On our way down to New Mexico, we stopped to eat in a little town in southern Colorado called San Luis. It consists of about 800 people and a couple of dogs that were running around in the street when we pulled up. We stopped there because a) we were hungry and b) the town rests at the northernmost edge of the culture that we would be living in for the rest of the week. After ordering a ridiculously large breakfast (meaty breakfast skillets, while tasty, are not good road trip food), I hiked with some of the others to visit a chapel on the top of a large hill that overlooks the town.

I wasn’t able to get a good picture of it, but along the side of the hill, large white rocks spell out “SAN LUIS - OLDEST TOWN IN COLORADO.” I can’t even think of how much trouble it must be to maintain that rock sign; any time it rains, you would have to go up there and spend half a day climbing along the side of the hill, putting the rocks back into place. Not to mention what would happen if you’re a bad speller.

Here’s us hiking along on this nicely kept path. I like this photo, but wish I had some way of capturing the way the air and sunlight felt after being shuttled inside a dark van for ten hours. Along the path to the top are several bronze statues depicting the various stations of the cross, such as this one:

Though it didn’t turn out as crisp and polished as I’d like it to have been, I like this photo of the bunch cause of the oh-so-clever setup. And no, I have no idea what that red cloth thing over the wooden cross is for. I assume it had something to do with holy week.

Madre Ursula greeted me from the bushes as I made my way back to the van to sit for a few more hours. The inscription on her chest roughly means (according to my dim memory of Spanish class) “Nothing is more powerful than love.”

As lovely as it was there, though, we had to continue on ahead to Ghost Ranch. After a slight mix-up in which three of the four vans got on the wrong highway (!), we finally arrived at the ranch.

Storm clouds, snowy drizzle, and different people notwithstanding, it was the same land I’d left a year ago. Maybe it’s because I had such a deep immersion experience with this trip last year, but going back and seeing the mesas and trees, and even the rickety staff house with paper thin walls, made me feel a strong sense of belonging. I can’t say that I’ve felt that way about a place for a long time now.