GOING OFF MAP

On Coyote's Map
Last week my husband and I took a much needed vacation in New Mexico, where we camped at Chaco Canyon, were viewed by coyotes, spent time in the hot springs of Ojo Caliente, and in general had a lovely time.
When it was done, I dropped my husband off at the Albuquerque airport (yes, that's how you spell it and it's the name of a Portugese statesman who conquered Goa in 1510.  Go figure).  I then had to drive the 6 hours to Gunnison, Colorado, and my teaching gig at WSCU's low residency creative writing MFA program.  On my own.  On a route I was unfamiliar with.
Most of the trip took me across the high arid lands, fields of sagebrush on either side of the road, a blue sky above, and a horizon that stretched out ahead with the feeling of forever about it. An easy drive, uneventful, just the way I like them. But then, at a certain point, the Rockie Mountains heaved into view straight ahead of me.
I grew up surrounded by the Catskills and the Berkshires, gentle mountains that always hover in the distance, a benignly protective presence that my mother told me kept us safe from hurricanes and tornados. You barely notice that you're actually in them, they cup you so gently.
But the Rockies are more like the line from the old Yes song - mountains come out of the sky and they stand there. They are living creatures - big ones - and you approach them with all due respect.
As I drew closer, I was keenly aware that I had to drive through and over them, and I steeled myself for this.  I've driven enough around Colorado by now to have trepidation about their mountain passes.  Often they're narrow, unpaved roads, with a rock wall on one side, a few thousand feet of drop off on the other, and no guard rails, because the fine people of Colorado truly believe guard rails just encourage stupidity. For all I know they're right, but driving over such passes makes me scream for my mommy. I really am a New York State kind of girl.
By the time I got to the intersection of the New Mexico flatlands and route 114, Colorado, I knew I was off my map, with no idea what I would face next. That's always a moment for a big indrawn breath.
New Doors Lead Anywhere    A haytruck, loaded with hay, drove by and my father taught me to wish on haytrucks - God only knows why - so I wished for a pleasant, easy journey to my current destination, and then home again.
As I did so, I realized I do something similar every time I open up my screen to start a new novel, and that writing a novel isn't too different from approaching the Rockies. No matter how well you know your characters, plot, and settings, the emotional road is a new one, and it's bigger than you.  A lot bigger.  It's best to start with a request for a good ride home for you and your imaginary friends.
And I suppose any new venture is like that. Getting married, having a baby, buying a house, starting college - it all starts with an initial gasp, an initial wish or prayer or spell to see you on your way.
Then, you put your foot to the pedal, or your hands to the keyboard or the ring on your finger, and you're in it, present only to the moment, taking each moment as it occurs, moving forward. There will be some twisty spots and scary places, and at times your uncertainty of your ability to manage them may make you scream for your mommy. Yet, and yet, if all goes well, you'll come across some magic as well.    
On my particular drive, as I was in the middle of the twistiest part of the pass, which required me to slow to 15 miles per hour, I saw a herd of small, hooved creatures moving between the rock walll of the mountain and the stream that flowed on the other side of the road. Being from New York state, my first thought was wow, they're very small for deer. Then, as they all walked into the road in front of me and came to stop, I also had to stop, and I realized I was staring at a herd of wild mountain goats.
So there I sat, in the heart of the rockies, while gamboling baby wild goats waved their hooves at me and cavorted capriciously (caprice being a word we get from goats, by the way). Mommy goat placed herself directly in front of my car and stared at me with her goat eyes, which were fully as alive with surprised intelligence as mine.  If she could speak, I think she'd have asked, "what kind of goat are you?"
I stared back, smiled, shrugged. She shook her head and moved on up the mountain with the rest of her crew. I drove on, squealing with delight.  I'd never seen wild goats before, and I'll admit, I was thrilled.
Being off map, physically, emotionally, in your writing or your life, is the only way you can ever make a new map.  You get scared, of course, but sometimes you also get wild goats.  A gift of grace from the immensity of mountains to remind you there's a largeness you can participate in beyond your fears. That's why I write. That's why I love. That's what we're here to do.

You can find my off-map novels and nonfiction books on Amazon . I hope they inspire you in your own travels.


OFF MAP FOOD

While I'm here in Gunnison, I don't have time or facilities to cook much, but I continue thinking of imaginary food. Here's something I imagined as I drove, an off-map possibility inspired by the sale of pinyon nuts on the side of the road. I used chèvre, to honor my wild goat friends, but you can change up herbs or cheese as you choose because you know the rule: PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD!

PINE NUT BRUSCHETTA

A baguette of bread, any kind you prefer
4 ounces of chèvre
An ounce or two of pine nuts, salted and briefly toasted (If you can't buy them that way, then get the plain, sprinkle salt on them, and pop them in a 350 degree oven or toaster oven for just a few minutes.  Keep an eye on them, or they'll burn!)
2 tablespoons of chopped fresh mint
Honey for drizzling
Balsamic vinegar for dashing
Olive oil for the bread
Pepper for peppering


Cut the bread into quarter inch slices, and brush each slice with olive oil, then sprinkle some pepper over each slice.  Pop them in a 350 degree oven or toaster oven for about three minutes.  Watch them, or they'll get so excited they'll burn to a frazzle.

Mix the goat cheese with 1 tablespoon of the mint, the pinyon, and maybe a teaspoon of honey.

When the bread is cool, spread some of the cheese mixture on each slice, distribute the rest of the chopped mint over the cheese, and drizzle each with a little more honey.

Sorry, no picture of this food.  It's purely imaginary.