Two weeks slipped by since my last post—sunlit and full, with the kind of quiet richness that unfolds when one returns to old ground with new eyes.
After the whirl of Mexico City and the vibrant color of the International Folk Art Market, I laced up my hiking shoes and headed into the high country—the Santa Fe National Forest above town. I hiked with my former wife, Jean, with whom I share a cordial and respectful relationship. We walked among the stately aspens, followed gurgling brooks, and breathed deeply in the crystalline air. The wildflowers were out in force, reminding us both of the beauty that has always encircled this region. Together, we share our daughter Sarah, and many chapters of life.
Later, I opened our storage unit—an archive of the past. Amy an I have downsized at least five times, so what’s left is either materially valuable or emotionally priceless. Going through the stored relics—paintings, objects, books, memories—I felt pangs of nostalgia. A quiet voice seemed to ask, “Why did you leave?” But life continues to unfold in Oaxaca, and what remains here is simply an earlier verse in a still-unfolding song.
I went down to Albuquerque to visit Sarah, who recently bought her first home. She's still settling in, boxes stacked here and there, a young tree of a life just beginning to root. We only see each other about once a year, so every moment was precious. I helped with the yard work, and we shared meals and conversation that brought us closer.
While I was there, Amy arrived from teaching a workshop in Nebraska. After a couple of days, she and I drove back to Santa Fe. We put our things down in a home in an old Santa Fe neighborhood, courtesy of the landlord and lady who rented it to me for several years about a decade ago. We are still friends. Amy absolutely loves the place and would move in right away. Whenever I go back, it feels like I never left.
Menwhile, Jean has generously offered us the home we built together more than thirty years ago, while she is away. It’s a big, quiet, light-filled place nestled outside the center of town on the open high desert plains, where people have horses—filled with the echoes of past seasons. We’re staying here for nine days, until we return to Oaxaca on August 3.
Back in Albuquerque, Amy was interviewed by New Mexico PBS about her work as the preferred illustrator for Rudolfo Anaya, the late literary giant and National Humanities Medal recipient. Her luminous illustrations have become part of his enduring legacy.
Meanwhile, I had my annual physical with my longtime physician—now in his eighties. We both moved like two old guys, chuckling like friends navigating the terrain of aging. Fortunately, nothing much has changed. I’m still going strong enough to hike, photograph, and find joy in the rhythm of daily life.
Friday night, we joined the traditional Santa Fe gallery stroll—an old ritual of openings, reunions, and conversations that stretch across decades. I stopped frequently, bumping into artist friends, trading stories and hugs. It felt good to be back in the thick of it.
Fortunately, we have been in town during the annual Spanish Market, that showcases the fabulous talent of New Mexico Spanish American artists, of which Amy is one by ancestry. Amy's cousin exhibited his craft and the two got to meetup.
Tomorrow, Amy’s sister arrives. From there, more adventures will unfurl—until we make our way home again to Oaxaca.
For many of us, the winter solstice marks a time to reflect, recharge, and reconnect with the rhythms of nature. For my wife Amy and me, this year brought a longing for the Pacific Ocean’s embrace—a call we couldn’t ignore. After all, it is not that far a drive away. From our quiet village on the outskirts of Oaxaca, we set off on a journey to Mazunte, a jewel on Mexico’s Pacific coast. Known for its pristine beaches, bohemian charm, and soulful tranquility, this small seaside town seemed the perfect place to honor the year’s shortest day and longest night. Our plan was simple: to escape the everyday, soak in the ocean’s timeless wisdom, and welcome the return of longer days with an offering while surrounded by beauty and peace.
The joy of the Pacific Ocean is irresistible. As we reached Mazunte after a four hour drive—mostly on a new highway, the rhythmic crash of waves called us like an old friend, and soon we were in the water, laughing and leaping through the surf. Well, I was in the ocean. Amy does not swim, but likes to stride the sandy beach, waves licking her toes. The ocean’s embrace was cool yet invigorating, a timeless reminder of life’s playful, unrestrained energy. Frolicking in the shallows, we felt the weight of everyday worries melt away with each rolling wave. We enjoyed seeing people of all types and ages, in families, solo, with partners and dogs. A nude beach is not far away and sometimes young women were topless and unbothered.
Our days unfolded with a natural rhythm, guided by the sun’s ascent and descent. Walking along the beach at sunrise felt like stepping into a dreamscape—the light casting a golden hue across the sand, the ocean shimmering with the first blush of morning. As the day gave way to evening, we found ourselves in awe of fiery sunsets, their colors spilling across the horizon, mirrored in the rippling tide.
Mazunte’s vibrant charm extended beyond the shore. Strolling through town, we discovered eclectic shops offering everything from handmade jewelry to vibrant textiles. Each store felt like a small treasure chest, inviting us to linger and explore. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries often drew us into cozy cafes where time slowed, and we savored the simple pleasures of buttery croissants and rich, aromatic brews. Mexico’s coast produces some of the finest coffee in the world.
Beachside grills became our favorite dining spots, where we indulged in fresh fish grilled to perfection, seasoned with local spices, and accompanied by tangy salsas, ensaladas, and warm tortillas.
For me, during the three day sojourn, I felt the weight of troubles lift by the hour, until a new found sense of freedom settled inside.
When we returned home, our trusted house sitter greeted us warmly, our two dogs safely in tow, tails wagging with excitement. The house was just as we had left it, a comforting welcome back to our life in the village.
The next evening, we joined our dear neighbors, Mayolo and Marta, for Christmas Eve supper. Their home is just a short walk from ours, and over the years, they’ve become more than friends—they feel like family. Sitting around their table, sharing food and stories, it was clear how much our lives had intertwined, weaving a shared sense of belonging.
On Christmas Day, our neighbor Remedios and her young daughter visited to bake Christmas cookies with Amy. Without an oven of her own, Remedios brought her heartfelt enthusiasm to our kitchen. The house quickly filled with the sweet aromas of cinnamon and sugar. Her husband has been away in the United States for several years, and she raises her two children on her own with boundless love and resilience. Watching her laugh with her daughter while they rolled out dough was a touching reminder of her strength and grace.
Just last night, we hosted a gathering of ten neighbors at our home, a beautiful mix of Mexicanos and ex-pats. Around the table, we shared a meal accompanied by laughter and lively conversation. The hours slipped by as we toasted, told stories, and celebrated the season, the warmth of connection lingering long after the last plate was cleared. It was one of those evenings that deepened our gratitude for this little village and the incredible people who make it feel like home.
The Pacific Ocean is not far away from us here in Oaxaca, Mexico. About 125 miles. Yet we have not visited often since arriving four years ago. The reason has been that the old highway to the coast led us around the city and then over the Sierra Madre Mountains on a harrowing two lane road that could make a person sick from the twists and turns. About a seven hour trek.
Everything is different now that the long anticipated and awaited highway 175, a sleek asphalt “autopista” is newly opened.
With a desire for adventure and a celebration on the horizon, my beloved wife Amy and I embarked on our journey to Puerto Escondido, a coastal gem on the Pacific shores. However, this time, the route took an exciting twist as we drove the new highway, cutting our travel time in half. Gone were the days of perilous journeys over the Sierra Madre Mountains, with their treacherously winding paths. Instead, we found ourselves cruising along the smooth asphalt of the new highway, marveling at the picturesque landscapes unfolding before us. The reduced travel time not only ensured a safer passage but also allowed us to immerse ourselves in the beauty of our surroundings without the constant worry of hazardous roads.
After a seamless journey, we arrived at our coastal haven in Mazunte: Casa Ofelia. The small but famous town attracts a diverse crowd that includes hippies, yogis, spiritual seekers, and those interested in animal conservation. It's laid-back atmosphere, eco-friendly practices, and focus on yoga, turtle conservation, and spiritual activities make it a popular destination for alternative travelers. Bohemian vibes abound, which is fine for Amy and I⏤both former hippies. We enjoyed people watching: men with tanned, muscular builds, beards and “man Buns”; that is long hair tied up in a bun atop the head. Women sauntered scantily dressed. Many go topless on the beach.
Greeted by the salty breeze and the rhythmic sounds of the ocean waves just outside our bedroom door, our accommodation in Mazunte provided perfect sanctuary, offering a tranquil escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. We stayed three days then headed back to Puerto Escondido for two nights.
In Puerto Escondido we lodged at Hotel Santa Fe, namesake of our former hometown. It offers a mix of colonial elegance and modern amenities. Furthermore, it is set directly opposite Zicatela beach, providing guests with sweeping beach views and stunning sunsets.
As the sun dipped below the horizon on the final night of our retreat, we gathered to commemorate a special occasion—the 71st birthday of my beloved Amy. With laughter, love, and gratitude in our hearts, we raised a toast to our togetherness and the adventures yet to come.
Our getaway to the coast was more than just a journey—it was a testament to the joy of exploration, the importance of cherished moments, and the power of love. As we bid farewell to the coastal paradise, we carried home to Oaxaca with us memories for our lifetime, forever etched in the sands of time.
A week like no other . . . and to think⏤Amy’s sister arrived from Minnesota and experienced it with us. Cari arrived along with Dia de Muertos, an extraordinary week of color, tradition, and creativity.
In the heart of Mexico amidst the vibrant streets of Oaxaca, Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a time-honored tradition in Mexican culture, celebrating the lives of departed loved ones with colorful festivities and heartfelt remembrance.
The two sisters stayed in a nice hotel in the city for two nights as events ramped up. There is so much to entice the eye during the course of the holiday. I always drive to town from our village every day to photograph.
We feel honored and bonded in our adopted community. Especially with the family of Mayolo Galindo, our neighbor who makes our tin frames. His wife Marta gave a cooking lesson in our home on making molé and traditional tamales. That evening we had a wonderful traditional tamale dinner to mark Cari´s birthday.
Every day and night are parades and celebrations. I threw myself in as much as possible to get photographs. A book of Dia de Muertos portraits will be forthcoming with one more year of picture taking.
This year we were honored that a premiere gallery rushed to take our work and highlight it as part of their offering for Dia De Muertos. They installed a grand ofrenda in the midst of our paintings. It was a surreal experience to see our art displayed alongside other talented artists, each piece telling a unique story of life, death, and the mystical in-between. We had hoped for such an outcome but had not expected. Then it suddenly occurred.
Memento Mori, by Steven Boone, oil on linen, with tin frame by M. Galindo
The art gallery reception was warmly received. Many people stop to photograph our pieces and pose next to them.
Entre Culebras y Colibríes,by Amy Córdova Boone, acrylic on canvas, with tin frame by M. Galindo
In the aftermath of Dia de Muertos, on November 4th as we drove home from the city, we stopped to walk in our village cemetery. I was moved that every grave in the large plot had flowers on it.
Because of a glitch in Cari´s flight home, she stayed an extra two days. We visited the largest tree on earth (in circumference) and drove 40 minutes to Tule to see the Tule tree. Another breathtaking experience in our panorama of experiences since she arrived.
Cari discovered the true essence of Dia de Muertos – a celebration that transcends boundaries and connects us all in a beautiful tapestry of humanity. Today she arrived at the airport without delay and boarded for home, full of stories to tell.
I feel as though I am a sailor and the wind is filling the sails of my vessel, taking Amy and I toward a future we do not totally understand, but is our destiny. In many ways I acknowledge divine assistance, and let go and trust—giving thanks.
Collector from Scottsdale, Arizona
Since Amy and I decided to move to Mexico, we have announced the closing of The Boone Gallery and begun preparing to leave the USA. Many details are as yet to be concluded, but we are assuming in our near future we will be living in our house in Oaxaca.
People from all over the country have been stepping forward to buy my paintings, especially as I have been offering a one-time discount of about 30%. Collectors have been buying oil paintings before they even dry. One couple from Georgia have bought six and now own nine Boones. Another couple from Texas have bought four, and others from Colorado and Arizona have bought two each. A couple from Albuquerque bought two—and so on.
I wonder at all the activity—and think a combination of factors is at work: The pandemic is making people feel homebound. Perhaps in a moribund environment the chance to enliven their homes is welcoming. A fleeting discount for first quality original oil paintings from an established artist is attractive. October is always a top month for art sales. Who knows if I will be painting the scenes in Mexico?
Collector from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Whatever the reasons, it is totally satisfying to be shipping out my paintings. Especially as there is no business on the street coming into the gallery— and everything has to come down from the walls in a couple weeks.
Collector from Dallas, Texas
Meanwhile, Amy has been diligently packing our valuables for the long trip south.
To see available work and make an offer, go to: Steven Boone
I self-published and created a publishing company—named after a phrase that someone said to me.
Here is the story:
A woman, Cecelia, worked behind the front desk at the hotel Naomi and I lived in while she was seeing a healer in San Francisco. The staff came to know and become fond of us. When I went back the spring after Naomi died, my room was decorated with flowers, with a lovely note.
Cecelia welcomed me, and in an off-hand way described Naomi and I as Twin-Flames. The phrase stuck in my mind.
A Heart Traced In Sand was published in 2001 and has won two awards.
Since then, in 2005I published a book of artwork, called Hangups. It is an eclectic collection from a series of paintings I made of faces hanging from clothespins suspended on clotheslines.
Being married to Amy Córdova y Boone, an artist, author and illustrator is a perfect partnership for publishing. Before we became a couple, Amy had put together writings and art for books, then set it all aside. Now I am resurrecting the material. The first is a little gem, DICHOS de Nuestras Abuelitas. I have been readying it for publication in a couple months. It is bi-lingual. In Spanish, dichos are sayings concisely written or spoken—expressions that are especially memorable because they are pithy and contain wisdom.
Page 13, DICHOS de Nuestras Abuelitas
“Children know perfectly well that unicorns aren’t real, but they also know that books about unicorns, if they are good books, are true books.” – Ursula K. Le Guin
Saints, shamans, spirit beings, extra-terrestrials, creatures of every type, the sun and moon . . . these are just some of the subjects of the creative mind of Amy Córdova.
I first met Amy at a dinner hosted by mutual friends. She was dressed liked an artist with a colorful blouse and skirt, and Native American jewelry. After discovering her art background, I asked if she would be interested in putting her work in my gallery and working there while I went to Venice, Italy to live. I planned to be gone several months.
It has been six months since I returned and Amy and I have become partners in many walks of life. We make art together, manage the gallery as a team, share meals, read fairy-tales together, pray together and more.
In less than a week my gallery is hosting a one-woman show for Amy. It is during Spanish Market in Santa Fe; appropriate because of her Spanish heritage. Fortunately, my gallery is just steps away from the plaza, where all the activity takes place.
The name of Amy’s show is Querencia, and refresh to “a deep rooted longing and love for a specific place and those who inhabit that place.”
