Editor’s Page – April 2026

Edge Places

Walking in the early morning when the birds are still in charge of the docks and the shadows remain soft; it is easy to connect with myself and with the landscape. Distractions abound lakeside, even in the dusty month of April. From extravagant Easter festivities to the celebration of Dia del Niño at the end of the month and all the tequila and beer fueled events between, there is no lack of conspicuous commotion. There is also, however, the gentle draw of the hillsides dreaming of rain and the open horizons of the lake.

A recent trip to Key West generated that same sense of peace, once I removed myself from the tourist areas that is. This got me thinking about edge places. Places that move a little slower, places where the spirit of the land seems to assert itself, or maybe assert is too forceful, more like welcomes or embraces you. Lawrence Durrell believed place has a personality that folds itself into the people who live upon it. Maybe this is why places like Key West and Chapala attract artists and seekers. Or are they created because these places spark something inside of us?

Tennessee Williams famously said, “For me a convenient place to work is a remote place among strangers where there is good swimming.” He found that combination in Chapala, where he drafted A Streetcar Named Desire and penned many letters during a brief but productive stay. Key West later became his long-term refuge, a place he returned to for decades of work. While water links these places on the surface, it doesn’t fully explain their pull. Both Chapala and Key West share a harder-to-name quality, a tangible spirit that outsiders feel when they stop to watch the sunset or enjoy a café de olla.

Environmental psychology offers a ready, but not complete, explanation. Chapala and Key West share the strong natural rhythms and wide-open vistas associated with large bodies of water. A walk on either shoreline reduces cognitive noise and allows our minds to relax out of constant meaning-making into simple appreciation. It is from this near-meditative state that creativity can surface. Once expressed, this creativity creates a feedback loop that inspires further creativity. But how does the whisper of the landscape penetrate our busy lives?

We live in a noisy world. I’m not just talking about cohetes and those tuba-bumping late-night parties, but also the constant demands of modern life. Media, social media, traffic, news alerts, opinions, friends and family all compete for our attention. We are constantly being asked to perform. This place, this lake, these hills offer an avenue of calm that allows us to remember a deeper version of ourselves. This is the gift of this place and places like it. In the quiet times, between festivals, between obligations, between one season of life and the next, the land offers a kind of permission. Permission to take it easy, to listen, to feel less divided. In return, we only need to offer our gratitude. Gratitude for the lake and the hills, for the people who have cared for this land across generations, and for the quiet way this place allows us to find peace.