A beautiful morning in the neighborhood

When the garage door slowly clanged open yesterday morning, it gradually revealed a stunning slice of our garden. At this early hour, about eight, the air was bracing, almost cold, and the mountains rising over the horizon still had a hint of the bluish morning fog. On this, the weekend when Mexicans are celebrating the country’s independence, our faded Mexican flag barely fluttered. 

It was as if the curtain had gone up on a scene of a lavishly produced show, the kind of moment that elicits appreciative oohs and ahhs from the audience and even a smattering of applause.

Except this was no theatrical make-believe but real life.

The view from the garage.

It was what another wonder-full moment of “grace,” when I feel I’ve been given a beautiful gift and I don’t know quite what I’ve done to deserve it.

Whatever the reason, I felt profoundly grateful to live in such a beautiful place, in the company of a loving husband and a small herd of motley mutts and cats.

I grabbed the camera and instinctively took a picture, and then walked around the yard, almost randomly, photographing this and that corner of the scenery around the house.

No fancy photo production or fancy tricks this, just a reflexive, heart-felt attempt to try capture the moment.

For a moment too I marveled about how the landscape has changed on our seven-and-a-half acres of land, since we bought it eleven years ago, when it was nearly barren, the result of erosion and overgrazing by the local farmers.

Though hardly a precisely manicured production now—some of the land remains untouched—we now have about a hundred trees growing on the property, and the goat-free space is anything but barren.

Later on, Stew and I went out to lunch with Barbara and Billie, two of our oldest friends in San Miguel, whose company we cherish as much as the gorgeous spectacle and the crisp, early fall air.

The view from the back terrace.

 All and all, a beautiful day at the ranch.


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