land of the free

road trip

For me, a good road trip involves a well-thought-out picnic basket. I like it to be filled with thermoses of strong coffee and hibiscus tea, to include breakfast tacos, sandwiches, and snacks to last the journey. The night before, we prepare the food and pack the car so we can leave at dawn. It always feels like such an adventure.

On a recent trip to the mountains of northern New Mexico, I had the opportunity to reset. My allergies, irritated by the central Texas heat, flared up. The cool mountain air was just the remedy I needed. Ron and I drove along the northwestern Texas country roads, passing through small ranch and farm communities. I tried to imagine what life must be like for a farmer or rancher, most likely spending their days outdoors from sunrise to sunset, tending to the land and animals. How often do they stop and take in the incredible expanse of space and their innate connection to animals? They probably do, which is why many landowners I know are so gentle in spirit.

The open land stretched out before us, creating a vast horizon that felt similar to being on the ocean. An endless electric-blue sky, spotted with bands of fluffy white clouds, created its sense of latitude-- "a come as you are" laissez-faire notion that held a magic all its own. We felt invited to be part of it, even if just for a short time.

storm chaser

Amidst this raw and vast land, the viewing capacity of distant storms was better than any weather broadcaster could convey. Watching the clouds build, the wind pick up, and witnessing the energy of a storm approach or move out of our path left me with mixed emotions of excitement and relief. One storm that seemed to be moving at a swift pace appeared on the horizon, coming directly at us. We pulled up our phone's weather radar, which displayed a deep red center, surrounded by orange, yellow, and finally green, a bullseye on the road we were traveling. What should we do? No place to hide, nowhere to turn around, we just kept moving. We moved closer and closer until the rain began to fall. 

Do you know those shows about storm chasers? That is precisely how I felt. What in God's name were we doing out here? Somewhere between Fort Sumner and Santa Rosa, New Mexico, completely exposed. Vulnerable to Mother Nature's whim. She seemed to whisper, "I am  coming; sit tight and hang on!" And that's exactly what we did. 

The gentle, big drops of rain quickly turned into a massive wall of torrential downpour with zero visibility. The road's white line faded away, leaving us no visual to follow. Ron pushed on the emergency flashers as we crept along. Somehow, we found a slight incline on the road that offered a gentle slope. A rancher had seen it first; he sat in his white pickup, waiting out the storm (which he probably did regularly). 

We pulled in near him and stopped the car. I honestly thought, "Is this going to end badly?" The wind howled like a hurricane, rocking our car and marble-sized hail pelted down on our roof and windshield. Ten minutes passed, then ten more, and finally, just as it arrived, the storm began to move on. Wow. I needed a tequila. 

We exchanged friendly smiles of relief with our new rancher friend and drove on, still a few hours away from our destination.

Another hour passed, and we began the climb and descent through the mountain passes. The shift was pure magic. The cool temps and protective pines surrounded us as we dipped into the rushing stream-filled canyons, only to rise again on the mountain pass. Nature lives here in a powerful way. The wildlife, rivers, and forests have a beautiful rhythm that doesn't require advice or approval. It is not concerned with anything except its natural ebb and flow. It's comforting to be its guest in this place.

Unassuming yet breathtaking in its splendor, dare I say nature can be likened to a well-put-together woman? Confident—not because her clothes flatter her body or because of how she carries herself and speaks, but because she is not concerned with others' opinions. She is content with her sense of self and presence, standing strong yet soft for the long haul, regardless of what each season brings. Solid as a mountain and soft as a butterfly floating above the stream, she whispers, " I am free."

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain.

America. America.

God shed his grace on thee.

And crown thy good with brotherhood.

From sea to shining sea.

Happy Fourth of July, America, Land of the Free.

purple mountain majesty