Disappearing Roads

overgrown road

the brush has blurred you

the horizon has retaken you

now you're ready for the traveler

without a map

Our two plots of land are part of an entity known as the San Luis Valley Ranches. About 40 years ago, a real estate developer had the idea of turning this area into a subdivision. There's actually an SLV Ranches covenant, dating back to the late 1960's, that imposes various restrictions on the subdivision's homeowners. We're not allowed to live in a tipi, raise swine or start a commune out here. Although I've occasionally been intrigued by the idea of living in a tipi, I can't say I'm very interested in swine-herding or communal living.

Oh, and no houses with gray stucco. Obviously a gray stucco dwelling would clash with the aluminum or vinyl siding on the rare mobile home or RV that dots the landscape.

In fact, there are few residential structures on the Flats. The developer's dream was never realized. Apparently some of these plots have been purchased, but few people actually settled here. The winds are too fierce, the winters too cold. There's no electricity, no natural gas, and the geographical barriers imposed by the mountains tend to separate the Valley's residents from the rest of the world. As a result, the Flats are crisscrossed by dozens of roads, which are marked by hand-painted street signs. Road graders pass through the area every few weeks, but they only grade the roads that are commonly used. The roads that have no inhabitants and no steady traffic are left to grow over, returned to the rabbitbrush, prickly pear and sage.