Jeff is a writer, historian, storyteller, trader of antiquity, philosopher and historic reenactor. Many of the museums in New Mexico display the treasures he’s found. He can ride like the wind, put a 50-caliber musket ball on a quarter at 50 yards, and keep you mesmerized with stories of the Alamo, Billy the Kid, and ancient battles between the Spanish Conquistadors and the Chichimeca Indians.
Jeff held my students spellbound, but it was time to leave; so we headed down the trail, seeking new adventures.
We began these travels with little purpose, other than a sense of adventure, as we sought the spirit of the new. The method of my madness was for my students to understand the significance of place, and to conceptualize human history upon a place. They were not quite there yet. I told them that understanding does not come only from knowledge. Sometimes one is guided by intuition. We learn by something felt in the wind, something seen in the stars, and something that calls to the spirit from the wastelands. This would be our journey’s greatest lesson.
It’s the land that is compelling on any journey. Leave the gift shops behind. Go beyond the pavement. To understand place, you’ve got to get a little mud on the tires.
We spent our last days drifting within the enchantment of the Southwest. It’s raw, broken country, frightfully true and elegant in its searing simplicity of form. Each canyon and mesa has a distinct mythology.
Hiking into the past, we found pictographs, dwellings and a kiva, an ancient place of worship. The Ancient Ones had left their sign upon the earth at Heshoda Matdo’a Pueblo, a Zuni word meaning ancient gathering. The air was hot and still. A raven warned of our presence. Spirits were present.