By Margaret Hedderman
Imagine an enchanted world where hippies, cowboys, and wealthy tourists stroll peacefully under the flowering cottonwoods. A copper circles the Plaza five times an hour. A crazy man heralds the apocalypse on that corner. Two creatures in dreads play guitar on this corner. Welcome to Taos, NM. Outdoor enthusiasts flock to TMO. The hungry to TPO. And everyone else to Mn’F, WC, TB, or… oh Hell, why does everyone speak in acronyms here? WTF.
One snowy day, not long ago, as I passed through the Taos Plaza, I spotted a young man in what appeared to be handstitched, patchwork leather pants. Indeed they were. Before I could remark on his astonishing craftsman skills, I noticed something else. A 32-inch sword, in a scabbard, attached to his belt.
Only in Taos, man. Only in Taos.