THE BLUE RAVEN

Over time, I have spent many wonderful hours with solitary thoughts in the 
​place where I feel the closest to my father, who has been gone for over thirty years. To my knowledge he was never physically on this portion of the prairie adjacent to the Abo wash and the mountains. I am aware, as I have mentioned before, that he spent time long before I was born roaming the tops of these mountains and looking out over this broad stretch of land, taking in the view. Having known and loved him, I feel he must have felt the sense of peace, freedom, and wonder that I do every time I am here. This piece of earth, known as La Puerta Natura Burial Ground, has a special place in my psyche unlike any other.

I have spoken earlier of my father’s coming to New Mexico, working in the bean fields around Mountainair, and returning to his southeast Texas homeland in the 1930s. I have written of my father’s death in 1990 three months after I came to live in northern New Mexico. I have related my dream of his coming to visit, honoring a promise he had made, to let me know what lies beyond. What I have not said; is that dream was only the first one. 

Dreams are a common experience and a source of wonder for as long as there has been conscious life. The deepest of questions are related to how dreams fit into our understanding of reality. The simple fact is; we don’t know. What we do have evidence to support is that dreams, or dream states, fall within a spectrum of altered levels of awareness. 

Early in the development of La Puerta, while mapping the layout of the cemetery, I saw
ravens coming and going from east to west and back again throughout the day. On one occasion, my attention was drawn to a fluttering shadow on the ground next to me and a series of sharp clicking sounds overhead. Looking up I saw a large raven hovering about 30 feet above. His feathers where reflecting the sunlight with several colors embedded in a dark background of feathers, appearing to be blue. After getting my attention he flew off about 50 feet, landed, and began to walk back and forth as though he were searching for something. Every few seconds he would glance in my direction. After a few minutes he faced me, threw his massive wings full out to fan the air, turned and flew away.

When my father was in his early teens he had a pet crow. The crow is a cousin to the much larger raven. The two birds look and sound very much the same. Both are intelligent birds and are not afraid to cautiously interact with humans. My father had discovered the crow on one of his extended trips into the forest along the bottom land below his home. The fledging crow, in failing to fly for the first time, could not get back to the safety of its nest, and my father rescued it. The pet crow was never caged, but came in and out of the house at will. It would pick up anything that reflected light; small quartz rocks, pieces of metal, and jewelry, and hide them in a hollow tree nearby. Ever now and again my father’s mother asked him to check the stash if she were missing an earring. 

My experience with the La Puerta raven was not my first encounter with the raven world. A number of years earlier I helped negotiate the sale of a section (640 acres) of land carved from a large ranch in northern New Mexico just yards of the southern boarder of Colorado. I had flown over the area a number of times, taking in the scenery as I left New Mexico crossing into southwestern Colorado. The section was so rugged it was of little use as ranch land. There were large sand stone formations, cliffs that dropped hundreds of feet, and sizeable caves which could only be reached with much difficulty. The most massive of formations along the eastern border had a large cave just above the angle-of-repose, reaching the canyon floor some seventy feet below. My job required me to know every nook and out-cropping and report my findings to the buyers. I debated for several days if I dared check out the cave. 
The cliff faced a beautiful expansive valley about two miles across. During the day a dozen or so ravens left their roost located on a ledge off to one side and forty feet above the cave opening. They scouted the contents of the valley from the air, then landed and began their cleanup of the left-overs from the predator hunts the night before.

 I finally decided to climb close enough to get a better look at the cave opening. When I was within thirty feet of the opening a fluttering shadow appeared on the wall near me and a number of loud, frantic clicks filled the air above. I looked up to see a single large raven with multiple bright colors on a background of, what appeared to be, dark blue feathers. The hair on the back of my neck came to attention and a vision of what was about to happen filled my mind. I released my grip on the bush I was holding, allowing myself to retreat. 

Two weeks went by. I was at my computer and came across a recent photo of three half-grown mountain lions leisurely walking through sage brush some twenty feet behind their mother. The copy associated with the photo stated it had been taken by a gas well pumper near the bottom of the cliff I had been climbing. Once again, the hair on the back of my neck came to attention.

These days I fly over La Puerta from east to west and back, taking in the scenic view below; the prairie, the mountains, and Abo Canyon. My plane is often referred to as “the black Stinson” by one of the controllers at the airport I fly in and out of. It is not black. It is dark, dark blue. However, if you are visiting La Puerta, hear a plane circling above, look up, and wave if you like. If I see you, I’ll rock the wings. The plane may appear black depending on the angle of the light, but its nickname is The Blue Raven. At times the person in the copilot’s seat is none other than Bryan, the owner/operator of the most peaceful place on earth.

Don

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