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| Your slice of High Desert Heaven in Taos, the soul of the Southwest |
As you know I have a kinship with the desiccated reaches of
the American Southwest especially those places left behind by the settlers and
seekers who tried to tame our vast and inhospitable deserts. Good luck with
that. Their remains of their futile efforts are eminently photogenic in a spare
and melancholy way.
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| The sweeping vista of same |
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| The view from your soon to be front porch |
From time to time I come across a For Sale sign on a particularly
unpromising patch of real estate, the kind of place that makes you ask, “Who
the hell would buy that piece of crap?” Who, quite naturally, is someone who
can’t afford better or who like me is antisocial and has habits best enjoyed in
private. In Greater Taos we have more than our share of such creatures in their
hippy built homes or, more likely, a cluster of trailers of indeterminate age.
Our mecca of tin is Tres Piedras some 30 miles to our northwest. Included here is
one closer to home near the town dump and directly across from some prime real estate
that can be yours for a song. It was the For Sale sign in the top image that compelled me to revisit the
unlikely splotches of sand I’ve been drawn to for almost two
decades. I've posted about these very places but the accompanying images are new.
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| A sad sprawl of parched Mojave near Keck's Corner, CA. |
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| Replete with a bumper crop of Tumbleweed. |
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A 1940's Jackrabbit Homestead, 29 Palms, CA.
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The Capitol of this real estate boom is the Mojave which in
my view is the most barren and sun scorched of all your desert choices.
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1 comment:
Love the bonus gift with the land at Keck's Corners of massive tumbleweeds, and the jackrabbit house at 29 Palms, echoing the sounds of jets, fast cars, and the sound barrier being broken in the era of Chuck Yeager and others with The Right Stuff. Flying and drinking, drinking and driving as they say. It was quite the time. With all of the for sale signs and the wide open lonesome, there are always stories awaiting the photographer and the human imagination. Great stuff, Steve!
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