A walk along the ditch
With the majority (hopefully) of us sheltering perhaps it is a good time to share a bit of the New Mexico landscape that stretches before and behind Ranchero Musselwhite. I offer this as one way to take a little trip away from your confinement, if only in your mind.
I’ve written a tiny bit in this space about the irrigation phenomenon that we call the “acequia” or more locally, “the ditch.” These waterways that spread like spider webs from our mother Rio Grande create an agricultural space south of Albuquerque. The water from “the ditch” nourishes vast fields of alfalfa, like the one in front of our home.
Your basic acequia is around six feet wide and, when running, the water is around three to five feet deep. Every quarter mile or so is a valve that farmers rotate in order to divert the water to their fields. This entails lots of rules, traditions, and strict laws. Out here they say, “Water is life.”
On both sides of the acequia one finds a sandy road with room for one vehicle going either north or south. I’ve driven down one side of our nearby “ditch” and never encountered an oncoming car or truck. I guess one of us would back up until a widening or vacant driveway presented itself.
With the quarantine in place, my bride and I find great solace in a walk along the acequia. We put our two pups Roshi and Punkin’ on leashes and off we go.
To the north we head toward the border of the Isleta Pueblo. The pups have a friend in a small Pueblo dog who monthly miraculously finds her way from the Pueblo to our yard. The three dogs play chase, strut about, and then the Pueblo dog races up to the acequia and runs back to Isleta. We hope to see where the dog lives on our walks, but the pup has not presented herself. Nevertheless, our two pups have tons of things to sniff as we walk the sandy way.
To the south we encounter the back areas of a wide variety of homes. One family has what looks like an armored compound made with 20-foot-long tin sheets. Two very fierce looking dogs who take great umbrage in our two pups walking near their home always announce our presence on the other side of the “ditch.” We’ve never spotted any humans nor heard any human noises emanating from the compound.
We soon arrive at the border of the old Sichler Farm, the ancestral home of our friends The Dollahites. Thomas Dollahite is a way cool farmer/philosopher who had the good graces to establish a European style coffeehouse at the edge of our nearby highway. From the vantage point of the acequia, we see his parents’ home with their large solar panel array and green fields dotted with cows chewing and well, chewing.
As we cross a small bridge leading into the Dollahite property, a large watergate similar to ones we’ve seen in rural France sits in the acequia. The water rushes through with zen-like gurgling, and we always pause and quietly observe the rushing water.
We continue south and see all manner of residences. Of particular note, many homes feature parked recreational vehicles. New Mexicans love to get out into the magnificent land here, and many homes are graced with a large RV ready for the weekend.
So far we have not seen any fellow walkers on the acequia. Yesterday we saw a couple stacking firewood beside their adobe home. The gentleman sported a long braided ponytail that stretched all the way to his waist. Upon sensing our presence, both straightened up and gave a wave.
Other than yard dogs, we’ve yet to encounter any larger animal life. Here we all know that the acequia is basically the New Mexico interstate system for coyotes. We’ve not seen the animals, but there are plenty of tracks to behold.
The architecture along the acequia ranges from early cement block to stunning adobe structures.
At the long end of our southern hike, a magnificent Tuscan-style home dominates the horizon. I walked past it once and two very large dogs dominated the exquisitely manicured grounds. They regarded me silently as I meandered by, and I had no wish to arouse their interest.
We turn back north with the pups’ tongues hanging out. As one might guess the humidity here is basically nonexistent, and the pups pull at their leashes in anticipation of their water bowl back at the ranchero.
The gurgle of the acequia, the wind rushing through the cottonwoods, the screech of our numerous red tailed hawks, and more provide a soothing soundtrack, and better yet, these sounds don’t come from a computer speaker.
Whether your walk is by the Coosa River, a farm pond, or just around the neighborhood, keep a safe distance, wave, don’t shake hands, and find your special mental hygiene spot.
Peace.