January 12, 2018
What happens when a person determines to compose a blog of various adventures and life events and then fails to write anything at all for several months? This posting is the result of just that. It reflects the lack of clarity in remembrances, but hopefully, not too much of the overwhelmedness of packing it all into one gigantic blob blog.
Seems that until this is complete, everything else is stalled behind it like a jumbled log jam on a trickling water stream, so I’m proceeding at least half-steam ahead to clear the way for whatever adventures are in store.
Vanished Pride . . .
Somewhere back about late summer, Chris received a communication through Yavapai College, where he teaches various non-credit classes and leads educational field trips. A query had come in from a feller whose elderly (lots of that going around these days, seems like) father was reminiscing about a place he had lived in his early days.
The memories were strong; however, neither father nor son could pinpoint just where the place was. He said the settlement was called by the name of Pride and it was somewhere along the highway between Drake and Ash Fork.
The erstwhile resident had drawn up a sketch of the tiny town’s layout as he knew it, not bad considering that he lived there around age six and he's now in his 90s. He even retained a sense of the area's topography.
Ah, a mystery to be solved! With a little research on 1940s USGS maps, and based on the gentleman’s rememberies, Chris came up with a possible location near a historical railroad siding called Prairie. Was the name "Pride" affixed to the gas station or other business and not an official place name? That is the unknown part of the equation.
We had nothing to lose by looking for the place and much to gain: an interesting time out enjoying yet another perfect Arizona day.
We believe we located the siding site; whether it was also the settlement of the gentleman's youth or not, we have no way of verifying. Presuming we did find the sought-after site, the intervening years have pretty much erased all trace of the homes and businesses that had flourished there, that is presuming they actually flourished.
At any rate, if we had not waded through knee-high dry grass, the result of last summer’s rains, we would never have discerned that people had ever been there. No buildings remain and we saw no sign of where they might have stood - only small bits and pieces of metal, wood and glass remain to show that lives were lived there.
As we make our way through our days, we have such a feeling of permanence, but so often, I am astounded at how quickly the signs of our passing fade away as in this once-not-so-long-ago burg, vanished with little trace.
We have determined to return to the area for additional searching just for the halibut, and also because I want to strike off westerly across the train tracks to see what is to be seen (more on that later, hopefully) . . . or . . . where do you reckon this track goes?
They slip away . . .
Speaking of vanished habitations, a few months back, we ventured once again to the site of the junction of two rail lines in the Granite Dells of Prescott, this time to duplicate photo scenes from days back. Entro was the name given to the place among the boulders that the Prescott & Arizona Eastern railroad joined with the Prescott & Phoenix.
An easy enough hike along the old Peavine line brought us to the exact spot where an unnamed man was photographed in 1900 near the railroad section house (thanks to Nancy for this one).
Here is the same site in 1985 before the tracks were removed . . .
and now . . .
In this case, even though we had photographic evidence of two historic buildings, we found it impossible to spot the exact place or foundation where they stood.
There was a large concrete floor from a later structure, now also gone, in addition to
various bits and pieces left from previous occupations and
ranching endeavors.
The Entro area is documented on-site with interesting historic photographs and explanations.
Colors!
The hike into Entro from the Peavine trailhead at Highway 89A is one we've traversed previously and is a favorite, but the recent foray took on a whole different flavor. It was my first big outing after two cataract surgeries; I was enthralled by the vivid colors of the autumn landscape. I used up a lot of "film" in my attempts to capture the stunning scenes everywhere around me. I never cease to marvel at the beauty of Earth's landscapes, but most especially Arizona's.
Close to home . . .
Right in the same neighborhood, we reveled in the lack of winter for our region and walked from home down to nearby Watson Lake through autumn-hued Watson Woods. I love the location of our Prescott house for many reasons; the proximity to Watson Woods among them.
It seems a pretty odd sighting in light of that description, unless California fell into the ocean when I wasn't looking and we are now on the Pacific coast. Even more bizarre: I had just prior noticed that another local yokel had reported via facebook seeing an alligator lizard, or was it the same one!
Higher ground . . .
We ventured a little further from home with a jaunt out north of the Camp Wood neighborhood. It began with the idea of heading for the Apache Creek Wilderness Area in the Santa Maria Mountains. Curses, sidetracked again! But who could resist stopping at a most serene setting of a riparian zone - not I.
I suspect the green grassy vale that halted our forward progress was created by a small check dam built by Forest Service personnel. Back (way back) when I had the Chino Valley newspaper, I wrote an article about these projects that have provided rare wetlands for wildlife.
Well, truth be told, I like wetlands just about as much as wildlife; it seemed as good a place as any for an explore following the stream bed. Even in the midst of our extended drought, a spring provides sufficient water to keep that creek flowing for miles.
Eventually, the canyon bottom narrowed as the water sought its downward path through rocky cliffs and we climbed up to the rim to continue our amble and enjoy more distant views . . .
. . . and an awesome high lunchtime perch . . .
. . . complete with an outcrop of some starkly striped rock.
On our way out of the forested mountains, we crossed Stringtown Wash, another drainage at which we have stopped before but not explored anywhere near to my satisfaction, but that's for another day.
Sauntering a la John Muir . . .
I have recently run across a quote from legendary naturalist John Muir,
which so well reflects my feelings about being away from
civilization.
His statement was in answer to a query about hiking: "Hiking - I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to
saunter in the mountains - not hike! Do you know the origin of that word
'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people
used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the
villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they
would reply, "A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became
known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our
Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike'
through them."
And so on an afternoon when nature beckoned, we sauntered out and around JD Dam Lake, watching whatever birds showed themselves and drinking in the forest atmosphere.
What?! Thanksgiving already! How did I manage to think turkey day was still months away when the calendar clearly indicated it was right on top of us? At any rate, all was salvaged when cousin Barb invited us to her home in Green Valley for the holiday.
Along the way, a visit with friends Norma & George meant a night's stopover in Tucson. What a special friendship Norma and I have enjoyed since way back in elementary school! We shared families and many experiences and milestones along the way.
Now what might have been happening in the photo below is anyone's guess. Even I don't know and I was there, obviously; kinda looks as if Norma and I are ganging up on George and he's appealing to Chris for help.
Green Valley, Juan de Anza . . .
I have to wonder if it was an exercise in marketing to snowbirds/retirees that created the name for Green Valley in that decidedly ungreen area of southern Arizona. The only greenery is along the few waterways that meander through the desert.
An aside about Chris' & Barb's kinship. For years, we have visited back and forth with her and Jim (we were sorry to miss him this year) and never have been able to discern exactly how they are related. This year, I talked Barb into having her DNA tested, assuming that would give us a clue about the two Wuehrmanns. As it turns out, the relationship is distant enough that it didn't show up, so we are still no closer to solving the mystery about her clan and our clan.
However she is related, we claim her wholeheartedly and enjoy our times together. On this trip, she suggested we sashay along the Santa Cruz River, a slow-moving picturesque stream that includes an historical aspect.
In 1775/1776, a Spanish expedition led by Juan Bautista de Anza traveled along the waterway on one leg of a journey to establish the first non-native settlement at San Francisco Bay. The travelers consisted of 240 men, women and children. Their route is now a 1,200-mile National Historic Trail. It takes some imagination to conjure an image of what that travel must have been like!
Thanksgiving . . .
Meanwhile, back at the casa, Chris entertained us with music . . .
. . . and we all enjoyed the fruits (ha ha!) of an artistic edible gift that was delivered to Barb after our hike.
A small bovine herd saw us off on our Thanksgiving day hike and was there to welcome us back at day's end.
As a hiking club leader, Barb scouts routes before taking off with a group, and we were more than happy to join her on such an endeavor. Tromping around in that desert terrain is far more thorny than high country treks; to prepare for the later group's passing, we were armed with nippers to clear out those grasping arms of wait-a-minute vines.
Near the corral where we began our scout, we passed the ruin of what was undoubtedly once someone's adobe home.
Vanished is the family that lived there and gone is the windmill that once pumped water for them and their livestock, replaced now by a solar electric setup that was spewing forth a nice stream to fill the huge concrete tank.
As would be expected, cattle are not the only ones that appreciate the water supply. A track we spotted nearby appeared to be that of a lion.
A plethora of birds frequented the area, also, because of the scarcity of water sources thereabouts; however, the shot of a curve-billed thrasher pictured below was taken in Barb's back yard. There's a huge difference between the variety of birds there and those at our higher-elevation northern location.
Game trails are helpful when attempting to find one's way through the inhospitable desert chaparral.
Unlike the bulk of our back country forays, hiking club members expect to have a stated route and destination; Barb's plan was have a turn-around point up the mountain at the site of an old mining camp.
Piggies!
Returning home after that short jaunt down south with its visits, explorations and a Thanksgiving feast, we discovered that javelina had rudely made a mess on our front porch: seems they helped themselves to my potted plants by upending the table on which they sat. I presume the critters had a nice drink out of the fountain while they were at it.
The lights are on . . .
It has been a very long time since I have gone to Prescott's annual Christmas courthouse lighting ceremony. That omission was remedied in December when John & Pat Williams made their way from Heber-Overgaard to our fine region for the occasion.
The señor was away working during part of their visit; I had the pleasure of accompanying them to Prescott's downtown where approximately seven zillion others were gathered. I have always loved the tradition of the lighting, but it has changed quite a lot since the first time I attended in 1976.
That year, my entire family came to do Christmas at the house I had rented on Marina Street - what a memorable time that was! It was an easy walk to the Courthouse for the ceremony. In those days, everyone gathered up close to the steps on the Gurley Street side of the building and we all stood quietly while the Christmas story was read out loud. Then we softly sang "Silent Night", the light switch was thrown and we were all in awe of the scene.
I was unprepared to find that nowadays, virtually everyone brings a lawn chair and sits during the festivities, which pretty much eliminates standing because by doing so, you would block the sitters' views. My failure as a host meant that my guests and I were relegated to finding seats on a very cold concrete curb. In true Prescott fashion, though, a nearby couple took off their lap blanket and offered it to us to cushion our behinds, a most generous and welcome gesture.
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| John & Pat with Thumb Butte in the background. John was born and raised in Prescott. He is my Aunt Margaret's brother; therefore, I count him and Pat not only as kin but also as friends. |
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| Ruby transported us up and over the back road to Copper Basin and then down to enjoy pizza at the Thunderbird Cafe in Yarnell. Of course Chris regaled us with tales of this 'n that along the way, and we did a bit of reminiscing about the olden days and especially escapades around the state with Dad, who turned everything into an "adventure". |
Chris stops in at the Hubbell Trading Post occasionally when he is leading educational field trips to Canyon de Chelly for Yavapai College. Because of his work with the rangers there, they asked him to play music for their annual Christmas time luminaria festival. We readily agreed that would be a fun thing to do, our thinking being that we could stay over to give me a chance to see the canyon, which for some reason I had never been to.
Ha ha - incredibly dumb plan! Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to see Canyon de Chelly in the middle of winter. Yes, I saw it. Yes, I was awestruck at its intriguing beauty. Yes, I wanted to spend time soaking in the incredible vistas, but no, I did not want to risk hypothermia in order to do that.
We managed to stop at some viewpoints on the rim, run out to the canyon's edge as fast as possible and to snap some quick pics; however, the brutality of wind and frigid temperatures deterred us from any more than the most perfunctory glimpses. Even those quick glimpses were enough to leave me enamored of the place - a return in more favorable conditions is a must and is indeed in the works.
Now to the luminaria festival. When one notes the straight-out-in-gale-force-winds stance of the flag in the photo below, one might think that lighting candles in paper bags outside next to tinder-dry vegetation is just possibly not the best idea. When I saw that not only were they going through with the plan, but were lining a half-mile-long drive with hundreds of them, I started making plans for where I would shelter when the whole region went up in flames.
To my great surprise, the festival did not precipitate a major conflagration even though many of the luminarias burned quite a bit more than their candles.
Because the señor was inside playing the keyboard for the festivities, I was exceptionally grateful that the luminarias on the building were lighted by battery-powered candles.
We were even more grateful that we had brought along our sleeping bags; it seems the accommodations were a bit on the primitive side. At least we had a roof over our heads and we were out of that blasted wind.
Designated a National Historic Site in 1960, the Hubbell Trading Post is located in Ganado on the Navajo Reservation and continues to offer a vast array of fine skillfully made Native American goods.
In 1878, John Lorenzo Hubbell purchased the post. The trade center was important for the Navajos who were allowed to return to their homeland in the 1860s after they had been exiled to Bosque Redondo, Fort Sumner, New Mexico by U.S. forces and endured what is known as the "long walk of the Navajo", a tragic and devastating trek.
It is easy upon entering the dim interior of the trading post to feel oneself transported back in time. Not much has changed since early days. Long ago, I was able to go into the vault of another trading post on the Navajo Reservation - the one at Inscription House - and it is much the same atmosphere: an experience unlike anything off-reservation.
Canyon de Chelly . . .
What can I say? Photos taken whilst hopping from one leg to the other to prevent the blood from freezing and with numb shivering fingers are not at the top of my all-time best. I look forward to another visit in more clement weather conditions.
Guess who came for Christmas . . .
So, there I was innocently wrapping gifts when Chris called me to come out and greet guests. Reluctantly because I wanted to finish my task, I walked into the kitchen to the biggest surprise of my life. There before my disbelieving eyes stood three people who should have been at their home in Kansas City, so how in hades did they seem to be in mine???
Sara, Ray & Trinity were part of a vast months-long conspiracy to give their ol' Mom a shock of major proportions, and it worked like gangbusters! And so it was that our quiet holiday happily morphed into a week of dinners and parties, our first Christmas together in ten years . . .
. . . even more surprises when our Oklahoma City young'uns also showed up . . .
. . . gift exchanges and Santa's arrival . . .
. . . Grandma getting to show Trinity how to take care of her new boots . . .
. . . outings in the most perfect Prescott winter weather ever . . .
. . . even a bobcat spotted by eagle-eye Sara. . .
. . . a truly heartwarmingly wonderful holiday!
To illustrate just how sneaky my family is, I offer one example of the devious doin's that kept the mission from me. As always, I purchased Christmas gifts for the out-of-town offspring, and wrapped them festively. As always, Chris chose a shipping box, carefully packed the gifts and took them to the post office. As always, when he returned, I asked how much the postage was. As always, I asked for the receipt so I could track the package's progress. Chris kept saying he would get out the receipt for me until finally Sara called to say the package had arrived - this at Chris' instigation to keep me from continuing to ask. As it turns out, the package was hidden in my garage the whole time awaiting the kids' arrival.
Back to a dull roar . . .
After a December of epic proportions, January is falling into our more typical very busy but nicely manageable schedule. Right out of the chute, an outing with friends in the Verde Valley turned into a nice little sashay in Copper Canyon - a day in beautiful surroundings and filled with laughter and chatter - belissimo!
Working on getting a group photo . . .
. . . Success!
Life is good!
