It was evening by the time the road veered away from the Rio Grande
and crossed the chaparral plane to Taos. Maggie drove through town to an adobe
house near the highway where her friend, Magic Maya, lived. Magic Maya was
nowhere around but the house was full of musicians that night playing twelve string guitars,
violins, dulcimers, mandarins and an assortment of flutes and reeds in a circle
on benches and chairs around a large hearth. The party had been going on for
more than a day and Maggie knew most of them. We were welcome guests.
Maggie explained, “Maya does this often enough and leaves when
she needs some space.”
I felt a soft joy from the sweet sounds coming from around the
hearth, “It seems right to me, I like the freedom here.”
She smiled, “You will love it here Max.”
There was talk of how the communes in the area were faring after
enduring their first winter in the high country around Taos. Some communes
seemed to be thriving while others tended to be nothing more than crash pads
for dopers. Some were quite exotic. There was one house in Taos where everyone
called themselves Lords and Ladies. Every fantasy was lived out in this place.
The Hog Farm and Risingstar were the most open to newcomers.
The Lama Buddhist Foundation in San Cristobel was even more interesting to me but
I was told that there was no tolerance for drugs, even mind-expanding ones such
as LSD or Peyote. I figured I’d be better off at the Hog Farm or Risingstar. It
was a choice that seemed right. This would be another time I’d often wondered
afterwards which way my life might have gone had I chosen Lama over Risingstar.
We crashed there at the house. Bottles of Red Mountain wine
laced with acid, and bowls of pot, were passed around. The accompaniment of
acoustic guitars and homemade flutes played wordless rhythms to the vibe of the
night. It was sweet and exotic to me to lay there and listen, getting a good
night’s sleep, before embarking on my adventure the next day.
That morning Maggie drove up the hill to the mesa from Arroyo
Hondo, about eleven miles north of Taos. Where we were going was accessed by a
one lane winding washboard and gravel road. An even narrower recently cut dirt
road branched off past a geodesic dome and snaked up through a couple
switchbacks towards the top. A makeshift parking lot was graded out at the end
of the road where all trucks and autos were parked. No motor vehicles were
allowed past that point. At the end of the mesa, a hundred feet from there, I
could see a small complex of newly constructed adobes in a triangle formed
around a small courtyard. The top of a teepee peeked out of a ravine beyond the
mesa. Apparently, these people had been busy before winter set in.
A group of half a dozen men sat at a fire pit by the parking
lot smoking pot and drinking wine. I didn’t expect to see winos up there and
thought it odd they were drinking wine that early in the morning. I was further
put off by a scraggly, red-bearded, hippy in a buckskin fringed jacket, and a
partially concealed a Bowie knife on his belt. He approached Maggie for spare
change and Norm told him to fuck off. I was pleasantly surprised when Bowie so
readily obliged. Norm was a half-head shorter than this character but his
boldness got him through where superior size and a huge knife didn’t count for
much.
Norm was standing with his arm around Maggie’s waist so I
asked, “Norm, you ain’t unpacking?”
I knew before Norm spoke that he was going with Maggie, “I’m
not staying here, were goin’ to Questa.”
“Great, I kinda thought so,” I grinned. My happiness was
authentic for this Spring and Autumn coupling. “Take care of him Maggie, he’s
taken good care of me.”
“I will, Max,” Maggie’s piercing blue eyes locked onto mine,
“I hope you find what you’re lookin’ for.”
We gave each other a warm parting and Norm and Maggie drove
away.
The characters around the fire pit told me that I could stow
my stuff in the Kiva just past the adobe. A kiva is a circular building where
native ceremonial rite are performed in the Pueblo culture of the region. I
climbed down a pole in the center of the roof, with notches hewed into it for
rungs. I adjusted my eyes to the dark. A kerosene lamp lit the interior but it
still took a moment to adapt my eyes to the darkness. The forms of a handful of
people in the dark began taking shape. I sat and opened my pack for a bag of
Bugler and rolled one for myself, offering the pouch of tobacco to one of the
forms. I didn’t speak but waited for someone to start off the conversation. A
fifty-gallon drum situated on the opposite side of the center circle from the
ladder pole had a stove pipe joined to it providing more than adequate heat for
a large space.
A shadow spoke from behind the stove, “What do you call
yourself?”
I peered into the dark and made out a kind face of a blond,
braided-haired man, with a beard braided likewise. Woven into the beard braids
were turquoise beads. I hadn’t considered it but I figured I could call myself
anything I wanted; however, I stuck to my name, “Max.”
“I’m Mason. Pick a spot and roll out your bag.”
Mason did most of the talking. I wanted to know more about the
place. I asked about the pueblo and Mason told me about how the local Taos
Pueblo Indians came up and taught the basics of making adobe and that our people
put it up last summer. “I’ll show you the forms and where we made the mud
bricks when you’re ready.”
“Who designed the kiva?” I was curious about the roof.
“It is mostly a traditional Hogan style built into the
ground. Are you interested in building?”
I was looking up at the ceiling. Ten-inch diameter logs that
tapered only slightly towards the center with notches cut out to lock each one
crossing over the other. “Yah, I want to know about that roof. Is that a
traditional roof?”
“Naw, the way those logs are positioned was Brian’s idea. I
mean, we were all sittin’ around trying to figure out how to make a roof for
this place. Brian took some six-inch nails and laid ‘em out the way you see
those logs. He set them up and challenged anyone to put enough weight on ‘em to
collapse them.”
“So that ladder doesn’t support the roof?” I liked this Mason
guy and I suspected that he was probably the brain in the outfit. I couldn’t
wait to meet this Brian character.
“You’ve got a good eye, Max.”
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