  We drove across the Gorge, down the highway toward Tres Piedras. The Earthship community was immediately recognizable. The Hut Earthship pictured prominently on the website loomed to the side of the road and the sunâ€™s gleam off scattered solar panels indicated the existence of maybe ten or twenty other Earthships nearby. After checking in, we followed an early 70s Ford truck as it wound around tracks of land divided for present or future buildings. Before too many turns, a tan, slim arm pointed out of the driverâ€™s side window telling us to turn in here. We pulled up to what would be our Earthship with no small amount of wonder and anticipation. I really hoped it would live up to our expectations, I mostly hoped we would find a respite from the accumulated strain of our Houston life here.
Our Earthship, like most others, consists of a buried wall constructed of pounded earth, cans, bottles, and old tires to the west, and a wall almost completely made of paneless glass to the east. Beautifully curved adobe walls and pinewood compile the structure inside and out. Once inside, red ceramic tile lines the floor, wide plant beds follow each roomâ€™s east edge where graywater exhausts. Skylights and windows open everywhere for breeze. All the materials you see are organic, rather than synthetic. In this way, a Japanese home is brought to mind. Handwoven rugs and a fresh earthy smell greet you at the door. The feeling of the place is comfortable and welcoming. The city begins to fall away from your skin like dead epidermis. The first thing we noticed was the quiet in the air. We hadnâ€™t realized how loud weâ€™d become in the city. Oneâ€™s voice carries so well here, I could talk to John inside while sitting on the roof without raising my voice.
The sounds that come to you are like gifts of the wind: rustling bushes, animals calling, clothes whipping on a line far away. The next thing I noticed was that I felt so comfortable walking inside with my son left outside alone that I didnâ€™t realize I did it until it was done. He happily played in the dirt by himself, unattended for the first time in his two and a half year old life!
I could see him well through the giant window wall and I could hear every sound he made. Now, the sun is setting. To the west a forest fire, sparked by either last nightâ€™s lightning or deer hunters, releases itself in smoke that carries quickly up above the clouds. It must already be at fifty thousand feet. But I can see it as clearly as if it were right in front of my face, he curls of the dissipating smoke. Around the horizon just a bit to the south the moon has risen, a fingernail moon pointing to the sun like a bow. The skyâ€™s few clouds are blue where the sun has already set on their smooth belly, and pink where the sun still shines. The granite mountains are the most beautiful color of slate gray and blue that I have ever seen.
Spots of orange dot them from here, but earlier I saw that those spots are really blankets of vibrant yellow, orange, green, and brown that signal the fallâ€™s arrival and the coming winter. I am from New Mexico, but I have strayed far from this land of my birth. I didnâ€™t know how far until now. My soul is rejoicing at its homecoming. How am I ever going to leave! John opened a bottle of long-saved wine. It popped with the tension of waiting for us and my senses so piqued here, smelled it from far away. The wine is like a metaphor for our New Mexico. Why do we save it for special occasions? Why donâ€™t we gulp it up every second of every day? We know why, but we vow to do better now. 
