Rio Grande, Taos Pueblo, Kit Carson

A national monument we had never heard of, "Rio Grande del Norte", got us off the beaten path as we drove into the Wild Rivers section.  A vast area above the 800-feet-deep Rio Grande River gorge had some historic fascination, such as Sheep's Crossing Trail.  The photo does not convey the stomach-churning route that sheep herders of old took to move their herds from one side of the river to the other.  I could scarcely imagine it possible as I looked across at the absurdly steep precarious route.

The volcanic mass of Ute Mountain looms over the horizon as one looks north up the river's gorge.

We were not the only folks out in that back of beyond, but pretty near, except for a mule deer doe and a few sunflowers.

Wild Rivers . . .

. . . The recreation area is named for the Rio Grande and the Red rivers, both designated as national wild & scenic waterways; they converge there in an unusual way.  The photo below shows the Rio Grande on the right and the Red on the left, running parallel separated by a peninsular ridge until the Red drops into the Rio Grande.

Another side trip took us to the spectacular Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, the second highest span in the U.S. highway system, at 650 feet above the river. 

We walked cross-country out to view the bridge and gorge.

Another side trip took us to see the river down at water's level, equally beautiful from that vantage point.

Our trip bird list expanded there and later to include black-chinned hummingbird, rufous hummingbird, Canada goose, canyon towhee & black-billed magpie.

Frontiersman Kit Carson . . .

. . . was a resident of Taos when he wasn't away being a scout for the U.S. Army or trapping as a mountain man.  The house where he and his family lived for 25 years, is now an interesting museum just a block off the plaza.  It was built about 1825, an adobe fronting a courtyard; Carson purchased it in 1843.

We spent a good bit of time perusing the exhibits and photos, and learning about the life of Kit Carson, his wife Josefa and their nine children.

Taos Pueblo, an ancient native community . . .

What a magical experience it was when we walked into the Taos Pueblo, built probably between 1000 & 1400.  

 

As we turned a corner and looked across at the North House, we were seeing a scene from the same vantage point that my grandmother had probably 70 years previously.  The oil painting she created from that view is hanging on my dining room wall.

We began looking around at the scenes from antiquity; however, the weather took a turn for the worst: stiff winds coming out of darkening clouds whipped up stinging dirt, but creating dramatic skies as backdrops for photographs . . .

. . . until rain brought a stop to our tour.

Serendipitously, we took refuge from the storm in a gallery where we met the photographer/gallery owner, Deborah Lujan, and had a wonderful and illuminating conversation with her.  Her work, primarily of the Taos Pueblo, is organic, i.e., she does no digital manipulation of her photographs, but competes and markets successfully.

That was especially interesting for me, because I have always felt that computer digitization renders photography into another category from unmanipulated photography.  I use photography to document what is around me, and don't do the computer afterwork that seems to be the norm.  Deborah's work can be found on her website: https://deborahlujanphotography.com/.

In the meantime, we returned to the pueblo another day to complete our look-around and to photograph seemingly endlessly.  What a fascinating step back in time!

The North House ranges from 1 to 5 stories high.  It consists of small privately owned homes passed down from one generation to the next.  Some utilize the space for shops, cafes, galleries and the like.  The ancient pueblo's style has been emulated as an architectural style throughout the Southwest.

Red Willow Creek runs through the pueblo, separating the North House from the South House.  It is the community's source of drinking water.

This was a horno (outdoor beehive oven used for baking bread) under construction.

The St. Jerome Catholic church was built in 1850, and is itself a registered National Historic Landmark.

 

 

This guy sat by my side quietly while I enjoyed a fresh fry bread with powdered sugar. 

I watched the fry bread being prepared in a hot cast iron skillet in the family's tiny dirt-floored kitchen.  They had posted signs asking that photos not be taken inside, or I would have shared that scene.

The couple was saving money so they could attend an upcoming powwow in California, something they had never been able to do before.  We bought fry bread from them both days we were there.  Because the first day was during the dust storm, we ate inside in their front room, and had a nice chat with the woman.  She talked about living in boarding school as a child, and being raised by her grandparents.

The original St. Jerome Church was built in 1619; its ruin stands as a stark reminder of conflicts between natives and invaders.   It was destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, the only time that a confederation of pueblos was able to repel a large group of foreign inhabitants.

In 1692, the Spanish again gained a foothold in the area and rebuilt the church.  It became a place of great tragedy in 1847 during the United States/Mexican war.  The Taos governor was murdered, and in the mistaken belief that Taos Pueblo was involved, the U.S. Army attacked the Pueblo and destroyed the church and all those who had taken refuge within its walls.  Now only the ruined bell tower remains.

Ledoux Street . . .

The town of Taos is renowned for its artists colony; galleries & studios are at every turn.  We enjoyed a walk just off the Taos Plaza on historic Ledoux Street, where we passed interesting museums, galleries & shops.

Named for a French trapper & guide, the byway was originally constructed in a fortress style with gates at each end.

There we encountered a show of an interesting young artist, Hannah Heaton, who coincidentally grew up in my hometown of Phoenix and whose parents still live there near where my grandmother lived.  As we viewed her works and talked with her, we became ever more impressed with her "Art for the sake of healing".

To say that Hannah's paintings were unusual would be understating the case.  She enjoys plein air painting at such places as Arizona's Chiricahua Monument and Superstition Mountain; however, the final product incorporates a fascinating fantasy component.  

"Longing to reconnect in my own life and in my work", she says, she even creates her own paint from clays, minerals & plants of the area "to bridge the illusion of separateness.  As I weave these earth pigments into my painting, I forge a path for greater awareness of how precious the resources are that the earth generously provides", she writes in her website: https://www.hannahheaton.com/.

No parking . . .

There have been an inordinate number of times on this trip when we've seen people parking directly in front of signs that delineate a "no parking" spot, and for an inordinate number of times, we've made disparaging remarks about their intelligence, or lack thereof.

As we were leaving the Kit Carson Museum, we inquired about an eating establishment nearby and whether we could leave our truck parked on the street in front.  "Sure", was the reply, "as long as you're paid".  Paid???  Were we supposed to pay???  We had not registered the slightest hint that a fee was required for parking.  As we hurried out, we wondered if our truck would still be there, or if it might have been ticketed or even towed.

What a relief to find that neither of those things had occurred, but we were mighty chagrined to notice that we were parked directly under this sign: 15 minute parking loading zone.  Perhaps we will keep quiet when next we see a parking transgression. . .