The houses are how you live on it. The land is why you came.
Past Abiquiu Lake, through the village of Cañones, onto dirt that narrows to one lane. Your phone loses signal somewhere along the way. By the time you reach the gate, the world you left has already started to loosen its grip.
the LAND is 43 acres at the end of that road, held in a high valley at 7,000 feet against a million and a half acres of national forest. Cerro Pedernal, the flat-topped mountain Georgia O'Keeffe painted again and again, stands over all of it. A creek runs through. An acequia that has carried water since 1807 still feeds the orchard. At night there is no light but the stars, and there are more of them than most people have ever seen.
We built six homes into the land and tried to let the land stay in charge. These are adobe and earth houses that breathe with the desert, cool at night and warm by the stove.
The comfort is real. It just is not the point.
They cancel the trip to town. They walk the creek, pick apricots off the tree, hike to ancestral ruins without seeing another person, and watch the sun go down behind Pedernal from a wooden deck with nothing to do next.
Guests write to us about healing, about reverence, about feeling like stewards rather than visitors.
"A portal."
"Six months of stress melted away instantly."
Writers, filmmakers, musicians and makers come here to finish what everyday life never left room for, or to begin the thing that has been waiting years to emerge. Some come to make their greatest work.
Others come simply to make space: to breathe, to rest, to heal. Often that turns out to be the greater work.
Sometimes the most important thing we build is on the inside. The way in is just to be outside.
If you are looking for manicured luxury, polished service and a concierge. We never claimed to be.
If you want rugged, genuine connection to one of the most beautiful landscapes in the American West, with most of the creature comforts you would not expect to find this far out.