On November 7 our local newspaper proclaimed “Winter blitz buries Santa Fe … 10 to 12 inches of snow.” The first such event since we have moved here wherein the snow did not melt by noon and actual shoveling was required. All that was missing were a couple of cardinals at our bird feeders to make the perfect New England Christmas card scene – unlikely to happen as the colorful crested birds have yet to find their way north from the lower (and warmer) part of our new home state.
For us it was reminiscent of the “Shocktober” snowstorm that hit New England on October 29 and 30, 2011. But smaller. In both there was a foot of snow. And the wet white-stuff clung to the large number of leaves still on the trees bringing down branches and causing power outages – 830,00 in CT. We were without electricity for five days. Here there were 19,000 including Monica and Bram for a few hours. Our community’s power lines are underground so we were unaffected.
While headline-grabbing this 12” downburst comes nowhere near our December 30, 2006 experience when 3 ½ times that amount fell in North Central New Mexico – notably for us in Albuquerque where we were scheduled to catch an early-morning flight back home to Connecticut.
We had spent the Christmas holidays with Monica and Bram in Santa Fe, as we did each year after retiring and before relocating here. We flew in and out of the ABQ Sunport and spent the night of arrival and before departure at a favorite hotel, 20 minutes from the airfield. With early morning flights it was our habit to arrive before the crack of dawn, check-in, get a breakfast croissant sandwich & coffee, settle in at a public lounge overlooking the runways and watch the sun rise and planes come and go. Which we did the morning of 12/30/2003. Except there was no first-light due to the cloudy skies and heavily falling snow. Worse yet there were no planes exiting or entering. Nada. Nonetheless flight announcements continued as if all was according to schedule. Until boarding time when we were told that our flight was canceled and we should go to the check-in area to find out Plan B. Which was that they would put us up at an airport hotel and fly us out the next day.
No problem. No jobs to get back to. We had credit cards and books to read. So we retrieved our luggage, got on the shuttle and checked in at our hotel for that night.
Next morning – still snowing. We boarded the shuttle. At the airport we were met by an airplane representative who handed everyone a card with a 1-800 number. Which we called and after one-plus hours spoke to a person who was thrilled to hear that we did not need to be on a plane that day and arranged a return flight for a few days out.
We contacted our favorite hotel and got our original room back. Called the car rental and got the same PT Cruiser. (After all no one was coming or going anywhere.) Picked up our wheels. Went back to the hotel. Did some laundry. Called Monica & Bram to set up a brunch date in Santa Fe for New Year’s morning. And settled into the lodge’s large lounge with our paperbacks. New Years Eve dinner at an empty Applebee’s, saw the high desert buried in snow, more time with “the kids,” explored snow-covered Albuquerque Old Town, read & relaxed. Who says being stranded in a snowstorm can’t be fun?
Back to the present – just over two weeks before this snowstorm we played what may have been our final round of golf for this calendar year. And next night took part in one of our favorite volunteer gigs at El Rancho de las Golondrinas, “Spirits of New Mexico” – the last event of the season.
The decision to “hit the links” was spontaneous – a combination of warm weather, nothing planned and feeling good. The activity level at the local courses drops off considerably in October so it was easy to get a tee time.
The group ahead was a foursome. In spite of being twice as many people and though we were playing unusually fast for us we lost sight of them by the third hole. We caught up however at the seventh – an infinitely long par 67 (or so it seems) – arriving at the green as they were at the tee box for the next hole, from which they could easily see the action on ours. So they watched as Marsha (casually or so it appeared) “drained” a 30-foot putt – then heard what sounded like clapping and looked up to see one of the group applauding her shot. Then on the ninth hole (our last) Jim hit three shots straight down the fairway (a rare occurrence) bringing him to the edge of the green. From which he two-putted – five strokes on a par four. A good ending for both of us. Who says golf can’t be fun?
The next afternoon around 4:00 PM we reported to El Rancho de las Golondrinas for “hair and makeup” (well makeup anyway) in preparation for our parts in the annual “Spirits of New Mexico… where guests gather around campfires and lantern-lit paths [to] listen to the captivating tales of ghosts who once roamed the land of enchantment.” We were also there to carbo-load on pizza. Ostensibly to increase the amount of glycogen stored in our muscles in order to reduce fatigue and improve performance. In reality it is because it tastes good.
This year there were ten re-enactors portraying specific specters who lived and died in the Land of Enchantment plus several more generic ghosts. We fell into the latter category.
Marsha represented a “Dead Weaver” (much like a living one, which she normally is, but in the dark with wraithlike makeup.) Throughout the year Marsha has often been the only fiber worker “on duty.” So she has developed several different talks depending on how many people, their ages, perceived level of interest, familiarity with the craft, etc. When possible she likes to give people the opportunity to experience weaving on the museum’s “demo loom.” Unfortunately that device as well as the large looms on which the Golondrinas weavers do their work are in small rooms where the apparatuses take up much of the space – that night dimly lit by chandelier candles and small plastic votives. Plus the spirit of master weaver Juan Bazán who was sent to New Mexico in 1807 to improve the quality of weaving was in one of them telling his story. As a result Marsha and the other two generic dead weavers talked with their guests outside in the ramada – an open-sided, branch-roofed shelter. Good on warm sunny days, not so much on a 45° degree evening.
Meanwhile Jim was in the office of the ranch owner heated by a kiva fireplace portraying an un-named ranch-hand and recounting the story of the 1776 Comanche raid at Golondrinas Ranch that resulted in the killing of nine (including that owner’s son and nephew) and the kidnapping of two. (The Comanche were “raiders and traders” – raiding other tribes and European settlers then trading some of that plunder with different tribes and other European settlers. At Golondrinas they were after horses and potential slaves. During their raids they also would kill any men of “fighting age” that they came across.)
The pretty much non-stop parade of guests were inquisitive and enthusiastic, which in turn got the volunteer’s adrenaline pumping. Who says history (esp. with food and drink) can’t be fun?
As it always does the snow has melted – to reappear several more times before we return again to our regular Friday golf and Saturday Golondrinas timetable.
The courses will be open through the winter. (“December in Santa Fe – ski in the morning and golf in the afternoon.”) But when the number of layers of clothing exceeds the number of strokes per hole, we pack it in. So except for occasional trips to the practice range and (with luck) a few “warm weather, nothing planned and feeling good” days we can only hope that our long-term muscle memory will be able to recreate those magic moments of magnificence we experienced during our late October outing.
Las Golondrinas closes November thru May – the dormant period for docents. Fortunately for our mental exercise there will be volunteer training in March. Until then there will be other lectures and classes offered at other venues as we Santa Feans move indoors for our entertainment and enlightenment. And of course the library. Where instead of actually “improving ourselves” with the works in the New Mexico history section we find ourselves drawn to fiction and those dark and morally complex “Nordic Noir” mysteries.
Who says the bleak mid-winter can’t be fun too?
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