The West is windy. Hold-on-to-your-hat, turn-your-head-from-the-dust kind of windy. Last night we had a campsite 20 miles outside Taos along a river under steep canyon walls that looked like they should have longhorn sheep perched on the rocky outcroppings. Beautiful but the wind drove us inside the van before sundown.
We awoke early and pointed the van towards Durango. First stop, Rio Grande Gorge. It’s like a mini Grand Canyon. The landscape is flat and desolate for miles until a big scar opens up and then everything drops away for hundreds(?) thousands(?) of feet. We hiked for awhile, peered over the edge, and continued on.
A few miles up the road we came to a community of earthships, which are homes made from recyclable goods and create their own energy. Most are buried half into the earth; all are Seussian in style.
We write this to you about 20 miles outside of Durango. We sit in our camp chairs, feet on a downed log, watching the late afternoon clouds gather and loom as the osprey, ducks and geese flap and the lake laps with the wind.