Life in Socorro is muy bien

I saw an article on the web last week that ranked Socorro as one of the “25 Most Affordable Towns to Buy a Home in New Mexico.” While it’s not surprising that Corrales or Los Alamos did not make the cut, the list spans the state, from Jal to Raton to Lovington to Reserve, with home prices ranging from 173K to 77K, according to a Zillow Home Value Index. Without giving any spoilers, I will say that you could buy two homes in Tucumcari for the price of one in Socorro.

Be that as it may, choosing between Socorro and Tucumcari is no contest. Sure, the city’s population hasn’t exactly exploded over the last 30-40 years, but I’m reminded of a quote in Tony Hillerman’s book of essays, The Spell of New Mexico: “New Mexico towns, like other desert plants, tend to reach a certain modest size and then grow slowly if at all.”

Maybe it’s just me, but to assert that Socorro is unique in the Land of Enchantment is to state the obvious. I mean, what other town can boast not only the second-oldest newspaper in New Mexico but also the most esteemed research universities in the Southwest?

Not to mention an infamous UFO sighting.

If I may digress, it was 61 years ago today that Socorro police officer Lonnie Zamora reported seeing something in an arroyo off Raychester that he at first thought was an accident scene. What he took to be an overturned automobile turned out to be something wholly other, which proceeded to lift off the ground in a roar of flame and fly off toward Box Canyon.

Although Lonnie never speculated on what it was, one of the onsite investigators, Major Hector Quintanilla of the Air Force’s Project Blue Book stated on the 1979 TV documentary UFOs: It Has Begun, “Our first reaction was that it was a lunar test module from NASA or the Air Force. That seems to be the only logical explanation.”

But of course, the folks at White Sands would never admit to making such a miscalculation.

Like it or not, New Mexico is stuck with being linked with UFOs, and the Socorro story has one of the top head-scratchers in that department.

All that has nothing to do with real life in Socorro, what makes it easy to love, where you see your friends in stores or restaurants or driving down the street on a daily basis, and you wave and say, “Como esta?”

It hit me one time while I was having lunch in Albuquerque. I was looking around at people coming and going, and it dawned on me that I did not recognize one single solitary soul. There was nobody to say “hi” to. It’s that sort of moment when you know you’re Socorro-ized.

Remember Jeff Foxworthy’s gimmick, ‘You know you’re a redneck if … ?’ There should be ‘you know you’re from Socorro County if...’

Some of these have been around for years, and I have borrowed some from other people (in no particular order):

You give directions by referring to what used to be there.

You argue that Socorro County chile is better than Hatch, and then whether Lemitar or San Antonio is best.

You can assume the landfill is closed on windy days.

Your least favorite season is Spring.

You’ve brought a folding chair to watch a parade on California Street.

You know who makes the best posole. And the best tamales.

You’d never think twice about buying tamales or burritos from a cooler.

You wear your Warrior or Steers sweatshirt to Magistrate Court.

Your Christmas decorations include a big plastic Santa on one side of your yard and a Nativity scene on the other.

You’ve fantasized about cooking an egg on your dashboard.

You debate whether the Owl or Buckhorn has the better green chile cheeseburger.

You know which arroyos flood the worst.

You can correctly pronounce words like Sedillo and Datil or names like Guerro or Ganadonegro.

You buy 30 pounds of roasted green chile and then spend an afternoon peeling them.

You order your enchilada with a fried egg on top.

You choose a tortilla instead of bread at Sophia’s. And know to call ahead at Burrito Tyme.

Your other vehicle is a pick-up. Or a horse.

You’ve held up traffic by talking with someone on the sidewalk.

You’re relieved when the pavement ends because the dirt road has fewer potholes.

You see nothing odd in people holding a conversation using Spanish, English, and possibly some Navajo thrown in.

You know what a sandhill crane looks like.

You’ve got a pet horny toad. Well, maybe not.

You know that this place is so dang livable and “muy bien” that you really couldn’t care less what Tucumcari home prices are.