{"id":15599,"date":"2023-12-15T02:28:32","date_gmt":"2023-12-15T07:28:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/?p=15599"},"modified":"2023-12-15T03:22:23","modified_gmt":"2023-12-15T08:22:23","slug":"photos-whos-the-bosque","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/index.php\/2023\/12\/15\/photos-whos-the-bosque\/","title":{"rendered":"Photos: Who\u2019s the Bosque?"},"content":{"rendered":"
Position: 35\u00b012’31.8″N 106\u00b036’54.8″W<\/a><\/h6>\n

Not who\u2019s the bosque, dummy! The question is, where\u2019s<\/em> the bosque? And the answer is wherever the Spanish say there\u2019s a forest. Down in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the bosque clings to the Rio Grande River<\/a> like a drowning man clings to a life preserver. Huge cottonwood trees<\/a> line the river\u2019s edge from southern Colorado through New Mexico, Texas and into northern Mexico. In autumn the dense green leaves turn a brilliant yellow-gold. A swathe of fiery colour a half mile wide and a thousand miles long stretches down the Rio Grande\u2019s course. By November, the leaves that haven\u2019t been swept away by early winter storms turn light brown and hang precariously from their branches.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

For the uninitiated, the high desert running alongside the Rocky Mountains looks dun, dusty and dull. The uninitiated may be forgiven. Those fortunate enough to spend at least a week exploring America\u2019s southwest develop an appreciation for the layers of subtle colours and the occasional splashes of brilliance from a Perky Sue or Sand Verbena. Any moisture, rain or mist, deepens and intensifies the richness of the palette. Sunlight, particularly sunlight at elevation where the air is thinner and the shadows deeper and darker than at sea level, similarly transmutes the desert environment. Even on well-worn trails in the Cibola National Forest<\/a>, a setting sun can make the morning\u2019s trail almost unrecognizable.<\/p>\n

Twain<\/h6>\n

Back to cottonwoods. I love cottonwoods and I can\u2019t fully explain why. Perhaps it\u2019s because I miss the elms of my childhood in Chicago. They\u2019re mostly gone now. Perhaps it\u2019s because I read Huckleberry Finn<\/a> later in life: \u201cIt was a monstrous big river down there \u2013 sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid day-times; soon as night was most gone, we stopped navigating and tied up \u2013 nearly always in the dead water under a tow-head; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows and hid the raft with them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then maybe it\u2019s the tree\u2019s broad, chaotic canopy of shade provided by precariously jutting limbs, some as big as tree trunks, pointing this way and that. The cottonwood\u2019s distinctively fissured bark, as deep as a castle\u2019s crenelations, protects it from predators. The bark also contains salicin<\/a>, the active ingredient in aspirin. So, it not only looks good, it\u2019s good for you.<\/p>\n

The Rio Grande is a well-controlled river. Flooding is vanishingly rare these days. That\u2019s a challenge for the bosque because flooding encourages the growth of new trees. On the other hand, the existing trees have grown tall and beautiful. Our walk along the bosque in October deepened my appreciation for this stately icon of American culture.<\/p>\n

Photos<\/h6>\n
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