COTE: Some built to survive

By Maria Cote, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Published June 5, 2008 at 6:30 p.m.

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The landscape met my mood. The sky and the land below it were bleak, all dust and tumbleweeds.

Even with my husband at the wheel, it seemed a chore to get to Taos. I reached over and set the odometer from tiny town to small city, counting down the number of miles from one destination to the next with a childlike impatience. My thought balloons read: "Thirty more miles, and I'll treat myself to a chocolate bar." Or, "Fifteen minutes to a rest stop."

Taos is a tourist mecca with great galleries, elegant restaurants and gritty architecture. We were heading to see dear friends, and I was worried. He's an acclaimed author; she's a successful book agent. Cancer, they learned, does not pause for fame and fortune.

My buddy Barbara is about the most opinionated, intelligent, caring person I know, and I'm blessed to have her in my life. She hasn't allowed her disease to slow her down much; the weak, wan woman I expected was nowhere to be seen. She's still beautiful and strong - tough enough to hike several miles each day.

We set off to the farmers' market on a sunny Saturday morning in late May. Coloradans complain about gardening in this state. We have it good according to the people who battle the dry soil in that corner of New Mexico. A few bins of lettuce and some bagged herbs that were grown in greenhouses were all we spotted at the market.

"It's not easy to work the soil these days," one vendor told me. "It's been dry."

Barbara - her wispy, fine hair growing back from a break from chemo - bought scones from a vendor. On the hike back to her home, I decided to stop worrying so much about her. The woman has more energy than I do, and she was determined to show us the sights.

Taos is a xeric wonderland: Prairie sage and mahonia, Apache plume and cliffrose filled many gardens. Hollyhocks and irises were about to make their grand entrance, and lilacs were bowing out. Homeowners were out in their gardens, grooming around pinon-dotted land.

My friend was tickled when I pointed out three Western tanagers in a tree near a historic building. You can't miss that bright yellow and red plumage. I guessed at a few others: bullock orioles, towhees and various hawks. This touristy corner of New Mexico attracts birds more colorful than any I've spotted in my home state.

At some point, I noticed that the flowers, bushes, plants and trees that fight to grow are lovely, tall and strong. "Just like you," I told my friend.

That evening, over a glass or two of wine, we discussed writing and relationships and the intricacies of raising kids. She told me where we went right and where we went wrong along the way. I waffled between irritation and admiration.

Finally, any irritation evaporated when I noticed that she'd tucked a hostess gift I'd found for her at an art sale in the middle of the table. It was a funky little vase that suited her personality. In it, she'd arranged a handful of purple and yellow blooms. They were weeds, I think, but rising proud from the ceramic art-piece, they were more spectacular than any expensive arrangement I could find at the store.

And I left eager to return, to see what tough blossoms my friend would find to arrange in that vase again.

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