Preservation Inspiration I: Landscape and Context

How a National Register Landscape-based Nomination Reframed our View of Historic Architecture

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This past summer, I was asked to be part of a unique team brought together to produce nominations of 6 high-potential route segments of the Old Spanish National Historical Trail (OST) for the National Register of Historic Places. Each site would be located in, and approved by the SHPOs, THPOs, plus BLM, Forest and Park Services of each of the states of Arizona, California, Colorado, Nevada, New Mexico, and Utah.

What made these projects highly unusual was that of the entire 2700 mile length of the Old Spanish Trail, which is actually a network of many trails, it was only in ONE location that we had absolute, undisputed evidence of the trail passing by a particular point during the period of significance. ONE documented, proven, archaeologically unquestioned place – a short series of rock steps cut into an impossibly steep canyon wall in Arizona. As I was the only architectural designer/historian on the team, I watched as period historians and archaeologists tried and failed to document this historic trail system by traditional means.

Accusations of perpetuating verbal myths flew, aimed at historians who were retelling the established stories, from archaeologists in the field who were discovering new data that would throw the history on its end – confirming that due to seasonal variations in water flows, flooding, drought, rockslides, trail failure, and any number of other impossible to account for physical phenomena - the trail was regularly bypassed, moved, modified and restored again and again. There were painful and humbling moments when a series of celebrated archaeological finds would be relegated to "during the Hispanic period, but not necessarily dating to the period of significance." The trail started to become anathema. Battles ensued, and the more evidence we received, it became harder and harder to know what we were going to propose putting on the Register at all.

Enter fieldwork.

One of the first things that became clear during the many hours of fieldwork completed at the several potential sites in each state was the importance of the route in the development of the west, through transportation. The paths the "Spanish" traveled were, in large part, along previously established routes of aboriginal American natives. After the Spanish brought their horse and mule trains, wagon caravans, early settlers, and mapping expeditions would use them, or at least follow the path of least resistance closest to them. This was followed by the development of both train and road networks in the 19th century, and the interstate highway system in modern times. The later development of the transportation infrastructure often obliterated any trace of the period trail, and that damage started during the period of significance.

We came to realize that the trail was a concept in a much more poignant way than any reality.

After hiking many miles along the traces, we also realized that the trail was a very direct response to its environment. It hugged secure mountain edges, traversed slopes at very specific intervals based on the use (i.e. wagons were utilized on easy slopes, where horses could manage much steeper sections), then followed along waterways so that forage, camps, and water could be had at regular intervals approximately 22 miles apart. In the period, passage along the trail was confirmed by natural landmarks including pillars, unique rock formations, as well as canyons and passes. We realized we were not just dealing with a THING (conceptual or not) but also we were also re-discovering the thing's PLACE. The trail responded to its environment. Up, over, around – bypass cuts in the landscape were on the south and west for the most part... suggesting that those were intentionally placed to alleviate ice issues. Trails veered off on gentler slopes where there was jagged and hard rock that might undermine the horses' and mules' footing. In other places, the trail went straight up treacherous slopes where spring floods would make the ground too soft to travel along the river. Long scratches on rocks suggested wagons had been drug up the slope sans wheels by teams of horses instead of allowed to roll back down on their wheels should an unlucky horse lose its footing. The difficulty of travel along the trail was so apparent, it was painful. So was realizing that we would have to include the trail's PLACE – its landscape, and its context within that landscape – in the nominations. Else, all we would be protecting would be, well... an illusion - a line on a map that represented a figment of a memory of something that may have been once upon a time. That's just not acceptable for the National Register of Historic Places.

We also realized that if we did not include the entirety of the passable area around the likely trail trace, it was entirely possible that one day a developer could read that line on the map, build to its 30' easement or whatever the state approved on either side of the approved trail trace, and, within the rights afforded to them by a well-intended but ill-conceived attempt at protecting these historic linear features, obliterate our ability forever to conduct a responsible archaeological investigation of say... a rediscovered camp site that was located when a lost map was found in some dusty family archive in Mexico. That is not to say that development should not take place along the corridor. That is equally ill-conceived. But if we could choose selectively, and protect wisely, the most significant and likely intact sections of the trail, and allow a visitor to vicariously experience travel through the rough and wild of the 19th century American West along it, we could accomplish something truly great. We could preserve, at least in experience, another of our amazing wild places. AND we could tell the story of how we evolved as a country.

When I arrived home in New Mexico and started on the re-documentation of Taos' Historic District and the rehabilitation plan for her acequias (irrigation ditches), I just couldn't stop thinking about what we'd learned in our fieldwork, and realized that these projects, one linear (a water trail, if you will) and one structural (an assortment of buildings) were in fact, EXACTLY like the trail. They were conceived in a specific place, and responded to both cultural impulses – tradition - and physical constraints - landscape and environment.

I was immediately confronted with two astonishing examples of the danger of not using a more holistic way of looking at preservation when I was doing fieldwork for those projects.

The first one was the only existing intact torreon (secure watch tower) in Taos, which had a "protected area" around it upon which one could not build. An extensive land modification project on the neighboring property came right up to that protective edge, raping the site around the historic structure. Should someone elect to try and piece together its story and perform archaeological assessment of the site, there is no way that there will be ANY chance of discovery through archaeology now. AND, the torreon, otherwise an architectural treasure, now sits awkwardly in a site devoid of context.

Then, a bisected line of houses along the now-famous Ledoux Street, which is, in fact, the alley which provided access to the REAR of these homes during their period of significance! That is not to say that the new alignment along Ledoux Street, or the facades of the buildings as they sit now are not significant today for new reasons... they are! But because the back door has now become the front door, many people miss the fact that the most interesting and significant parts of the buildings are on an all-but abandoned side street one does not even know to go down. What's more, the south side of the homes happens along the mesa edge that Taos sits on, overlooking what was once the town's spring source. To see this, the edge of Taos, from this vantage helps the visitor to understand the security of being raised above the low plain that leads into Taos, during a period in which such security measures could mean the difference between life and death – it tells part of the WHY of these homes, not just the WHAT. It emphasizes the importance of access to water. And... no one knows it is there. The site's entire context has been lost, and likely, forever.

We see this loss of context happening all over the state, from the mandated faux-historic styles in every historic district - which diminishes the value of the truly historic examples of those styles by obscuring them in a sea of false history - to the upcoming development of the historic sanctuary at Chimayo's landscape into a resort retreat center. We even see context being lost in favor of mining development at Mount Taylor. The question is at what cost? While the landowners can and should have the right to build the "place of their dreams" - even if that dream is a profitable venture - don't we have some obligation to preserve and protect the context, or "sense of place" too? Because once these things are lost... they are lost for good.

At Archinia, we believe it is time to start approaching preservation of any site or object in a way that treats not only the monument itself, but its site, its site within a landscape, and the views afforded from various historical vantages within that landscape. That way, we can capture and protect the "spirit" that gave the site a reason to exist there in the first place.