The D.H. Lawrence Ranch, Taos

After the glories of the Hawk Ranch I had a chance to spend time alone at the official D.H. Lawrence Ranch, now closed to visitors. Sitting on Lawrence’s front porch, I watched the giant ponderosa pine come alive in concert with the wind singing through the trees.  As though being conducted by an orchestra leader, the wind whistled with soft violins, dramatic swells, blasting trumpets. Sun-cast branches danced fiercely, casting slender shadows across the sparse, pine needle-covered yard.  Georgia O’Keeffe laid on her back and painted “Lawrence’s Tree.” An eerie display of nature, howling like a dog for its master—one long dead.  To my left, an old storm cellar hovered under blackberry bushes, reminding me of the one behind our home in Kansas where I hid from tornadoes as a child. What function did it serve now?

How did Lawrence sit under this gigantic pine and write so fluently, so quickly? He must have nestled his slender body into the narrow spaces between the swollen roots, leaning his back against the tree he loved so well.  Did he face east toward the rising sun, or south into the Taos Valley and rising ranges beyond?  Did his notepaper ruffle in the relentless breeze?  Here he wrote “The Woman Who Road Away,” “St. Mawr,” “The Princess,” poems such as “Mountain Lion” and finished the “Plumed Serpent,” cast in the Mexico where he sought warmth.

I was startled when the caretaker came around the corner of the cabin and asked if he could unlock the door.  “Thank you,” I said, “I would love to sit inside for awhile. Resting on Lawrence’s bed, I faced the eastern window trimmed in turquoise, and studied the whitewashed walls and gray plank floor.  The rough rafters were but two by fours rather than the elegant vigas of many near-by homes.  The primitive fireplace is now covered with an old card table. On the hearth I spied a perfect cutout one x two-foot cement triangle, with four grooves evenly distributed.  Is this where he left the manuscripts that he besieged Lady Dorothy Brett to find?

Next:  An archeologist views ancient leadership…Linda

 

 

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 16th, 2011 at 10:13 am and is filed under Fiction, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.