I first read a Tony Hilllerman book back in 1994. I think it was Falling Man. I really liked Hillerman's style, I liked his characters, and I liked his depiction of the location. I decided before I finished that first book that I would someday visit the Four Corners area and gaze upon Shiprock. Well, the time has come. I have retired from my job with the City of Austin Parks Department, Vicky and I have acquired a nice recreational vehicle, and the desert beckons. So we have hitched up, loaded the cats into the truck, and headed west.
Tonight we are in Fort Sumner, which is about 75 miles into New Mexico from Texas. Fort Sumner is where Billy the Kid met his ultimate fate. More than 25 miles out of town we began seeing roadside signs telling us to visit his grave or the Billy the Kid Museum. About a month ago we spent a day in Lincoln, NM where we took in another museum dedicated to "the kid" and walked around a town out of the past. There are 17 structures in Lincoln that originate from the late 1800's and are preserved as living historical sites, including Tunstall's store, which looks pretty much as it did back in 1879. Fort Sumner is a different type of place.
Like so much of the west, it looks like its best days were 20 years ago. Many Fort Sumner roadside businesses are shuttered and the buildings are falling apart. The afore mentioned museum feels like it is just hanging on. We have two nights here so Vicky and I plan on spending tomorrow wandering around and then we will be better able to describe the town.
New Mexico is flat. Really flat. And then it isn't. Picturesque buttes soar heavenward from the desert floor. The long, flat skyline is suddenly broken by minor mountains reaching skyward. The land is kind of a red dirt/sand/clay that one would think discourages plant growth, but scrub bushes and range grass does cover the land. It is so dry here that a tractor tilling the soil raised a dust cloud that we could see for miles. At first we thought it was a large dust devil, but then saw that it was man made. We passed a cotton field that also sported a large, wheeled irrigation machine. I wonder where the water comes from.
The towns along highway 84 just appear suddenly. We would be cruising along at 65 mph when our Garmin lady would inform us of a change in speed limit and then there would be a town. Some were large but most were small villages, out alone on the endless plain. Some towns looked like they only had a hundred or so inhabitants, but others were bustling with traffic and people moving about.
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