Eleven: The Details

I didn't really think about there being any significance to an eleven year anniversary. Honestly, I'm just glad we got here. Over, what felt like at the time, an insurmountable hill, at ten. But, in the infamous words of Mr. Manillow, "it looks like we made it".
We never really do anything special for this time of the year, because we are usually on the cusp of feeding an army for Thanksgiving. But this year, we felt it necessary to do something, anything.

New Mexico is one of our favorite spots to land any time of the year. They don't call it "The Land of Enchantment" for nothin'. It doesn't 'enchant' everyone, but it captures us in a way that is so visceral to your core. I had run across a little inn in the town of Galisteo that I was dying to check out- aptly named the Galisteo Inn. They were having a package special for massages and facials and promises of roomy suites- so we jumped on the opportunity.
It was dark as we drove down country highways, away from the lights of Santa Fe. In the town of Galisteo, there was nothing but a church and a dimly lit sign to the Inn. We pulled in to find the parking lot packed- it just so happens that the Inn houses one of the top dining spots in New Mexico. Our key was left in the front door, we made our way through the old hacienda and decided to take a detour to the cantina before slipping into our suite. As we approached the old wooden doors that opened to the bar, the bartender was coming up behind us and said "i hope we can squeeze you in". No doubt, a cozy cantina indeed. There were two tables, four bar stools, a fire in the kiva and an itty bitty bar. We promptly ordered a bottle of Gruet- bubbles made in the méthode champenoise; produced by a French family now living in Albequerque- and scooted into the Tack Suite where we would be spending the next two days.

Saturday morning we actually got to sleep in without the cold nose alarm clock. Showered and shuffled over for breakfast that Janet had prepared in the inn. She had also started opening up breakfast to the locals. Galisteo means "village of many names" and is full of artists and people of all walks of life. We met a gentlemen named Stuart at breakfast. He had been coming here for years and finally surrendered and moved out to complete some writings. We took his advice on driving around and just checking things out. After the last bite of breakfast Terry was chomping at the bit to get on the road.
Our morning drive took us over Hwy 42 to Hwy 14 into the town of Madrid. A burgeoning little artist colony that used to be an old mining town (funny how I keep dropping into those towns). We walked the streets, dropped in and out of galleries, until we ran across one that really captured us- Range West- ran by Joshua Gannon. Joshua does these amazing rock fountains that were placed all over the yard- they were simple and minimalist, but beautiful and captivating. He also makes these giant chimes made out of old CO2 canisters. Terry chatted with Joshua awhile about the area and the people as I puttered around and got enraptured by these pieces he had by a woman named Crall. We of course had to buy one of the chimes- the sound Om-zzz on forever. The significance of this purchase has just been made clear to me, in which I will expound in a moment.

We had to wrap things up with Joshua, grab some grub and get back to the hotel for our massages and facials. The locals recommended the newest eatery in town- The Hollar."It's gourmet southern food", says Joshua. Done and done, I say. Here is a tip when ordering take out at a southern food restaurant- Don't. Most food is fried and fried ain't born to travel. But, we ordered to go anyway. I had the pork biscuit with a side of fried okra. T had the fried green tomato po boy. We split the fried pickle chips. We passed on the sweet tea. The pork was succulent and savory. I assumed it to be bbq, but after opening the lid discovered it had been braised with thyme and greens. The biscuits were no match for the juicy pork; they simply melted back into flour butter. I popped the okra in like tic tacs- shooweeee, me loves some fried okra. The pickle chips were a good idea, but probably best served at the table. I can't comment on the po boy, but let's say there were no eyebrows of enthusiasm raised by miss T.

Back at the Inn. Into our robes. Massages were conducted in room by the fireplace. Facials were conducted in the main inn, in a cozy little room. Leesetta (spelling?) was this little fairy that gave us our facials- she is truly not from this plain- she worked a spell that put me under. I could barely get off the table and back to our room. But, once back to the room, we popped a bottle of 02 Aubry Champagne. There is nothing like the smell of good champagne when that cork pops. This little beauty smelled like brioche with apricot preserves. I don't know how many times we said "oh my god, this stuff is good". It didn't hurt that we were just pampered for hours and now we were just taking full advantage of a king sized bed with absolutely nothing to do until dinner.

Oh, let's talk about dinner, shall we. We dined at the restaurant in the Inn-La Mancha. It's a cozy little space- probably seats fifteen, give or take. We were seated right in front of the kiva; which was also right in front of the cellar door. The cellar that used to be home to some orphan boy ghost that Terry would later have nightmares about. Super. I digress. We started out with the Housemade Merguez Sausage- ground lamb with a cucumber, tomato and couscous salad and the Bibb salad with toasted walnuts, honeycrisp apples, and a blue cheese that I can't recall. After a few wine selections, we ended up with a Crozes-Hermitage (producer, I can't recall), but it paired perfectly with the lamb. For our main courses, I had to go red meat, so I ordered the Hangar steak with greens and mashers. Sounds simple, right. Well you know what, Simple is astounding when cooked perfectly. Classic mashers, steak was evenly cooked medium rare and melted in my mouth, and, no bitter green toothsome quality. Terry had the Farro with autumn squash. Once again, simple is blown off the charts by preparation. We finished with the chocolate pot de créme, or shall I say it finished us. Dense as a truffle. Too evil even for me.

Sunday, we hated to even imagine the thought of having to leave this place. I had no cell reception. The night sky was as it should be- full of a million stars. The moon was full while we were there and it poured into the room through our skylights every night, as if reminding us of our ebbs and flows and who is really in charge. The daylight was magical. The shadows were indelible. The smell in the air was quintessential "enchantment"- sage- the healing mother of all plants. But we had to go. We had to be grateful, we had to be gracious and leave only taking stock of who we were before we arrived and who we were as we departed.

On the drive home, we listened to This American Life, we talked, we laughed, we sat in silence, we watched the sun fall behind the Rockies smattering the sky with the flesh of orange, we touched in a way that only eleven years can manifest.