The enchanting scent of Santa Fe
A road trip dispatch
We landed home about a week ago, and I’m acclimating back into winter in the Northeast. This winter in particular somehow seems deeper and more inward-gazing than past years. Despite the cold weather feeling beyond relentless and jarring to my system, I was admittedly delighted to return to my little corner of the couch, falling back into familiar routines like my morning reading and journaling and watching comforting TV shows while beading up necklaces for all of you. I have so many stories to share with you from my travels and have had a hard time deciding where to start. But, in the spirit of flowing with the (very different and wild) energies of 2025, I am just going to begin with this one.
There are so many locations I had the great opportunity to see on my road trip across America, but one of the places I was most excited to visit was Santa Fe. I had high expectations of what I’d encounter in this city, and couldn’t wait to explore it for myself.
Santa Fe entirely lived up to my expectations. Although it was much colder than I’d anticipated (for some reason I imagined the entire southwest to just be…warm?), and I was getting over mild food poisoning while there, I was still very much struck by the surface beauty of the city. So many elements of Santa Fe are delightful, from the hanging dried peppers popping clusters of ruby red against the soft earth brown color palette of the adobe buildings on winding roads, and the spectacular sunsets that paint the sky each night. However, my biggest takeaway, which may be a more subtle feature, was the ubiquitous scent that seemed to envelop the entire city in the type of feeling you get from a cozy blanket. I didn’t notice it right away, but by the second morning, it caught my attention. I took a deep breath in, filling my lungs with the sultry blend of dry high desert air, smoky rich notes of warm wood, and subtly sweet top notes. Once I smelled it, I couldn’t get enough breaths of it, and kept making a point to stop and sniff the air.
It was finally in one vintage store on Canyon Road (home to countless galleries and shops), that I asked the owner Estevan about the smell. “It’s piñon”, he said and pointed to a display of white boxes with a monochromatic green sketch of a cabin and evergreen trees. They were stacked on a shelf that was tucked between a rack of colorful long dresses and wool ponchos. Estevan grabbed one of the clay burners off the shelf—each of them a mini replica of iconic southwestern fixtures. This one was shaped like a teepee. He lit up a brick from a box of incense. “I prefer the juniper”, he remarked, mentioning the omnipresent nature of the scent of piñon in Santa Fe, having spent his whole life here. As I perused the racks of vintage, the store was enrobed in a more pronounced version of the outside air. It was lovely.
In fact, I’ve actually seen this brand before, as I’m sure many of you have—especially if you’ve spent any time in the Adirondacks or the Catskills. I’ve even purchased a box of this incense, not really knowing what I was buying, but loving the novelty and nostalgic feel of the packaging. After browsing the store and falling in love with a vintage deer skin jacket (that I sadly left behind) I bought the southwestern-fireplace-shaped burner, adorned with copper and turquoise paint, and a box of piñon and juniper incense.
That night, I decided to dive deeper into the history behind this incense brand, and what I came to learn is that Incensce of the West is a long-standing New Mexican tradition with deep family roots. Founded in the 1960s, the founder aimed to create a product that would somehow embody the feeling one gets when camping out west. She took note of the trees around her—the subtle aroma that built a sense of place. Then she got to work, collecting sawdust from fallen tree varieties that grow in this region of the country. Each of the seven incense varieties is simple at first glance—mesquite, cedar, hickory—but when burned, the bricks transform into an incredibly complex and deeply nostalgic experience. And although I’ve spent no more than a total of two months in the western part of the country in my lifetime, they still seem to evoke a sense of belonging and comfort, deep within my bones.
Fire plays a large role in the identity of Santa Fe. Many of the boutiques we had the privilege of exploring had corner-set stone fireplaces alit with the fragrant wood of piñon, inviting us to stay a while and warm up from the brisk winter temperature outside. My favorite fireplace that I encountered was in The Rainbow Man, a family-owned shop in the center of Santa Fe that has existed since 1945. I wished I could sit with a cup of cacao in front of that fire, hearing stories from the people who grew up here and their ancestors who came before them. We were lucky that while we browsed, one of the shopkeepers shared some history with us on Edward Curtis, a photographer whose work was displayed in the back of the shop—his photography brought him to many early reservations capturing haunting images of the Native American tribes who call this land home. His work captures the last bits of life and ritual that existed before they disappeared into the folds of colonialism. I also learned about needlepoint—a style of turquoise setting in jewelry that was incredibly popular in the 1940s and perfected by the Zuni tribe. I found another fireplace tucked in 4kinship, a Diné woman-owned gallery and store that features artwork created by indigenous people from around the world. All the clothing is made from up-cycled materials, and each piece is lovingly unique. I was also led by the fire to the sparks of a whirring metalsmith, where silver was being formed into whimsical pieces and the jewelry-makers were a gaggle of older women who reminded me of the cast of Practical Magic. They had laughs that are only earned after years of compacting wisdom, and they let me play, trying on many beautiful rings.
I continued to let my whims lead me around the city, using my senses to find more beautiful things. I collected three bags of cacao, turquoise beads, and little silver kachina charms for harmony.
Santa Fe is inviting. It’s the type of place that makes you believe in magic. It’s a place where the people are friendly, the nooks are cozy, and beauty abounds, and my hope is that when I finally light a log of piñon in my little replica fireplace that I will be transported back to this time and these places.