By Bob Chrisman
Pond at Ghost Ranch, Ghost Ranch, NM, April 2008, photo © 2008 by Bob Chrisman. All rights reserved.
Who can forget that fateful trip to Abiquiu, New Mexico to visit Ghost Ranch? A brief recounting of the experience appears in Natalie Goldberg’s latest book about writing memoir, Old Friend from Far Away, but I didn’t recognize her account even though we were both on that same trip.
Twenty-four people left Taos in silence for Abiquiu that hot, August morning, drinking lots of water to avoid dehydration. The journey took at least three hours.
At the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge we slow walked to the middle and peered over the railing. Our teacher told us to leap over the short walls of the pedestrian walkway and hurriedly slow walk across the busy highway to the other side. I still can’t figure out why we crossed the road. One side of the Rio Grande Gorge looks pretty much like the other side except for the appliances and cars that people have thrown into it.
We took a “short cut” on a packed dirt road with a washboard surface. Add a few thousand potholes, more dust than you should swallow in a lifetime, and speeds of up to 60 mph. When we reached the highway, one of my kidneys had dislodged and the other one was traumatized.
We stopped at Bode’s where twenty-four overly hydrated people visited the two bathrooms. Twenty-two of the people were women. One women’s bathroom with one stool made for a long line that moved very slowly.
Outside our teacher ordered people into cars for a short trip up the hill to look over the adobe wall of Georgia O’Keeffe’s former home and into her former front yard. O’Keeffe had a nice lawn from what I could see. That whole process must have taken another 45 minutes.
When we arrived at Ghost Ranch we drove past the main buildings to a parking area near a “long house” with no walls, three floor fans, and a soda machine. We piled out of the cars for slow walking to the pond, where we would swim.
As the group disappeared down the trail I noticed a sign: “PLAGUE PRECAUTIONS.” I stopped to read the fine print.
Because plague is endemic in New Mexico and fleas and rodents with plague have been found at Ghost Ranch, we ask you to follow these guidelines when hiking here:
- wear insect repellent and dust pets
- absolutely stay away from alive, sick, or dead rodents and their burrows
- report any sick or dead rodents to the office at Ghost Ranch.
The rest of the sign explained how plague was transmitted and described the symptoms.
Now, really, I don’t dust my house let alone my pets. Who actually believes that insect repellent works on rodents? And you don’t need to tell me to “absolutely stay away” from rodents in any state of health. I fantasized about how I would report sick or dead ones.
Well, sir, I saw this sick rodent holding its stomach and frothing at the mouth at the cactus about 20 feet past the hogan.
Which cactus?
Well, one of the 6,000 near that place.
I caught up with the group as some members were jumping into the jade green water of the pond. Being from Missouri I do not swim in water where I cannot see the bottom, because unpleasant things live in murky water. I sat on the ground amidst the rodent burrows, and who knows how many sick and dead creatures, to have my lunch, which consisted of a hot plum and a warm pork sandwich. I couldn’t eat. Then someone broke the silence with an ear-piercing scream.
“EKKKKKKK!!! There are big black snakes!!!”
Our teacher calmly said, “Leave them alone and they won’t bother you.” On that note, I abandoned the hike for the shelter of the long house where I joined three other people to await the return of our classmates.
Three or four hours later the happy hikers returned in silence. We made a stop at the Visitors’ Center to use the bathrooms, buy trinkets, and purchase more water for the journey home. We climbed in our cars and waved good-bye to what I will always remember as “Goat Ranch.”
The journey home only took a couple of hours — for some of us. The lead car turned onto the highway and disappeared over the horizon. Since no one else knew how to get back to Taos, we all put the pedal to the metal and caught the leader, temporarily. We lost her again at a critical turn. Three cars turned left and two cars turned right. Those of us who turned left made it back to Taos in an hour. The two cars that turned right wandered in the desert like the ancient Israelites, finally arriving in Taos about two hours later, mad and not speaking to any of the rest of us.
The whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth, or maybe that was the dust. I vowed never to return to the Ranch.
Several weeks ago a writing friend talked me into a stay of a few days at Ghost Ranch. I balked, but she finally convinced me.
I knew this trip would be different when the journey from Taos only took 1½ hours. We stayed in lovely rooms atop a mesa with a panoramic view. We enjoyed quiet meals in the cafeteria. We took pictures. I returned to the plague area to see if it was as bad as I remembered. It wasn’t, but then it was April, the temperatures cooler, the drive not as long, my kidneys weren’t traumatized, and the rodents seemed healthier and, I assumed, less plague-ridden.
I’m glad that I re-visited Ghost Ranch. I have a new feeling about the place — but deep in my heart I will always remember the trip from Hell, the trip to Goat Ranch.
Bob Chrisman is a Kansas City, Missouri writer whose pieces Hands and Growing Older have appeared in red Ravine.
Bobby you are wonderful wordsmith. Thank you for taking me with you on journey!!
LikeLike
I found this to be delightful, too, Bob. I chuckled through it, then later worried (jokingly) that the folks at Ghost Ranch might not let me back in being as how we’ve helped establish a new “brand” for the place. 8)
It was unusually hot that particular trip, and the hand-written sign about plague (a gem, btw — glad you took a photo) would make any reasonable person question what they were getting into.
I swam in the pond, although I did wonder what creatures might be swimming with me. Remember the gold fish that communed with QM?? That was amazing!!
I’m glad you returned and had an altogether different experience. I’ve stayed at those rooms on the mesa. They’re nice. The landscape is breathtaking, and the classes, if you ever have a chance to take them, feed the soul.
LikeLike
Ruth, thanks for listening to my stories and providing feedback.
ybonesy, that trip changed things in the group for the better, so out of it came some amazing things…a lesson that what may seem to be bad can bring good things.
I think I left before QM communed with the gold fish. I was probably back on the floor of the long house with one of the floor fans blowing on me.
Ghost Ranch is a beautiful place to visit and stay. In April the flowers and cacti were in bloom. No one was there except for a group of about 20 junior high students and their sponsors so it was quiet…mostly. The landscape is among the most beautiful I have every seen. I am glad that I went back.
I sent Natalie photographs of the pond and told her that my second trip had shown me why she loved the place so much.
LikeLike
This post made me laugh; I vividly remember the hot and endless day you describe. It is so great that you went back to check out the Ranch in better weather, and I’m proud of you for venturing down to the pond–snakes, rodents, and all! Your recollections of us on the Rio Grande bridge are really, really funny, Bob.
I was one of the people who jumped in the water with the snakes. I was so miserably hot I didn’t care what I was swimming with.
LikeLike
Oh, the bridge. I have a fear of bridges, and slow-walking down one side of the bridge, then slow-walking back the other side… and every time a truck or car passed, the bridge shook and rumbled. I can’t overstate how much energy it took to not flip out, and in hindsight, I marvel at how being in silence transformed and permitted something like that.
LikeLike
I remember the bridge quivering like jello whenever a semi hit the road supported by the bridge. It is unnerving to look down at that tiny silver ribbon of river so far below while bouncing up and down as semi’s roar by. My favorite part was the “slow walking” across the two lanes of traffic. Funny how slow walkers can pick up the pace when faced with oncoming traffic!
LikeLike
Oh, Bob, what an excellent journey down memory lane! I loved this trip to Ghost Ranch. You didn’t mention it, but the purpose of the trip was to provide fuel for us to write haiku poetry. We’d read Clark Strand’s book, “Seeds From A Birch Tree.” My mind went wild with it and I fully fell in love with both the place and haiku. If I can find that old journal, I’ll add a few haiku to these comments from that trip. Did anyone else save their haiku? We took a short walk after the swim and then sat to write them. After, we read our favorites aloud. You would have been in the shelter of the long house by then, Bob.
Thanks for sharing your hilarious account of that day. What you wrote isn’t haiku, but it is perfectly wonderful.
LikeLike
Bob, I laughed out loud last night when I read the part about Bode’s and going to peer over the wall at Georgia O’Keeffe’s home. I was so confused during that part of the ride. I do remember the 24-body pile up outside the 2 bathrooms at Bode’s.
It’s great to see the pond again. Yes, ybonesy, I remember well swimming in the pond and the goldfish following me, then turning around just long enough for me to follow her; the two of us swam all over that pond together. And I remember Franny teaching me about the floating – the buoyancy of the water, looking up to those towering cliffs.
I actually loved that trip, even though it was so frickin’ hot that day. It was really bakin’, and I’m not fond of heat, dry or humid.
Bob, I’m glad you got to go back to Ghost Ranch another time. Sounds like it was lovely. Would you ever take a class there?
I have a couple of friends who used to go every summer on the archaeological digs there. I don’t know if I have the patience for that. But it sure sounded exotic.
ybonesy, I wanted to ask a question – have you seen other signs like that plague sign in other parts of New Mexico? That was the first time I’d ever seen one posted like that. Just curious.
LikeLike
GHOST RANCH HAIKU
swim in green water–
heart floats on endless beauty
under wide blue sky
once rushing water,
small pool is all that remains–
my life is destroyed
writing a haiku,
my son will be deployed soon:
all pain is revealed
LikeLike
breathepeace & QM
I am so glad to know that some people enjoyed that trip because it makes my suffering worthwhile;)
The haiku are beautiful. Thanks for sharing them with everyone.
QM, I haven’t thought of returning to Ghost Ranch for a class although they offer some interesting ones. When I returned home from that trip and friend of mine had emailed me a link to their web site. She thought I might be interested in a writing workshop they were offering. I deleted it.
Yes, I am glad that I returned for a longer stay. As I said, the area has some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.
LikeLike
Those are beautiful, breathepeace. I remember sensing that your heart had broken through onto the page with your haiku. The second blows me away.
I don’t know that I have any haiku from that walk, because I waited at a fork in the road to point out the path the group took. I got to the haiku writing late and didn’t realize we were writing haiku; I wrote prose instead. But I’ll check my notebook. Maybe some haiku are hidden in the prose.
(Bob, hands over ears for the following… ) QM, yes, there are outbreaks of Bubonic (sp?) Plague in some areas at certain times. It’s relatively rare. I haven’t so much seen signs as I have heard reports on TV news, for example, when a case occurs. The other thing we sometimes see is Hantavirus.
(OK, Bob, now you can listen in again.) 8)
LikeLike
As the woman who stood in that Bode’s bathroom line and finally kicked in the door to the men’s restroom, I probably ought to weigh in here.
Bob — thanks for the memories, I think . . . . I have so many memories of that day; namely that breathepeace guarded me while I tried to find a safe place to piss after Gwen said, “Rattlesnakes sound like a lawn sprinkler head.” Then, of course, my bad knee locked up while we were sitting in silence writing haiku and I had to silence my screams as I tried to unlock it. The only haiku I came up with that day was one in honor of Bosho’s (sorry, is that is misspelled) last one which was:
a bath when you’re born
a bath when you die
how stupid
My haiku in response to Bosho’s was:
President Bush
Vice President Cheney
how stupid
Gwen told me that I was dragging my beach towel on the trail the entire way back. More like my ass. Thanks for making me laugh about it, Bob. I’ve never laughed about it, until now.
LikeLike
i enjoyed this very much..you writing always makes me feel as if I am there experiencing it with you.
I would have loved to endured the journey with all of you. Even if it was the trip from hell! 🙂
LikeLike
ybonesy, I knew about the Hanta virus, but I had never (in my life) seen a plague warning sign. I thought for sure that someone would catch it.
sharonimo, it took me awhile to find the trip funny. But, I came around to the humor the farther the trip faded into the past. Loved the haiku.
gypsy-heart, thanks for the compliment. I hope that all of my writing brings people along. Connections, I like them.
LikeLike
Bob, I enjoyed this immensely! Enough exaggeration to keep me chuckling all the way through. After experiencing many, many “adventures” of all sorts, and recalling the episodes later with those that shared the time, it was always the “worst” of the time spent that gave us the best laughs! (Just look at how those who were a part of that experience immediately responded!)
Although I wasn’t there, your delightful descriptions made me feel as though I had been! Please share more of your good humor with us!
LikeLike
Very funny story Bob.
“I still can’t figure out why we crossed the road”….
I can see that line to the bathroom and I would have been right behind Sharonimo…possibly in front…depending on the need 😉
On my desk I keep Ansel’s shot of Georgia directing a pixie grin at bashful Arthur while they were all having fun at Ghost Ranch. Small world…gettin smaller
LikeLike
Oh my Lord . . . brings back many, many memories. GREAT PIECE, BOB! Made me laugh, even though I was one of the pissed off Israelites at the time. I had quite a different take on the day from both you and Natalie, but yours is definitely closer to mine. The whole thing was just torture to me, although it was an incredibly beautiful setting. I’d like to go back when I’m not roasting to death or trying my best to color inside the lines and not talk. Ugh.
But I’m sitting here laughing, thinking about all the funny things. It truly was funny in many ways. Thanks for the memories, baby.
LikeLike
oliverowl, exaggeration? Could we use the term “artistic license”? It seems so much nicer;)
anuvuestudio, I am always amazed at how women wil line up at the women’s restroom when a perfectly good and empty men’s bathroom just…well…sits empty. Of course, having been in many men’s rooms during my lifetime, I can also understand why women wouldn’t want to use them.
Also, please remember that Georgia lived just “down the road” from Ghost Ranch so she could go home and not eat with the plague-ridden rodents.
Neola, those silent moments on the floor of the long house as we tried to stay cool and hydrated while waiting for our comrades, who can forget them. We obviously can’t. I still remember coming upon you as you sat in the middle of the dirt road, beet red from the heat and exhausation, and ready to return to the long house.
LikeLike
breathepeace, beautiful haiku. It takes me back to your practices around that time. Like ybonesy, I remember how you broke through with the haiku. Thank you for posting (Comment #9).
I spent much of the Ghost Ranch walk alone. I got separated from the group and, rather than get lost, ended up walking up by the graves. I sat there, and by the pond, and wrote haiku along the Clark Strand lines. I felt an openness in those vast spaces. I could finally breathe.
I like reading different people’s experiences of Ghost Ranch. And, Bob, your story calls each of our own personal memories to the surface again. And allows others who were not there to share in our experiences of that amazing place. That is the power of writing.
LikeLike
BTW, Bob, I think you answered your own question about why women don’t want to use men’s bathrooms (Comment #18).
But remember the men’s and women’s bathrooms at the John Michael Kohler Arts Center in Wisconsin? Now those were bathrooms! Works of art. I can’t wait to do a post on those. In that case, I visited the Men’s Room. 8)
LikeLike
Bob, thank you for taking me back to that Goat Ranch Day one more time. I enjoyed that day only slightly more than those of you who sensibly opted for the fans. I had been to Goat Ranch before and loved the land – but I’d never been there in the heat, on a forced walk among cacti and snakes, sitting on prickly fallen trees to write. My favorite part, of the day was the car ride back because we all gave up entirely on the silence. It was such a relief to find out that I wasn’t the only person who was hot, cranky, and, well, non-zen-like.
I am also glad to know – from you and Ybonesy and Celie – how wonderful the accomodations are at Ghost Ranch. I will go again some day and stay a while. I will not swim. I will not write haiku out in the peak sun hours in the desert.
(Beth- I loved your haiku, especially the second one – I remember you that week, your courage and your grief)
trickle of water
aspen leaves tremble in wind
all thoughts erode
I’m moved beyond words
red rock. sage. Pedernal, snake,
cactus spine in foot
LikeLike
When we got back from the trip and most of us had a sense that it had been a mini-disaster, I remember taking it almost personally. Being from New Mexico, I completely understood what Natalie was trying to impart, and I also knew that feeling of wanting to fit in so much since all of it was beautiful and essential to experiencing New Mexico.
So, when you say that it took a while to find humor in the trip, it took me a while, too, to figure out where I stood with the trip. At that time, in the moment, there was every emotion but humor. What I most appreciated about your essay, Bob, was that you could have landed on anger or resentment or disappointment as your crystallized memory, but instead you landed on humor. And by doing so, you’ve brought me along to that place and helped me land somewhere other than those dark spaces.
And as you point out in Comment #3, it had bigger implications for the 24 students and our teacher sitting in silence in a zendo for what essentially amounted to a month. The trip was the turning point, and all of the symbolism that you call out in your essay also have great meaning, if you think about it, to all of us in that greater experience. The being lost, the being left behind, the obstacles and fear we had to overcome.
LikeLike
Everyone, if you haven’t been to the John Michael Kohler Arts Center in Sheybogan, WI and you find yourself even close, the bathrooms are incredible works of art and definitely worth a trip…not to mention the “outsider” art collection the place houses. But the bathrooms!!! This is the only place I know where the staff encourages you to enter every bathroom without regard to gender. After you see them you will know why or after you read QM’s piece on them.
Jude, I don’t remember breaking the silence on the way back to Taos:) Did we ride in the same vehicle?
As Jude noted, the rest of the week and the next 2 sessions of the intensive took us all so deep that we could sit and face our demons with the support of Natalie and the others in the group. The writing tore open the world. I can still remember pieces from that session that people wrote.
LikeLike
ybonesy, eloquent comment (#22). I appreciate you sharing about your experience with Ghost Ranch. Being born and raised in New Mexico. I imagine it was completely different than for the rest of us who weren’t. I hadn’t thought about it from that angle before.
You also bring up the symbols in Bob’s writing, like the pond, and how they have different meanings and memories for all of us. And I’m struck by how the heat had a huge impact on people’s perceptions that day. I don’t like heat either. But for me, swimming in the pond made the heat totally bearable. And it was so refreshing to dive in.
Ghost Ranch really was a turning point. And a facing of fears. And even Natalie mentions Ghost Ranch in her interview (LINK) and how it was a turning point for her view at that time on her teaching. Vast places like that change us in ways we don’t even know are happening.
BTW, I wanted to ask you, do you remember the name of the place with the graves up the hill from the pond? It has a name and I can’t remember now.
LikeLike
[…] pick one. Bob Chrisman is a Kansas City, Missouri writer whose pieces Hands, Growing Older, and Goat Ranch have all appeared in red […]
LikeLike
[…] open. Bob Chrisman is a Kansas City, Missouri writer whose pieces Hands, Growing Older, Goat Ranch, and Stephenie Bit Me, Too have all appeared in red Ravine. Hands is about the death of his […]
LikeLike
[…] other red Ravine posts include Growing Older, Goat Ranch, Stephenie Bit Me, Too, and The Law Of […]
LikeLike
[…] Goat Ranch by Bob Chrisman […]
LikeLike
[…] and their influence on his life. His other red Ravine posts include Hands, Growing Older, Goat Ranch, Stephenie Bit Me, Too, The Law Of Threes, and In […]
LikeLike
[…] Bob’s other red Ravine posts include Aunt Annie’s Scalloped Oysters, Hands, Growing Older, Goat Ranch, Stephenie Bit Me, Too, The Law Of Threes, and In […]
LikeLike
[…] other red Ravine posts include Aunt Annie’s Scalloped Oysters, Growing Older, Goat Ranch, Stephenie Bit Me, Too, and The Law Of Threes. He has also published two pieces about the life and […]
LikeLike