Serving the High Plains
Serving the High Plains
If you’re ever going to write your life story, there are two things you need to do first. Number one is to stall for about 20 years. Writing your life story is one big, scary feat, after all. Just keep in mind the longer you stall, the longer your book is going to have to be.
Number two is make sure you have experienced all that life has to offer – and that definitely includes goats, Clovis and Tucumcari. If you get one of the three, you’re on the right track. Two out of three is golden. But three out of three is where it’s at if you want the most amazing things life has to offer.
Or at least it was for me. One of the first amazing things I ran across was the people. It started with the Clovis newspaper’s then-editor, the man who gave me a chance when no one else would. I had been working at a series of non-creative jobs in New York City for about 17 years but was itching to be a full-time journalist.
I applied to jobs all over the nation, quite possibly in invisible ink. Surely that’s why no one had responded. Until I got a message from David Stevens. He gave me an interview, a sample story to write, and eventually an invitation to join the staff.
Leaving New York City was one of the scariest yet most meaningful decisions I ever had to make. Clovis was unknown to me and I knew very little about New Mexico. But at least I knew it was part of the United States, unlike the one New York lady who asked how I was going to move there without a passport.
Fear lingered a bit, even after I said yes, as I thought the weirdness that had followed me around my entire life would make me an outcast in a smaller town. I was wrong. People were friendly and kind from the get-go – in Clovis, Tucumcari and beyond.
During my debut newspaper story covering the annual Prairie Chicken Festival in Milnesand, a rancher and his wife even invited me to sleep on their couch.
A total stranger. On their couch. It absolutely blew my mind. I remember that evening on the rancher’s porch, with him and his wife pointing at all the stars – the millions and millions of stars. With all the lights and skyscrapers in New York, I had never seen so many stars in my life.
Stunning skies is another magical aspect of New Mexico. Blood-red sunsets. The warm orange sunrise. The coolest colors and wildest clouds. On a clear day, I think you could even see New Jersey.
The culture shock was huge, going from a pace of about 500 mph among 8 million people to a place with plenty of elbow room where the loudest noise is typically the nearby train or a crowing rooster. I loved it.
Even better than the roosters were the goats. Especially since I ended up with five of them. The Tucumcari house I rented when I was named that paper’s editor had an empty pen in the yard. I had to fill it with something.
I wanted two goats but somehow ended up with four. One of those four had been pregnant, making it five. I knew I was really getting into the groove of New Mexico magic when I actually helped the mama goat give birth in the backyard.
My time in New Mexico taught me to be kinder, gentler, more open to the world around me. It taught me to slow down, relax and enjoy. It also taught me to watch where I step when near a cattle pen – and that I can indeed survive without coffee after the 10 a.m. Circle K cut-off time.
One of the catch phrases I’ve heard since I entered recovery from alcoholism in 1999 is that recovery will give you a life beyond your wildest dreams.
There’s no way in a million years I would have ever dreamed I’d end up with five goats in rural New Mexico, living and working in Clovis and Tucumcari. And there’s no way in another million years I would trade those moments for the world.
Ryn Gargulinski worked as a reporter and editor in eastern New Mexico in 2005-2006. Her recent book -- “How to Get Through Hell on Earth Without Drinking a Keg or Kicking a Garden Gnome” – includes some of her New Mexico experiences. Contact her:
