We left Vermejo the way you leave a place that has done its work on you: quietly, almost reluctantly, and with a promise to visit again soon. The ranch had been a masterclass in stillness, a landscape so peaceful and rejuvenating it felt less like a destination and definitely more like a reset button. Tree canopies and wildlife grazing. Streams moved with purpose. Even the air seemed to breathe more slowly there.
The road south carried that calm for a while, then began to trade wilderness hush for a busier lifestyle. By the time we rolled into Taos, the mood had shifted from restorative to electric. Right off the square, we found a chocolatier that could stop time. The kind of chocolate that makes you moan without meaning to, then softly say “yum” with every bite, as if volume might ruin the spell. Chokola is a must! A little secret, I bought extra for the road. Why not!
Sugar-fueled and grinning, we wandered through artisan shops that felt curated by instinct and entrepreneurs inventing their new career path. Handmade jewelry glimmered in shop windows. Textiles begged to be touched. Paintings echoed the wide-open sky. But the real show was outside, in the swirl of people moving through the square.
People watching in Taos is its own art form: road-trip tourists with maps and sunhats, locals who looked like they owned businesses and stories in equal measure, and one unforgettable salesman trying to peddle his wares in a three-piece suit that was clearly too big. Somehow, it only made it look better, like a borrowed costume worn with confidence. Dapper, determined, delightfully cheesy. And a salesman he was. He was able to convince a young business owner to stop his work at a cafe table to chat for almost an hour. Trapped, maybe, or could it just be he was captivated in the story? We didn’t stay to find out, but the little we could overhear was fascinating.
As the sugar high wore off, we pointed the car toward Santa Fe. The landscape opened again, and then the light arrived, as it does in New Mexico, like a quiet miracle. Every mile felt painted. Every turn offered a new palette: dusty rose against sage, apricot and raspberry skies, the soft violet and grey shadows of distant mountains.
And then Santa Fe. A city that hums with creativity in every medium. Clay, canvas, metal, fiber, food. The kind of place where you feel your shoulders drop and think, Wow. These are my people.
The light there did something to me. It showed me color combinations I am still dreaming about, the kind that will eventually find their way into a future children’s picture book. Yes, this is definitely a teaser for a future book.
Stay tuned for more on Santa Fe. The next blog will be a treat of art and culinary delights.
Photography by Michele Oglesby
We left Vermejo the way you leave a place that has done its work on you: quietly, almost reluctantly, and with a promise to visit again soon. The ranch had been a masterclass in stillness, a landscape so peaceful and rejuvenating it felt less like a destination and definitely more like a reset button. Tree canopies and wildlife grazing. Streams moved with purpose. Even the air seemed to breathe more slowly there.
The road south carried that calm for a while, then began to trade wilderness hush for a busier lifestyle. By the time we rolled into Taos, the mood had shifted from restorative to electric. Right off the square, we found a chocolatier that could stop time. The kind of chocolate that makes you moan without meaning to, then softly say “yum” with every bite, as if volume might ruin the spell. Chokola is a must! A little secret, I bought extra for the road. Why not!
Sugar-fueled and grinning, we wandered through artisan shops that felt curated by instinct and entrepreneurs inventing their new career path. Handmade jewelry glimmered in shop windows. Textiles begged to be touched. Paintings echoed the wide-open sky. But the real show was outside, in the swirl of people moving through the square.
People watching in Taos is its own art form: road-trip tourists with maps and sunhats, locals who looked like they owned businesses and stories in equal measure, and one unforgettable salesman trying to peddle his wares in a three-piece suit that was clearly too big. Somehow, it only made it look better, like a borrowed costume worn with confidence. Dapper, determined, delightfully cheesy. And a salesman he was. He was able to convince a young business owner to stop his work at a cafe table to chat for almost an hour. Trapped, maybe, or could it just be he was captivated in the story? We didn’t stay to find out, but the little we could overhear was fascinating.
As the sugar high wore off, we pointed the car toward Santa Fe. The landscape opened again, and then the light arrived, as it does in New Mexico, like a quiet miracle. Every mile felt painted. Every turn offered a new palette: dusty rose against sage, apricot and raspberry skies, the soft violet and grey shadows of distant mountains.
And then Santa Fe. A city that hums with creativity in every medium. Clay, canvas, metal, fiber, food. The kind of place where you feel your shoulders drop and think, Wow. These are my people.
The light there did something to me. It showed me color combinations I am still dreaming about, the kind that will eventually find their way into a future children’s picture book. Yes, this is definitely a teaser for a future book.
Stay tuned for more on Santa Fe. The next blog will be a treat of art and culinary delights.
Photography by Michele Oglesby
