I have had unusual communications attempts with Vermejo. Often, for various reasons, they have left voice mails at my house; I return their calls -- and it's always been someone different, except Jenny, who has left voice mails twice -- to find a busy line, or an abrupt message on their end explaining that they are busy at the moment . . . then the message ends with no chance to record my message to them. The best way to communicate with them expeditiously, I have found, has been to email them after I have given up my attempts to return their phone calls. After Mera, the woman who receives my plaintive emails, relays my message to the caller, they then phone back and leave another voice mail. Then I try to phone them, meet with a busy signal or the "we're not here" message, so I email them back, and the cycle begins again. Questions are left in the voice mail system, and answers relayed by email. Playing phone tag/email has worked very well with Vermejo and me. This evening, as I steamed veggies and cod, sipped a crisp white wine and loved My Mr. Mallory's company, the cycle was broken; Vermejo finally found me at home. I spoke to Rebecca about my visit to nature, trout, beauty.
The other remarkable thing I've noticed thus far about Vermejo is the sweetness and general wonderfulness of the people (who have left voice mails), such as Jenny and Rebecca -- to whom I spoke this evening -- and Mera, who has received my emails. Jack seemed wonderful, too, but he left, I heard, to be wonderful somewhere else. I wish I could say to him, "Thank you," because he was, well, a wonderful staff-member to welcome my first call to Vermejo. Before Jack left, he sent me an envelope that contained a lovely map of Vermejo. I looked at it. I'm going to adore it there. I'm already thinking about which lenses to take with me. Maybe by then I will have found a great tripod to hold my camera while I record nature.
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