Artesia, New Mexico. Population 12,000. Located in the Southeast corner of the state, south of Roswell, north of Carlsbad.

My mother is from Artesia; my Grandparents moved there from Roswell in the 1930's when my Grandfather took the position of City Attorney. My mother will tell you it wasn't easy being a teenager in a small town, where everyone knew your parents, but on balance, if you were going to be a teenager in a small town in the 1950's, Artesia was probably as good as any.

I visited Artesia just about every year during my childhood, and, to me, there was something magical about it. First of all, it was where my Grandparents lived, and there is something inherently magical about Grandparents. You don't fully realize how magical Grandparents are until you see your parents interact with your children.

Wherever we went in Artesia, everyone seemed to know my Grandparents, and, somehow, me. We could walk from my Grandparents' house on Quay Street to Granddad's law office downtown, and we would eat lunch at the counter at the drugstore. We would go to Bennie's Western Wear for new jeans. We'd drive past the refinery a couple of times because, well, it was so cool looking, with all the pipes and stacks and valves and tanks and flames and stuff. Dad and I would go over to the train station so he could take pictures of the Santa Fe freight trains as they rolled through. My uncle could be counted on for a magic trick or two. There was always a meal at La Fonda, where my Grandparents had a standing lunch date for years and years, until they simply couldn't leave the house anymore.

Across the the street from my Grandparents house: the park and playground that covered an entire block. I was allowed to go over to the park by myself. I'd meet up with the kid who lived across the park, and we would get the merry-go-round spinning so fast that it would fling us into space if we didn't hang on. The metal slides were very, very hot and the swings went really, really high. The watchful eye of an adult remained on the front porch, far away from the maximum 20-foot radius we have to maintain with our kids today.

And there were trucks. Lots of trucks, of all shapes and sizes. Ranch trucks. Pickup trucks. Oil trucks. Drilling trucks. I'm famous for giving this reply, as a five-year-old, to a question about what I thought of Artesia: "Well, you've sure got a lot of good lookin' trucks in this town." Is there any greater draw to a five-year-old boy than a town full of good lookin' trucks?

It's been a few years since I've been to Artesia, and those last few trips as an adult are difficult and bittersweet ones. A move to an assisted lived facility, the emptying of a house of a lifetime of memories, and, inevitibly, funerals.

My last really good trip to Artesia was in the spring of 1994. I took my new wife out to meet my Grandparents, as they had been unable to make the trip east for our wedding. My Granddad was in the hospital at the time, but he still managed to charm my wife with the same wit and twinkle he employed his entire life. We took my Grandmother to lunch at La Fonda, and we went over to Carlsbad Caverns for an afternoon. It was still dark the morning we left Artesia to catch our plane in Lubbock, but we could see the lights of the refinery get smaller behind us as we drove away.

Both Grandparents have since passed away, and it seems unlikely that I'll visit Artesia again. Through these postcards, even though they pre-date the summers I spent in Artesia, I manage to keep a little bit connected to the town my Granddad called "the Heart of the Pecos Valley and the Gateway to the American West."

By the way: this is, I think, a terrific "Greetings from" postcard (you'll see a terrible "Greetings from" card a little later). The upper left corner shows the refinery which was, and is, a significant feature of the town; the lower right corner depicts topography you would see driving to or from Artesia. Inside the letters of Artesia, as is typical of a good "large letter" postcard, are scenes from around town. Some I recognize (Artesia Hotel, Main Street, Carper Building), others I don't.