Once a gleaming adobe plastered white with tin roof shining in the desert light. It was visible for miles across the valley. In this place such a home was the unmistakable sign of prosperity. Generations of fortunate families lived within the walls on a foundation of stone. They were owners of things.
Across the valley were jacals of more humble families. People as tough as the world they lived in raising generations on faith and hope for the future. They left a mark on the land as deep and enduring as anyone who lived hard against the Rio Bravo. Perhaps they worked for those living in the white house.
Time marks everything as adobe slowly melts back into earth. But even abandoned and neglected the white house maintains dignity in ruin. A hundred years has not been able to erase this home.