Everywhere you turn it’s a Kodak moment. The problem is my Canon Power Shot doesn’t capture sound and scent. It can’t register breezes or the feel of rain against my skin as the temperature drops quickly from 75 to 53 degrees during a mountain shower.
As I returned home from a long walk around noon today, the sound of a raven rattled the air. Except for me, on the ground there was no one else to pay him any attention. His voice led me across the street. There, the largest raven I’ve ever seen continued to let himself be known from his perch near the top of a Pinon Pine on the state government campus. He looked a little out of place so high up, sort of like an over-sized ornament that should be adorning the lower branch of a Christmas tree. Loud, unruly, he repositioned himself as I moved quietly with the hope of catching a shot. My presence meant nothing to him.
In the early afternoon I made my way to the absolute top of Canyon Road. Because my driving knowledge of Santa Fe is still like speaking a foreign language in the present tense, I had to make my way from the bottom, through galleries, foot traffic, and way too many cars that cost as much as many homes in middle America. Finally the name changed to Upper Canyon Road, and the landscape became a mix of deceptive stucco dwellings, some littered with what appeared to be tree waste. Much of it could have been Juniper branches destined to become coyote fencing. Both sides of the road were lined with dirt yards, the ubiquitous Hollyhocks and Chamisa, functional SUVS, and a BMW sports convertible tucked parallel with the gravel road here and there. A sign reads, DO NOT USE THIS DRIVEWAY TO TURN AROUND. In some places there’s barely enough room to pass an oncoming car. Any hope of turning around hinges on using someone’s driveway, their private property. DO NOT. NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS AVAILABLE.
At the very top of Canyon Road, you reach the Randall Davey Audubon Center, 135 acres of primitive New Mexico, nestled in Santa Fe Canyon. Aside from the home, which was originally a sawmill built in the early 19th century and then converted by Davey into a home and studio in 1920, and the dwellings which form the enclave of the Audubon society, the end of the road, the Upper Canyon Road, is essentially wild. The sound of silence, interrupted with the chatter of Bushtits, the scolding of Stellar Jays, hummingbirds in a feeding frenzy, and on this afternoon, a late summer rain shower. The smell of wet pines, the thirsty ground, 25% humidity, and your forearm as you wipe the rain from around your eyes and nose.
It’s quiet here at the end of the dirt easement that leads to this enclave on Galisteo Street. I hear a raven in the distance and the softer speculation of songbirds. High above a jet makes it way. The late afternoon air wants me to take a deep breath.
Kodak Moments
R. Harold Hollis—September 3, 2007 (Santa Fe, New Mexico)
As I returned home from a long walk around noon today, the sound of a raven rattled the air. Except for me, on the ground there was no one else to pay him any attention. His voice led me across the street. There, the largest raven I’ve ever seen continued to let himself be known from his perch near the top of a Pinon Pine on the state government campus. He looked a little out of place so high up, sort of like an over-sized ornament that should be adorning the lower branch of a Christmas tree. Loud, unruly, he repositioned himself as I moved quietly with the hope of catching a shot. My presence meant nothing to him.
In the early afternoon I made my way to the absolute top of Canyon Road. Because my driving knowledge of Santa Fe is still like speaking a foreign language in the present tense, I had to make my way from the bottom, through galleries, foot traffic, and way too many cars that cost as much as many homes in middle America. Finally the name changed to Upper Canyon Road, and the landscape became a mix of deceptive stucco dwellings, some littered with what appeared to be tree waste. Much of it could have been Juniper branches destined to become coyote fencing. Both sides of the road were lined with dirt yards, the ubiquitous Hollyhocks and Chamisa, functional SUVS, and a BMW sports convertible tucked parallel with the gravel road here and there. A sign reads, DO NOT USE THIS DRIVEWAY TO TURN AROUND. In some places there’s barely enough room to pass an oncoming car. Any hope of turning around hinges on using someone’s driveway, their private property. DO NOT. NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS AVAILABLE.
At the very top of Canyon Road, you reach the Randall Davey Audubon Center, 135 acres of primitive New Mexico, nestled in Santa Fe Canyon. Aside from the home, which was originally a sawmill built in the early 19th century and then converted by Davey into a home and studio in 1920, and the dwellings which form the enclave of the Audubon society, the end of the road, the Upper Canyon Road, is essentially wild. The sound of silence, interrupted with the chatter of Bushtits, the scolding of Stellar Jays, hummingbirds in a feeding frenzy, and on this afternoon, a late summer rain shower. The smell of wet pines, the thirsty ground, 25% humidity, and your forearm as you wipe the rain from around your eyes and nose.
It’s quiet here at the end of the dirt easement that leads to this enclave on Galisteo Street. I hear a raven in the distance and the softer speculation of songbirds. High above a jet makes it way. The late afternoon air wants me to take a deep breath.
Kodak Moments
R. Harold Hollis—September 3, 2007 (Santa Fe, New Mexico)
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