Salt, Ink, & Soul
Writing on food, family, and identity
“I write so that our food, our struggles, and our stories are never forgotten, but carried forward as legacy.”
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Felix the Fox Collection
Gentle adventures from the Whispering Woods — stories of courage, friendship, and resilience for children, and for the adults who read beside them.
Latest Post
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The Sky Doesn’t Wait: Reflections from the First Weekend
The Balloon Fiesta has begun. The traffic is slow, the lines are long, and still—people come. They come from every corner of the city, from quiet neighborhoods and dusty pueblos, from out-of-state hotels and small-town motels. They come in flocks and families, in rental cars and pickup trucks, all heading toward that same expanse of…
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Night Glow: A Fire for the People
There are moments in life that feel less like events and more like rituals — moments not designed for necessity, not crafted for competition, but for nothing more than the simple wonder of being alive together. The Night Glow at the Balloon Fiesta is one of those moments. It is not about the chase, or…
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The People Who Make the Sky Possible
We always start with the balloons. It’s hard not to; those floating colors command the horizon, pulling the eye upward until you forget your neck is sore. We discuss the chase trucks, their history, and the roots of flight in France and its rebirth in the soil of New Mexico. We speak of mass ascensions…
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The Sky Belongs to Balloons
It’s the time of year when the desert begins to remember the cold. The mornings bite a little sharper, the light shifts from golden to amber, and in Albuquerque, the rhythm of fall comes with rituals all its own. The State Fair folds up its tents and carnival lights, and before the dust has even…
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Chasing Balloons, Chasing Time
In October, I step outside and my neck betrays me. It tilts. It’s a reflex now, a habit stitched into the muscle: look up. I’ve lived in Albuquerque for years and still, when the air is cool and the light is clean, I search the sky for color. I tell myself I won’t take more…
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Dawn Patrol
There is a moment before the day decides itself. A hush. The city holds its breath, streetlights humming like distant hymns, the Rio Grande moving somewhere you can’t quite see. You turn on the television and the anchors talk logistics—lift-off times, pilot briefings, winds at five hundred feet. They say Dawn Patrol the way a foreman says…
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