Southwest USA

My first trip to the southwest in 1979 began in Albuquerque. I’d never spent time in the southwest before, or in any desert environment.

Everything seemed as different from New York as it could be. Buildings were low. Instead of steel and glass, most were constructed in adobe or wood. Cacti, not geraniums, adorned yards and front porches. The landscape was brownish-gray and parched looking, unlike the lush green of the northeast.

During the trip I explored ancient cliff dwellings, saw steep canyon walls, and walked through sunbaked Native American pueblos.

I fell in love with the skies that stretched forever and burned at sunset, the smell of sage, even the blowing dry winds that covered everything with a fine coat of dust.