![]() A yellow school bus stood at the upper end of a sloping meadow, in the middle of which was the foundation of a building and a basin of scooped out dirt where adobes were being made. ![]() It was August, 1967, a time of clear mornings and afternoon thunderstorms. All around, and toward the Rio Grande behind us, were low clouds of mist from the rain, giving the forest and valley a magical quality.įrances and I, with our two children, were stopping by to visit Steve and Barbara Durkee, my brother-in-law and my sister, on our way to see families in California. It was a long dirt road in Northern New Mexico, leading up the mountain. ![]() ![]() This essay was written by Siddiq von Briesen as part of the exhibit, Voices of the Counterculture, at the New Mexico History Museum, Copyright 2015Īt the time, it seemed like we were heading into Shangri-La. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |