Save some green chile for this New Mexico greenhorn

“… like a tree planted by the water ... it does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green and it has no worries in a year of drought.”

­­ -- Jeremiah 17:7-8

Lying flat on my back, I gazed up through the leaves of the cottonwood tree at a perfect New Mexico sky.

The tree was 30 feet high, and I lay halfway up it.

I was able to do this not because I have mastered levitation, but because a billion white gypsum crystals were supporting me. The White Sands, with their unpredictable blowing patterns, had created a dune over this cottonwood, leaving its top half exposed, enabling me to lay underneath it.

On other occasions, hiking through the Sacramento Mountains, I’ve heard the wind rustling through the aspen leaves, in a way that sounds like there’s an ocean nearby, or a raging river.

Aspen trees are related to cottonwoods, and their leaves look a lot alike, at least to my untrained eyes.

I spent 13 years living in Alamogordo, which is a pseudo-Spanish word for “fat aspen.”

This month marks my 10^th year working at the Las Cruces Bulletin, and my 25^th year as a New Mexican. That seems like a lot of time, but in terms of the Land of Enchantment, being here for only a quarter century qualifies me as a greenhorn.

I’ve walked through pinon trees at Aguirre Spring in the Organ Mountains, in stretches where there is so much greenery and flowing water you would not believe you were in New Mexico. Until, that is, you get to a high spot on the trail, from where you can see the White Sands, the San Andres Mountains, the Missile Range and the whole Tularosa Basin sprawling below.

I’ve leaned against a cottonwood tree at the edge of the Santa Cruz River, dangling my bare feet in it, after praying at the nearby El Santuario de Chimayo.

I’ve walked through some of the tallest trees in the state at the Carson National Forest in the Enchanted Circle near Eagle Nest, and shared a post-hike beverage with newfound friends at the Comanche Creek Brewery, which you won’t find unless you already know about it or you’re incredibly lucky enough to find the most beautiful setting of any beermaker you could imagine.

I’ve seen eagles fly frighteningly close to my vehicle in the Cibola National Forest near Corona. I’ve hiked along the river in Chama Canyon, sharing the big skies and beautiful cliffs with clairvoyant ravens.

For 25 autumns now, I’ve walked in and among, and driven past the cottonwoods in their golden time of year along the bosque up and down the Rio Grande.

I’ve planted a beautiful Mexican elder, and buried our beautiful English pointer, Rosey, near rose bushes in the shadow of a weeping willow in our Alamogordo backyard.

Just last week, for the first time, I saw a roadrunner in a chitalpa tree, the bird making a rare and brief flight, having been chased up there by a high spirited, adventure-seeking golden Labrador.

As you can guess by now, I love trees. But more than trees, I love New Mexico. And more than New Mexico, I love green chile. However, since New Mexico grows ­-- by far -- the best green chile on this entire green planet, the state and the delicacy come as the perfect package deal.

When I moved to New Mexico in 1995, as editor of the Alamogordo Daily News, I didn’t think about whether I would still be in the Land of Enchantment in 2020, but here I am.

I’ve deeply enjoyed the newspaper work I’ve done in Alamogordo and Las Cruces. I’ve been blessed to help raise two of the most amazing young women I’ve ever known, my daughters Jessica and Avalon. I adopted the Catholic faith, learning from some Franciscan priests who were incredible teachers. I’ve made some of the best friends I’ll ever have, and shared some fantastic memories, often over some of that delicious green chile.

A couple of weeks ago, I was riding my bicycle early one morning and passed a spot on Village Drive a block away from Cesar Chavez Elementary School. It was the same place I would park my vehicle and then walk Avalon to school, avoiding the crazy parking lot confusions. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time. We started doing that when she was in kindergarten, and now she’s a senior at Centennial High School.

I can’t tell you where the time goes, but it sure does go. I am grateful, as cliché as it sounds, to have taken at least some time to stop and smell the roses along the way. And, yes, to smell the roasting green chile, too.