Southeastern Arizona heat

Leaving . . . or not . . .

We have escaped the home place and all its attendant duties. Beyond hectic getting ourselves shoveled out as we attempted to finalize every livin’ last item we had agreed to and to ensure that the Totee was fully stocked with every livin’ last item we might wish to have in the next ten days. Turns out on the first morning that we have a list of forgotten things that will be remedied by a kamikaze run to Walmart at some point.

No matter: the important thing is we got here, here being Roper Lake near Safford in southeastern Arizona. We began this journey in fits and starts. We have just completed our third cd of Chris’ music - this one Celtic in nature and had been promised delivery of the final product on Wednesday just in time for a Thursday departure. After the agonies of its birth, we were anxious to view the baby; however, the midwife was late and it was not pooked out until Thursday.

I dragged my feet to a fare-thee-well on leave-taking morning as labor pains intensified, but still no CD. Finally, my excuses ran out and we loaded up ourselves and Rowdy and headed down the road. In the hubbub of departure, I somehow forgot about the four cups of coffee consumed and so a stop at our very own local convenience store was necessary. I typically wait until a couple of towns down the road at least. Then: Eureka! There’s the Fedex man! Wow, this is perfect - it has been conspired that we get the CD before leaving, after all, but no, he is not the midwife.

I give up (well, not really - those words don’t seem to be in my vocabulary), and we set off once again. Until, that is, I spy the UPS man exiting a business on the opposite side of the highway. “Stop!” I holler, sending Chris into a bit of a snit. My mood veers toward incensed: I mean doesn’t he want to get the CD as much as I before we are gone for ten days?! There is the small matter of pulling a travel trailer and being on a busy four-lane highway that seems to deter him from slamming on the brakes and whipping a U-turn to chase down the big brown truck that is speeding away with our offspring.

At last convinced, he finds a place to turn our rig around and we proceed whence we came, right through the middle of town trying to locate the kidnapper. What if, I think, he was actually headed to our house to drop off the prize? So . . . we swing by there, give the housesitter a call from out in front, but no luck. A half-hour after we began, we begin again, both relieved (of coffee) and resigned (to no CD).

A call later in the day from the housesitter informs us that our child awaits and has been stashed in the closet awaiting our return. As new parents are wont to proclaim: we’re just glad it’s healthy, and besides, it’s something exciting to look forward to when we get home.

The drive was relatively uneventful except for that one large pickup red-light runner right at our corner, an incident that precipitated some serious talking-to in our cab, I assure you. Chris was swinging a bit wide into the left lane to make our right turn on a very yellow light when I saw said getting-huger-by-the-minute guy flooring it to get through the intersection and yelled to beat the band. In his usual way, Chris was responding in a let-me-explain-everything-away mode instead of heeding my screeching. When all was said and done, the driver skated by us in a blur, leaving Chris and me with something to “discuss” for several miles.

Sights along the road . . .

Our route along U.S. highways 60, 70 and then 191 affords an incredible variety of scenery and interest. As we pass Boyce Thompson Arboretum, I remember that my cousin Jim Pipkin plays music there and loves the place, as do I - just wish it wasn’t quite so far away from us. I determine to make it a destination in the near future. The most memorable time we visited there, my in-laws were with us. That was the pleasant part. The part where I make a fool of myself in their presence was yet to commence. That came about when I buried my schnozz into a rose to savor its aroma and encountered a bee that protested my presence at his meal.

Coming through the mineralized mountains is a beautiful drive surrounded by various-golden-hued rocky cliffs. As we traverse these lower elevations, we see that the palm trees are all dead, evidently not surviving this past winter. We lost plantings at home, too, when the temperatures dropped into subzero levels.

We always enjoy being on the San Carlos Apache Reservation - much history in this area.

Just south of there, is Fort Bowie. Several times we have hiked into that stockade and been wowed by how immersed in days past it feels. It’s a wonderful hike with interpretative plaques along the way. The signs include historic photos taken at that exact spot which enhances whatever the imagination comes up with.

Amazingly, we find a historical marker not-previously-perused, so stop we must. This one in in the tiny burg of Fort Thomas, site of yet another Indian Wars-era stockade. The marker, however, is not about that at all. It marks Fort Thomas as the 1879 birth of --- Jones, the founder of the now-international Lions Club. Who wouldda thought? While stopping there, we were greeted by a local Lions member who invited us to join up on the spot. He was hosting some of the club’s big wigs from Chicago. Very friendly folks - after a short “Where are you from?” and “My, hasn’t it grown there!” we again set off.

We’ve been trespassed . . .

About six hours after our departure (the second one), we pulled into Roper Lake State Park, did the self-pay thing because the ranger had departed for the evening and discovered a trailer sans truck parked in our reserved space despite the obvious reservation maker out front. We cast around here, there and the next place hunting for a ranger, to no avail, and still no one home at the offending domicile. This has never happened to us before; we are road-weary and anxious to set up and relax but it is not to be. We find a non-reservable space in which to cool our jets and determine to wait it out. I write a polite note to tape onto the interloper's door and we go for a walk. Darkness has set in and the stroll is pleasant, especially when we meander by the park’s hot spring pool, find two friendly folks there who invite us to join them.

That sounds like just the ticket so we head back to our trailer to deposit Rowdy (he has been carried along on the walk and is quite enjoying being out and about for occasional rolls in the dirt) and change into swim suits for our dip. As plans sometimes do, this one went awry; a truck has appeared at “our” space, so that needs to be dealt with. I begin unsetting the Totee while Chris informs the trespasser that he is trespassing. He is less than ecstatic to hear from us, it being yet another bump in his already bumpy road. Briefly: his wife kicked him out of the house, he spent the night in jail and had just settled into (he thought) a place of respite. Chris kindly helped him to relocate and then we moved and reset ourselves in the dark.

There is no wifi service here, if I decided to transfer my journal to the blog, I will have to do it later at home or retire my computer to a more civilized place.

Our birds so far consist of those pretty much expected: House sparrow, raven, turkey vulture, red-winged blackbird, Gambel’s quail, mourning dove, mallard, American coot, white-crowned sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler and northern harrier, not much that we wouldn’t see at home. We put out our feeders and the quail immediately took advantage of the scattered seed.

After our cold winter, I was anxious to get warm and warm we shall be. The thermometer that we had for the trailer window has long since been smashed to smithereens when we forgot to remove it before driving off somewhere or another, but I am sure we will be seeing low 90s today amid full sunshine. Sounds like a swimming day if I ever heard of one.

Lazy days . . .

Our first full day here and one big disappointment: we had anticipated getting together with my brother and sister-in-law who were wintering in their RV in Benson, but when we called them first thing this morning, they had just headed out for Oregon. I guess their schedule was already set and we couldn’t get away any sooner than we did.

How nice it would have been to have them over to our “house” and to join us for our afternoon lake swim. In this heat, there was nothing for it but to take a dip, so dip we did and it was just next to sublime. The water was cold enough to refresh, but warm enough to allow a person to stay in without turning into a numb lump of gooseflesh. The swim was followed by one of my favorite things: lying sleepily on the beach, eyes closed, basking in the sun, half hearing people talking, splashing, laughing. In this case, the background noise contained an undertone of a distant cacophony of red-wing blackbirds. Interesting how sounds near water are different than those on dry-land.

The view of majestic Mount Graham rising above us while we floated on the water added to the visual beauty. Even with the heat on the valley floor, there is substantial snow pack about one-third of the way down the mountain’s canyons.

We’ve met some very nice folks already. First was Bob, who sold us our fishing licenses at Walmart. Coincidentally, he used to live in Peeples Valley by us and knows our friends, the Hays family there. He also lived in Silver City, New Mexico, but now Safford after losing his wife of 58 years. He said he graduated from Tucson High School three years after I was born.

Off on a little jaunt to see the town of Artesia near here, we spotted an elderly (more than us) man with a broke-down car, so we turned around to offer assistance. About the best we were able to do was to offer him pliers and help him to stare at his useless engine. I didn’t want to leave him out there alone in the heat so we waited until his wife, Ruth, arrived. Oddly enough, Frank had been on his way to rescue his son who was stranded near Willcox.

When I asked about the evident wide-spread winter kill in this area, Frank said it got down to six degrees last winter. The damage is sadly extensive: we see everywhere dead oleanders, palms, eucalyptus and much more.

Later, we made the acquaintance of our neighbors, Bob and Andy and their cute little dog, Abby. They are in an A-liner pop-up far from their home in Boone, North Carolina. They are lovers of the West, intending to move this direction just after her imminent last semester of teaching freshman English at Appalachian State University.

They have been camping and volunteering at Chiricahua National Monument, not too distant from here, for three winters. Andy asked what seasons we have been in North Carolina, but then said it didn’t matter - no matter when we had been there, she said, it would have been cloudy, emphasizing how much she enjoys the “guaranteed” sun in Arizona.

I think tonight I would like a second soak in the park’s natural stone hot tub under the stars. It was the perfect ending to yesterday to relax in that lovely warm mineral water. We were visiting with three girls, students at Eastern Arizona Community College, but found the conversation a bit taxing when three high school boys joined us. It reminded me to never come back as a high school boy.

I expect we will not be doing as much of our typical exploring this trip, just finding it relaxing to have a change of scenery.