< PREVIOUS ] [ 1989 Index ] [ Ed Quillen HOME ] [ SEARCH ] [ NEXT >
SANTA FE -- After continued disappointments, one
eventually realizes that Springtime in the Rockies
is merely a song title like Lucy in the Sky
that
refers to something which exists nowhere in reality, but
only in the human imagination. However, the calendar did
claim that spring had arrived in the North Temperate Zone.
If spring wouldn't come to us, we'd just have to go to it.
That, or take our chances with Terminal Cabin Fever at the
onset of Mud Season after a savage winter.
Just how far south one has to go to find spring after the Vernal Equinox needs further research. We got as far as Santa Fe.
New Mexico seems like familiar territory with a certain exotic air. Where else can you find an adobe-fronted Wal-Mart?
One local newspaper is the New Mexican, which
brags on being the oldest paper in the West. There appears
to be no debate that New Mexican
is the proper way
to refer to a resident, whereas in the Centennial State,
Fort Collins has a Coloradoan newspaper, and there
are still spirited arguments as to whether that or
Coloradan
is correct.
The arguments aren't necessary because the rule is quite simple. If a place name ends in o, then you add an, unless the name is Spanish, in which case you drop the o before adding an.
Thus a Chicago resident is a Chicagoan, and an Idaho
citizen an Idahoan, because those are Indian words. When
the place name is Spanish, its inhabitants are San
Franciscans or Mexicans. Those Coloradans who want to be
Coloradoans
should come down here and see how many
New Mexicoans
they can find.
Change a few names, and the state news here seems
routine. The governor will travel to Taiwan to recruit
foreign investment. Resorts want more foreign visitors.
Little towns look to retirement, tourism, light industry
and other customary means of economic development.
The intrastate water sectionalism has turned 90 degrees --
north and south fight in New Mexico, rather than east and
west.
As in Colorado, you see $800,000 hillside palaces
overlooking shacks whose yards boast a privy and half a
dozen cars on blocks. Perhaps Colorado should promote this
the way New Mexico does, as evidence of cultural
diversity.
But that would betray our heritage, since cultural
diversity has never been a priority in Colorado. Indians?
Frederick Pitkin ran for governor in 1878 with a simple
campaign motto, the Utes must go,
and that came a
decade after the the Cheyenne and Arapaho who survived Sand
Creek had been exiled to Oklahoma. Hispanics? We have
official English. Colorado is run by people who struggle
mightily to make the world safe for Wonder bread.
Purists may complain that the Santa Fe plaza is too commercialized. It should be. It has been a site of commerce since about 1610, and if it isn't commercialized by now, they've got to be getting real close. I loved wandering around with the realization that people have been doing the same things in this same place for centuries.
But again, you can't help but wonder about Colorado, where there's nothing like this continuity. Colorado has always been the place where people stopped a while, grabbed what they could, and moved on when pickings looked easier somewhere else. What's Mesa Verde but a very old ghost town, left behind by people who moved on, just like the mining camps in the mountains and the abandoned farmsteads on the plains? Colorado is dotted with the remnants of shattered dreams.
That's a dreary thought, and we were, after all, looking for spring. At first the effort seemed doomed. Santa Fe may be a world-renowned art center, but in late March, Santa Fe is also just another wind-swept mountain town 7,000 feet above sea level where only the evergreens are green and snow threatens at any moment.
After an exhaustive search, though, we found a sunny courtyard where several stories of adobe blocked the wind. The grass was greening, flowers were starting to open and a cherry tree was in blossom. No bees yet, which made it perfect to stand under.
Santa Fe means Holy Faith,
and there, within
sight of Bishop Lamy's cathedral on Easter Sunday, I
started to believe that there really was a springtime in
the Rockies. Until the first cold cloud came by,
anyway.
< PREVIOUS ] [ 1989 Index ] [ Ed Quillen HOME ] [ SEARCH ] [ NEXT >