Exploring the 'Hood

Since our last climb, Tucker and I have had a change of home base and an unexpected change of climate.
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On May 19th, this was the weather:

​On June 16th, it was this:

Tucker and I have always continued our nature exertions during the summer, regardless of locale: Louisiana, Georgia, or North Carolina--all in the humid southeast. “Oh, but it’s a dry heat,” is supposed to be a plus, not a minus. Our southeastern hikes were made possible by the below 100 degree temps and the abundance of shade and water—something the southwest lacks.
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Our new digs boasted a yard, which I hoped would suffice for exercise and running about time, but although it is almost half an acre, it’s less of a backyard and more of a fenced in meadow. 

​Being the desert, those amber waves of grains are actually pointy, violent stems of foxtails. The ground has gopher holes and has been left for Mother Nature to do her own gardening.

So it looked like we needed to find adventures outside of our rental.

The landlord had walked me through a google map of a path that would lead to a stream and a park. (“Well, our version of a park—dried up grass in an open space,” he pointed out.) I had tried on a few evenings to make it to this trail and park, but not knowing the terrain, I was fearful of being stuck out there after dark. The sunset called us home before we reached our destination every time. We were no longer in the “city” of Santa Fe. We were in the wild.

Finally, waiting for an afternoon when it was not-so-surface-of-the-sun hot, Tucker and I went on search of this trail and park.

After walking a decrepit asphalt road, we came to the private land whose generous owners created a pathway for us to get to the stream.

​It reminded me of the landscapes in video games.

​The path descended to a road that lay parallel to the one we had come down. And just across that, was a stream.

​I am always in amazement at the random spots of water in this high desert. Los Angeles isn’t near as hot, and our reservoir is almost always dry.

The path cut through a meadow, which was much more polite and kind than our yard of dried earth.

​Paths spurred off the main trail that led to people’s houses. Some folks had made their area of the stream their very own, adding a personal touch.

We did make it to the “park” which was indeed less than exciting: just a dirt parking lot and a whole lot of brown. It wasn’t even worth a photo.
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It had only been an hour of exploration, so Tucker and I went back to the lower road and took it in the opposite direction of home.

The dirt & gravel road came out on the main paved road that leads into town. Tucker and I headed that way to see just how long it would take to get to downtown.
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To our surprise, we found a park. A real park. With an expansive lawn. And trees.

​The novelty of it made me lie on the ground and enjoy the soft blades of grass. Tucker was pleased to be in the shade, but certainly was not as excited as I was that there was a large plot of grass within walking distance from our abode on the desert meadow.

We continued out of the park and found that we could hit the very top of Canyon Road—the main stretch of art galleries in Santa Fe.

Tucker was most impressed with the colossal horse head.

It was a bit warm, and not certain which galleries would allow Tucker in, we headed back. As usual, I miscalculated Tucker’s stamina—this time by about three blocks.
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First he lied down in the middle of the street in the hot sun. I advised him it would be more productive to find a shady spot. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and didn’t find it particularly warm, but I didn’t know how hot the ground was.

(The puddle next to his head is where I accidentally dumped his water dish.)

I let him stay there for a few minutes to get up enough energy to head up the hill and the remaining three blocks.
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Half way through the second block, he needed another break.

We had walked no more than three or four miles. We had been on some shady turf too. But Tucker couldn’t seem to handle it well. I knew I was out of shape, but I wondered if Tucker’s inactivity was lowering his fitness level more than mine.

One thing was proven without a doubt: Tucker is not a desert dog. And I am not a desert person. Give us mountains and streams any day, but the hot, dry earth and unrelenting sun is just too much for us.
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Finding our nature havens in the winter was a bit easier. Now it was a matter of a lot more research, and taking less risks (I can’t lift Tucker and carry him out of the desert if he collapses from heat exhaustion) in order for us to find our little places of forest in the vast desert.