Another sign of spring is when the farmers and ranchers up here on the mountain dig fresh trenches from the acequias (irrigation ditches dug by the Spanish colonists in the 1700s that comb these old villages) to their various fields. Much as I often wish it was otherwise, Kelee adores few things more than to take a dip in the fresh, running water that courses through them. It’s hard to object, his joy is so full-blown. But as we continue our walk, his dense, wet fur gets coated in dirt, of course, which turns to mud. No matter what I do, there’s no getting him clean, so all that mud comes into the house with him. But I still can’t deny him. I’m adjusting to the fact that mud is ever present, every season, in these villages, except when we have snow. Until it melts that is.





Love to you all,

Jeane