Transitions
Nov. 24, 2016

A Thanksgiving morning in Ehrenberg, Arizona, safely ensconced inside the trailer with a bit of blustery breeze brewing outside seems as good a time as any to write a blog post, replacing that one from a couple of months ago in which I briefly mentioned a hiking accident with major consequences.

The intervening time has been literally life-changing.  I have dealt with excruciating pain - lots of it - ameliorated to a great extent by the love and support of friends and family.  A week after the fall, there was a surgery to repair and realign my right ankle that was dislocated and broken and that included inserting various hardware to keep bone parts together while they completed their miraculous growing back together process.

I followed the surgeon's orders to put no weight a'tall on my right leg, a directive that was incredibly difficult to follow.  Clearly, I was less than adept at using crutches: an early fall left me flat on my back after bashing my head on the wall and possibly re-injuring my ankle, resulting in one of three trips to the emergency room in four days.

A kind and thoughtful nurse then set me up with a rental knee scooter, a wheeled conveyance that observers all think looks like fun, but that is actually a cumbersome contraption on which I became fairly proficient at maneuvering enough to accomplish daily chores and to occasionally venture out to a few events.

I was stylishly fitted with a humongous boot that allowed me to remove it for showering, although wearing that bulky appliance 24/7, including in bed, was one of the more uncomfortable things I have endured.  As my friend Patty pointed out, a hard cast may have been less painful, but then I would have been six weeks without a shower - ewww!  What a choice - pain or shower . . .

From the other side . . .

Two months have passed and I find the perspective from the other side to be much improved.  One attempts to keep one's eye on the prize during trying times; however, the task is not an easy one.

Now I am doing physical therapy three times daily (reluctantly but religiously), and have begun walking for some distances.  I will not soon forget the trepidation with which I first put that foot to floor after nearly two months.  What a change that yesterday I was able to walk for a mile - an accomplishment that has a surreal quality to it still.  Admittedly, slopes make me clinch up some, but presumably, I will gain more confidence with time.  That is my fervent hope, at any rate; I can't imagine going through this part of my life with anything less that what Chris calls my "24/7-full-steam-ahead" energy.

I have to admit there are melt-down times when I feel very vulnerable and helpless, although they  are getting fewer and further between.  The señor is awesome with pep talks and encouragement, so together, we are getting through this.

Thanksgiving abroad . . .

Well, not exactly abroad, but we are spending Thanksgiving week in Ehrenberg, Arizona, just across the Colorado River from Blythe, California.  Our park of choice this time is Arizona Oasis, a nice RV resort with plenty wide spaces and an excellent hot tub and swimming pool, and best of all, sitting right on the river.

R&R is the name of the game: we are resting and relaxing, reading and rejuvenating.

See there, I really do know how to relax and even do so now and then.

Of course, given who we are, there had to be some adventure thrown into the mix somewhere; the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge called us for an explore.

Wildlife refuge, walking, birds . . .

Just about an hour or so drive brought us to the refuge, which turned out to be wonderful, a place that could be visited numerous times.  Even the visitor's center was interesting and (wo)manned by a very helpful staffer.

Although some areas are closed to access after Labor Day so as not to disturb the extensive avian population, there is more than ample driving and walking opportunities for viewing and exploring.

One mile-long trail meandered through mostly impenetrable brush and foliage to a viewing blind overlooking a wetlands.  Being unsure of just how long a hike my ankle would endure, we set off, knowing that we might have to retrace our steps if fatigue or pain became too much.  As it turned out, our concerns were for naught.  I walked the mile easily, albeit accompanied by my new walking stick that affords a sense of stability.  I've never utilized such an aid before but appreciated having it there and on other shorter walks I've done, especially where the ground is very uneven.

That was a case of wishing I was able to run, trot or jog.  The mosquito population in there was more than a little pesky, something we had not anticipated this time of year, but then freezing temperatures here are pretty much non-existent, so the pests proliferate prodigiously.  Unfortunately, running was not in the cards, thus we assumed our walking/flailing stance and proceeded to complete the loop trail, a little the worse for wear.

While in the refuge, we identified a fairly large number of birds even though the winter migration is not yet in full swing.

It was exciting to see flocks of magnificent sand hill cranes and to hear their vocalization that sounds to me like purring as they talk among themselves and always as they fly overhead.

They were joined in the grain fields by many mule deer and were nearly as tall as their four-legged companions.

The refuge encompasses more than 18,000 acres of what was the lower Colorado's flood plain, still a haven for wintering migratory waterfowl and other wildlife with its extensive field crops, marshes, river meanders, dry washes and channelized waterways.  The surrounding land is primarily sandy and rocky desert.  All around are jagged mountain ranges with forbiddingly steep spires and peaks.

Birds we identified in the various sections of the Ciblola refuge included mallard, northern shoveler, northern pintail, American widgeon, red-tailed hawk, ruddy duck, green-winged teal, yellow-rumped warbler, kestrel, mountain bluebird, Say's phoebe, northern harrier, Canada goose, pied-billed grebe, western grebe, phainopepla, osprey, black phoebe, roadrunner, loggerhead shrike, great blue heron, belted kingfisher, killdeer, spotted sandpiper, great egret, northern mockingbird, double crested cormorant, American coot and ruby-crowned kinglet.  We were also excited to find a pair of common gallinules, a very pretty bird, and two white pelicans.

Some of those we've spotted elsewhere in the area include mourning dove, vermilion flycatcher, great-tailed grackle, black-chinned hummingbird, house finch, Costa's hummingbird, collared dove, Anna's hummingbird and starling.  In extremely impressive numbers, one harvested and disked field was filled with yellow-headed blackbirds, red-winged blackbirds and Brewer's blackbirds.

There are two white pelicans tucked up against the reeds on the far side.

The Cibola Wildlife Refuge waterways are just beginning to fill up with migratory waterfowl.

Burrows . . .

I was curious about the refuge map that showed burrowing owl homes - it seemed to be akin to mapping oriole or finch nests.  It was when I saw that the birds' abodes had been constructed for them, not by them that I understood; they burrow where they are invited to burrow.  So . . . we saw burrowing owl burrows, but missed the burrowing owls.

And burros . . .

This is the burro that wanted to come in from the "cold"; he was alone in the desert looking toward a very happy appearing herd of at least 50 within the the refuge boundaries.

Strikingly marked kestrels were in abundance throughout the region.

We spotted only one lone great egret.

Those who came before . . .

Historically, that country was peopled by those of the Yuma tribes, specifically the Mohave and the Quechan, and the river's course was far different than it is today.  Now calmed by dams, the Colorado's flow is managed; the water comes from the bottom of the lake, cold and clear, where it previously ran warmer and muddy with red sediment.

Its banks would have been lined with cottonwoods and willows and the flood plain was miles across; now, however, side channels are choked with invasive tamarisk and sand beaches that are washed away by static flows have to be artificially restored by periodic "floods" created by releases from the dam.

Anglos also came to this bleak desert, often to search for and extract valuable minerals.  Others who settled along the river were involved in ferrying and shipping pursuits.

This tumble-down cabin was built in 1910 by Carl Bishop from then-plentiful cottonwood logs.  It is a dog-trot structure, like my Kelley great grandparents and many others had in Texas and throughout the South.  This type of building is divided in the middle by a covered breezeway, separating the living and kitchen areas.

Immediately away from the river's life-giving waters, the sparsely vegetated landscape takes on a starkly beautiful appearance.

Ghost town environs . . .

The legendary seven cities of Cibola were believed to be constructed of gold and filled with great wealth.  At the opposite end of the abundance spectrum, we find the burg of Cibola, Arizona.  Characterized as a ghost town, Cibola is home to fewer than 200 people - a hardy bunch, in my opinion, or possibly true anti-social curmudgeons.

Clearly, someone in the bunch has an artistic bent, as evidenced by a whimsical directional sign.

Angels . . .

Yup, they are real, and we encountered two of them - among those few residents of Cibola.  When one of our adventures went awry, there they were.

"Let's take the old road between Ehrenberg and Ciblola", suggested my partner in crime.  Never one to pass up a back road, I readily agreed.  A few miles out there in the desert, one of the many sand washes we crossed became our undoing - stuck!

At the exact moment the truck shuddered to a sinking halt, right along with my sinking sensation, up ahead appeared a Jeep, manned by angels.  Recognizing our predicament, they drove right up and around us, grabbed a length of chain, hooked up and dragged us right out of there.

Their appearance was not what one typically conjures when one is imagining angels - the driver was bald-headed; his companion was of a darker-skinned hue, but we were immensely grateful for their willing and able assistance.  Yes, I am walking; however, walking those sandy miles back to Cibola did not appeal in the slightest.

Crop lands . . .

Agriculture is king in this country unless, of course, you count play - as in ATVs, dune buggies, water sports, fishing and the like.  The town of Ehrenberg is truly a ghost with nothing of historical significance remaining besides the graveyard.  On the California shore, Blythe is a boarded-up remnant of its former self, obviously economically depressed. 

Beyond the urban boundaries, though, many miles of crop land stretch across land that previously supported only the barest of plant life, now lushly irrigated with Colorado River water.  Besides alfalfa hay, there are huge acreages devoted to cultivating cotton, which is being harvested while we are here.

From my growing-up days in the Valley of the Sun - now the urban sprawl of Phoenix - I was accustomed to cotton and its incumbent crop dusters, gins and the huge "bread loaf" bales that came out of them, but here, I saw something new.  They are now baling cotton in gigantic round bundles shrink-wrapped with plastic, so large that only three or four fill a semi trailer.

These cotton bales are about six feet in height.

My pard kindly scouted a spot on the river bank for a fishing foray and assisted me in gimping out there to try my luck from the comfort of a camp chair.  We caught nothing in our short time so ensconced, but you know what they say: "A bad day of fishing is better than a good day at anything else".

As good as new!  The señor replaced the mangled metal to the tune of $161 instead of the $794 estimate from the shop!