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.