Have it raw!

“Are you having it raw?” I heard myself exclaim. I hardly meant it as a question since it was obvious that the girl who happened to be next me was biting into the ear of sweet corn she had just bought. It was Saturday market in the Santa Fe Railyard.

– “This sweet corn is fresh from the field, how many ears would you like, ma’am?”

– “But do you really eat it raw? Where I come from, in Europe, we always have to boil the corn.”

– “The ears you see here were all picked this morning. Put them in the fridge and they will keep for at least 3 days. So how many can I get you?”

I couldn’t resist this convincing man, plus I was getting hungry (it was almost lunch time), plus I was curious to try raw sweet corn. I decided to get six ears, and sure didn’t regret it. They provided great, crunchy lunch for three days in a row.  The stand is very modest-looking (see here below), but don’t let this fool you. Do get some sweet corn here and do have it raw!

Two colours were prominent in this colourful market: red and green. You guessed it right: chili peppers. Small, big, raw, roasted, for decoration, just take your pick!

The railyard isn’t only a market venue but also a real railyard. The train at the station matched the market in its colourful appearance.

The call in the wild

I was just taking our lunch picnic bag out of the car at a beautiful viewpoint along the highway when another car, with a trailer full of hay, pulled up just in front of ours. Out jumped a man with a cowboy hat and a big knife dangling from his belt.

We were on our way from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Taos in the same state.

I put the lunch bag back into the car and felt a little ill at ease (the knife!) as the man stepped up to us in a very decisive manner. There was no one else in sight.

Do you want to hear a song?

He spoke in a way that made it clear that ‘No’ was not a reply to consider, so we mumbled

Yes,  that would be nice.

And in a loud and clear voice, facing the valley, he started a rather monotonous but clearly lamenting song in a native American language. After a while he switched to English and sang about the land that the white man had stolen. I felt guilty and sad.

When he stopped he turned to us and said

I had a difficult weekend, I had to get this off my chest.

And turning to my husband:

I want to give you a gift, I have made it myself.

He took off a very nice black leather bracelet that he was wearing and put it around my husband’s arm.

It’s a practical bracelet, you can put dollar bills inside it and pay for your coffee in the morning. Now I have to go to my ranch and feed the horses.

He walked to his car and disappeared. We just stood there, amazed at the man, his song and his gift. It felt unreal. Maybe it was?