  I can think of no better way to bring in the month of fall than our drive to the Williams Lake trail, through Arroyo Seco, though Taos Ski Valley, past the gigantic multi-million dollar ski lodges, almost all the way to Wheeler Peak itself, to the back bowl of the ski area where a little restaurant called the Bavarian awaits alongside a trailhead that goes up one side of Wheeler Peak and down the other side to Red River.
Today we took the tour at the offices of Solar Survival, the company that originally bought the land that is now the Earthship community. We watched a little video and looked at many pictures. We asked all our questions about logistics and costs and availability, then drove through the homesites, dreaming of which one would be the perfect place for our very own someday Earthship. The picture of life here we have lived is a rather traditional one, which in itself is ironic considering the very modern technology we’re accessing here.
We sleep in one room with Aidan on a palette on the floor next to our bed and the baby Ella co-sleeping in my arms. We find ourselves rising and setting with the sun. A pot of pasole or beans seems to be omnipresent on the stove and tortillas are always available to accompany the feast. I think today we must have felt adequately purged of modern living because my son asked if he could watch Shrek, the first mention of TV or movies in the tech fast that turned four days old today, and we acquiesced. We took out the computer and attached headphones so that the noise would not disturb the amazing peace of sound that exists here.
Later though, we attached speakers to the laptop and listened to a few mixes of music, carefully chosen to be apt soundtracks for the location: U2, DMB, Leonard Cohen, and David Gray. Tonight we’re missing the new West Wing, but we know my parents will Tivo it for us. Last night a storm was brewing and I felt wary, a bit of storm PTSD left over from our Lake Powell adventure.
I wished for the weather channel or weather.com to inform me, but instead slept soundly as the storm passed by. Sleep here is deep and quenches. The night is so dark that when you open your eyes they might as well be closed. I feel like my family is resting inside the palm of the Earth’s outstretched hand here. Is it that all the electrical fields of modern homes disturb rest?
Or is the vibe of this place, conceived and constructed in love for the earth, so good that it gives rest like a gift to its visitors? Time seems to move here at a pace so different, we have yet to quantify it. At times, a minute lasts an hour, at others, a second. We seem to have been here a month, or a day. Memories capture a rapidly passing week, but experience lasts much longer. 
