By Shayla Blatchford Even though the props and events of Fiesta have packed up their bags and gone, the spirit of Fiesta never departs. Over the past few years, I’ve been able to observe the various ways in which locals celebrate and interpret the cultural holiday. For some, it’s about family and culture, a deeply rooted appreciation for their town and history. Others may find Fiesta as a time to simply celebrate life and share it with friends over seasoned corn in a cup along with some agua fresca. Either way, during this week of festivities, it seems as though the whole town comes together as family. With the highlight of the week being Zozobra, friends and families trickle down and around Fort Marcy Park to watch a 40-foot effigy of Old Man Gloom go up in flames. The giant paper mâché puppet represents the troubles and gloom of the past year and once it goes up in flames, so does your gloom! In some aspects, it is very much a communal and religious ceremony. Everyone admits to experiencing some gloom by simply attending the burn. I even heard a young woman comparing Zozobra to Santa Claus as a child. Until this day, she still believes that “Zozo” will take away her gloom each year and she can move on and start over. Some people choose to officially attend Zozobra by buying a ticket that allows you an up-close experience. From an aerial view, you can see that the entire Fort Marcy baseball field is packed with families, 20-somethings, and food vendors of all sorts. For those who prefer not to pay the $10 entrance fee, Fiesta parties can be found at every house lining the road that leads you to Zozobra. This year, I...

When I arrived at Fort Marcy Park, I had no idea what to expect. The air was filled with the scent of fair food: funnel cakes, turkey legs and various other carts spewing out New Mexican favorites. The mood was reserved, and there were still a number of hours before the actual ritual was set to begin and the crowd was not quite filled out. I was unimpressed. There was little difference between this and something like a county fair—except a fair would have booths and rides to entertain. Was this the Zozobra everyone was talking about? This was my first burn and I wasn’t feeling it. After my arrival I drifted over to the official “Gloom Box,” the place for people to write down their worries, stuff them in a box, then have them put into a giant puppet. I scrawled my most dominant worry (I didn’t want to spread the magic over several worries) onto a small slip of paper, folded it, then tucked it into the gloom box. A sticker of triumph was passed my way—the word “gloom” in black letters, crossed out with a red line and circle. I kept an eye and ear turned towards the gloom box. There was something about it. Orderly queues formed. People posed for photos after filling the box with their lamentations. Parents instructed their children on the procedure, letting the kids write out their own worries, then hoisted them so they could push the paper into the box themselves. My initial reaction to the ritual was that people were using Zozobra as a scapegoat. That they were pushing off responsibilities onto this victim, but it was more than that. They drank in the ritual some had participated in for generations, conjuring up what...