We be traveling, or not

April 10, 2013

Two days to work in Midland, one 13-hour day on the road, two days to work in Prescott, another 13-hour day on the road, one day in a stupor - a schedule designed for exhaustion and it was effective for that.

The self-imposed schedule left us feeling as if we were coming unraveled like a ball of yarn bouncing crazily down a steep stairway.

It all began innocuously enough: long time past, Chris signed up to lead/teach field trips for Yavapai College’s continuing education department; all those commitments came to pass in April, each and every week.

This is about how I felt after driving repeatedly between Midland & Prescott.

We had anticipated sleeping in our own bed on these Texas/Arizona forays.  Obviously, that plan was waylaid by the sale of the house that housed the bed, so we were hosted by friends who, hopefully, remain friends at the end of five several-night drop-ins.

While we dealt with the situation alright for the first three trips (including the week-long stay to pack our household for storage), stuporous fatigue began to set in,  and I declared a moratorium, prompting us to seek an alternative, such as Chris flying thither and hither.  A quick check of airline fares from Midland to Prescott or even to Phoenix revealed ticket prices between $600 and $700, as if we were purchasing the airline rather than just utilizing it a few times.

Finally spurred by that mother called necessity, innovative Chris conjured prices a bit less prohibitive by purchasing ten days in advance and flying from El Paso, so each week required a four-hour drive to El Paso, a flight to Phoenix and a shuttle to Prescott, work for two days and reverse the process to work two days in Midland, unwieldy but doable in the short term.

The first trip back to Arizona after our Chino Valley home was no longer our Chino Valley home included an ironic event.  After spending two days in the Texas hills dodging deer at every juncture left us unscathed, a jaunt down Lee Boulevard in Prescott netted one deer.  The animal survived somehow and walked away after jumping into the road directly in front of Chris driving at 25 mph; however, the small dent in the bumper required an entire replacement so that was my order of business.

I love the granite-bouldered hills throughout Prescott.

That short visit was productive and fun; I walked for two hours along a Miller Creek neighborhood while the bumper was being replaced.  As so often happens in my long-time stomping grounds, I encountered a friend as she drove past me - startled the heck out of her.  I’m still laughing at the look on her face - in her mind, I am in Texas whence I spoke to her on the phone two days previous, but there I am strolling along the street.

A Verde treat, visiting along the way . . .

Much to my joy, I was able to join in one of the hikes Chris led - a field trip to the Duff Springs area of the Verde River.  I have sorely missed my winter hikes into the Verde’s canyon; this was a great opportunity to stretch my Mid-atrophied-land legs and revel in central Arizona's rugged landscape, although I confess to some huffing and puffing that had nothing to do with little pig’s houses.

The return to Texas included a short but enjoyable stop to visit with my brother and sister-in-law in southern Arizona; we were sent on our way with a scrumptious homemade chocolate cake dessert-to-go.

Sad settles for a spell . . .

A funk landed on my heart just about the last time we departed Prescott in the dawn hours; somehow it felt oppressively sad to me, a mood that lasted all the way down the mountain as I watched the Bradshaws reel out behind me.  Perhaps the immersion in familiarity made the departure more traumatic.  At any rate, it felt pretty overwhelming.

The reality of returning to live in our tiny uncomfortable trailer in Mid-frenetic-land, coupled with the finality of our home’s sale, weighted me down with a vengeance.  Depression came to visit but is not being welcomed to stay.  I am thinking this foray into West Texas stretching out longer than I had anticipated contributed to my malaise.

I am missing friends and fam, but mostly lacking the oomph even to answer the so-welcome notes and emails, hopefully, I will be forgiven.  It has been difficult to muster the energy to write or to do much of anything.

Back at the keyboard, life granted ought to be lived . . .

A hiatus to pull myself together was in order, a process that is not necessarily complete but at least underway.  Thinking about my mother yesterday and realizing that I have now been granted 19 years more of this life than she had, spurred me to strive more for full-out living in place of the temporary mode I have embraced since coming to Midland.

I have begun working for genealogy clients again, which is a great enjoyment, and just putting one foot in front of the other, remembering that my mother was not given this gift.  I shall not reject it.

The back-in-Yavapai commitments now completed, we are in Mid-settled-land until we decide not to be; our certainty for now is that we will remake our nest in Prescott.

Ma Nature gone psycho . . .

On a recent day, the thermometer on my window registered 96 degrees followed by a night-time temperature of 38 degrees.  In between the two extremes was what I call a Mid-brown-land day: dust-whipped wind wailed from one direction, delivering soil from one end of town to the other and then it turned around and gave it back.  Thank goodness I washed the car yesterday. . .

The same storm that brought us dirt in Midland deposited some very pretty snow caps on various mountain peaks we’ve passed in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona - a bit of much-needed moisture.

Because our freneticity has precluded my walking in the I-20 preserve much of late, I squinted my eyes nearly closed and set out to breathe in as much Midland soil as possible while making a circuit of the erst-while wetlands.

Alas, a lack of rain has allowed most of the ponds to wither to nothingness.  One small pool supported a mallard pair while the formerly large pond has become an impressive mud flat with just enough water in one corner to attract a few waterfowl.

A majestic Swainson’s hawk perched on a low limb for my perusal, probably afraid to take wing lest he be blown to Nebraska.  In addition to him, I added two birds to the trip list - black-chinned hummingbird (at my feeder) and scaled quail (everywhere I looked).  The quail were very fun; we had only gotten them once previously, at Rodeo, New Mexico.

Mid-reaching-land . . .

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the tall city aspires to move ever more skyward by demolishing its old courthouse and replacing it with a 53-story professional building.  This venture seems to have little popularity among the common folk.  The plan indicates to me that some are surmising this particular boom cycle will be of significant duration. 

Techies . . .

Acknowledging that we are light-years behind technologically, I am pretty pleased with our latest acquisition - a subvertor or convertor or discombobulatovertor or invertor  or whatever-vertor it’s called, it allows me to actually use the mifi we added to our box of tricks recently and the computer for the whole trip rather than just as long as the battery juice lasts.

What a rush!  I was actually able to spend money whilst we were zipping right along on the Interstate highway - this thing has real possibilities!  It was an email from the New England Historical and Genealogical Society that led me astray financially.  They offered a book I could not resist.  Oh, the marvels of modern plastic!

Whiskerless! . . .






















As if being far from my comfortable familiar surroundings was not enough, my husband whom I had never beheld in a whiskerless state has been made to shave due to oil field safety regulations.  A recent fatal lift rig accident has put oil companies on high alert: workers on their property must be clean-shaven to accommodate gas and oxygen masks in case of gas leaks.

While I have heard it declared that variety is the spice of life and while I have always secretly wanted to see what my husband looked like beneath all that hair, the shock is a bit much for me.  I can’t stop staring at this stranger who has the temerity to invade my space.  The truth of who was hiding behind the whiskers is:  his father, not surprising but a shock nevertheless.

The Preserve . . .

Wetland no longer

I am back to walking in the preserve and enjoying it.  The large pond has revealed its shallowness now that it is bereft of any trace of water; needless to say the waterfowl population has decreased dramatically.  Spring greening has altered the appearance of the area drastically and is accompanied by birds not present over the winter.

A small pond remains at the north end, one that is fed by a spring’s feeble flow, and it is home to some birds we had not previously seen here, including a life bird for us: solitary sandpiper.  We have also watched a greater yellowlegs, which we had only gotten before at North Carolina's Hatteras Island on the Outer Banks (a stupendous place, I might add, one that I intend to visit again).

Other birds added to the trip list (note I am still calling it a trip, not a home):  western kingbird (they raucously chatter all over the campground even after dark, being party birds evidently), ash-throated flycatcher, Bullock’s oriole, brown-headed cowbird and Eurasion collared dove.  I had thought collared doves were everywhere but we only recently spotted one here.  My guess is that it was a lone scout come to determine if the region could support any additional obnoxious species than grackles and white-winged doves.

Upon our return to Mid-campground-land, I was mystified by a mysterious white substance applied along the perimeter fences.  When I was informed it is a rattlesnake repellent, I remembered the stories about the Rattlesnake Bomber Base near here and determined that I will no longer tramp through the thick grassy and brushy off-trail areas of the preserve, a resolve that I almost immediately reversed when there was something I just had to get a closer look at.

At least I did find out that many rattlesnake bites that are fatal are because of an allergic reaction that shuts down a person’s breathing apparatus.  This means that quickly taking a large dose of antihistamine after a bite can help to alleviate that complication.  Evidently, this is something known by every adult in the civilized world except me; now I have antihistamines stashed in my backpack.

Warmer weather (some days in the high 90s and then back down to 60s here in Mid-yo-yo-land) has brought out other reptile life - I got a photo of a big ol’ horned toad - and have seen lizards skittering around.

This appears to be some kind of sumac, different than what we have at home.

Along with reptiles, flowers have sprung forth and are lush in places, a welcome addition to the usual brown now overlaid with green.