Truth be told, no man is an island. Nor for that matter is Santa Fe. Yet the love of a good woman and a desire to harvest our creative talents have combined to draw my wife and I to this place; an island of artistic, expressive people surrounded by the sea of mindless American pursuits.

I was born and raised in the small seaside town of San Clemente, California. (Small, that is, by So-Cal standards. The town is now an overbuilt, traffic-clogged city of sixty-five thousand plus.) So I know a bit about oceans and islands and much about the soulless droves of consumer-addled masses.

Many times I have left my hometown, and many times returned. The comfort of “home,” the sand and surf, these are impulses at times difficult to resist. But all the fair weather and salt-scented offshore breezes in the world do little to overcome the well-known secret of the place, the terrible lack, the emptiness of the population. Many of you reading this already know of what I speak: a vacancy of the heart, a shortsightedness of life’s purpose, a lack of will to realize one’s potential. This disease of the mind and heart is contagious. When one’s friends and even family fail to encourage the waking of spirit, a hopelessness sets in. How can I strive for fulfillment when all those around me believe the effort is futile?

I do not want to imply that this infection is only found in my hometown, or even confined to California as a whole. With few exceptions, this is the thinking of people from Olympia, Washington to Worcester, Massachusetts to Gary, Indiana. But there are pockets of freedom, and Santa Fe is one.

My first introduction to this island took place just over fifteen years ago. At the time I was crisscrossing the county looking for a new college or university to join and was told by some friends in Albuquerque to look into St. John’s College. Upon entering the city I was struck at first, as one is when entering a human settlement for the first time, by the geography and the architecture. High desert rolling hills surrounded by larger peaks, blue-green piñon, juniper and sage. Round-walled, flat-roofed adobe structures in neutral earthen shades, colored to match the surroundings, nestled into the hills, hidden behind mud walls and ancient carved doors under arched gateways. By luck my route on this initial visit avoided the bustling Plaza in the center of town and the busy, urban thoroughfares of St. Francis and St. Michael's. All I saw was serene and an inviting sense of history that spoke of a manner of living that had been proven over the ages to be effective and successful.

Winding up the hills to the college I was pleased to see that it backed up against national forest land with many walking trails upon which, in my imagination, I would walk while contemplating the works of ancient philosophers and nineteenth century poets. Later that day, speaking with an advisor, I was surprised to learn the unusual curriculum of the college: a four-year, total immersion into the arts, literature and history of western thought. Students would be expected to learn Greek and Latin so as to fully appreciate Homer, Aristotle and Dante in their original languages. “A true Liberal Arts education!”, I thought to myself. My girlfriend at the time, however, quickly pointed out the lack of feminine voices that made their way into that particular curriculum, not to mention the fact that there were many wise teachers, poets and philosophers not so fortunate as to have been born in the “West”! It was intriguing, but it had its drawbacks and so regretfully we moved on.

But the magic of the place -- Santa Fe, New Mexico, Land of Enchantment -- stayed with me over the years and I made many return trips until one day when my attention was diverted, looking away up North, I struck shore in Santa Fe once again and became joyfully marooned. Shipwrecked you could say, but in a good way. You know when you’re watching the movie with the well-to-do traveller who after a storm at sea finds himself stranded on a deserted island and his clothes are tattered and his skin in burned and he’s starving and all you can think is, “Wow, I could definitely wile away quite a few years in a tropical paradise like that!”? Yeah, that kind of shipwrecked.

Better still, this island is populated with the most wonderful mix of people: creative, diverse, inquisitive, socially and politically aware, alive! They believe in themselves and their talents and search for new ways to explore and expose them. Artists, writers, poets, musicians are around every rounded adobe corner, and they’re not just sitting on the curb panhandling. They’re putting their art out there to be heard and seen, behaving and believing that the act of living one’s passion is a viable way of life! And the beauty of it is that here in Santa Fe it actually can be.

Andy, Shannon & Dylan
thetraveljones@gmail.com

What can we say?  An entire week of the finest food and the finest company.  Gunner, Missy, the pups and CJ hosted all the games, hikes and Santa Fe fare we could ask for, but it's never enough!  We spent the New Year in the Land of Enchantment, sharing with great friends around the table, and occasionally around the microphone, celebrating the comfort and joy of great friends.

Thank you all so much for the warmth and hospitality!

Andy, Shannon & Dylan
thetraveljones@gmail.com

Brett and Jocelyn hosted a delicious gourmet meal for us all.  The children (and some of us old folks) rocked out on Rock Band.  The new Wii was also a big hit and not one injury was sustained by anyone under 6 feet tall.  Andy's Wii Tennis-Elbow still smarts from time to time, especially when it's damp.

Chris and Max took the three of us skiing at good old Copper Mountain.  Turns were made, the snow was perfect, the crowds failed to appear and a great time was had by all.  Frisco is still as warm (not literally) and welcoming as ever.  Thank you, dear old friends for making us feel at home again.

Andy, Shannon & Dylan
thetraveljones@gmail.com