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Wednesday, October 24, 2012

La Luz: A Fading Light


La Luz, New Mexico


La Luz, which means "light" in Spanish, is just outside Alamogordo. A tiny town, it has its charms and its sadness.

I was here a couple of years ago on a road trip with my mother, and I returned yesterday. 

Its Presidio Plaza, which has the bones of a fine park, has fallen into weedy decay. The housing that surrounds the park ranges from meth-lab decrepitude to renovated beauty.

La Luz, New Mexico
  

A large, red Doberman loped out to the road when I turned around near his house. Several households had signs on their gates: "Warning: Security dog."

I saw a flash of orange as I passed one house. Persimmons?! I turned around and parked in front of the house. A man parked his truck across the street and I asked if this was, indeed, a persimmon tree before my eyes. Yes.

Ahhh, persimmons. An immediate flashback to Caucasus Georgia.  There, when they are entirely ripe in the fall, the leaves fall off the trees, leaving only the delectable round orange fruits to decorate the naked branches.


Persimmons in La Luz, New Mexico


Maybe some will begin to appear at the local farmers' markets? Do New Mexicans dry their persimmons like they do in Georgia? If not, a pity.

The Catholic Church in La Luz is the town's centerpiece.

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico


Across the road from the church is a splendiferous garden enclosed by various kinds of fencing. Many, many hours of labor went into this huge yard. 

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico


I had a chance to look at La Luz' ditch system, also known as acequia, a watering system that goes back centuries. I'll write more on that in the future. 

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

I don't know where La Luz is in its life cycle - on the way down? Up? Stagnant? There is much to commend it - pretty lanes, the remains of a beautiful park that could be revived (much like those in Rustavi), mature trees that provide shady oases, an anchoring church complex.  Maybe as I live here longer, I'll learn about this from residents.    

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