A bend in the road that returns from Cimarron, New Mexico
It was July 2001, and I was winding down the first of what was to be many encounters in my lifelong love affair with New Mexico. I had explored the Turquoise Trail, participated in Indian holiday ceremonies, attended an employment law seminar, reveled in the gloriousness that is the Santa Fe Opera and explored the art and history of Taos and its surrounds. The hordes of mule deer lacing the curvy wooded road from Angel Fire to Cimarron should have been my first signal that the last leg of my trip might be particularly magical. I was greeted on the other side of this wonderful forest by the small and sleepy town of Cimarron, complete with an old town hotel in which Jesse James stayed (and shot his pistol into the ceiling, to leave no doubt about this).
Just south of town was the long and dusty driveway to my bed and breakfast, the Casa de Gavilan. The Case was nestled like a jewel (a white adobe jewel) against the prickly horizon, framed from behind by a towering mountain range. I reluctantly left her a few days later to head home, stopping in Springer, New Mexico to fuel up my beloved convertible (it was top-down weather, of course, as it always seems to be top-down weather in New Mexico). As I was about to speed out of the less than lovely Springer, I spied a large livery stable that had been turned into an antique store. The car practically stopped itself and I hastened to see what the store had to offer. Sadly, it was closed, with no sign of opening, so I sat for a moment on the bench outside to pet the town dog who had approached before resuming my travel to the southeast.
Just as I was about to leave, I saw an old man and a young boy (a young high schooler, perhaps) walking toward me across the main street that divided the town. They asked if I was interested in looking inside and I said, "Yes, I would love to." While the old man wrestled with the even older front door, he asked if I was looking for something special. I explained that I did not have anything in particular in mind, but was always on the lookout for something interesting to add to my 1937-built house. His grandson quietly whispered, "If my grandfather likes you, he will help you find anything you want here!" The door swung open to reveal dust-softened arcs of light that spilled onto piles and piles of antiques of all kinds . . . chairs, stoves, sundries like hats, lamp shades and books, a pharmacy display case, tables .. . anything one could imagine, all stacked in disarray and without price tags of any kind. I was in heaven.
While the boy and his grandfather busied themselves with unloading a truck piled high with a variety of old straight back chairs, I poked around to find whatever it was for which I had come. I suddenly realized that what I wanted was an old game table.
[To be continued later . . . ]
Just south of town was the long and dusty driveway to my bed and breakfast, the Casa de Gavilan. The Case was nestled like a jewel (a white adobe jewel) against the prickly horizon, framed from behind by a towering mountain range. I reluctantly left her a few days later to head home, stopping in Springer, New Mexico to fuel up my beloved convertible (it was top-down weather, of course, as it always seems to be top-down weather in New Mexico). As I was about to speed out of the less than lovely Springer, I spied a large livery stable that had been turned into an antique store. The car practically stopped itself and I hastened to see what the store had to offer. Sadly, it was closed, with no sign of opening, so I sat for a moment on the bench outside to pet the town dog who had approached before resuming my travel to the southeast.
Just as I was about to leave, I saw an old man and a young boy (a young high schooler, perhaps) walking toward me across the main street that divided the town. They asked if I was interested in looking inside and I said, "Yes, I would love to." While the old man wrestled with the even older front door, he asked if I was looking for something special. I explained that I did not have anything in particular in mind, but was always on the lookout for something interesting to add to my 1937-built house. His grandson quietly whispered, "If my grandfather likes you, he will help you find anything you want here!" The door swung open to reveal dust-softened arcs of light that spilled onto piles and piles of antiques of all kinds . . . chairs, stoves, sundries like hats, lamp shades and books, a pharmacy display case, tables .. . anything one could imagine, all stacked in disarray and without price tags of any kind. I was in heaven.
While the boy and his grandfather busied themselves with unloading a truck piled high with a variety of old straight back chairs, I poked around to find whatever it was for which I had come. I suddenly realized that what I wanted was an old game table.
[To be continued later . . . ]
posted by Lisa at 3:02 PM
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