Surprises and serendipities

Exploration was the name of the game for our Winslow sojourn, and explore is what we did.  Once that obligatory dinner was finished and digested, I briefly browsed a freebie hand-out map on which someone had written "Little Painted Desert" and a milepost number. 

"Huh", said I sagely, or maybe it was more of a snort, but no matter, we headed for milepost number whatzit.  A mere quarter mile or so off the paved road, we encountered an abandoned Navajo County park, replete with derelict grafitti-covered ramadas and aging crumbled blacktopped entrance.

Immediately, though, our attention was diverted to the landscape ahead of us.  As we approached bluff's edge, we were astounded at the vast desert badlands before us, horizontally striped with bands of buff, ochre and gray.  I could not imagine that such a beautiful place would be so relatively unknown and unvisited.  I made some feeble attempt not to go overboard with photos, but the task was too much for me.  I offer "a few" of them here.

We spent quite a bit of time sauntering and examining the view from various vantage points until we came upon the scant remnants of an erstwhile trail that had once accessed the depths.  The señor opted to traverse that route until it was no longer possible.  I, on the other hand, being of sounder mind, did not risk life & limb on said activity.  In fact, I refused to allow him to take my camera on his dangerous mission, and even went so far as to suggest that he leave the truck keys with me, "just in case".  He pretty much ignored my request, but did manage to shoot the following two photos of The Trail.

As might be expected, he made his way back up to where I maintained my stance on ground more likely not to shift out from under me, and we continued on our walking tour of the rim.  We have every intention to return and find a route to the bottom that does not require life-threatening steps, and that without a doubt will involved a good deal of butt scootin' on my part.

There were very few cacti in that area; the tiny one shown below was new to me, and was fruitful indeed.

 

The plain was thick with Indian rice grass, its spindly stalks all bowed under the weight of their ripened seeds.

As we stopped here and there to see what was to be seen, we stopped to offer tribute at a 9/11 memorial with two huge mangled steel beams from New York's Twin Towers.  The energy was palpable as we paused there.

 

 

The Little Colorado River gave evidence of recent high-water flooding, but at our passing, it had receded to a still-more-than-usual stream size with its bed quicksand-like.

 

Just like the many early inhabitants of that region, Winslow area's historic settlers came and remained because of available water.  Mormon pioneers were among the earliest to put down roots, with cattlemen staking their claims also.  Now it's all about trains - a constant stream - long strings of cargo boxes, boxcars, flatcars and tank cars rumble past the town famed for its place on historic Route 66 and La Posada, a restored Harvey House.

Indian trader Lorenzo Hubbell built one of his trading posts in Winslow; it now serves as the visitors center alongside the train tracks.

 It is one of many historic buildings in the area.  I especially liked this beautiful residential structure.

After the surprise and fun of visiting the Little Painted Desert, we stopped in at the Old Trails Museum downtown.  It's always a throw of the dice as to what you might find in small-town museums; that one was a combination of townsfolks' donated items and a historian's organization.  Speaking with Ann-Mary, who was manning the place in lieu of available volunteers, was educational and interesting.  She has compiled calendars loaded with historical photographs and information, written one Arcadia book about Winslow, and has another in the works that will be a "then & now" of buildings.  She has done a marvelous job of curating the collection in a thematic way.

The museum is housed in the former Valley National Bank building, complete with vault.

And speaking of historic structures, we had the most serendipitous and just totally lovely experience at St. Joseph's Church, which celebrated its 100th birthday last year,  As we walked by and tried the locked door, we were noticed by a passing driver.  As the timing happened, we were on the doorstep just as a fine lady who is associated with the church drove by.  Undoubtedly, she - Kathy Hernandez, by name - was on her way to something or other, but that did not stop her from diverting her plan to stop and ask us if we wanted to see the interior.

Yes indeed, we were hoping to, we responded, at which she proceeded to give us a tour.  Kathy was a kindly and enthusiastic emissary for St. Joseph's.  Not only did she take time from her day for us, she asked for our address so she could send us the centennial pamphlet from 2021 that includes good photos of the stunning stained glass windows.  Because I told her we had recently seen churches in Santa Fe, she mentioned that a group from the church is planning to go there for that purpose.

 

From Ann-Mary, we learned that a television program - Home Town Kickstart - had chosen Winslow for one of its programs.  The process as stated by the producer is thus: "HGTV's small town renewal movement goes across the country as six teams of renovation superstars give struggling cities the kickstart they need to thrive".  Not having television, it was all new to us.  

We were told the efforts in Winslow centered around revitalizing one business and one residence in addition to putting on display two "art cars".  Did it work?, we asked, and were told that it encouraged some folks to paint and rejuvenate their homes.

 

As we walked around town, of course we must peruse certain items related to railroading . . . 

. . . which included the señor contemplating a honking big piece of equipment (to each his own, but it certainly didn't blow any air up my skirts, nor would it have had I been attired in a skirt).

Most of what Winslow is about (besides "standing on the corner" a la the 1970s Eagles song, undoubtedly the most popular activity in town) is historic, and the 1929 airport is no different.  It is named for aviator Charles Lindbergh after having served as one of 12 critical refueling stops for his Transcontinental Air Transport network, the nation's first transcontinental air passenger line.  It may be the only one still intact; the others have been swallowed up by big city airports.

 

Part of the charm of our Route 66 Delta Motel was the line of primary-color chairs outside each room.  When we arrived, they were in use in front of our room by a Canadian/Scottsdale couple who were enjoying an evening nibble & beverage.  They had moved to our spot as they tried to soak up the last of the sun's waning warmth.  

As with everyone else we met, they were fun and interesting to chat with.  When all was said & done, they thought they would like to come up to our neck of the woods to meet for drinks/dinner/visiting.  We look forward to that.