Back in early 1600s, Crypto Jews ran away from the long arm of the Spanish Inquisition that had found them yet again in Mexico City. They fled into these verdant folds, perfecting the arts of weaving and secrecy. Arroyo Seco got the reputation of being clannish. Then came lots more folks on their way to the Taos Ski Valley who wanted to hurl themselves down the devilish, people-eating steeps in a state of perfect powder. They whizzed right on by because Seco had become downright derelict, a study of tumbling adobe walls, abandoned buildings, and three-legged dogs.

Except for a handful of sturdy Norteños who'd lived down the winding dirt roads for untold decades, the town wasn't a pretty sight. When the Twining Weavers, a cooperative shop that sold village work created from techniques handed down for centuries, moved out, the town caved in on itself. By the 1980s you could have bought the whole place for 50K.

When the mid 1990s inched towards 2K, things began to change. Potters, artists, architects, bakers and restaurateurs, desperate to be gone from the scream of their urban lives, began to bail for simplicity. Others, who'd been born in and around the little village, got educated, returned to the deep-rooted traditions they loved and began crank open the village's windows.

Arroyo Seco stood slowly, at first, brushed itself off and took a long breath. New life filled its heart. Artists like Claire Haye of Claireworks arrived with her joyful paintings, jeweler's talent, and gardening passion, helping to reinvent fallow sections into brick walkways bursting with bloom. The high alpine meadow wildflowers melded and thrived with the transplanted hot house varieties, just like the village. Weavers and potters like J Bradford, moved into former hay lofts, threw open shutters, pedaled wheels, spun wool, and like Rumpelstiltskin, turned clay to fired beauty. Taos Sunflower today delights knitters from all over the world. Arroyo Seco Mercantile painted murals on its outside walls, and opened a creaky wood-floored old time emporium full of uncommonly beautiful Indian jewelry, Irish music CDs and vintage milk pails, and more.

Other artists hand carved shop signs, and welded unique metal sculptures. The Gypsy 360 opened, offering Asian fusion, and just plain succulent American burgers, which can be enjoyed on an open patio. Taos Cow began making ice cream, added chi teas and sweets.

Today old jumbles of mud rise a stark rich brown contrast against the wild New Mexico blue yonder, ready to take on interesting retailers. Abe's Cantina, dubbed Seco Central by locals, started a Cocina, run by his daughter, Olympia, and when the grandkids aren't in school, they work the counter. It's the local hangout where Olympia is doing a hefty take-out business these days, serving enchiladas, regular burritos or the local favorite, the Chicharron Burritos - that's little curly pieces of fried pork skins. Don't pass up the luscious pumpkin empanadas, indigenous gossip and Abe, who at 83, is still working behind the hand made pine bar he inherited in 1944 from his father.

The residents are proud that today, Arroyo Seco, population maybe 25 and with surrounds may reach a bit over a thousand, is a thriving, quaint village that recently celebrated it's 200th anniversary. "There's all kinds of people here now," says Linda Martinez a lifetime resident. She's raised her kids in a now remodeled adobe she rents. "But, it's the people - good people. The old, the young and the new. Nowadays, nobody cares who's who. We're changing. And, nothing is vacant."

Just about any time of year, one can sit on the rock walls, licking a T-cow, and listen to the sounds of revival, watch plasterers smoothing sides of resurrected ancient adobes and hear the La Santisima Trinidad's bell. Great thunder heads heap themselves into inky wool, painting a stunning contrast into the vast blue. Traffic whizzes by; many stop to linger. They sit a spell at the plastic tables beside the little creek, where great old river willows frame the verdent meadow. Or, maybe they have some beers and pass the time with Abe. Some days you'll run into Francis Randon on his way home to lunch holding two brown, speckled trout he's just caught out of the river. Arroyo Seco, New Mexico, the little town that did - the little place that lives behind time.