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.