The mesa west of Taos is beautiful but harsh. I live in a place that can't be called a town, about 25 miles from Taos. There are about a thousand people out here in an area that spans 30 miles in every direction from the crossroads that marks Tres Piedras, which has a post office, a small cafe, and a ranger station and not much else.
The beauty is well known to the sightseers who come from around the world to visit New Mexico. The Town of Taos is a bustling and vibrant art town. In the winter it offers some of the finest skiing in the southwest. After our visitors see the Pueblo (when it is open) and the Gorge Bridge, and after they drive the Enchanted Circle and shop the many galleries and small shops, they often find their way out here, on the way to the hot springs or Hopewell Lake.
Those who do take Hwy. 64 out to the west will see stunning scenery and quaint settlements too small to be towns, or even villages. It is a slice of old New Mexico and an adventure.
But for those of us who make the mesa our home the harshness seeps in like sunlight seeping through a crack in the wall. It wears things down and chews them up. Tires, vehicles, houses, roads, and relationships. All get chewed up by the relentless wind, the hard light of the sun, and the infinite silence.
To live out here the first requirement is an extra dose of self reliance, or what I call grit. The next is an ability to get along with the few neighbors to be able to ask for help when needed. And it will be. This past summer, my tire blew out at speed on the town side of the bridge, 20 miles from my house. My spare was sitting in my front yard, and I could not move without it. My neighbor brought it to me, and an unknown man (who happened to be doing some painting nearby where I came to rest) put it on for me. It was a holiday and all the tire shops would be closed for several days. So I limped home.
By the time I got home the spare was flat as well. I was at home with no vehicle for three weeks, until another friend took the tire in and picked up a replacement. Without those relationships, my car might be one of the moribund wrecks one sees every day out here on the side of the road. And without a large stash of pantry food, those three weeks would have been unbearable, hence the need for self reliance.
That is the good side of the mesa, but there are other sides. There is not much law out here. The sheriff does not like to come out, so if there is a situation, you might be on your own. Everybody is armed. Most go by a certain code of politeness that staves off violence. But when someone fails in this simple requirement they find out the meaning of the term "frontier justice". As for me, I keep to myself, except for a few choice neighbors.
In contrast to the Town of Taos and the east side of Taos County, which have an out-sized number of millionaires and the odd celebrity, the mesa has some of the most extreme poverty in America.
Untreated mental illness is endemic, as is physical illness. Though that mainly applies to dental problems, as most have medicaid. Many have no running water. Some are "off grid" which means no electricity, not the presence of solar. One neighbor was getting through winter burning old crates he salvaged, and sometimes old clothes. I am considered well off because I have a real adobe cottage, with large cisterns, indoor plumbing, electricity, and high speed internet.
I have been part of a few groups in online classes full of older liberals talking about poverty in this country. I always try to explain true poverty to them, but I don't think they ever quite take it in.
So, why am I here? I am able to own my home free and clear. It is quiet and generally peaceful. And, when I arrived six and a half years ago, I became publisher of the local regional magazine. It gave me a place in the Taos community, hard won. And the ability to produce something gorgeous and useful to others. They say that the Taos Mountain has a spirit that decides who stays here. If the mountain looks unfavorably upon you it won't be long before you are gone. I am pleased to report that the mountain seems to have accepted my presence.