues: 1) there already armies of people hitting the blogs to raise awareness about conflicts from Sri Lanka to Colombia; 2) the world peace cause hasn’t been successful, and maybe will never be realized.
In the end, I suppose, we need somebody to keep the spotlight on our daily lives and remind us of the environmental implications of our choices. But when certain advocates become a little overzealous and start amplifying the moral and existential gravity of environmental problems, I have a little trouble relating to them. I’m no fan of carbon emissions, but let’s not forget that in certain places it’s apparently not usual for a rape victim to be stoned to death for “adultery” by an angry mob.
Valid criticism, but...
...but we can't do everything, I was going to add, until I realized that such a cop-out is exactly what leads to--pick your poison--appeasement of dictators; Obama's capitulation on offshore drilling; lack of action in Rwanda, or Sudan, or Somalia. Touché, Mr. Pants.
I might add, however, that this is an environmental magazine--hence the focus on things environmental rather than (well, not entirely, in my case) political. Granted, your point that political unrest often leads to environmental degradation is extremely valid. And yes, we should all save the world, and I certainly could have spent my vacation writing letters to my congressmen to boycott Zimbabwe.
But is it so wrong to pick a cause, if only temporarily? And, dare I ask--is it so wrong to take a vacation?
I appreciate your input. Just as I believe the world needs environmental journalists, the journalists and activists need their critics. I had mistakenly believed this would be my least controversial posting...
--A.S.
Homing....Taos
This made me laugh and cry. Well, I ask, how exactly did you first learn about the magic of Taos? Could your answer be anything else but, "Well, I was part of a big-car family from suburban Texas?" I've read recently about declining visitors of our national parks - specifically declining American visitors (apparantly the Europeans and Asians visit them quite frequently). Why are these treasures of rugged wilderness one of our country's best kep secrets?
Also brought to my attention just this week is a problem that the Dallas zoo seems to be encountering. Zoo visitors are disappointed because they came and visited but saw few animals. Upon further investigation, what was discovered was that visitors to the zoo spent less than 15 seconds looking/waiting for an animal to appear. When visitors stopped for 15 seconds, they saw animals and felt that their zoo visit was satisfactory.
When we don't take time to enjoy our national parks and can't wait 15 seconds for an animal to appear, what does this say about our culture? Our lives? Our values?
thanks, mom
...for pointing out that, yes, I did come from the big, suburban, Dallas family (though before that, I seem to recall some years of being a hike-around-in-the-arroyo California family...).
If you can, post us a link to the Dallas Zoo article. I can't seem to find it. Sounds interesting. --A.S.