Sunrise in ToC
Truth or Consequences, NM
Sunrise on the second day in ToC looked tempting enough to get me out of bed – off the couch to be technically correct – just after 6am. The light gets way too bright for good photos by about 9am, so I left Tom and Stacy tucked up in bed and took off for a walk round town. Its a very small town with Main St, Broadway and Austin meeting a few cross streets, a river at one end and some slowly eroding sandstone hills at the other. The river is the famous Rio Grande. though it is a bit more pequeήo than that name might suggest. During the day the bright sunlight washes out even the deep ochre yellows, pinks and blues that a mention of Mexico conjures up. At this time of the morning the rich colours are brought one by one into focus as they are spotlit by the rising sun. The air is cool, something else that does not last much beyond 9am.
The first shot of the Baptist church with the white plastic spire looks a bit cheesy but this is bible country in many shapes and forms, and I am not sure I have come across one with a plastic spire before.
The Church of God beside the work in progress cabin we are staying in has a lot more character, as well as an unfortunate leak from a swamp cooler on the roof that runs down the back of the building lifting the adobe and slowly dissolving the foundations. The phone number for the pastor listed out front is disconnected and even on Sunday the place seems almost deserted. Constant water flows are not something buildings here are built to withstand and this one looks a sorry site for more reasons than one.
A bright pink apartment block that caught my eye yesterday looks more appealing in this light. I wonder who Ruth is. Her name is painted crudely on an upstairs door.
A quick circuit of the town pauses in front of the Xochi bookstore with an invitation to take a picture of a passing stranger. He looks pretty harmless. I smell a story and no threat, so as usual since the end of film and beginning of digital photography, am happy to oblige.
Turns out I have just scored a meeting with a treasure hunter. Someone mentioned a local legend of Spanish gold buried in the hills around ToC, so its a great opportunity to get the goss from someone who clearly believes the tale to be true. I've got all the pictures I want, so happily give over half an hour to hearing his stories. He reckons this would still be an Indian town if Geronimo had not left to go and perform ceremonies in another area, and been arrested because the Sheriff misunderstood the purpose of his trip. His son Iron Horse founded the first Indian school in the county and a young Indian was unintentionally rewarded for stealing a horse when he met the famous Apache in jail and learned the location of the buried gold from him. He talks fast this treasure hunter!
The tales got whackier after that – there was an alien body with fins, a tail and a bald head, the captured crow of an Austrian queen, meetings with the rich and famous and the best picture of a flying saucer ever recorded. The flag on the spaceship and regulation movie/cartoon sounding design were rather disappointing, but I suppose one can only apply so much imagination to these things! Not caring whether it could be interpreted as falling for a pick up line or not, I accepted his offer of a coffee at the BBQ and grill cafe that had a queue at the door by five to seven. Whatever else he might have gone away thinking, I suppose having an audience for half an hour was well worth the price of the bottomless mug of bland brown liquid he parted with. Insignificant against the value of the gold bars he was about to unearth for sure.
Sunrise on the second day in ToC looked tempting enough to get me out of bed – off the couch to be technically correct – just after 6am. The light gets way too bright for good photos by about 9am, so I left Tom and Stacy tucked up in bed and took off for a walk round town. Its a very small town with Main St, Broadway and Austin meeting a few cross streets, a river at one end and some slowly eroding sandstone hills at the other. The river is the famous Rio Grande. though it is a bit more pequeήo than that name might suggest. During the day the bright sunlight washes out even the deep ochre yellows, pinks and blues that a mention of Mexico conjures up. At this time of the morning the rich colours are brought one by one into focus as they are spotlit by the rising sun. The air is cool, something else that does not last much beyond 9am.
The first shot of the Baptist church with the white plastic spire looks a bit cheesy but this is bible country in many shapes and forms, and I am not sure I have come across one with a plastic spire before.
The Church of God beside the work in progress cabin we are staying in has a lot more character, as well as an unfortunate leak from a swamp cooler on the roof that runs down the back of the building lifting the adobe and slowly dissolving the foundations. The phone number for the pastor listed out front is disconnected and even on Sunday the place seems almost deserted. Constant water flows are not something buildings here are built to withstand and this one looks a sorry site for more reasons than one.
A bright pink apartment block that caught my eye yesterday looks more appealing in this light. I wonder who Ruth is. Her name is painted crudely on an upstairs door.
A quick circuit of the town pauses in front of the Xochi bookstore with an invitation to take a picture of a passing stranger. He looks pretty harmless. I smell a story and no threat, so as usual since the end of film and beginning of digital photography, am happy to oblige.
Turns out I have just scored a meeting with a treasure hunter. Someone mentioned a local legend of Spanish gold buried in the hills around ToC, so its a great opportunity to get the goss from someone who clearly believes the tale to be true. I've got all the pictures I want, so happily give over half an hour to hearing his stories. He reckons this would still be an Indian town if Geronimo had not left to go and perform ceremonies in another area, and been arrested because the Sheriff misunderstood the purpose of his trip. His son Iron Horse founded the first Indian school in the county and a young Indian was unintentionally rewarded for stealing a horse when he met the famous Apache in jail and learned the location of the buried gold from him. He talks fast this treasure hunter!
The tales got whackier after that – there was an alien body with fins, a tail and a bald head, the captured crow of an Austrian queen, meetings with the rich and famous and the best picture of a flying saucer ever recorded. The flag on the spaceship and regulation movie/cartoon sounding design were rather disappointing, but I suppose one can only apply so much imagination to these things! Not caring whether it could be interpreted as falling for a pick up line or not, I accepted his offer of a coffee at the BBQ and grill cafe that had a queue at the door by five to seven. Whatever else he might have gone away thinking, I suppose having an audience for half an hour was well worth the price of the bottomless mug of bland brown liquid he parted with. Insignificant against the value of the gold bars he was about to unearth for sure.
posted by Cathy Gunn at
May 22, 2008
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