Day 14: I-25 NM Decisions & Conclusions

September Retreat

September 29, 2016

By this time, I knew I’d obtained an overwhelming amount of positive new experiences, befriended a vast variety of new people, and achieved a greater sense of intuition than I could have ever fathomed before my experiences. All those minerals floating around in the dry air and all those warm smiles and bright, wise eyes I encountered had such an impact on my spirit along with my life perspective. As I drove north, I could feel those threads of destiny that pulled me to Silver City had not particularly been attached to the land itself, but rather to the people. Particularly those people who happened to have gravitated to Lora’s house during my journey.

There were just too many options at this point, and for some reason I still couldn’t withstand Silver City’s wind and dark skies frazzling my thoughts. I realize, now, that I must express gratitude towards these plentiful options and opportunities handed down to me in not only one, but every place I went. God and the Universe/ Universal God had been abundant with grace towards me throughout this 14-day trip so far. I could not express any complaints, even when I was faced with the minor underlying health issue that has a tendency to bog down my energy levels at the perfect timing.

I believe this minor health issue causing fatigue is more of an intuitive awareness test, letting me know when something needs to come to an end. For example, it’s been very assertive in indicating whenever I should end a job and start something new. And if it’s not fatigue, it’s a cold (like when I resisted the urge to move out of my apartment). This time, I was being encouraged to take with me my new skills and assets I’d gained from this venture and head back north.

I left with impactful embraces from Lora, Laura, and Rob, and equally impactful words of wisdom from all of them:

“Just remember, you don’t have to have your whole life figured out right now. You’ll probably end up doing lots of jobs and projects and travel ventures in your life, and that’s okay.”- Rob

“I hope you feel pulled by something divine.” -Laura

“Don’t take yourself too seriously.” – Lora

It was especially hard to leave these three people, but they were all leaving on their own separate journeys in the following days anyway. At first I thought maybe I’d show up in Albuquerque to rest and maybe stay for a portion of the hot-air balloon festival. As I was driving, I didn’t feel that was a necessity anymore although I’d fallen in love with Albuquerque’s people and culture and could have stayed the full year. I was craving water. Some kind of water landscape that is more lush than the desert, perhaps where the rivers flow?

Finally, I surrendered to faith and made a deal with God and myself: Whenever my knees get too stiff and the sun begins to set, I’ll settle. 

Lora’s repetition of my own words came to me, “Remember, don’t take yourself too seriously.” Not permanently. Well, I mean, if the place seemed like a good, magical match for me then I would have. So I drove as far north as I possibly could, first diving as far south as I could to avoid the mountains this time to Las Cruces instead. The wispy clouds and the hard-rugged mountains were unbelievable to me. I’d never seen such projected shapes in nature before. For some reason, I felt like stopping at a Natural Grocers by Vitamin Cottage just because I was craving something familiar in the southmost part of my journey.

The scape of Las Cruces was uncannily familiar to me as it resembled Casper, Wyoming… and by driving with the intention of finding Natural Grocers as though I were driving in Casper, I found it intuitively in less than five minutes. I was so happy to set foot in this place that felt like home to me, and experienced the urge to shop for everything; however, I didn’t exactly need anything or have the capacity to carry produce back in a warm car. (If you are reading this and care to read my next post, this has a significant point.)

There were places I passed along the way that were originally on my list of destinations (i.e. Taos, Santa Fe). Even writing these two places brings joy to my fingertips. They are still in the sphere of possibilities. But like I said, why present myself with even more opportunities where of course, they could work out, and I would be forced to choose?

Maybe you’re thinking, “What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she just fall in love to end her story and make it easy on herself? Why does she try so hard choosing this solo wandering lifestyle?” similar to what my grandfather inquires frequently. Well, you can “fall in love” in any town you wish. I’ve found this especially true since I’ve met many parallel lives to people I knew before. You know- same eyes, same soul. I think the ones that are harder to see doubles of are the ones who are of yourself, since you are one of them and this decreases the odds.

However, if the resistance to fall in love still persists, this indicates you must still travel further and continue learning more about yourself. Maybe the truth is that you already know everything about yourself before you begin your travels, but there are more ample opportunities to see yourself in the eyes of others whom you don’t see on a daily basis where you normally reside. And perhaps you are a stubborn old soul, old as a hummingbird petroglyph, who won’t simply settle and in fact has no idea how to, which eventually becomes a burden to both yourself and those around you. So there you go: the truth in a nutshell in the middle of this essay.

I stalled in some towns and pondered the mysteries of this side of the desert state, ending up in Las Vegas, NM as the sun began to set. I pulled into town and marveled at the bushiness of the trees and the sharp rays of sunlight pouring through their branches; at the children playing in the yards; at the townsfolk laughing with one another. This particular neighborhood residential area was beautiful and reminded me Cheyenne’s historic downtown.

The sun was still too bright for me to settle, though I knew this was an ideal town to stay in for the night and my over-thinking mind led me straight to all the budget hotels.

So for another unexplainable reason, I kept on driving. I glanced over my shoulder to the left as I was encompassed by the majesty of the San Luis Valley of my ancestors to the most breathtaking soft-blue hue over the mountains and the Plains -esque valley. The cool colors in the clouds cast an array of lovely light into the land. I wanted to stay in Wagon Mound, where my grandfather was from, but quickly realized there were no hotels and possibly no inhabitants at all in this town. While I was there, I drove up to the “mound” overlooking the graveyard where I’m sure many ancestors lie. The lighting at this time of day was enamoring.

Taking the advice of my aunt whom I called since she had just been in this area the day before, I drove forty miles north to Springer, New Mexico. I was perceiving this to be near the border of Colorado but it was not quite that way in reality.

The colors of the sky were deepening, casting a fearful vibe into my already-tense body. I drove past two motels on the short, very rundown main street and then finally spotted one that appeared somewhat intriguing: a painted adobe called Broken Arrow. By this point, my knees were definitely aching stiffness to a near-extreme degree.

Tense as I was from the drive, I came off as skeptical and irritable to the owner who was still gracious to me. I asked him where the closest place would be to pick up something to eat, and he replied, “Probably about four miles out of town… unless you want to eat roasted green chilis and tortillas with us out back!”

I gave in to this offer that seemed too good to be true, as I could smell the aroma of green chilis roasting in the crisp evening air. While I attempted to unlock the door to my room  Jay’s wife, Frances, came over to point out I was trying to use the spare key to my cousin’s house I accidentally stole from her in Idledale, CO (near Evergreen). I was actually impressed and proud of myself this had been the single thing I’d forgotten throughout the course of my journey! With my scattered mind, the average rate would have estimated at least one item left behind in every stopping point. I had multiple methods of returning this to my cousin, but this was obviously signifying the key to something I would later figure out.

I tasted chilis of varying spice levels with the owners, their son, and their family friend. In exchange for the chilis and tortillas, I brought down my guitalele to play for them. We built a fire to sit around and had warm discussions. I agreed to come back for the infamous Bean Day festival in Wagon Mound, where people who originated from this area. Montana happened to also have family from Wagon Mound. We assume this is where life on Earth apparently originated, now left mysteriously desolate in the middle of the San Luis Valley. We spoke about the linguistics of New Mexico. Everyone here had such a familiar, comforting dialect to me and this was because it was that of my dad’s family.

“Thank you for being here. Thank you for… just you,” they said.

Singing, talking, eating chilis, and laughing around the fire proved to fulfill my journey’s end. I felt full near the end of it. I was feeling in sync with the Universe… and during this visit to Springer, New Mexico, it became clear that hummingbirds and butterflies were not the only wild creatures I was in direct communion with. Immediately when I mentioned cats flocking to me in every location I went, a wild cat came running to the back porch, meowing passionately and relentlessly as though she’d heard me talking about her behind her back.

The  fullness I felt was more because of the pure sincerity of these people I’d just met, I was sure. This was yet another instance in which I felt I’d formed family connections in a foreign town with a population of 1000 this time, so practically half of it.

But it was true about the cats: throughout my journey I’d become acquainted and somewhat attached to around 30 cats. After time around the fire, I was able to console this wild, lost cat wandering around frantically in search of something. Her meow was loud and relentless as she paced back and forth. When she ran to me and allowed me to hold her, it was a precious moment. I  was so tempted to take her with me; I knew we were so much alike in many ways and would make great companions for one another. In the morning, I could still hear her meowing.

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Day 11: Truth or Consequences, Hillsboro, Kingston, Silver City

September Retreat

September 26, 2016

I did make it a point to stop in all of these places. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, I had been scheming to relocate to Truth or Consequences or Silver City because of a vivid dream I had about the area. I thought that perhaps I’d succeed in escaping the wind, dreariness, and cold weather of Cheyenne, Wyoming for the winter.

The drive from Albuquerque to Truth or Consequences (T or C) was, in fact, very vivid although much drier and drearier than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t say I wasn’t warned about the intense energies of T or C or the beautiful view over Emory Pass just beyond. Stopping in Truth or Consequences, I immediately caught onto its ghostliness. I knew from the history that many ghosts do reside here– but the people I spoke with were all genuinely happy and friendly, so I assume they are not hard to get along with. The sky was densely overcast and wind was abundant- not so divergent from any small, ghosty Wyoming town.

My first impression of this town differed drastically from that of a store owner’s first impression. Her reason for staying in this small town for over thirty-five years began with the sight of a happy dog laying carelessly on the side of the road as she first entered town, wagging its tail to greet her. Soon afterwards, she drove past a cowboy and an Indian slapping each other on the back, both with guns in their pockets, laughing gaily. This conversation also comprised of this woman’s entire life story, and I believe this was the highlight of my brief encounter with T or C. I’d been wanting to soak in one of the many hot springs there, but the suppressive weather and energy of this particular day was too strange for me to stay.

However, the blue hue of the rugged mountains was just as vivid as I’d imagined. The alternative interpretation for this dream, as I suspected, was simply that if I had not dared to venture this far, there would be consequences. What I could not have foreseen was the significance of “truth” in the name. It would only be later in my journey when I would come to an epiphany about this…

The woman I spoke with advised me, with an instinctive gleam in her eyes, to head over the mountain instead of taking the freeway so that I could stop in Hillsboro and Kingston. “Just buy a bottle of water or something so you can step out and get a sense of the culture in these towns. They’re very eccentric and worth knowing.” This reminded me of a similar, long conversation I had with a market owner in Palisade– the same instinctive gleam in her eyes. She’d even written down for me the same landmarks in these towns I was now being directed to again .

As I came over the mountain and into Hillsboro, I pulled over by the sole Post Office although I had a feeling none of these four businesses were open on Tuesdays. As soon as I opened my car door, I shrieked in astonishment at the recognition of a CHEYENNE CAR passing by me! I’m positive I would have personally known whomever may have been inside the car, as I saw them throw their hands up in similar astonishment. This town was literally in the middle of nowhere settled into a desert mountain’s foothills, total population 124, and not another car in sight. What are the odds?

The clouds had not made any reassuring moves by the time I made it to Kingston, NM- just below Emory Pass- giving the atmosphere an unsettling and wearisome vibe. The roads were windy, and though apparently there were only about 60 miles to go, it seemed at this rate like it might be never-ending. I pulled into the infamous Blackrange Lodge, a landmark both new acquaintances had suggested. I stepped inside to an eery air and creaky floors, dusty furniture and dim-light edges. A telephone rang loudly, cracking the silence and stillness.

“Oh, hi, Mom- how are you?” It was a woman’s voice, and somewhat a relief to know perhaps ghosts and dust mites were not the only inhabitants of this lodge.

I’d wanted to stay and talk, maybe acquiring some concealed answer to the mystery of why I had been directed here. I didn’t feel like interrupting the conversation, so I quietly stepped out into the cool early-afternoon air.

I opened my arms to the expansiveness of the Gila National Forest when I mounted the viewing point of Emory Pass, exiting my car for a moment to do so. The remaining drive was downward and windy, passing the Gila Cliff Dwellings and the City of Rocks. Mysteriously, hauntingly beautiful.

This was not what I’d been expecting. What I’d been expecting, perhaps, was more of a tourists’ appeal. More color, more amenities, more people. What I received instead was a sense of realness of this southern New Mexico land: a brutal honesty was nestled in the ancient pines and cliff dwellings. I’d heard word of various wild hot springs littering the entire forest, which was enticing to me and I would have attended them alone had it not been for pressed time and poor sense of direction into the unknown wilderness.

My sense of direction was actually improving with uncanny accuracy throughout the course of the venture so far, but I’d been too far away from my homeland to notice any such changes.

Eternity rolled around before I finally set tires on the city limit I’d been so intent upon visiting for the entire year. I still had hills to climb yet after reaching the limit, and couldn’t see the city. When it became visible, it was not anything I’d imagined. The clouds were even darker, the air was even more intense and unwelcoming. I came to realize this was in part because of the minerals of St. Rita’s Mining Site blowing around in the wind. In all honesty but with no disrespect to the city, it was not beautiful like I’d heard from many references. Already I did not meld with the flow of this city; it had more of a frazzling effect on my spirit and body.

Or so I thought. I felt exhausted when I arrived at my host’s house. I drove back and forth past it at least four times before finally recognizing the entrance down a gravel path. I walked up the steps, trembling with angst from the drive. The door flung open as I mounted the porch, and a woman with long silver hair greeted me with a  warm smile and a bow, “Welcome, Camille. Namaste. My other guests are also writers and musicians who are looking forward to meeting you.”

I walked in to meet Rob, a writer, who was on the same path as mine (originally, anyway): on a mission to complete his novel which takes place in New Mexico. We talked for awhile about the parallelism of this, and the process of writing. He was working and traveling with his wife, Laura, who was a professional jazz singer I would meet later. One of my unspoken, lost dreams is to be a jazz singer.

Lora, our host, talked to me about my journey and also brought up the Black Range Lodge. “Did you meet Catherine?” She mentioned Catherine is always looking for help and that Lora herself worked at this lodge for a few months. This lonely lodge could have been a job opportunity for me had I not been so unimpressed by the area’s solitude and overcast skies. I did contact Catherine about work options and live music, and she agreed that sometimes crowds of guests would like to hear live music if I was interested in performing that weekend. I wasn’t able to, but I was beginning to see the formation of a future music tour through New Mexico.

I rested in my room until nearly 6pm, then headed up to Pinos Altos for open mic night at the Buckhorn. This is something I’d researched the day before in Albuquerque and was excited to see I would be able to attend on a Monday night. While everyone else in the world was absorbed in the first 2016 Presidential Debate, I was in the highlands of a desert mountain town at a historic bar with eccentric paintings covering every square inch of its walls. It was raining, nearly freezing.

Classic country music was reverberating from the man in the corner as I walked inside- Johnny Cash and other old classics. I sat at the bar and ordered a bowl of green chili. Green chili is something to savor at any location in New Mexico, especially when one is shivering from the cold of late September. The two characters a couple seats down on either side of me at the bar were questionable conversationalists, making me feel a little on edge of my barstool. I was grateful when, after half an hour, the host and previous performer of open mic sat down next to me. He reminded me of two people I know from my mother’s hometown, making me feel more at home.

We watched the next performer, Gene Booth, apparently coined as “New Mexico’s Country Music Legend”, take his place on stage. His music was reminiscent of what I imagine the old Spanish polka-folk songs my New Mexico family used to dance to must have sounded like. Maybe that was just my imagination at first impression… he did also sound very similar to Johnny Cash and George Jones. It was a rare treat and comedy to watch him perform.

When I began singing my set, I watched all the customers of this restaurant and bar set down their forks and glasses to listen. I was in awe of their intent observation of my fingerpicking style and my voice. I watched positive gossip circle each table, some describing the range of my voice in hand motions. Some made eye contact with me and smiled, nodding their heads. It was a special moment, as they had not done this for the previous musicians (likely because these two were regulars). I felt accomplished after this short set, though the crowd was diminished more than usual this particular night.

I talked with the remaining performers and friends of performers. One described Silver City as “the melting pot of misfits”. The people I met here were all truly unique, from all walks of life. Not many people, I learned, were originally from the town. They’d come in from a variety of different locations for different reasons. They are the ones who make this location an authentic, artistic, and open-minded place to live.

It was interesting, but not what I’d expected out of a place that had been calling for a few months. Maybe I wasn’t giving myself enough time, but it was initially clear to me that my life path did not require the immediate relocation to southern New Mexico.

Day 10: Madrid, New Mexico

September Retreat
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Musician at the Rail Yards Market, Albuquerque, NM

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Mine Shaft Tavern, Madrid, NM

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Mike Brown at Mine Shaft Tavern

Madrid is a place where it is common for someone to wave you over from thirty yards away because they recognize your outline as if they’ve known you for years– perhaps lifetimes– and say something like, “I like your glow”. It is a place where people are truly intuitive, artistic, and unafraid to utilize their creative capabilities to their fullest capacities. There was not one person I met here who wasn’t truly friendly and welcoming. Well, the same goes for the whole state of New Mexico, but it is especially noticeable in such a small artist commune town. If there were any way to live here permanently, I would do that.

Hidden between Albuquerque and Santa Fe in the Ortiz Mountains, it is a cultural revival of lost arts and unexpected music events. It is here where I stopped taking so many pictures; partially because my phone was running out of storage space and I didn’t have time to resolve that issue, but mainly because I needed to experience Madrid’s authentic culture. I felt changed forever after meeting the vibrant artists of this town and simply breathing the dry air filled with minerals and plenty of creative energy.

Day 9: Leaving Durango to Albuquerque

September Retreat

September 25th, 2016img_3212img_3260

I told my host I would wake up at 6am, so Gregg was up at 6am starting a fire to spark my departure to Albuquerque. I hadn’t given myself the chance to explore Durango much at all besides the short evening after spending 6 hours on the train and 3 hours in Silverton, which had come as a surprise to me. This trip hadn’t gone as expected in terms of exploring and learning about towns, but what I had gained instead was a vast variety of unique friendships that would never diminish.

Though there was snow on the ground and atop the tipi, I was provided with enough thick blankets to keep warm. It wasn’t as though I had been the only one not checking the weather forecast; nobody had expected snow to stick to the ground this early. While I slept, the cries of elk sounded somewhere in the near distance.

I met both Gregg and Kathy officially the next morning due to my late arrival the night before. I enjoyed their company and hospitality; it was hard for me to leave so early as I had planned. After playing one song on my guitelele for them, they insisted on showing me around town briefly since Durango is such a great music scene. They invited me to join them for breakfast at Lone Spur Cafe. Our waitress’s name was Michele, which was only memorable to me since I had now become acquainted with three Michele’s in less than two days.

Though I had spent, in total, less than a full day in Durango, I experienced the crossing path connection more here than any place I’d spent over three days so far. After breakfast, we stopped in the Strater Hotel where an intense board game competition was occurring. We then walked to the farmer’s market– the most lively, artistic market I had ever been to. If I needed any more reasons to move to Durango, I would use the excuse of the farmer’s market itself. I was feeling antsy about getting to Albuquerque, but I was able to meet a few new acquaintances within thirty minutes by the crossing path connection.

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Strater Hotel, Durango, CO

When I finally did force myself to depart Durango, a place I could have probably stayed forever despite the cold (which says a lot about its welcoming nature, considering escaping the cold was my original intention) I still felt I was being pulled in the right direction. I was finally making it to my original destination: New Mexico! It was only by chance so many magical things had happened in western Colorado, where I least expected to find it. Without having exited the car, New Mexico was already drawing me in.

All my favorite songs played on the radio during this three-hour drive, pointing to good signs ahead. What a relief to be in a state that would always feel like home to me no matter how infrequently I visited- it is the state in which half my ancestry dwelled within for hundreds of years.

Upon arriving at my dad’s cousin’s house, whom I had never personally met before, I was greeted warmly. Fortunately, I arrived in the early afternoon in time to explore the portion of Albuquerque I had written down on a piece of paper. My cousin was gracious enough to show me around to these places:

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The Herb Shop, Albuquerque, NM

During this three hour excursion, I experienced enough New Mexico magic to send me into culture shock– but fortunately, I didn’t feel that way. I was shocked to witness the open honesty and lovingness of every soul I encountered, but it was more refreshing to me. One of my unspoken, old dreams of traveling to New Mexico was to meet a curandero/a. Since I’d shorted my trip by fifteen days, I had forgotten about this dream and had assumed it would be impossible. This was one of our first stops in town.

All I can really account right now of these experiences- talking with both my cousin and someone considered a true curandero-  is that somehow it was enough to reconnect me to my innate senses of intuition and truth in those three hours. It was throughout my time in Albuquerque that I realized everyone possesses these qualities. Everyone, whether they live in this state or not. It’s just a matter of being surrounded by a culture that accepts, cherishes, and relies on such qualities in daily life. I was fortunate enough to experience more than I could have asked of New Mexico in three hours, but that wasn’t even the beginning of it.

 

 

I also quickly caught on to the inclusive, familial aspects of New Mexico culture as I was surrounded by new friends and family for dinner. I played songs on the guitelele, which was proving to be the right travel instrument choice for this trip. My style of music had been changing since before the trip begun, and my experiences were only enhancing how far I’d come.

Green Chili Roots

Cultured Narratives

Sometimes we must retrace our own footsteps and dig deep into our own roots in order to bring forth new beginnings. We must dig deeper than our youth, deeper than our time of birth, deeper than our parents’ births.

Deeply entwined within the heart of my soul is a native New Mexican essence. Generations of memories have been passed down to me through my ancestors, and I begun remembering them at the time I started writing my novel when I was 14. I hadn’t actually visited the specific scenes I visualized as I wrote… until four years later, when I went on a summer road trip from Cheyenne to Santa Fe and spotted peculiarly familiar locations on roadsides, in churches, and adobe houses (some of which my grandparents and great-grandparents built).

San Luis, located in southern Colorado on the border,  was especially distinct in my instinctive memory. I remember walking out of a restaurant/bar and double-taking the view before me. No. It couldn’t be… It was Anaranjado, the fictional city I thought I’d been clever enough to create from scratch! It was my grandmother’s hometown, where she learned to flip tortillas from her mother and helped mold adobe bricks with her father. It was where she attended school taught by nuns at the convent. It was where the entire community of Spanish settlers held kitchen dances, removing all the furniture and dancing just for a good time.

I can see the smiles and laughter on their faces as they danced. I can hear the accordion and banjo music my relatives used to play together as a band. I can smell the corn tortillas broiling and the posole simmering. I can feel the warmth radiating from the hearts of those people, as warm as the New Mexican sun. I can relive those moments, for now, until I go back and experience that once again.

In a month of windy weather and dark clouds, I can’t help but crave the taste of the sunshine. I can’t help but dig out old New Mexico magazines and envision myself playing gigs in Santa Fe wearing the dress I bought specifically because of that. Or sitting on a rock near the river, finishing my novel.  Perhaps also wildcrafting herbs and working at an apothecary there while I’m at it… And still, maybe it’s only important to keep these visions and memories in my heart at all times so that I never lose that root essence of myself. Today,  I wear green turquoise earrings and a patterned pendant around my neck to remind myself of this, and also to spread NM’s essence to all others I encounter.

Foreign Lands

Soul heartedly

https://soundcloud.com/rosmarinasol/foreign-lands

So…

Did you know I’m a singer-songwriter???

Oh, I never mentioned that? I never wrote about that, not even once? Huh. I really only have one excuse, and it’s a ridiculous one: FEAR. Fear of imperfection. Fear of rejection. Fear of SUCCESS.

This is my first attempt at recording, but my dreams are already starting to flow wild and free, all the way down to Texas. All the way east to North Carolina. All the way west to California. And of course, I’d have to go all the way north to Canada, too, since basically all of my favorite artists are native Canadians. The Be Good Tanyas, Kathleen Edwards, Frazey Ford…

What if I could open for one of my favorite artists? What if I could collaborate with some emerging artists of similar styles like Mariee Sioux, Lauren Shera, Catherine Feeny, or Laura Veirs? I’m learning something new everyday here in Cheyenne, Wyoming… I’m learning that there’s more to Planet Earth than the vast Plains. The Plains are a great place to gaze upon and wonder, and dream. They’re expansive enough to feel free, but they’re a little dry. Not to mention the 80mph gusts of wind we’ve had this week.

It’s as though the wind is bringing in energies to me from all directions, allowing my dreams to expand farther than the Plains. They’ve expanded to the Colorado mountain regions, where wildflowers spring up along fast-moving streams. They’ve expanded to the New Mexican desert, where half of my ancestry lies. They’ve expanded to oceans of every kind, although I’m a little hesitant to go there yet.

I want to bring my voice to all these places. I want to collaborate with as many great artists as possible; sing in local coffee shops, bars, venues of towns both small and large– I’m formulating a formal recording plan, and then a tour plan, hopefully all by this summer.

In the meantime, I want to bring my sound to you, you awesome writers and artists. I enjoy reading of your adventures, and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading of mine. Now, I truly hope you enjoy hearing the sound of all my adventures on the Wyoming Plains.

As always, there will be more updates on my music to come as well as more writings of magic and synchronicity. You can also see proof of all my magical happenings and gigs on my Facebook page, Rosmarina Sol. (I’ll have to do another blog about how I chose this name and why I had to do it.) The basic translation, anyway, is Rosemary Sun– my two main sources of creativity.

Okay, so no more procrastination. It’s fun to write. It’s fun to record. It’s fun to share. Life can be so much more expansive than living in fear and hating the wind. EMBRACE the wind, embrace new change. FLY with the wind.