Trementina, a perfect ghost of a place, lies in the heart of buried
treasure country 52 miles east of Las Vegas, New Mexico. There
is little recorded history of the settlement except that it was a pine
oil shipping point. Settlers established a small com- munity here
about 1832 when turpentine was an important product in this
province of Mexico.
Trementina sleeps on a cedar-covered flat overlooking a creek of
the same name. You get a feeling of a strange aloneness as you
look down the rows of peopleless houses shrinking away here.
Are these houses weary from years of just silently staring at one
another across cholla-filled streets?
Most of the deserted dwellings are of stone masonry. Some of
the tin roofs are furred with rust. Others are earth-packed,
with weeds growing from the tops. Doors stand open, waiting for
people who never come. Broken windows let in all the sea- sons.
Aging, long-thirsting vines cling to sagging porch posts. Inside,
you hear a noise and venture a look. Packrats!
At the end of one long, weed-choked street is a quaint belfried
Little church. Its lonely look tells you it never expects to have its
pews filled again. One forlorn street drops off the brink of a rock
ledge and you look down at slow, meandering Trementina Creek.
Here on top of the ledge is an unusual burial a crude stone
sarcophagus rising thirty inches above its solid rock base. Who
lies here in this lonely grave that would be more at home in a
cemetery in Mexico?
In Trementina you're filled with other questions. Why did all these
people leave? When? Here yet in these perishing houses is proof
that they were a people of pride and culture.
Drive 48 miles through colorful mesa and canyon country to
where Highway 104 turns south at almost right angles and a sign
points straight ahead on State Road 55 to Trementina. Four
miles on this dirt road, look sharply south, on your right, for the
barely discernable houses and old church, about half a mile
distant.
treasure country 52 miles east of Las Vegas, New Mexico. There
is little recorded history of the settlement except that it was a pine
oil shipping point. Settlers established a small com- munity here
about 1832 when turpentine was an important product in this
province of Mexico.
Trementina sleeps on a cedar-covered flat overlooking a creek of
the same name. You get a feeling of a strange aloneness as you
look down the rows of peopleless houses shrinking away here.
Are these houses weary from years of just silently staring at one
another across cholla-filled streets?
Most of the deserted dwellings are of stone masonry. Some of
the tin roofs are furred with rust. Others are earth-packed,
with weeds growing from the tops. Doors stand open, waiting for
people who never come. Broken windows let in all the sea- sons.
Aging, long-thirsting vines cling to sagging porch posts. Inside,
you hear a noise and venture a look. Packrats!
At the end of one long, weed-choked street is a quaint belfried
Little church. Its lonely look tells you it never expects to have its
pews filled again. One forlorn street drops off the brink of a rock
ledge and you look down at slow, meandering Trementina Creek.
Here on top of the ledge is an unusual burial a crude stone
sarcophagus rising thirty inches above its solid rock base. Who
lies here in this lonely grave that would be more at home in a
cemetery in Mexico?
In Trementina you're filled with other questions. Why did all these
people leave? When? Here yet in these perishing houses is proof
that they were a people of pride and culture.
Drive 48 miles through colorful mesa and canyon country to
where Highway 104 turns south at almost right angles and a sign
points straight ahead on State Road 55 to Trementina. Four
miles on this dirt road, look sharply south, on your right, for the
barely discernable houses and old church, about half a mile
distant.
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