Thirty-six Days Past Solstice at a Cryptic Circle of Dead Refrigerators

By Birdie Jaworski

SANTA FE, NM-

I shifted from fourth gear to third as I ditched a Santa Fe strip-mall street for the steep grind of uneven asphalt that split a west-side mesa into two snowy halves. My young son, 9, leaned against the door, sketch pad on lap. His hand knew the routine, knew our unkempt roads meant his spaceships sported jagged edges. His eyes didn't waver. I didn't have to check the rear-view mirror to know this, to know my son's vision sprayed inward, watered vein and synapse, a whirlpool of hidden message only the raw shuttle of charcoal pencil against paper could decode.

Just like Stonehenge, I thought. We may tag heavy stones with intention, set them into wet earth, try to channel the core. We can't reach that center. Not with stones, not with art, not with sheer will. We are the same as our mesquite bees; busy, noisy, mindful of our next meal, our position in the desert hive. Who watches the center?

It wasn't Stonehenge I sought, but a cryptic circle of dead refrigerators called Stonefridge. Ten years ago conceptual artist Adam Horowitz fought city and vandal, placed 140 forgotten fridges in "atomic alignment" meant to spit on the Los Alamos Laboratory. He gathered local volunteers - the poor, the hip, the Santa Fe Barbie, the Ken - more than he needed, made them wear loincloths in a statement of consumer slavery. They hoisted hefty food box upon box using teepee poles and donated rope. He lost his freon palace once to bulldozers, then twice. He rebuilt. Discarded appliances come easy.

I shifted to second as my car groaned over the ridge. A steady gust of frigid air blew over the car, into the open vents and my legs felt January, felt cold and alone. The small stucco subdivisions lay behind us, the city fourteen blocks forgotten. I counted a rumtumble shack, a wind-scarred mobile home, until they, too, disappeared. We turned with the road and the mesa turned to red mud covered in heavy splotches of crystalline snow, turned to a deep dip in the earth, and I slowed to ten miles per hour, kept the car from sliding too fast down the steep hill.

"Mom! Mom! Stonewhatever! The fridge tower!"

9 saw it first. Stonefridge stood alone, stood cranky, uneven. I pulled off the road and my car cycled silent. I grabbed camera, notebook, keys. We stepped outside, into twenty degrees farenheit, into crusty snow covering the good red clay that defines New Mexico. The formation looked unfinished. Half the 100-foot diameter circle eyed the landscape, eyed the distant hill protecting Los Alamos; proud, defiant, its watchful columns reaching eighteen-feet above the mesa. The rest lay shattered, pushed back to earth.

9 shivered, the hood of his ski jacket tightly pulled past his forehead. We were alone. A few old bootprints led the way, but the thin layer of ice covering them told me it was weeks since anyone else visited. My long coat cracked around my legs in the unrelenting wind.

9 approaches the fallen circle.

I stopped to snap a photograph of the vandalized portion. Fridges littered the ground as if some perverted god cast a mana fury of coil and cupboard, every appliance, here in winter's silence, as chilled and ready as the cool gleaming state-of-the art models gracing every Santa Fe yuppie home. A lone pigeon escaped an open cabinet, westing, house filled with bird pitch and a thousand cigarette butts. 9 turned to me with a grimace.

This wasn't the spiritual treat I promised. I snapped another photo, this time of 9 peering between the legs of a tower, his hands stuffed in his pockets for warmth. What is this strange place? We build these places, capture picture, give story, tell the world we pull energy from the earth. It all lasts a moment, a month, perhaps, a year. Then we fall, we forget, we set jackal upon our work. Is our vision that fragile? I could smell a faint whisper of pot, as if some stoned ghost general, electric cord in hand, watched us with suspicion.

"Mom?"

9 ran between the fridges, ran past me, until he reached the curve of solid henge, the "good" part of Stonefridge still steady and true. His shadow played with the unhinged doors half-covered in winter mud. I pictured my own refrigerator, the way it rules my kitchen, aids us with yummy treats, its double doors, the magnets supporting my son's art so much like the constant graffiti etched and spray painted on every visible surface here.

The sun plays with the curve of Stonefridge.

"Mom? Is the real Stonehenge like this? Is it tipped over? Is it in the middle of nowhere?"

I laughed, realized he knew a secret message I couldn't see myself.

"Yeah, it's just like this. Only made of stones. If the stones weren't so heavy, I bet more of it would be missing or tumbled over just like this. I wish people wouldn't mess up art, though, don't you?"

9 took his hands from his pockets for the first time. He threw them in the air, twirled like a figure skater, a silly grin across his face.

"Mom! It's our nature! It's the same as Legos. We just like to make stuff and then we just like to take it apart. Remember when you told me nothing lasts forever?"

The wind shifted. Thirty-six days past solstice. I nodded. 9 leaned against an avocado wonder. Almost a month into the new year and I've touched secrets. I sat on a horizontal fridge, traced gang graffiti with one finger. A hawk circled overhead, traced the formation with the dip and spread of his wings. We didn't move for a long time.

You can see all my Stonefridge photos here.

Comments

[Stever]

I like the name Fridgehenge better... what an awesome adventure. Art is a good benchmark of spirituality... something said about vandals. (Something sad about them too...)

Oh, and Legos ROCK!

Thanks Birdie...

[John]

Well done, Birdie. 9 is wiser than his years.

[Didi Menendez]

Your son is like a boy genius -- he is.

Didi

[Hirshfeld]

a trip to the mountain is all she needed
to get her
together...

[Ed Nudelman]

Birdie, this is truly wonderful. Horowitz's wry representation of a modern-day stargazer is incompareable. And you have taught your son the wisdom of the frigidaire. I love the thin blanket of snow; very apropos.

[julian]

"we may tag'..."westing... house..."
'a mana fury'.... it would seem that the Great Punderbird spread his wings over this place as well as the Hawk Brother.
A joyous article, a wonderful adventure, written with your trademark style. Thanks so much for having us along. Enjoyed this thoroughly!!!

[Greg]

Birdie -

Excellent subject matter. I never knew this place existed. Makes me want to build a stairway to the heavens out of microwaves.

Welcome to TNB.

[Birdie]

Stever, I think you're right, it should be called Fridgehenge. Maybe the loincloths got to Horowitz, or perhaps the glare from the New Mexican sun off the ice cube trays got him a bit confused. It's such a cool place to visit, especially in the snow.

John and Didi, my little mister 9 teaches me way more than I teach him. Kids see the world unfiltered, without expectation.

Heh heh, Hirshfeld and Julian figured out my secret message. There are 8 brands represented in the story for those looking.

Ed, thanks! The place is a marvel, even in decomposition. I love that this crazy country is full of these monuments.

Greg, thank you! I'm thrilled to be a contributor to TNB. Your microwave idea has merit. Stair"wave" to heaven!

[Carroll]

"the Ken - more"...

"ghost general, electric"

Heh -- oh yeah, this one's classic Birdie all the way through :)

What an excellent site you Breakdown folks have here! It's bookmarked now, and will clearly provide some great "spare time" reading material. A perfect place for our Bird to have landed :)

[Birdie]

Carroll, writing this thing was almost as much fun as visiting Stonefridge!

I tried to work Jenn-Air into the mix but it would have required a fictional character who played air guitar.

[Carroll]

And I suppose you *could* have noticed a HOT POINT of light emanating from one of the presumably unplugged building blocks (or an alien space ship?) while you were there ;)

[Louise]

I guess you could have exclaimed about "de frost" on the ground when you alighted from your car too!

[Becky]

Stay away from college instructors at all costs.

You're obviously doing quite well without them.

Don't envy me, Birdie. Pity me...weep for me...

Lovely perspective here.

To think such a thing even exists. Oof.

[Becky]

To think Fridgehenge...Or Stonefridge...or whatever exists, that is.

[Birdie]

Carroll and Louise, you are cracking me up! I did say my car "cycled off" when I parked. Ha ha! I tried to fit ice trays in the story, too, but alas, much too quirky.

Becky, thanks, but oh, I still envy you! Some day, I keep telling myself, I will make it to college and take up some esoteric educational path. This country is filled with trash art surprise, I can't get enough of it!

[rick]

Birdie,

9 is a sage rascal and a natural artist. I know and love the cooked spaceship effect.

As I continue to rewrite history, I will certainly move the Nixon/Khrushchev kitchen incident to Stonefridge, which now has someting to be hyperlinked to.

Extract a poem, or show us the one you have pulled already from this poetic prose.

Glad to see this particular story.

[Rebecca Adler]

Wow, I want to go there now. I'd never heard of this place before but it sounds and looks really interesting.

I like 9's view of things, but at the same time it worries me. I can't really explain why.

[Rich Ferguson]

Birdie:

Very nice work. Welcome to TNB.

[Mike]

Impressive!

Both the writing, the experience and the art.

[Jennifer White]

Birdie,
Thoroughly enjoyed your electric writing! Glad you're here.

[Birdie]

Rick, I am putting pen to paper and composing a Stonefridge poem, haven't started yet, but probably will tackle it tonight. If the boys allow. 9 and 12 are both down with the flu, and holy hades what a flu. I blame Stonefridge.

Rebecca, yeah, 9 is an unusual human, as I suppose we all are in our ways. And this is one of his more tame episodes! He is a comic book artist, he loves animals of all kinds - snakes, mice, pigs, parrots. If you ever get the chance to visit Stonefridge, you should. It is a bit of a mind-altering experience without the desert peyote.

Rich, thank you! I am so glad to be here! Glad you enjoyed the ride.

Mike, gracias. I had so much fun writing this piece.

[Birdie]

Jennifer, thank you! You snuck in there when I was writing that last comment! I'm excited to be a part of TNB. I can't wait to tell my next story!

[1159]

Birdie,

Well you have a cool name, a GED and you are obviously a better, more accomplished writer that the rest of us so although we all say welcome we secretly would hate you if you hadnt popped in with such a quirky fun story.
I'm kidding, who could despise a Birdie?

[kip]

birdie,

this entire post felt like an intuition, unaware of itself.

i wasn't ready for it; it hit me like that moment just before you realize you are realling falling in a dream.

i need to read it again.

i love how you your son's name is 9--a truly america journalistic convention, and "my legs felt January, felt cold and alone".

and many other images.

welcome to TNB and thank you for announcing your presence with such vociferous panáche.

[kip]

dammit how i hate that i can't self-edit this late at night/in the morning.

"...you are really falling in a dream..." is what i meant to write, but you probably caught that.

[Birdie]

1159, my name is old-fashioned cool, but you - YOU have a number! How cool is that?! Because I call my boys 9 and 12 when I write about them, they sometimes call me 41. It's a fair exchange. So I have a number and a feathered totem, the name of my great-grandmother.

The beauty about New Mexico is that every town, village, intersection of two roads has a story, an echo of some fool's careful dream. I can't decide which story to tell next, but I promise it will be strange and uneven.

Kip, thank you for the kind welcome. I'm glad you let the story walk through you. : )

[DQ]

....You are one COOL Mom

[Birdie]

DQ, there are days when my boys would agree. There are days when my boys would not agree. But secretly? I think that ALL THE TIME! ha ha ha ha ha!

[Kaytie M. Lee]

There's a mock stonehenge in Washington State, too, overlooking the Columbia River. It's made of cement though, not nearly as strange or compelling. Still, it made for a fun destination.

[Birdie]

Kaytie, I'm going to put that cementhenge on my list of Must See Americana. Do you know if it is aligned with the stars? Or in Washington State, maybe it's the coffee?

[Jim Knowles]

That was great Birdie!
Especially liked the bee analogy early on.
Lots of treats along the way. The journey through the thoughts was best, of course.
Someday I'll do my sculpture.
not quite that big though. I have ideas...

[Birdie]

Thanks, Jim! Wow, I can't imagine what kind of sculpture you would do... hmmmmmm, the mind reels.

[Lori Leidig]

This was just excellent, Birdie!