By Irene Butler For miles the parched raw sienna sand dappled with dark green juniper and pale olive sage stretched in all four directions; further off the chameleon mesas rose in grandeur turning from browns to russets with the slightest change of light; mountains in the distance began in charcoals, ending in layers of misty cobalt reaching high into a true blue sky resplendent with startling white clouds; standing in the middle of a back-road time stood still, squinting against a halogen sun, heady fragrances drifted on the silent breeze. Why New Mexico is known as “The Land of...