To the uninitiated, the desert exists in the imagination like something from a dream: dust and sky and stars and cactus and faceless cowboys and campfires, and—beyond that—the void of a place never before seen. Those who live in or visit this dry, bright place know well its dust and sky and stars and cholla and chamisa and rabbits and desert birds and coyotes.
Amanita Thorp, who turns 29 later this month, has been goatscaping since 2007. Thorp coined the term when she was preparing for her first contracted job as a wrangler of weed-eating goats. “Now,” she says, “you look up goatscaping, and it’s a thing. It’s pretty awesome.”
If you haven’t checked out the Cocteau since its reopening, there’s a fresh reason visit: on Saturday, Steve Terrell and Gregg Turner trail-blaze the path to a new tradition: live music, Cocteau-style.
I walk everywhere. I always have. Santa Fe, where I’ve lived off and on since 2006 (I wasn’t born here all my life), has become a dusty, meandering, hot, cold, sweaty, damp, hilly and very familiar landscape for me.