A Decision...

Long post warning! It's only as long as required though, it's been an exceedingly strange week)

Well, I have posted to my blog once since starting the trip, and here I am making this post. I am currently laying in a studio apartment which sits atop an inn in a small valley-floor town called Amalia, in New Mexico. I'm quite confused by what has happened in the past few days, and I'm really trying to make sense of it all. This is, in fact, the reason it's taken me so long to write this post... I had been waiting to have it all figured out before I went spouting philosophical at the keyboard. Unfortunately, though, it seems I'm going to be confused for some time, so I figure I may as well at least tell everyone what's going on with me.

On Tuesday, I left Denver and headed to see my property in a town called San Luis, close to the New Mexico border of Colorado. I had left at around 1pm and headed south. After a couple of stops for food and checking my oil, I arrived in San Luis at around 6pm, leaving me an hour to find my property and get set up for the night. I headed down the highway, traversed the dirt roads and found my little bit of scrub just south of town. I had two neighbors in the subdivision, both quite far away, and the only two neighbors in a good few miles.

I pulled my car onto the property, got out, and had a small wander around before the sunlight started failing and the chilling 8000ft cold started setting in. The gas stove I had purchased in Denver treated me well that night, allowing me a warm meal of beans, jerky, and bread, and a hot cup of tea before settling in to the back seat of my car for the night. I read for a while, looked at the stars, played some music, and got myself comfortable and warm, finally drifting off at around midnight.

After an uneasy night of sleep, I awoke at around 8am. As I waited for the interior of the car windows to defrost, I warmed the last of my beans, had another hot drink, and took a very small nap on the hood of my car. The car was finally defrosted, and I decided to take a drive into town to see what the place was all about. I was driving back out of the subdivision when I looked over and saw the sheriff's vehicle in his driveway.

"Ooops," I said to myself.

I arrived back in town and decided to find a place with an internet connection so I could let everyone know I was safe. The first place I happened upon was a small coffee shop in the middle of Main St.. I parked my car around the corner, and walked in.

The lady behind the counter gave me a big smile as she waited for me to pick my poison. I think I settled on an English breakfast tea of some sort. As she poured me the water for my tea, I glanced around the place, and noticed that there was what seemed to be an art workshop consuming the back half of the building. I asked her about it, and she told me I should talk to Randy. I thanked her, and took a seat on the couch, pulling out my laptop and getting busy updating my friends on my status. As I sat there, I saw three middle-aged men sitting around a table, and I overheard their conversation, which surprisingly revolved around their artwork.

"You see, when I'm painting, I'm putting everything into it, you know?" said one of them.

"Yeah, you can't be half-assed about it. That's what really makes an artist. Art isn't about the painting, it's about the painter," responded the other.

This might not have been so surprising if it had been a few trendy, bohemian looking kids in some artsy college town. As it was though, these were 30-something year olds chatting in a town with a population of about 700. The town is tiny and rundown, and placed in the middle of the mountains. Main St. consisted of about 10 (functional) businesses total.

As I was being nosey, the nice lady behind the counter caught my attention and pointed at the man I hadn't seen approach.

"This is Randy," she told me. I stood and shook his hand, introducing myself briefly. He greeted me enthusiastically, and promptly took me on a tour of the art facilities they had, showing me printing presses, drying racks, and etching chemicals, among other impressive artsy thingamahoozits. It turns out the coffee shop was actually a not-for-profit art workshop in disguise. I learned that Randy had started the place about 3 years ago to raise money and provide a place to teach kids (and adults) about art and how to paint.

As we chatted, the inevitable question came up. Why was I here? I explained that I had bought some property here a year ago and wanted to see it just once on the roadtrip, and told him where it was. The lady behind the counter, who I came to know as Francis, heard this.

"Ah, over by Cooper's place," she told me. "The sheriff. You'll probably meet him here today. He comes in every day around noon. Should be here soon, in fact." This prediction came true shortly thereafter, when a large man with an impressive moustache walked in wearing a sheriff's uniform. Francis introduced me to him and we made small talk for a couple of minutes before I left him to his noontime coffee, returning to talk to Randy. I later met my other neighbor there, too, but I unfortunately forgot his name.

In the space of about an hour, I had met my only two neighbors for miles. I came to find that this was somewhat typical of this town, having since met damn near half the town's population in just a couple of days. It's a very strange feeling, having lived in the faceless suburbs for almost all my life, where you can spend a week in any one place and only see a face or two that you recognize. In searching for the word to describe it, I settled on "community", something that became ever more important in the hours and days following.

********** Actually, I think I'm going to finish this right here for the night, if only to give you a break from reading... there is a lot more story to go, yet. I'll make another post tomorrow.