Gila Hot Springs

We made it! We managed to extract ourselves from Hillsboro, and were soaking in one of the three hot pools at Gila Ranch before the sun went down! And what a beautiful drive it was up the winding road over Emory Pass, through the green mountain forest, and down the far ridge to the Gila River -- and we had the road to ourselves. Unlike California hot springs, which are the product of current low-grade volcanic activity and tend to be sulfurous, Gila's hot water starts out as cold snow melt and seeps through fissures caused by volcanic activity millions of years ago, gaining 1 degree F for every 100 feet down it runs. This heated water then re-surges (where and why does it come back to the surface?) In springs, some of them in the middle of the river.

+ + + +

Woke up at 3am (in Hillsboro) and the 2/3 moon and all the stars lit up our garden patch so brightly!

Awoke for the day at 7.30am, and 12 buzzards were roosting in the tall trees across the road, spreading their wings to warm them in the morning sun. The datura flowers (poisonous, but beautiful like calla lilies) were open and white and elegant. By noon the blooms have wilted in the sun, and the new blooms are still tightly furled in green leaves. Walked down the street and took photos of the historic markers and trailer homes and cafes that are Hillsboro.

Jim made us coffee and tea, and heated water for us to sponge-bathe with - Wren secluded behind the art building, and me in the yard 'round the corner of the house next door.

Jim is such a fine story-teller, we wanted to capture a bit of him on film, and video'ed him telling the story of how he came to move to Hillsboro, New Mexico from Montecello, Minnesota.

Betty, a lady in her late 80's who Jim's befriended, picked him up at 10am to drive him to T or C for his dentist appointment, to pick up groceries, and run sundry errands.

I called Mom, who'd just emailed to say the movers had been and gone in Rijswijk. My heart aches.

Had brunch with Wren at Lynne Nusom's cafe 'in town.' Roger was there doing the NYT crossword, and we joined him at his table. Also met Embree Hale as we approached the cafe, a short old swaggering miner-turned-photographer, wearing a cowboy hat and boots and a loud shirt. Completely deaf in one ear, he didn't hesitate to make up for it by taking us in by the eyeful. Lynne Nusom is a recognized chef (apparently) with six or so cookbooks to his name, and a weekly food column in several papers. He's an old man now, tall with a white beard and white socks up to his knee-length shorts, but still serving and communing with customers. He said he'd been 'in Hollywood' back in the day and thrown parties (including cooking the food) for tens of thousands of people.

Embree walked us down the street when we left, as far as his pickup truck, taking the opportunity to introduce us to his flighty female husky with the palest blue eyes you've ever seen. There's a film that's been made about him and his work photographing local petroglyphs, 'In place, out of time.'

We stopped in at the artists collective store, five rooms in an old bungalow displaying originals of all kinds for sale, from quite craftsy (arty kitchen hot hands, quilted hearts and crosses), to quite sophisticated (ceramics and metalwork and photographs and paintings). Testament to the creative souls Hillsboro attracts. The town (still) doesn't have a grocery store of any kind, however.
1pm already, and Jim was back from T or C, so we got to say goodbye all over again. We've felt like family these past few days, and we're going to miss him. His sharing of his manifold interests, with a mixture of humor and excitement; the creative solutions he's conjured up and skills he's developed in response to the 'problems' (more like puzzles) he's encountered; his helpfulness /good deeds for the day (so I can go to bed knowing I've done something good); how he welcomes and reaches out to everyone who crosses his path.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile