When I moved here I bought these two acres about a mile outside of the small village of Truchas, New Mexico (population 900), basically in the middle of nowhere. My land is backed up by thousands of acres of unbuildable land grant and that was one of the main reasons I bought it. I wanted peace and quiet. I wanted space. Initially people worried for my safety, a woman alone way out here. They all said I needed a gun and a big dog.
But I have always felt safe in this vast solitude, secure even, living in pastureland cut from the old juniper and pinon forests long ago, out here among the coyotes and other wild things. Perhaps it’s offered something soothing to my own wild nature, a sense of belonging where I never really fit overly well within the various societies I’ve sampled.
On those pitch-black nights when there is no moon, with only the stars offering any sense of proportion, all of my nervous awkwardness falls away because I know who I am in those moments. I know where I fit. Standing there in the center of my land I seem to always know well my place within “the family of things” as Mary Oliver, the great poet, puts it.
I read somewhere, in William DeBuy’s Enchantment and Exploitation I believe it was, that outsiders come here for the quiet beauty but, not satisfied with it the way it is, we make “improvements.” Higher taxes follow and the villagers are left poorer as a result.
Back when I came to this village, the outsider stranger coming in from Utah, building on this pristine pastureland, I brought with me change. I buried cables to carry electricity way out here and the internet, phone lines. I cut the road in and ran city water to my home.
Recently I used a quote from Chief Seattle in a blog post: “… the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.” I imagined I would be the only person out here forever, not understanding how profoundly I’d disturbed the web.
Without realizing it or meaning to I effectively built a small infrastructure outside of the village proper. So houses are popping up like mushrooms all around me. A classic example of reaping what I sowed. It’s only fair that the families who have lived here for generations are able to realize their own dreams of building houses out on the land where they played growing up. So if I should ever leave Truchas, let that be my legacy, and also my lesson.
Should I go, I want to find a place that has seen less life, that isn’t interwoven with community and heritage but only the wanderings of the wild and the migrations of the ancients. Let me be more conscious of what I do so that I disturb less. Let me tread more softly.
Here is my wish: to find the land that waits for me, if indeed it does, a place where a new history may unfold. Where daybreak and days’ end bring with them a song of the wild reverberating off canyon walls undisturbed.
I’ve been both nurtured and tried by Truchas. There is so much I understand now that I didn’t know then. As I go forward, whether I stay or go, may my eyes and heart be more authentically open than when first I came to call.
Love to you all,
Jeane
Maybe it is time for less solitude?
Susan, it sounds to me like Jeane is sorry people have come to move closer to her in this area, and that Jeane is contemplating moving to find land more peaceful, and more solitude! Though I could not do that. I don’t like that total darkness of seclusion! I like having people nearby ! amazing thoughts!
Thanks Alison and what you say is true. I have the nicest neighbors now that one could possibly ask for, kind, gentle, respectful–people who were born in this village as were their parents and their parents’ parents on down through the generations. The NEIGHBORS themselves aren’t my problem but my loss of solitude. I’ll likely learn how to appreciate the differences and no longer pine for what was.
I’m afraid I’ve had a taste of what I was seemingly born to relish: total and complete solitude, one with nature. So I may end up leaving my treasured spot, or not. It all depends. But my soul definitely seeks silence, not always available in this world.
Oh dear, is it complete solitude or is it less to care for? All this stuff around us that become a bit of a noose. I wonder if it is solitude or rather a subtle clue to growing older and needing far less for which to be responsible. Digging out of one life into another less complicated. Your home is so wonderful yet demanding of your money and attention. I think there is a bit of a rock and a hardplace here. Happy to hear from you friend.
No, it really is solitude I seek. This land and this home have never been a drain. I’ve kept both simple by design so they don’t own me. But as houses and people and their guests have moved in, equipment, three-wheelers and more have arrived. I am no longer left here in silence and that is what I long for.
I would imagine that with your gentle respectful intentions your presence ushers in grace and draws similarily blessed individuals in your wake. I would guess that until we move to our next mode of non body we will appropriately meld with, and hopefully augment that which we inevitably touch. You are always a blessing :).
Thank you dear Grace. You are always so supportive of all of us on this journey. You move through the world without judgement, yourself a blessing to all you touch.
I got home after dark yesterday from Santa Fe to my home in Chamisal 11 miles up the road from you, fed and walked my dogs, and let them settle in for a snooze next to the wood stove. The moon was so bright that I decided to take a walk in the forest.
Walking at night in the juniper and piñon forest is to experience silence not just in and of itself but in how I walk and turn off my thoughts. During the day, I can see my neighbors across the valley, hear their activity and, like most people, have to deal with with interactions of daily life – tho’ heaven knows it’s nothing like living in a city. Still….
But at night, it all kind of folds into itself and becomes something very large with a sense of deep interconnectedness. It firmly punctuates the more superficial activities of the day. It helps me appreciate the contrasts among all these things and where I choose to be in concrete reality.
I guess this is the long way of saying I struggle with this, too, Jeane, even knowing that some friends think I’m a bit nuts to be living this far out at the edge of the wilderness, never mind going deeper into it. It’s interesting that the more of this physical emptiness/fullness we experience, the more of it some of us desire….
Very well put indeed. Yes, the blissful, profound silence of the night out here… I used to have it during the day as well, and often still do. It certainly is NOT the city! And my neighbors, like yours, are truly lovely people. As you say, some of us, once we’ve experienced the beauty of this kind of solitude, long for even more.