PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

PRACTICE

Chords upon chords repeated

Pieces of melodies perfected daily nightly hourly

Each note more amazing this time than the last

Never tiring of hearing those pieces of melodies

Learned bit by bit

Practice

Wrapped into a brown velvet couch I sip gin and tonic

Learning the liturgy of the music

Notes proven through time to move the heart

Words ordinary people cannot say

Learned bit by bit

Practice

How long we can do this

The landlord says only til 10:30

Always can go later..never wanting to stop

The quest for the perfect note

In the perfect order

FARM REPORT

I made a turn off of Highway 84 through an archway reading “Ghost Ranch”. Driving down the dirt road, the landscape enveloped me, colors dazzled me, and the quiet peacefulness overwhelmed me.
There was a girl on a ladder picking apples from the trees just past the welcome center. She offered me some and I came away with my white sweater full of little sweet apples that turned into the best apple cobbler I have ever made. She never told me her name but casually said to me, “they have jobs here.” I tucked this information into the back of my head and continued with my day.
Returning to New Jersey, I began to correspond with Debbie Manzanares about the possibilities of a position at the ranch. I was taking care of my mother. She was terminally ill and my life revolved around her care.
As an artist and writer the visions of Ghost Ranch were ever present in my mind. Many people visit this area to learn about Georgia O’Keeffe, when I came here it was the mountains that drew me. Somehow I just knew I needed to spend some time here.
In January of 2010 I returned to the ranch to talk about a volunteer position and went to the top of the Pack Memorial Trail. I had begun learning all I could about the history of the ranch. Returning home after meeting with Debbie Manzanares and Marla Ulibarri I felt more of a connection than I thought possible to Ghost Ranch, but whether or not I was to return was in God’s hands.
My mother passed a few weeks after my second visit to the ranch. She made her transition from this life as I sat with my head on her chest holding her still warm hand. Seven minutes later my cell phone rang, it was Ghost Ranch on the other end of the phone offering me a position here as Hospitality Coordinator.
In my work here, many people ask me how I came to be here and most assume that as I am an artist it was Georgia O’Keeffe that brought me to Abiquiu; but it was not. It was the miracle of the place called Ghost Ranch. While here I have been able to heal from many painful issues in my life just by waking up and seeing what only God’s hands could have created.
My writing has exploded, my painting has evolved in new directions, and my heart has become happy again. This is a wondrous place, a blessed place. I have met world renowned theologians, artists and writers who have taught me much just by being in their space.
It is my prayer that Ghost Ranch will always remain to touch someone else’s life as profoundly as it has touched mine.

FARM REPORT SPECIAL EDITION...THE ELK CAMP

Dinner last night was a very different affair. Our manager visited the elk camp. What an experience! The elk camp is a magical little village that appears a mile past the green gate. When our manager arrived at camp a fire was blazing and hunters were warming themselves with cups of Wild Turkey and beer telling tales of past hunting expeditions. The guys at the elk camp hunt on horseback and we walked back towards the edge of camp to see the horse corral. Huge white canvas tents with a stove inside house the hunters. The tents are toasty! Warm enough inside to wear your best lingerie. Handsome and talented Josh manned a cook tent equipped with every outdoor cooking toy you could imagine. Of course there was a camp dog; a black and white jack russell terrier, too cute for words. Sitting between the hunters, our manager dinned at a long table set with tin plates and cups. The menu was a cowboy camp meal of tender brisket, baked beans, bread, apple pie and beer. So what does one wear to dinner with the hunters? Camouflage of course! Camouflage everything hats, pants, shirts, and beer cozies. It was thrilling. An evening our manager will treasure forever. Thanks to Valerie and Lee Weiss of Fishtail Ranch Chama New Mexico [http://www.fishtailranch.com/] for a great evening!

FARM REPORT

Our Manager had lunch with the girls at Cowgirl. The walls are covered with cowgirls in fancy boots from the past. On the patio in the afternoon you'll see a group of players plucking banjos, violins, washboards and cowbells. All the servers wear plaid shirts, crunched up cowboy hats and denim skirts of various lengths. Its about those hats! The brims are rolled up so tight they are totally useless in the sun. The important thing is the Cowgirl statement. Everyone who visits Santa Fe stops by Cowgirl at some point during their stay. It's great when you have a craving for a fat juicy burger and some fries. The jerk chicken salad has personality as well. Trolling around town comparing margaritas is without a doubt a serious Santa Fe pastime and Cowgirl ranks right up there. They know how to make you a really good drink. When the sun goes down The Cowgirl gets funky. The bar is crowded, the band is loud and the dancing is fierce. Highly recommended by our manager who is fast becoming a Margarita maven.

FARM REPORT

Revelations come in their own time. No manipulating or preparing for them like one prepares for a dinner party. You open your eyes and they just happen. One never knows from where, they just appear. Looking into the red and white shapes of a burning log or yellow leaves spinning toward the ground from a cottonwood tree in fall they are everywhere. This week I have learned to listen more. Take the signs around me when revelations are present and recognize them. To be unafraid to walk on the giddy ground of faith. Just when I thought I was without hope, without a way to express the need inside of me something intangible, something unnameable someone unexpected appeared and divinely gave it a name. Someone touched me out of a crystal blue sky and said well done. Said simply I am proud of you

Pillow book

Things that make me sad

a yellow bird who dies running into a car and gets stuck in the grill

lost love becoming found love becoming lost love

a dead rat by the side of the road

Hateful words between lovers

chocolate that is too sweet with strawberries.

Touch

Touch is important. The human species needs touch to think, to do, to be. A mother gives her child the warmth of her hugs or a stroke on the cheek to soothe and comfort. The need follows through one's entire life. When deprived of this simple need one's body can fall into disrepair. Pain and anxiety will most definitely result and spirit deteriorates. Sleep becomes elusive and without rest and resurgence the spirit withers even more. Making love is a need like breathing in and breathing out. This body is shrinking slowly and surely. The clothes that adorn it are loose and baggy. Cheeks that used to be rosy and frame a smile become hollow. Touch is important. One can rub one's hand, touch one's own thigh, but all pales in comparison to a lovers tender caress.