When Spain claimed much of the Americas as its possession, San Antonio del Rio Colorado was the northernmost settlement in the Americas, and it remained so when Mexico achieved independence. The town which lies 25 miles north of Taos was later called Cuesta, Spanish for "cliff" or "large hill." Today it is known as Questa. It is in a beautiful area, surrounded by the Carson National Forest and the nearby Red River. There's no real center to the town, but once you turn off the main highway, it's impossible to miss the brightly colored storefront for Artesanos de Questa Cultural Center. The gallery manager is Aron Real who works with his sister, the director. Real is from Questa but he left for his education, life in Los Angeles, and he returned home with a Masters degree and helped run a dude ranch with his wife.

The Artesanos de Questa Cultural Center is just that: a center for activity. There is a welfare to work program that makes use of ICT, and the MIRA computer system is housed in the rear of the gallery. There people can make use of the graphics programs for flyers and announcements, many of which are pasted up on the window as you enter. There were readings by a local novelist, a found art workshop (Real explained that kids would pick up trash and then make "art" which would be on display for a short time), and other local events, most of which are planned by Real for the benefit of the local community. Taos attracts big name speakers and artists, but Questa cannot afford them, so Real emphasizes the local talent, a sort of on-going local community mapping and sharing program.

As we talked tourists would come in for advice or to look around and buy some inexpensive item. Real went out of his way to tell visitors about the interesting places to visit, even little known hot springs within a few miles of town, "The map says they are arsenic hot springs, but that was the guy who lived near them and wanted others to stay away, so he gave them that name. They are not poisonous at all."

Real took me for a drive around town. First to the church whose mud and straw walls must be resurfaced often because of rain damage. During one repair session the back wall collapsed in a pile of mud and almost buried a volunteer worker. When the priest came to help, a large adobe brick fell at his feet and on it was the tiny footprint of a Questa child who had trod on the wet brick when it was made in the 19th century. As I left, a funeral was taking place at the church, and Real seemed to know many of those attending.