January and Santa Fe

Since my return to Santa Fe nearly two months ago, the city of Boston has received more than 100 inches of snow and suffered from the harshness of brutal temperatures that seem unshakable. When I left for New Mexico, our still budding winter could be called "mild," with an enthusiasm that was premature. All the trials of a true and proper New England winter have been realized since then, and no doubt will continue to be experienced through the beginning of March. It has been beautiful at times, but in a city, winter is more annoying than anything else. It's quite a shame. 

In Santa Fe,  however, winter could be revered. The delicious, intoxicating smell of piñon wood wafted through the town from the start of the day to its end, just as we knew it would. It's an aroma I wish we could live with each day (or at least each winter) here in the Northeast. I can't imagine ever tiring of it. It's the type of smell which kindles a sense of fulfillment. Though we were a few weeks past Christmastime, the luminarias were still lit each evening atop the adobe buildings. It's a reason alone to visit Santa Fe in the winter months. My neighborhood in Pittsburgh had an attachment to lighting luminarias on New Year's Eve, and they've always had a spellbinding effect on me. I thought they might be gone  in Santa Fe by Martin Luther King's weekend, but I was pleasantly surprised. 

 Crowds were few but eager, and at times we felt we had the town to ourselves.  During the days, the sun shone like it was a proud duty to uphold. As soon as it set behind the mountains, the fires were lit and we exchanged our sunglasses for shivers. 50 degree temperatures during the day relinquished themselves to what felt like more New England nights, with highs only in the teens. Winter seemed civilized. We could enjoy our few, but precious days of visiting Bandelier, horseback riding, and shopping near the Plaza, without the burden of cold that is a daily reality here in Boston.  Yes, it was cold at night, but only appropriately so. The mountains needed their presence to be felt in the dark, when we could no longer see their peaks. We only had the pleasure of a few days, but they were surreal ones, dominated by a landscape that inspires almost an immediate forgetfulness of our daily realities. The airplane rides back were painful ones. And then came our 100 inches of snow. 

Cheers to New Mexico, then, and to spring, should it ever choose to arrive. 

A Lady Escapes: The Exterior of Fallingwater

Continuing on the Pennsylvanian theme, I had the pleasure of visiting Frank Lloyd Wright's magical Fallingwater during my recent stay back home. Located in Mill Run, very  close to Ohiopyle, it's about a 1.5 hour drive from Pittsburgh through the gentle, rolling hills of southwestern PA. The place is very dear to Pittsburghers, for it was designed in 1935 for the Kaufmann family, whose iconic department stores filled the city landscape from 1871 to 2006. I grew up going to Kaufmann's, as did everyone else from the burgh. The flagship store (or 'big store'as it was always known), was located downtown on the corner of Smithfield Street and Fifth Avenue. Frank Lloyd Wright had a hand in designing certain offices in the store, and then was commissioned to design a summer home for the Kaufmanns', and Fallingwater was the result. Pittsburgh was still a sooty, dark sort of place and though the family had their residence in cozy, comfortable Fox Chapel, they wanted a true escape from the steel city. They found it at Fallingwater, the house that made the cover of Time magazine in 1938 and that has been enchanting visitors since it opened as a museum in 1964. Literally built on top of a waterfall, the house is unlike any I have ever seen. It feels like an extension of nature, as if it was born from the very water it touches. That, of course, was Wright's desire: he wanted the home to be a true representation of organic architecture. The materials all come from the region- he used only steel, sandstone, reinforced concrete and glass in his construction. Long before baby boomers and millenials became obsessed with leading an "organic" lifestyle, Wright was using the term to develop an architectural philosophy that sought both inspiration from and unity with the natural world. I've heard the criticism from people I know that Fallingwater already seems dated, but I can't wholly agree with that statement, which I think may stem from its over-popularity. Perhaps because I live in a world of New England saltboxes (which I DO love), Fallingwater still feels relevant and is still a sight to behold. 
The Kaufmanns' imagined a home built with a view of the waterfall, but Wright was a visionary and did the unthinkable (with a staggering price). I took the standard tour on a week day in mid-July and the place was packed with tourists. The tour was certainly extensive and led by a very informed docent, but it was crowded, and impossible to linger in the rooms or on the many decks. There are other tours available and I'll be interested in taking another when I'm back in the area, because I'll be able to appreciate it in a nuanced way during a different season.  For me, the place was too extensive for a summer home. However, most of the space is taken up by balconies- everything inside is meant to lead you back from whence you came-to return you to the source of the home: the falling water below. 

A Lady Escapes: Home in Pittsburgh

I've been a very bad blogger as of late, and an even worse lady of Boston, who has kept leaving the city to venture elsewhere. Last month I ventured back to my beloved home of Pittsburgh PA, city of bridges and champions and pierogies.  No place is quite like home and every time I return I wonder if there will be a time when I stay for good. That time is not now; I am back in New England enjoying what's left of summer, but I'm grateful to have returned to the place where three rivers converge, where we're all a bit crazy for the black and gold, and where homes are cradled by the hills.