desert home

25 Mar
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Patio drinking

I have written about this place and its beers before.  Not today.  Today I just wanted to be.  Today I just wanted to drink beer and shoot the shit.  My brother and his wife obliged.  

As we sit on the raggedy-ass patio, I notice that this place that has barely changed since I came here regularly in college.  Oh sure, they have a few new seats inside and a bit more chairs on the patio, but nothing about how it feels has changed.  Same worn down regulars.  Different faces, maybe…but all the same.  These are the people I feel most at home with.  Who knows what they all do.  They all look the same, though.  It’s been a long time since I felt this at ease and peaceful while traveling.

See, the thing is, New Mexico is a funny little bastard.  It demands to be physically lived in, it just doesn’t demand that you do too much living while you are here.  And there is just so much damn space everywhere.  The skies, the desert, the mountains…it demands to be lived in all at once.  All that space demands your undivided attention.  Of all the crazy things this state has going for it, this is what I miss the most.  It seeps into you,  this space.  I miss what it does to me and to the people who live here.  It gives off a vibe of nothing existing outside of it.  There is no world out there.  This is the world.  This is your space and it’s all you need to know.  And you know what?  I like it.  This place demands solid and unassuming.  The people here want to live in the world, but not at the expense of the pace that all that space has created for them.

18 years in EP on the border, riding in the back of my dad’s truck to Nana’s for Sunday dinner, going to Juarez to drink at age 17, ordering a double with fries from Chico’s, hiking Hueco Tanks with my mom.  15 years in New Mexico, going to college, spending weekends in Cloudcroft, Carlsbad Caverns and Dripping Springs, Pie Town and the Four Corners, and Elephant Butte.  This place seeps into your bones.  I don’t think it will ever be able to squeeze it out.  Hell, I don’t want to.

Maybe this sense of belonging exists for me somewhere in Oregon.  Maybe not.  I am not moving back to New Mexico anytime soon, but damn if it isn’t nice to drink this feeling in, with gigantic gulps of solid, unassuming beer in a familiar place with people I love immensely.

You can’t sleep on this fucking place, people.  It will show you all this space.  It will show you these skies and these mountains.  It will tease you with the smell of roasting chiles in late-August.  It will offer you red chicken enchiladas with a fried egg and sour cream. And at the end of the day, you will be powerless to resist.

Another Black IPA

Another Black IPA

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One Response to “desert home”

  1. Chad April 7, 2013 at 2:18 PM #

    I miss it to. And after 10 years in California a $3 beer seems like a mirage. It’s been at least 7 years since the last time I was in Las Cruces and it feels good to know that when I have a chance to go back it will the Organ’s will give me a hug and thank me for paying a visit.

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