It was early October in '95. We knew we were close to the hinge on the swing into a free, i.e. retired, life. We had put a couple of thousand miles behind us looking at likely spots. The place had to be out of California, had to be, more or less, southwestern.
I had spent my (de)formative years in an Oldsmobile on Hwy.66, staring out the windows at the rocks and gorges, and clouds like Nelson's navy under full sail, listening to my parents bicker about why we were doing this again, the Kansas to California and back thing. I wanted a piece of what I saw.
Silver City, New Mexico, was about the last stop on our trip before we had to head home to Napa, and back to work in the county psych. hospital. We had glanced at Utah, naw.... weird, pretty, but weird. We had tried Grand Junction, Colorado. It had been nice once, but everybody was on their way to this bowl in the Rockies. South, Durango, touristy and expensive. Down into New Mexico; Chamas, guy wanted to sell us a lot in a tract and said the snow was all melted off by July. Taos - saints preserve us! Drove right by Santa Fe. We had heard that Silver City was small, backward, had an art colony, and was a lot like Taos had been 40 years ago.
Got ourselves an agent. Nice little lady from Wisconsin; she knew all about tract homes. Told her what we wanted and she didn't get it. "What about city water and sewer?" I would look at her: "I don't think they have pipes that long." She would smile uncertainly.
We found the ad in the local paper and took it to her. She didn't like the idea. "Why, you'd never be able to get to work from out there." "Lady, I don't want to go to work anymore."
Couple of days drag by. She isn't getting us in to look at the place, doesn't much care for it. I contact the selling agent and ask them to kindly lite something under my agent's ass. We get an arrangement to go look.
We have to take the seller's 4wd to make sure we can get in. We turn off the highway and my agent says: "You'll never be able to get to work from out here." I clench my teeth and look at her. "Lady, I don't want to ever go to work again." I can see she doesn't believe me.
The above pic is from the top of the mesa. It is the first look you get at Stitzel Canyon. We stopped here and got out. I knew I wanted it. Couldn't even see where the hell the house was, but I wanted it. My agent said: "You'll never...." I shook my head at her.
We bought it that evening and left the next morn for California. We moved in 11 months later. The price was $127,000. Property taxes have gone up from $200 a year to $275 in the 7 years we have owned it.
This is a cut and paste which shows the mouth of Stizel Canyon, and a slice of the Mimbres Valley, to the far right. A square 40 acres is 1/4 mile to the side. It is that distance from the left blue dot, our north fence line, to the right blue dot. We own enough up each side of the canyon so that no one is ever likely to build anything above us. The lavender dot is where the house was, and still is.
