A gift to the giver

Ghosts and Gold: My Story of Ghost Ranch is not primarily about me or what I have done at Ghost Ranch. It is about Ghost Ranch itself, as I have experienced and come to know it personally. It is, I suppose, an example of creative nonfiction, that writing genre that channels factual information through an admittedly subjective lens.

I took part in my first writing workshop at Ghost Ranch (or anywhere else, for that matter) in the spring of 1999, during one week of a greatly-appreciated three-month sabbatical from my pastoral responsibilities at the Church of the Western Reserve. Ina Hughes was our group’s convener and mentor. I could not have chosen a better person than Ina to lead a workshop in creative nonfiction.

That week changed my life in many ways. After years of writing to satisfy the expectations others — teachers, congregations, God (?) — I was suddenly freed-up to write to fulfill my own expectations. Ina and the class encouraged me to think I might have some aptitude for such writing. I’ve worked at developing that aptitude, though not consistently.

Several years ago I began to write short stories. I started my first, The Owl, at another writing festival at Ghost Ranch, I think in 2013. Writing workshops I’ve done closer to home have all been helpful…but none like the ones at Ghost Ranch’s writing festivals, because of the place, because of the people.

Thus, the emotional drive behind Ghosts and Gold. Ghost Ranch has given me so much, and I want to return something to it. That is why I will give all of the net proceeds of the book’s sale to the ranch. (I am absorbing all costs associated with getting it edited, designed, and printed.) I do not expect my monetary gift to amount to much, but maybe the book will encourage people to come to Ghost Ranch themselves. That may be worth far more.

Right now, Ghost Ranch, like so many other places, is closed to the public. They are hoping to be able to offer at least a partial summer schedule. It is likely to be a difficult year for the ranch in almost every way, and it is not the kind of summer for introducing Ghosts and Gold I had envisioned. But maybe it will help fill a need for those who love the ranch and will not be able to visit it in person in 2020. Maybe the timing is better than I’d hoped.

Which way is up?

On my first visit to Ghost Ranch in 1984, my sense of direction there got completely turned around, and I have never gotten over it. Having been raised in the great plains, tamed as they are by their enormous mile-square grid of roads, I almost always was sure which way was north. But that doesn’t work so well in places like Ghost Ranch (or Pittsburgh, where I lived for 15 years). No such grid of roads could discipline such locales.

I could blame my confusion on the map they give you when you arrive. Because, on that map, instead of up being north, up is west. Which may explain why I cannot get over the feeling that, when I stand on the front porch of the dining hall, I am facing northwest. But I am not: I am facing southwest. No matter how often I turn that map a quarter-turn so up is north, I cannot shake my original certainty about direction. Even knowing that the rising sun shines on Chimney Rock and the setting sun illuminates Kitchen Mesa does not shake my conviction.

Facts are stubborn things. But in this case, not stubborn enough to convince me which way is north at Ghost Ranch. If I get some directions wrong in Ghosts and Gold, it’s not because I didn’t try to get them right. It’s so darned hard to get something right once you’ve got it wrong. And if you do finally realize your mistake, you tend to want to blame someone else for your having made it. It’s the map’s fault! I am not the only person to realize all of these painful truths, am I?

Speaking of mistakes, there were three mistakes in the proof copy, tiny ones. Three little words—one word missing, two just plain wrong. I found two of them, and Maxine found one. No big deal, but I am getting them fixed. The finished product will be too nice to publish it knowing there are mistakes in it that I knew about ahead of time.

When it all started

When did my passion for Ghost Ranch begin?

In a way, it began before I ever stepped foot there when, in 1964, I made my first trip to the American Southwest. For two weeks that summer, a group of us from Coe College worked at and around the Presbyterian Mission at Ganado, Arizona. We did not stop at Ghost Ranch. But something about the southwest’s landscape both appealed to me and repelled me, given my green-fields-of-Iowa upbringing. I knew I would one day return to that part of the world.

Twenty years later, I accompanied the senior high youth of the First Presbyterian Church of Sterling, Illinois, on a service project at Ghost Ranch. I was their pastor. I have pictures of us loading stones into the bed of a pickup, I believe to be used to line the drainage swale that runs between the ranch parking lot and administration buildings. We also worked in the garden. And we hiked some of the trails. A death in my family resulted in my leaving early, but I was hooked.

Ten years after that, I convinced our family it was time for us to make our own journey to Ghost Ranch. The four of us—Maxine, Elizabeth (17), Rebecca (14), and myself—piled into our Plymouth minivan for a three-day drive from northeast Ohio to northern New Mexico, squeezing in a little sight-seeing along the way. The excitement and anxiety grew as we came closer to our destination: What it would really be like at that place? How would be be housed? Would I pay a high price for forcing Ghost Ranch upon the rest of them for our family vacation?

It began badly, stoking my worst fears. We were assigned a room in Corral Block. One room. Linoleum floor. Two bunk beds. Ancient dresser (maybe there were two). A wooden chair (or two). Single light hanging from the middle of the ceiling. Fine sand everywhere. And, of course, a communal bath to serve all of Corral Block, out the door and who knows how many steps from our room.

I feared for my life. I went back to registration and asked if there were any other accommodations available for a couple with two teen-aged daughters. Nope. I returned with the bad news and we unpacked what we could and prepared for our first walk to the dining hall. It was a rough night.

But here’s the magic—or the spirit—of Ghost Ranch. Twenty-four hours later, no one cared about where we were lodged. We’d all enjoyed one of the best days of our lives, and were captivated by Ghost Ranch and all it promised us. We’d begun to make new friends, been awed by the surroundings, challenged by the programs we were in, and we’d hardly seen each other for the entire day, which was pretty great after three days of minivan togetherness. At the end of the week, it was hard to leave Ghost Ranch.

That week was unique bonding experience for us all, and we have recalled it many times. That summer of 1994, Ghost Ranch became a integral part of who we are as individuals and as a family.

Ghosts and Gold goes to press

This has been the week -- this holy, COVID-quarantined week -- that my book, Ghosts and Gold: My Story of Ghost Ranch, went to press. I have ordered the first copy for myself so I can review it.

It's been a long journey about a place that is from where I live, yet close to my heart. No small part of that journey has involved learning how to self-publish. Fortunately, I've received good and willing help every step of the way. 

The purpose of this blog is to tell you about the book and all that's gone into it, why I've invested so much of myself (and my substance) in it, and, when the time is right, to encourage you to get your very own copy.

I tried to name this blog simply ghostsandgold, but that name is not available. Another blog begins with those words; its last entry was 2012, and it had one follower. I hope I keep up a little better than that, but readers of my other blog know my posts are not very regular. But I am motivated for this one!

For now: welcome to mystoryofghostranch!