Leaving behind the rolling, forested hills and the large rushing creeks and rivers of West Virginia, Ohio, and Kentucky, my family travelled west in a station wagon filled to the gills and pulling a homemade pop-up tent camper made by my parents. We were modern day pioneers, leaving the land of the familiar and venturing forth to a place with the nickname of the “the land of enchantment.” To this eight years old child’s way of thinking, a land of enchantment must be filled with pixies, fairies and gold dust. Instead, I found many true treasures: wide open spaces, the starlit sky that seemed to stretch right up to the throne of God, and sunsets that must be fresh from His palette of many glorious colors.
My greatest treasure in this new land however were the people embraced by my soul and entwined in my heart. I met real cowboys and ranchers who were more comfortable riding fence and hearing the silence of God than sitting in a church pew listening to my daddy’s sermon and hearing the choir sing of God’s majesty. Daddy learned how to cowboy in the next few years and enjoyed the company of many of those good, hard-working men.
Our neighbors became our family; this young family of four, their grandparents who came to town often from San Lorenzo, and their glamorous and single Aunt Josie from California. Momma traded fried chicken for fresh homemade flour tortillas and I knew we always got the better end of the stick. Grandpa Joe tweaked my blond braids and the red ones of my little sister as he doled out candy from his pocket most every visit to all of us waiting on the curb of Kelly Street. Years later I would have my little neighbor friend in my wedding. After many more years, her son would be the ring bearer in my son’s wedding.
The land of enchantment was true to its name then and now. The compassion, respect, love, and acceptance I have received from its people, I treasure.
