. . . is easier to answer than what we did do when our daughter and grandchild came to visit. Pretty much hit the ground running after picking them up at Sky Harbor in Phoenix and then just kept up the pace through the too-short but filled-to-the brim week.
At this point, there's little else I can do but basically a photo dump to summarize some of our time together. What joy to have them here, and what sadness to see them go.
At Sara's request, we began with visiting our ten family graves in Glendale, an endeavor I strive to confine to cooler times. Of course we went right to Mom & Dad's resting place, but the others require more wandering around, less than enjoyable in that brutal mid-day heat.
Off to the office for assistance we went: it was that or suffer heat stroke trying to remember all the locations. In general, we know where they are; that works in wintertime, but we were grateful for help that day. Now I will make a map for the younger set to have for when I am not here to at least point out general locations.
Of course that set us on a trip down memory lane, which also renewed my vow to get more of my remembrances down on paper.
Because they had never been to the wonderful Musical Instrument Museum, we took advantage of already being in the big city to tour it, somehow without my photographing anything (I know - amazing that I could manage that).
When we visit them in Kansas, we look forward to savoring barbecue; when they are in Arizona, Mexican food is the order of the day.
We went to the movies and went bowling, with mixed results but lots of fun . . .
. . . returned to Bearizona, always a fun day . . .
. . . and the youngest of us, Tristian, rode the mountain coaster.
We stopped at the site of a now-disappeared town along Highway 89 that we had driven past hundreds of times before we knew about its existence. . .
. . . and checked out a lava tube ice cave, but didn't venture very far into its depths because of the lack of headlamps needed for illumination.
We stopped at the one-room Peeples Valley schoolhouse that Dad & Uncle Lewis attended in the 1930s. Dad remembered Margaret Rigden, of a local ranch family, teaching there. They boarded at the Hays Ranch when they were going to school, because their ranch was too remote to allow going back & forth daily.
All that remains of the old mining town of Octave is rock rubble, some of which can be seen in the photo below.
Driving out there of course elicited whatever memories I could dredge up about my parents first meeting at a dance there in 1936. Dad was on the ranch, and Mom was living in Prescott with her parents. I suspect that she went there with her friend Lucille Thomason, because Lucille was from that area down in the desert; she later became my aunt when she married my Uncle Lewis.
I had expected to take the kids to the ghost town of Stanton, now converted to the headquarters of the Lost Dutchman's Mining club, but was disappointed to find that entrance is not open during the summer months. We had to be satisfied with looks at it from the hill above.
The dirt road that winds past Stanton, with cutoffs to Octave & Weaver - another relic of past mining activity in the Rich Hill area - is the old route up Yarnell Hill. It took us past my Kelley grandparents' second ranch house, so of course we called a halt there for additional photo ops and more rememberings on my part. As always, we were hailed from the house up above to be sure we were not vandals out to cause mischief at the vacant property. The place is deteriorating from lack of maintenance; I expect that one day, we will pull up to find it demolished or collapsed under the weight of time.
Their homestead lay along East Antelope Creek; the region is thick with brush, undoubtedly less so when Grandpa was running Angora goats there. After their 1930 move to central Arizona from the Texas hill country where they also raised goats, Grandpa got his herd start by running Roy Cooper's herd for the year and getting the winter increase - the kids born during that time.
I love that country down there, but much more during months of less intense heat.
I am curious if the small shack set up the hill might have been where Jim Taylor lived. Jim was my grandmother Pearl's brother. Hopefully I am remembering what Dad told me correctly: Uncle Jim came out to Arizona, followed by Grandpa Zack Kelley, who tested the waters by trapping out here for a winter prior to gathering the family and relocating. (As an aside, they worked their way from Texas to Arizona following and working with a shearing crew, for which Dad and Grandma cooked, northward through Texas and then New Mexico.) Jim worked with Grandpa and then with Dad when he moved to the Toll House Ranch. He lost his sight, and they took care of him until he was taken back to Texas.
We had an impromptu show when we encountered a couple of cowboys pushing their herd from one pasture to another.
A small bunch down the road seem to have escaped the move, and watched with satisfied expressions (pretty sure that was their look) as we passed.
All that remembering worked up a hunger, so we paused for a picnic near the Shrine of St. Joseph in Yarnell, where I was surprised to find water lillies in a small pond.
As we maneuvered our week around prodigious monsoon storms, we somehow managed not to have any activities actually rained out. One near hit was when we got an early morning start to hike to what is now known as the "Hotshots' tree". Nineteen of them dying tragically a week later in the Yarnell fire, the 20-man Granite Mountain Hotshot crew heroically saved the Champion tree from the Doce conflagration that burned 7,000 acres of Prescott National Forest. It is believed to be the world's oldest alligator juniper, its age estimated to be perhaps 1,400 years, possibly even more.
Dramatic stormy skies softened distant landscape views even as we were treated to up-close sights such as tiny baby horny toads.
Much revegetation has occurred since the Doce fire, but stark evidence abounds of what could have been the giant juniper's fate without the intervention of the Hotshots. They returned afterward for a well-known iconic photograph as they celebrated that victory over the blazes that swept across the countryside.
A plaque at the site commemorates their feat.
The immensity of the grandfather tree is lost in photographs; it is only when one is standing at its base does its gargantuan girth become real.
Visitors have left numerous items to honor the memory of those men who saved the tree only to perish a week later.
Our hike back to the car coincided with the day's final dry spell; rain commenced very soon after our arrival under cover and afforded us some breathtaking scenes as we headed south to Peeples Valley . . .
. . . where we dashed in out of the rain to the T-bird Cafe for a fine repast of bread sticks and wood-fired pizza prepared and served by Paul Luke and Jenny Sue - highly recommend!
Somewhere along the line, we found time for a movie, petting a baby burro, visiting friends, and wandering along the Hassayampa River and enjoying the Wagoner area.
We talked family history . . .
. . . put flowers on my great grandmother Molly Catron's grave in Prescott . . .
. . . and had the joy of my goddaughter Corina's visit for a couple of days. I helped to bring her into the world and was privileged to have her and her brothers grow up with my other young'uns.
We had lots of hanging out talking, eating and playing games, plus a visit to Phippen Museum, where Coco was entranced by a display about the lost wax method of bronze casting . . .
. . . and we all enjoyed hearing Chris play their awesome grand piano.
Then there was a hike on the Constellation Trail in Granite Dells, again just beating the rain, but savoring the beautiful scenery.
Finally wrapped it up with some serious porch sitting when Lewis managed to get away from a horrid week of inventory at work, including one unbelievable stint of 26 hours straight.
The sadness of parting was softened by the sweetness of being together and adding to a lifetime of memories.
