A week in Santa Fe. One perfect week spent surrounded by love and laughter. One by one each child arrived until our circle was complete. The airbnb I had found was a gorgeous adobe hacienda located ten minutes outside the town of Santa Fe. There was a large kitchen where we could all cook together and hang out talking, and a spacious living room where we attempted card games and binged on late night movies. We spent our days hiking among the rocks of the Kashua-Katuwe Tent Rocks Monument and the foothills of the Sangre de Christo Mountains, exploring Santa Fe art galleries and museums, and eating authentic enchiladas and tacos. I loved being a fly on the wall, just listening and soaking in the banter between my boys. I took keen notice of the subtle changes in them, both the physical and the unspoken. The crazy long hair on one, the loss of weight on another, the newly sprouted facial hair. I delighted in the non-stop singing, the comic stories, the serious political talks. I watched with a mother’s deep satisfaction at the easy renewal of the bond these brothers share. And I felt a quiet joy when one of them would throw an arm around me or gather me in for a long hug. Mark whispered to me before bed one evening, “I’m never more at peace than when my boys are all under one roof.” A fleeting and temporary state of being these days. I cherish it when I can. Having Grace, Evan’s girlfriend, spend the holiday with us was especially gratifying. I love the company of another female and Grace is like a daughter to me. We ended the week with a visit to Ten Thousand Waves, a place we had been before when the boys were little and we had driven across the length of New Mexico for Spring Break. I had rented a private Japanese outdoor bath for a few hours and we all soaked in the hot waters together, knowing our time was coming to a close, talking about each of their futures in hushed tones. We celebrated the last evening together at the Japanese restaurant at the lodge, sharing small plates, toasting family and good fortune.
We packed everything up the next day, hooked the cricket back up to the Toyota and returned to the asphalt. I had some time to reflect on Santa Fe, it was a place we were considering for a potential move. It’s a very accessible, friendly town. Of course, it is a mecca for artists of every kind, sculptors, painters, writers. That current of creativity animates the town. There is a lot of talk about the quality of the light here and how it inspires and calls the artist to settle here. I have an affinity for the adobe architecture, its rounded corners and its monochromatic earth-colored stucco exterior, the way the homes and businesses blend harmoniously into the surroundings. It’s about the mountains and the landscape here, the homes fade into the background, as it should be. I have to say I was surprised at the ubiquity though, even the gas stations and the pharmacies, the apartment buildings were adobe-style. In a place where there is so much artistic expression and celebration of individuality, I wondered if anyone ever got tired of the sameness. Maybe that contributed to the array of characters that live here. I spoke to a few business owners and they seemed to agree that Santa Fe was a wonderful amalgam of free spirits, artists, yes, but also, eco-warriors, conspiracy theorists, celebrities and hermits. We had our own encounter with one of these individuals eating lunch at an old Mexican joint on Canyon Road. Husband and wife owners were bedecked in Southwestern finery, from the bejeweled cowboy hats on their heads to the silver -tipped leather boots on their feet. A wizened old gentleman was playing the piano over lunch, a sort of Burt Bacharach/organ style musician, he would pause every few minutes to shout a conversation at us(we were the only ones in this particular room) He ended up joining us at our table. The conversation started out pleasantly enough but quickly took a turn towards the conspiracies surrounding us. He pointed to all of our phones sitting idly on the table, proclaiming: AI! AI! Artificial Intelligence was taking over the world in the form of our devices. We were all beholden and controlled by the them. I could see his point but I didn’t want to encourage him. He was getting lathered up and was talking about an ex-FBI agent now living in Santa Fe who was working to expose the government and it’s war-mongering ways. We somehow extracted ourselves and stumbled out to the sunny street where such dark thoughts were quickly expelled from our Apple-controlled brains. I think life in Santa Fe could be very interesting, diversity comes in all forms, and good-natured crazy might not be a bad neighbor.
We were driving through Kansas and Missouri to point the car towards home. Two states we had never been and were basically checking off the list. I had brought a book along that we had used quite frequently: Reader’s Digest Most Scenic Roads in America. We had used this guide to keep us off the highways and travel the back roads and byways of America. And for the large majority of our trip, we had. This led us to choose Drive #72 through Kansas, following Route 56 along the Santa Fe Trail. Fort Larned, a remarkably preserved stone fort from 1859 and a few wildlife refuges were some of the attractions along the way. But first stop: Dodge City. We decided to stay at a Best Western, purely on the advice of the best Trip Advisor Review I had ever read.(In the interest of brevity, I’ve captured the gist in my Instagram feed). It was a perfectly clean and friendly place. All the great steak and potato places were closed on Sunday so we ended up at a Sushi place in the middle of Kansas. The TV was playing the Ms. Universe pageant with the sound off. Why bother listening to their intelligent answers to the plight of world hunger when you could just ogle them in their glittering gowns? I sat there with a handful of old farmers in overalls staring at the final three. I was rooting for Ms. Jamaica. Alas, she came in third. I was beginning to wish I was back in the west. In the morning, we walked the downtown area. There were many empty storefronts but what was occupied seemed to be thriving, there was a strong Hispanic presence and the salons and quincereea shops were vibrant and lively. The chamber had capitalized on Dodge’s wild west reputation with banners featuring a black pistol. No pacifists here, I presume.
The drive across Kansas was a big disappointment. The fort was decent though more geared towards lovers of old military history. The first wildlife refuge we stopped at was down a long dusty road with the prize being two forlorn bison standing lonely in a field. It was just a little anti-climactic after the western parks. Route 56 was anything but scenic, on either side of the road were great expanses of grassland punctuated by white pipes extending down into the earth. Hitting the the accelerator, we decided to make hay towards Kansas City, Missouri. I’d been researching cool small towns in Missouri and Weston popped up, right outside the city. It featured a quaint main street and an old historic hotel. I didn’t see any reason why our drive back had to be a means to an end, I was trying to conjure up some interesting stops up until the time we pulled into Chicago. I was trying hard.
Upon entry, Weston was a pleasant surprise. The downtown was lit up with Christmas lights and things just got better from there. I always get worried over parking our little rig in small towns but there right in front of the old St. George Hotel were two adjacent spots, we slid neatly up to the curb. We arrived to an empty check-in desk and when we rang the bell, a young lady rushed up, apparently she was also the bartender in the attached bar. Wonderful!! There was a bar right next door serving craft beer, in fact the hotel was owned by the local craft brewery. Things were getting better by the minute. After checking in, I looked out the window across the street and there, a restaurant beckoned. Dim lights, steamed windows, cozy interior. It was southern bbq, perfect.
There are times on this trip, when we have pulled into a strange place and hoped for the best. It’s rare for all the stars to align but this night they did. Until, it was time to retire. Let’s just say the St. George hadn’t invested in updating their bedding in quite some time. The last time I saw a bed on wheels might have been my college dorm. Threadbare sheets, one pilled thin blanket that we fought over. I brought up the Trip Advisor reviews(which strangely I neglected to consult first) and I regaled Mark with hilarious tales of disgust: fingernails on the floor, unmentionable stains on the carpet, showers that dripped brown water. We fell asleep clutching our shared piece of flannel chuckling, home was less than a week away.
The next day dawned. We were driving straight up to Peru, Illinois, 2 hours from our final destination, I94 Rv where we would strip the Cricket of all our comforts and leave her there for storage. I could barely think about it. One more stop in Hannibal, MI. I think we spent 15 minutes there, got the requisite Twain picture. Our last sleep was in the beautifully situated Fairfield Inn, right next to the IHOP and the Jalapeno Restaurant. By this point, we were done. We had been making the most of our last week on the road, but honestly our hearts were not in it.I made Mark unhook the Cricket one last time just so we could drive 15 min away to a local place to eat that looked decent. Tomorrow loomed. Conversation was perfunctory. I think we both were anticipating the transition back to real life. I know Mark was ready, had been ready since Thanksgiving. He had been a good sport about our long trajectory back home. I was eking out every last but of adventure. I realized now that the adventure had come to an end. It was time to gracefully put a period at the end of this long run-on sentence. But I’ve never known where beginnings and endings lie. I felt like there should be some momentous happening to mark the final day of what had been an epic event in our lives. I though about what a wise friend once said to me: ‘The true change will happen upon your return.’ I’m waiting on that. Stay tuned.
