Out Past the Last Bar of Signal
Most folks who want land of their own never get past the math. Anything with real elbow room near a city costs a fortune, and the cheap stuff comes with an HOA that wants a vote on your shed color. This is the other kind of place: high desert north of Sierra Blanca, where the phone gives up somewhere on the drive in and nobody is waiting on the other end to approve your plans.
Park the camp trailer on flat ground at 4,816 feet, string up the solar, and spend the first season working out where the house goes (the view is the same in every direction, so it's hard to get wrong). Run the ATV along the property line, glass the creosote flats for mule deer at dusk, and find out what a night sky looks like with no town under it. When you're ready to build, the county won't ask when.
You're about twenty miles north of Sierra Blanca, the county seat, and El Paso is under two hours west for the big supply runs. The Handbook of Texas tells it that Sierra Blanca once split the clock, half the town on Mountain Time and half on Central, and that one tavern supposedly got shut down for a week for opening on Central and closing on Mountain.
The trade is the road. It's a 4x4 drive in on old ranch easements that have seen better years, which is also why you won't be fielding drop-in company (or much of any company, for that matter).
Plenty of people wait their whole lives for somebody to tell them yes. Out here, there's nobody to ask.