Our trip out of the desert of central New Mexico into the Gila National Forest brought us many of the things we had been craving: winding mountain roads, tree-covered hilltops, fertile valleys, and a measure of protection from the incessant winds. We stayed in the Mesa campground in the southern part of the Gila forest. This was our first experience with first-come-first-served and we succeeded in snagging the best site in the campground, with a southwest facing view over Lake Roberts and our own path down to the lake shore, in spite of it being Easter weekend. Having roughly outlined our itinerary until the first week of May, we knew we had about a week to kill before getting to the next place we were going to be, so we booked four nights at the campground with a planned fifth night of wild camping to break up the drive on the way out.
One of my favorite activities is looking at our big paper road atlas and scouring the pages for the little pink letters that indicate some worthwhile thing or other to visit or explore. In my perusing of the Gila forest on the map two things popped out immediately: hot springs and cliff dwellings. Even though we had a hot springs experience in T or C, there’s something completely magical about the idea of soaking in a hot spring in the wilderness instead of a curated setting. When we did our big tour of France in 2019, we were fortunate to get the memo about a fabulous hot spring in Auvergne where we spent a lovely afternoon alternating between the steamy waters in the spring and the cooler waters of the frigid river.
One of the first things we did when we got to the US, was to figure out American phone plans. I signed up with Visible right away since my phone was compatible and I could have a dual SIM. This allowed me to keep my French number active to still receive calls and texts, and gave us a way to communicate with friends and family in the US while we researched other options. After considering the outrageously priced plans offered by the major carriers (when did cell service become so expensive?!), I decided to stay with Visible, and Honey signed up with Mint. His plan is $5 cheaper per month, but mine has unlimited hot spot, while his is limited to 5GB. Our idea with having two different carriers that use different cell towers was to optimize the odds of at least one of us having service throughout our trip. This strategy didn’t pan out in Big Bend NP, where neither of us had any service whatsoever, but it worked okay in the Gila, where Honey had service at our campsite and at random spots on the road and I had absolutely zilch.
It was very disconcerting at first, not having a working connection. We’ve become so addicted to these terrible little devices that forced time off can feel intensely stressful at first. When I was in my 20s, I remember being thrilled when I would get somewhere only to realize I’d forgotten my phone at home. There was something liberating about being unavailable to respond to anyone’s demands, to have my attention entirely to myself, to have the excuse of being wholly present, wherever I happened to be, and whoever I happened to be with. As I’ve gotten back into writing and in the course of my permaculture studies this past year, I’ve found myself so much more easily distracted than when I was in college or during my massage studies.
Part of my shortened attention span may be lack of habit, but I never thought of myself as someone who couldn’t focus for long periods of time until recently. I know several women who, in their late 30s or early 40s, have self-diagnosed as having ADD or ADHD. These are smart, accomplished women who often have spent years of their lives in study. Part of me wonders how much of this trend is due to the unprecedented invasion of our time and the constant call for our attention coming from our electronic devices. Spending four days with minimal electronic connection (I would hook up to Honey’s hotspot once a day to check my messages and communicate with my family) gave my mind the gift of continuous time. I couldn’t say how many times I picked up my phone mindlessly only to remember that it was a dead-end device, the gesture so ingrained, so much a thing I now do with my body. That time off allowed me to read, to make some jewelry (though I’m very unhappy with the results), and to do some emotional work that I’ve been struggling with.
The electronic portal to the virtual world that is my phone, magnetically and unrelentingly pulls at my thoughts, subverts my attention and invades my mental space. Doesn’t it do the same to you? Do we think this is healthy long-term? A slew of books and courses and self-improvement tools on the market now pushes us towards more efficiency and improving our time management skills. These seem like false trails laid to distract us from the very things that have been the most detrimental to our focus and ability to be fully present in our bodies and in our lives. What we need is more time, less busyness and less interruption.
It’s no wonder that digital detox camps have grown in popularity in the past several years, or that forest bathing (shinrin-yoku in Japanese) has become a trendy topic in the wellness and mindfulness field. More and more we see messages exhorting us to go to the woods or spend time in nature—there is wisdom in this, and connection. It becomes easier to breathe and to tune into ourselves when we’re immersed in the outdoors. Too often we operate with the sense that we are separate from the natural world, but if that were the case, why would it be to nature that we turn when we need to find ourselves?
In any case, our time in the Gila was restful. One day we did a 9-mile hike up a crest and down through a canyon that had, unfortunately for us, recently been targeted by a prescribed burn. Where we expected to pass through a dense canopy of pine, we found only patchy shade, downed trees and charred stumps. The end of the hike led us to the visitor’s center at the foot of the Gila Cliff Dwellings archeological site. We were able to fill up on gloriously cold water before climbing up a lovely canyon to the cave and marvel at the ingenuity and durability of the structures. There are several sites in the Southwest where Pueblo people built cave dwellings. These particular dwellings were built by the Mogollon and abandoned in the 12th century for reasons that remain mysterious. Along the entrance road there are also walls of pictographs, many now too faded by the elements to be seen clearly.
The day after this big hike dawned cool and overcast so we thought it would be perfect to attempt one of the hot springs. There is a curated one near the visitor’s center that charges $5 per person, but we preferred a little adventure so we drove up to the trailhead for the short hike to a different one. After an easy stroll and a couple of river crossings we arrived at a series of rock-lined channels directing the scalding spring water into shallow pools. The pools were less than a foot deep, and when I stepped into one, I quickly stepped out again, realizing the water was simply too hot for comfort. Lots of algae floated on the hottest pools and the overall effect was pretty off-putting. The nicer hot springs, with water at 90ºF instead of 140ºF were either a strenous 8 mile hike or 2h drive + a 3 mile hike away, so we scratched that plan and headed back to camp.
In addition to our time in the woods, we spent a day strolling around Silver City, an old mining town 30 miles from our camp. It had similar vibes to T or C, but was significantly bigger and somehow less quirky, even though it was very cute. There are lots of great murals and antique or secondhand stores, a small farmer’s market where we picked up some fabulous sausages and pork chops, a brewery and a couple of restaurants. We found that Jalisco, the Mexican restaurant recommended to us was nothing to write home about, but the Little Toad Brewery & Distillery had a nice menu, neat setting and decent food.
As time goes on, I’m becoming more interested and better able to look at the world through a lens of wonder, rather than one of certainty. Anyone who knows me knows that historically I’ve been absolutely positively 100% certain—of everything. But as we continue to navigate the mess world leaders, pharmaceutical companies and our deeply corrupt governments have made of our lives and our world in the past two years, what I’ve come to see is that certainty is a thin veil for arrogance, ineptitude, cowardice, and intellectual laziness. My encounters with the relics of ancient civilizations—the pictographs in Seminole National Park, the recently discovered 20,000 year old footprints at White Sands, or the Gila cliff dwellings and pictographs—which we neither understand nor have any sort of official framework for analyzing, shows me how much of life we experience through storytelling and compelling narrative rather than objective fact.
Stories are powerful. They tell us who we are, what our place is in the world. They are tools through which we relate to others and through which we convey our experiences. But they are never objective truth and the people I’ve most come to admire are those who are not afraid of setting aside their egos and their attachment to a particular narrative in order to get as close to the truth as they can. They ask to have their work verified, fully prepared to modify or course correct based on the feedback they get from those holding them accountable. That shows true humility, integrity, and strength of character, and it’s something to which I think we should all aspire. Anything less is buying into the idea that we are powerless to change our circumstances and emotional responses. I think that’s a terrible lie to tell ourselves.
That’s one more wonderful thing I’m getting out of my permaculture course: a community feedback loop where ideas, information and advice are exchanged freely and without judgment. Our vast diversity of experiences enriches our understanding and informs our ability to interact with our environment and implement practical, accessible and low-cost solutions in our designs and teachings. The only attachment is to creativity, empowerment and connection with each other, with our students and fellow teachers, and also within our designs. It’s the most hopeful, buoyant and joyful thing I’ve ever been a part of, and it gives me great pleasure to spend time imagining all of the ways I can integrate this work into my life.
The last night we spent in the Gila was at the Cosmos campground, one of only 14 Dark Sky Sanctuaries in the world where you have a 360º view of the night sky with no light pollution. We pulled in after an afternoon of driving through beautiful hilly country and teeny tiny towns where you wonder what people living there could possibly do for a living. The night was chilly, but Honey and I set ourselves up under some blankets and watched the sky darken and the stars come out. I don’t remember the last time I purposely watched the night sky for any length of time. A glance here or there coming in or going out of the camper, but nothing this intentional. When I was a child and I couldn’t sleep at night, I used to crawl out my window and go lie in the driveway to watch the stars until I felt I could fall asleep again.
This is what I mean when I say we need more time. Only with time and quiet can we develop attention and learn to live more intentionally within ourselves and with our surroundings. Time is the only thing we never get more of and it’s up to each of us to learn to use it wisely.