My friend Wiley and I turn east on Highway 503 towards the 13,000-foot, snow-capped Truchas Peaks. A peacock sentinel and several of his brethren squawk at our intrusion near their adobe-walled hacienda compound. They usher us onto the High Road to Taos. We wind our way through high desert, mountains, Ponderosa Pine forests, small farms, and old Spanish Land Grant hamlets--Nambé, Chimayó, Córdova, and Truchas. Before long the breathtaking views of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains dominate the skyline. Nestled in green valleys numerous ancient trails and crossroads gather people into communities of artists, seekers of pastoral serenity, and those making a life off the land.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Sangre De Cristo
My friend Wiley and I turn east on Highway 503 towards the 13,000-foot, snow-capped Truchas Peaks. A peacock sentinel and several of his brethren squawk at our intrusion near their adobe-walled hacienda compound. They usher us onto the High Road to Taos. We wind our way through high desert, mountains, Ponderosa Pine forests, small farms, and old Spanish Land Grant hamlets--Nambé, Chimayó, Córdova, and Truchas. Before long the breathtaking views of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains dominate the skyline. Nestled in green valleys numerous ancient trails and crossroads gather people into communities of artists, seekers of pastoral serenity, and those making a life off the land.
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