Day 33: Nuevo México - “Land of Enchantment”

Day Thirty-Three: Nuevo México - “Land of Enchantment”

7/12/11:

My dad soaks up information like a sea sponge. At fifty-seven, he’s fairly bloated with knowledge, which is generally a good thing, although rarely results in straightforward or simple answers to any question. In full professor mode (he’s been teaching for twenty-nine years), Dad unearthed a string of colonial adobe churches for us to visit as we explored New Mexico. On our way to Taos from Santa Fe on July twelfth, we made three side ventures to El Santuario de Chimayó, San José de Gracia, and San Francisco de Asis churches.

These three adobe churches are some of the only examples of North American indigenous architecture still in existence. Decried as “primitive” in the nineteenth century, many adobe churches in the Southwest were remodeled in the New England clapboard style. It wasn’t until the twentieth century when a number of artists—among them Georgia O’Keeffe—popularized these adobe structures that many realized the beauty and worth of this early architectural style.

Walking onto the plaza of El Santuario de Chimayó was like entering into a little piece of Mexico. A row of colorful, seven-foot tall crosses stood out against the backdrop of the T’si Mayoh Mountain; little ribbons, papers with prayers, and crosses wrapped themselves around the links of the entryway fence; a shrine to La Virgen was hung with flowers and brightly beaded rosaries. El Santuario de Chimayó was, and remains, a place of healing. Before the construction of the church, this site had been sacred to the Tewa Native Americans. According to Tewa tradition, a spring had bubbled from this site and given the nearby earth strong healing powers.

In 1811, Spanish settlers to the area also found this site to be extraordinary. As lore has it, a large crucifix was unearthed from the ground at this spot and carried eight miles to the nearest church in Santa Cruz. However, the next day the crucifix returned, and again the settlers brought it to Santa Cruz. Yet, after the crucifix’s third reappearance, the settlers took heed and built El Santuario de Chimayó. A six-foot crucifix is now sheltered under thick adobe walls, and El Santuario de Chimayó remains a place of healing to this day. Beside the church, a long wall stands with a heavy coat of prayers tacked to it.

Passing through an area of thick forest and sweeping mountain roads, we lost elevation and came to the San José de Gracia church in Las Trampas. Built in 1780, San José de Gracia is ringed by a short adobe wall, clumps of golden straw visible within the dense, dried clay. The church was closed and, as told by the shopkeeper across the way, much less visited than El Santuario de Chimayó. The gentleman’s shop boasted an odd array: baubles and postcards and small figurines. Flipping into Spanish, he told my dad that he was a direct descendant of the family that had founded Las Trampas in 1751. The shopkeeper’s friend chimed in, and sitting in the haphazard and crowded shop lawn, they told me about their sixteen years working together on a hotshot firefighting crew in California. Season after season of incredible heat had caused permanent nerve damage to the shopkeeper’s friend’s feet, and he spoke nostalgically of the day when he was forced to retire his nail-studded firefighting boots.

We rounded out our morning with the San Francisco de Asis church in Ranchos de Taos. This church, with its smooth buttery buttresses, has inspired many an artist and was most famously depicted by Georgia O’Keeffe. Built in 1771 and completed in 1816, “it is understandable why the apse of this mission church has been so often photographed and painted: it proclaims geometric satisfaction mixed with naive forthrightness.” San Francisco de Asis, along with San José de Gracia and El Santuario de Chimayó, all remain active churches to this day.

Our adobe-church-tour thus sated (for the day, anyway), we commenced onward into Taos for a bike ride. Risking life and limb alongside the highway, we shot eleven miles out to Arroyo Hondo, edged six miles to Arroyo Seco on back roads, and finished out with a stormy eight miles back into Taos. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains ringed the skyline around us as we wove through the countryside, flying down long stretches of sharp descent and peddling furiously up short but insanely steep hills.

Driving back to our Santa Fe KOA after the bike ride, I cruised down some remarkable mountain roads and got to navigate lower gears for the first time, feeling disproportionately pleased with myself as I got the hang of downshifting. Passing the Rio Grande as the sun set, I watched the cloud-heavy sky throw itself in purples and blues across the water.

Arizona may have stolen my heart, but New Mexico was undeniably carving itself a place of its own there.

Photos: 1. San José de Gracia 2. San Francisco de Asis 3. Taos to Arroyo Hondo 4. Arroyo Seco to Taos 5. & 6. Rio Grande from Taos to Santa Fe