An important aspect of the blog for me is the telling of a story—not just my story but a story about a life that is being lived out here in the high reaches of the country, a life we are stretching for—one that is about art and dreams and simplicity and kindness. And I think that story is being told, but not in one specific post. Taken together, post by post, across the years, I am painting a portrait of this life we are privileged to live up here on the High Road to Taos.
Last night I watched a Christmas movie I hadn’t seen before: Truman Capote’s, A Christmas Memory, the 1966 version in black and white. It is a beautiful, beautiful film, not available on Netflix, so I bought it through Amazon. I highly recommend it to all of you. In it he does a wonderful job of “painting a portrait” of the life he lived as a child, how he and his older aunt made Christmas for many years.
And I realized he is beautifully telling the story of how we are living up here: waking each morning to the joy of this place, a walk with the dogs, coffee and nut bread, sweet cream biscuits, lovely traditions that are being born and honored, shared and appreciated. Tender delicate pieces of living that could go unnoticed but for the stripped down pace we are so very lucky to live. One where the neighboring horses have come to expect our passing, where the dogs, once hungry, gallop alongside us in strength and health on dirt roads and over snow covered pastures. Where there is warmth waiting for us—a fire inside and a friendship nurtured with care. Where we find something we haven’t always had: a place, a thing, a moment. Misfits all, like Truman Capote and his elderly aunt, we have found home.
Love to you all,