Inherit the Wind
Pardon me, I must be blowing: How to embrace the springtime gusts of the desert Southwest.
As I sit on my sway-backed sofa, frosty beverage within easy reach, I am comforted by the staccato rattle of my window screens and the whistling of leaky door seals. The rumbling of the wind assails my eaves, and drives small particles of the Chihuahuan Desert through every dried booger of caulking and ill-fitting window frame. God help me, I actually enjoy the musty, abrasive smell—I do!—because it is a sign of springtime in New Mexico!
There was a time when the gales of spring were an annoyance, something that I looked forward to with the same enthusiasm normally reserved for visiting the in-laws. Day after day of brown-sky living tends to make one feel a mite peaked after a while. As a longtime wearer of contact lenses, I can also testify to the non-compatibility of jagged grains of sand and a floating piece of plastic on the cornea. The small drifts of dust that form daily on every horizontal surface are a bane to those who prefer a clean house, and the gusts of wind tend to relocate objects lighter than, say, a 1978 Buick LeSabre. From joyful little Wal-Mart bags of air, inflated like sideways balloons on the barbed wire fences, to sheets of corrugated tin from the neighbor's chicken coop, a veritable flea market of goods can migrate across one's front yard.
Now, after many seasons of breathing these mystical dusts, I have come to embrace that which I cannot change. It is simply amazing how the proper application of liquor can enhance this sandy fatalism, but the simplicity of this philosophy is its beauty. Find the small moments in this damnable windy season to cherish and appreciate for what they are: wind-driven Styrofoam cups of enchantment.
This Zen-like paradigm shift is simple to adopt in your day-to-day life. Instead of wincing and turning your face meat away from the withering blast of needle-like sand grains, turn into the tempest fully. Feel the cleansing touch of the sand and dirt as it drives with meteor-like velocity into your epidermis, scouring every pore of your skin. Any stinging sensation you may feel is just pride messing with your head, as you realize how much money you may have foolishly piddled away on silly spa treatments and cucumber slices to rejuvenate your skin. A few minutes of 80-grit sandblasting, and your grizzled mug will be as shiny and fresh as Charlize Theron's nether regions. For an added benefit, pull back your gum flappers and inherit teeth so white, aircraft can use your smile as a navigational beacon.
Imagine embracing the whimsical caravans of tumbleweeds as they spread their pixie-dust seeds across your land. If you squint hard enough, the galloping herds of wind-driven weeds can look like prickly little desert nymphs as they swirl around fantastically like a lost sequence in Fantasia. Their frantic little migrations, blindly predicated by some overpowering genetic proclivity for piling up against fences and doorways, can be as enjoyable to watch as a pack of drunken poodle puppies.
What about the depressingly brown skies, with their mocha-brown hue that hides the sun for days on end, depriving the heliotrophic natives of their primary power source? This too can be overcome with a subtle shift in perception: Instead of clinging to the belief that you are in New Mexico, do what I do—imagine you're living on Mars. Spend your days shuttling between your housing pod and your transportation module, and navigating your ship under the soil-colored skies. You can make the game even more fun by refusing to breathe the native atmosphere and eating only freeze-dried ice cream, or even by making your own space helmet from an old motorcycle helmet, but you must be careful. The less-enlightened among us are apt to be a bit jumpy and short-tempered due to the never-ending wind, and might issue you a complimentary beat-down to curb your behavior.
The important thing to remember as you literally brace yourself for another splendid windy season in southern New Mexico is that this, too, shall pass. This means adopting a more liberal attitude about recreational drinking, and catching up on all the crappy TV you missed in the autumn. Instead of railing against the constant hills of dust and dirt forming around the house, consider it a free gift of real estate. As any wise investor can tell you, land is always a great investment, and here it is being delivered free of charge to your doorstep—or even under it. And when you hear the windborne sand spattering against your vehicle's side, flaking away chips of sparkly paint, think of it as an opportunity to make your car less appealing to sinister thieves. If you've been considering a repaint anyway, think of the money you're saving on paint removal.
Finally, remember to count your blessings, pilgrim. After all, this is the one small natural phenomenon we desert rats have to endure. We are the blessed ones, and we don't have to go through the same tribulations others must face. Hurricanes, earthquakes and tornados are foreign to us, as are hundred-inch snowfalls, tsunamis or volcanic eruptions. If all we have to put up with is a bit of wind and sand, then it makes the rest of the year even more enjoyable. After it's all over, we can renew our collective love affair with the wide skies, saturated sunsets and brilliant sunshine, and remember why we are in this land of ours. Plus, you've built up your powerful drinking muscles for those cool desert evenings on the patio.
Henry Lightcap battens down his hatches in Las Cruces