That First Moment At Zapata Ranch
I had just received the key to my room on the second floor of the main ranch house. I’d be staying in the Aspen room, which conjured up images of deep snow, but the house had been standing since the 1920s, and it was 85 degrees. Naturally, my room had no AC, only a single oscillating floor fan, and heat rises. The old windows had been shut tight, so the room was stifling hot. I looked forward to the cool nights when temperatures would plummet to about 55.
I had flown into the San Luis Regional Valley Airport, the nearest one to Zapata Ranch, about 30 miles south. It sits in Alamosa which is a quaint town of about 9,000 people. There’s no aircraft flying in or out of that town that carries more than forty or so passengers, so there’s only one x-ray machine at the sole security checkpoint. My first moment on the ground was met with a stroke of misfortune. My meticulously packed luggage hadn’t made the connection. Darn United Airlines. At San Luis Regional Valley, there were only about five airport employees. The same person loading bags on to the plane was the same person who’d scan your ticket. So, when I went to the counter to inquire about my luggage, the counter was closed. There was only a sign with the phone number for Denver Air Connection - not even a “we’ll be back in a moment” sign. I left a message on what sounded like an old answering machine. A man who was waiting to rent out cars under a brand I had never seen before said, “They’ll be out in a minute. They’re loading the next flight.” I waited patiently on the outside, though steaming on the inside, that my trip would be ruined without my UPF shirts, cargo pants, and assortment of sun blocks, wet wipes, lip glosses, and creams. Fortunately, I had my riding helmet, a pair of jeans, writing materials, a toothbrush, and two pair of fresh underwear in my carry on. I had also decided at the last minute to wear my new Tecova boots onto the plane. Preparation is everything. I’ve learned that many times over, in situations both big and small.
Katie, a bubbly and wonderfully helpful and accommodating member of the Ranchlands staff, waited with me and helped me to engage with the airport staff when they finally arrived at the desk. The ticket agent slash baggage handler told me that might bag hadn’t been transferred, and I needed to call the number, which I already done when I left the voice message 20 minutes earlier. The agent gave Katie her personal cell phone number to coordinate the bag’s eventual arrival. Three other women in our group had arrived on the same flight. We boarded a worn minivan and pulled out of the airport lot for the 29 minute journey to Zapata Ranch.
All checked in at the ranch, and alone, I sat down at a picnic table and closed my eyes to take in the warm breeze. The table was weathered from years of hosting guests at the ranch as they flocked in, one small group at a time, with their denim jeans, long sleeved sun shirts, and wide brimmed hats. The scorching summer sun, flash storms, and cool rain had left their mark. My presence at the table would leave another mark. I too would weather the table as I sat family-style for delicious, fresh meals that the Ranchlands staff would host twice a day. I think weathering is good. It brings out character in both things and people. As I sat there, cool, wet sprinkles fell on my skin, each one a surprise that jolted me a bit. It was so hot yet the rain drops were shockingly cold. The wind picked up for a moment and drowned out all of the other sounds: the birds chirping, the rustling of the tall grass, the occasional truck rolling across the gravel, and the faint whispers of people in the distance.
I would be joining a group of about 18 women writers, and though I was ecstatic to join the group, I didn’t know anything about what the group would be or how I’d fit in. This time alone at the picnic table was my one guaranteed moment of serenity. So, I breathed it in. I had traveled there alone, to be alone, yet also connected in a new way.
So, my first occasion at this table was also my first magical moment at Zapata. A deep rush of gratitude washed over me with the soothing warm wind and spa like rain drops. I didn’t want it to end. It was joyful and spiritual. I recited quietly, “Thank you God for allowing me to be here. I don’t know what I’ll experience over the next seven days, but I pray it will be what I need and that it will be good.”
Listen to your heart and allow it to feel the world around you. It knows what you need and when.