Drive at the speed limit and you miss it

One of my favorite drives is down to Marfa, about an hour from Van Horn. Because I'm still new to the long isolated distances and always prepared for any contingency in the desert, I ready myself like an astronaut going into space. My Subaru roof antenna is plugged into the office cell phone, on my lap and in vibrate/ring mode. Check. My personal cell phone, also on the lap in vibrate/ring mode. Emergency water and powerbar on the floor on the passenger side. Check. Two more gallons of emergency water is behind my seat (we're in the desert, for crying out loud!) CDs on the seat beside me. Check. Personal emergency kit (with foil blanket, candle, and fish hook?) in the glove box. Check. Then the usual auto checks--gas, oil, etc. Check. Check. Check.

Once I settle in, I'm ready to enjoy the ride.

By late summer, I started to recognize the landmarks, and I noticed a curious structure being built on the side of the road. Odd. Too small for a house or store. Too large for a bus shelter, and too far from anything to house kids waiting for the schoolbus. Yet, there it was, being patiently built by a small crew of men, just a few miles north of Valentine, population 247. A boxy-looking thing, way out in the middle of the desert nowhere.

In early October, I took that road home to Van Horn. The first clue was the portable lighted sign by the only gas station in Valentine. "Welcome Prada Marfa," it said. Huh.

Then I sped by, way too fast to get anything but a hint of what it was. Stop the car, back up. What?!? A Prada store?

There, perfectly and beautifully positioned in the desert, is a sealed time capsule, a non-functional full-sized reproduction of an urban boutique Prada store stocked with the fall 2005 line of shoes and purses. It makes me happy just to look at it. It will decay in time, and the ruin will become part of the landscape.

Last Saturday, I decided to drive the hour to Marfa to visit a few galleries. Donald Judd, the minimalist, brought the artworld to Marfa when he bought an old military property and installed his own work and the work of a few friends. Now there's an active arts scene in town. It is kind of like a rural desert New York, you never know who or what you'll see. Marfa's presence is one of the reasons I moved here--I knew I'd have access to creative visual ideas. So Saturday, I was able to see bad amateurish pottery (isn't it everywhere?), thought-provoking political work, gorgeous digitally altered landscape photos, and the works of Paul Strand, Dorothea Lange, and Man Ray. Marfa, mind you, has a population of less than 3,000. Saturday night, I hope to take in a performance by Terry Allen.

Sure, sometimes I miss having access to big-city culture. But really, it (and excellent footwear) is just down the road.