In the late 1960s, a couple lived without plumbing in an apple orchard in northern New Mexico, focusing on personal growth and creative pursuits. The wife struggled with feelings of inadequacy about her writing compared to younger peers. A visit to the D. H. Lawrence Ranch introduced them to writer Henry Roth, despite the wife's initial reluctance to intrude. Her typical dismissiveness contrasted with her husband's more outgoing nature, highlighting a dynamic of anxiety versus enthusiasm in their relationship.
When we stepped out of the car, my husband unexpectedly suggested that we look in on Roth. "Oh, no!" I instantly shot back. "We can't do that."
It never occurred to me that perhaps some anxiety lay at the heart of my dismissiveness. On that afternoon at the Lawrence ranch, however, my husband's yes prevailed.
I welcomed the time spent hauling water or raking the woodstove. One day, we paid a visit to the D. H. Lawrence Ranch.
My husband and I were both in our thirties and, like many of our generation, preoccupied with 'finding' ourselves.
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