Like every other celebration I can think of, Easter has its own
distinctive flavor in the Land
of Enchantment.
There’s something spiritual, subtly beautiful, yet larger than
life about spring in high-desert country. The soft colors of new spring growth
blend gracefully with the beiges, browns and grays of rocks and soil. Mesquite is dotted with
pale leafy chartreuse. Birds and their nests seem to slip in overnight on
delicately camouflaged wings.
Then again, there are splashes of vivid color as exciting and
flamboyant as the swirling skirts of a troupe of folklorico dancers. There’s
nothing subtle about the blooms of cactus: crimson, fuchsia, magenta, neon
oranges and yellow.
Steely gray branches of octotillo, which many newcomers presume to
be dead, literally burst unto fire engine red blooms, as if to alert, wave to
and flag down passing pollinators: “Hi, there, sailor bees. New in town?”
Agaves known as century plants can lead uneventful lives for
years. Then, one special spring, they’ll decide to go for broke. Suddenly, the
plant will sprout what eventually looks like a giant asparagus, an appetizer
(or maybe even main course) fit for Godzilla or King Kong. At times, it seems
like you can actually see it grow before your eyes: a few feet on Monday, and towering
over your adobe abode a few days later.
Survival and procreation are serious matters in the desert. Birds
and bees and prickly pears are all ready to get the job done when the
conditions are right.
We Borderland desert creatures have our own ways of celebrating
the season of renewal.
Artists and craftspersons add their own Wild West twists to
traditions that have origins in other parts of the world. Red and green chiles
spice our spring feasts and Easter dinners. Bright cactus blooms sometimes find
their way into centerpieces of darling, pale pink buds of May, which usually
show up in March or April here.
Though we live in a land the unenlightened may consider basic
beige, especially during sandstorms, our souls are anything but pastel.
Given a choice, even our Easter eggs are likely to be dyed and
decorated in bright fiesta hues.
Take cascarones, for instance. These are not your Midwestern
mother’s pale pink, anemic yellow or whispery lavender hard-boiled future
deviled eggs, or fragile blown-out shells with intricate decorations. These are
FIESTA eggs, in vivid cactus bloom colors, filled with confetti and meant to be
broken in a blaze of colorful glory.
I consider this a milestone year, because it’s the first time I’ve
been able to go into a couple of local chain stores and buy cascarones by the
dozen in nearly stacked cartons. It’s a benchmark, a harbinger — sort of like
the year salsa finally overtook ketchup as America’s favorite condiment. (No
matter what your cultural background, I think all sane and thoughtful souls
could recognize this as triumph of good taste and All-American progress over
outmoded tradition.)
Of course, the best cascarones are still hand-crafted by talented
artisans. You can learn a little more about the festive eggs in today’s Artist
of the Week feature on page E4 of this section.
I learned that Carmen Lopez has been creating her blingy little
glittered beauties for as long as there has been a Las Cruces Farmers and
Crafts Market. I’ve been a fan of Priciliana Sandoval’s pinata-cascarone-wand
hybrids for two decades and even took some to our sister city of Nieburg, Germany,
where the citizens were amazed and thrilled.
If you get a chance, pick up some handmade cascarones, or make
them yourself and have some slightly messy (but worth it) adventures today
after you bite off the ears of your favorite chocolate bunnies.
And if you take a desert hike, watch for jackrabbits and
roadrunners who look like they’re on a special quest.
Who knows? They might be bearing baskets of treats.
Holidays usually come with a few surprises in the Land of Enchantment.
Happy Easter!
S. Derrickson Moore may be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com,
@derricksonMoore on Twitter and Tout, or call 575-541-5450.
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