Home Shifts
A year ago today, I thought I knew where I was headed. I imagined my thirties would be taking root in Baltimore and I hadn't yet met the New Mexican with whom I'd begin a new shared life. If anything is certain and constant, its change. I never realized how deeply attached to the east coast my identity and sense of place were amidst my frequent travels and moves around the country because the horizon was always home-- Baltimore County. I always carried a license with my only permanent address-- the stone house on Flagstone Circle that I grew up in. Now, I am a resident of New Mexico and my foreseeable future unspools here. It takes time to set down roots. I've been reading histories, Southwest writers and poets reflections, about water and land grant stories, the making of Spanish American history. All of it feels like an attempt to have a stake here, to belong to a landscape, culture, and history that while contained in my country still feel particular, new, and unknown. I...