Moving 'Out West' from 'Back East'
My Journey to New Mexico
In 1991, I moved ‘Out West’ from ‘Back East’. Just saying that makes me laugh because I think of Jerry Seinfeld’s 2017 Netflix special “Jerry before Seinfeld” when he talks about his family moving from Brooklyn to Long Island. He observes that “…we moved out from the city to ‘on Long Island’. Long Island is not one of the places (that you go ‘in to’) – you can’t get in it, you just stay on it.”
As someone who grew up ‘Back East’, I never say ‘Back West’. It is always ‘Out West’. I’ll mention that, “I moved ‘Out West’,” or ‘“Out West’ the food is spicier.” Likewise, I haven’t heard the term ’Out East’. Being from New York State, I always visit my mom and brother ‘Back East’. I’ve also voiced to Colorado grape growers that, “‘Back East’, on the north fork of Long Island, moss grows on the ground between the vines in the vineyards and the air smells salty. You can even taste it in the wines. It is amazing how the gewurtztraminer pairs super smoothly with the local oysters and fried clams. I suppose that the wine grown in a certain location goes well with foods from that location!”
Theoretically, if I grew up in Salida, Colorado and moved to Portland, Maine to work on a lobster boat, then I could say, “I moved ‘Out East’ to work on a lobster boat. I’m sitting on a lot of Long Island Gewurtztraminer. and they pair great together!”. Adding, “At Thanksgiving, I go ‘Back West’ to visit my family and eat turkey tacos with delicious Colorado wine. They make a damn tasty Rosato at Vino Salida that we love!”.
Nevertheless, I did not grow up in Salida. My journey to the majestic Colorado mountain valley that I call home started with a move from Northern New York to Northern New Mexico. Looking back now, I realize that moving ‘Out West’ evolved quite naturally. I was slowly getting restless as a teenager in Tupper Lake, landlocked in a small mountain town at the center of the Adirondack State Park. My home life was horrible; a situation that I desperately needed to flee. Thankfully, high school was a place I could escape to. It was a destination where I could work on projects that interested me and socialize with other like-minded people.
In addition to my adventurous experiments with winemaking in tenth grade, I found many other outlets for creativity. I primarily focused on getting perfect grades (so that I would get positive praise at home), but other activities that interested me were creating art, playing sports, working backstage on theatrical productions, and looking for love in all the wrong places. When I finally arrived at high school graduation, my strive for perfection had paid off. I graduated as Class of 1987 Valedictorian and immediately headed off to university the next fall to study art. My travelling had officially started!
I admit that my time in university was a lot of fun, coupled with a lot of learning. But, I grew fidgety once again. By the time I was a senior, weekly phone calls with my mother had become stern speeches on why I should stay in school and graduate. Her persistence kept me engaged long enough to finish my commitment. I completed four years of art school, earning an Associates of Applied Science degree in Commercial Illustration at Cazenovia College in Central New York, and a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Sculpture at Purchase College, State University of New York, just north of New York City. I attended my very last graduation ceremony in 1991 with immense joy. Yay!
Now what do I do? How do I earn money? Where do I live? So many questions came to me, from both my own head and from the mouths of every working adult I knew. I had no answers or firm ideas. I felt lost. Yet, there was one thought, one inspiration that had chanced my way just before graduation. Maybe I should explore the possibilities of it.?
In early May of 1991, my girlfriend at the time, Sallie Ann, also a Sculpture major, asked me if I wanted to go with her to visit some family friends ‘on the Island’. They had just returned from a vacation in Santa Fe, New Mexico and wanted to share their adventure with food and a slide show. “That sounds fun,” I said, and so we headed off for a Saturday afternoon presentation. We were, to say the least, simply amazed by the photographs and stories of their escapades.
The images were spectacular enough for the New Mexico Chamber of Commerce, showing rich blue skyscapes and sunsets, historic adobe buildings, colorful desert wildflowers and cactus. There were deep, dark blue, mysterious looking mountains as a backdrop to rainbows, thunderstorms and sun. “New Mexico has 300 days of sunshine,” they said. That sounded mind-boggling good to me. During the long cold winters in New York, it is normal to only see the sun a couple of times from October through April. In Colorado, people call into work for a powder day; in New York, they call into work for a sunny day.
When Sallie Ann and I got back home, the experience stuck with us. Talk of traveling to New Mexico after college started to become regular around our apartment. We could just load up some clothes and a few belongings into her new Honda Civic and go. We had a mutual friend, Tina, from New Jersey that graduated with us, and she was driving to Tempe, Arizona to attend graduate school. What if we traveled with her, a little Art Convoy heading west, camping along the way to stretch our dollars and see America? We could just show up in Santa Fe and start our lives fresh. What would we find? Where would we live? What kind of jobs would we get?
This all sounded increasingly exciting to us, and Tina was onboard for the adventure. The spell of the “Land of Enchantment” had been cast, and we decided to move to Santa Fe immediately. We headed out, meeting Tina in New Jersey and started camping out across America. Our Art Convoy weaved its way through New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, and, finally arrived in New Mexico.
There were many memorable highlights for me along the way, including my first wine experience as an adult. However, these stories will have to wait until my next reminiscing account of traveling ‘Out West’. I’ll talk to you soon from a campground somewhere in Kentucky. Salute!