Where's Joseph City?

That's the standard question we are asked when we say our son lives there.  It is a tiny burg in the far reaches of northeastern Arizona, past Winslow (known for its "standing on the corner, a la the iconic Eagles song, and the lovely restored Harvey House - La Posada), and closer to Holbrook, renowned primarily for its proximity to the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest.

Now that we've sorted that, we journeyed there for a weekend visit with Lewis, and managed to fill the days with household fix-its and sightseeing.  We three hustled and bustled to complete chores, satisfying to have completed, to leave time for out & abouts.  The señor even installed a screen door so that Lewis could invite in lots of fresh air.  Takes after his mom there.

First fun stop was out to the Little Painted Desert, an intriguing site we discovered on a previous trip, but which Lewis had not seen.  We all are intrigued with the idea of exploring those depths, but in our allotted time, we also wanted to take him out to the . . .

. . .  Rock Art Ranch.

Although the family Baird have given that appropriate appellation to the northern Arizona ranch they acquired in the 1940s, it was originally a portion of the Aztec Land & Cattle Company's holdings - the Hashknife outfit.

Patriarch Brantley Baird, as charming a cowboy as you could ever hope to meet, has done an exemplary job of assembling artifacts found on the ranch into a cohesive and fascinating display illustrating many centuries of lives that have been lived on those desolate high desert plains.

Closest in time prior to the Bairds acquiring the spread, Hash Knife buildings are filled and surrounded by the furnishings those cowboys used and the tools of their trade.  I have refrained from including as many photos as the place demands only because I've blogged about it in the past.

Walkways are lined with huge beautiful petrified wood specimens, many marbled through with quartz mineralization.

As a child, Brantley recalls first finding a prehistoric pot eroding out of the sandy soil.  Since that time, and his 80-something years belie the passing of years, thousands of artifacts have been recovered and are artfully displayed.

The Bairds revere the pioneers in whose footsteps they follow, as evidenced by many displays illustrating their way of life in those difficult times of isolation.  The señor leads educational field trips to Rock Art Ranch for the Yavapai College Edventures program, so he has visited numerous times, me not nearly as much, so I still harbor an amazement at the uniqueness of the site.  On the other hand, familiarity seldom dims my enthusiasm.

We were happy that Brantley arrived whilst we were perusing his museum; we are always happy to see him and even more that Lewis got to meet him and his son.

After we departed ranch headquarters heading for outlier sites and the place's namesake canyon, I was excited and astounded to spot a gray fox alertly watching our passage.  Even when we stopped for a better perusal (who could think of just passing on!), the animal continued to hold its pose, finally flattening down amidst the scrubby brush, right up until we restarted the truck and it dove into a den.

I had expected it to trot away, but when it was obvious the fox had been sunning itself atop its lair, we trooped out there to get a look at what constitutes a fox den.  I was very surprised to discover not one or even two openings into the underground warren, but so many that walking around the area resulted in sinking into Brer Fox's passages.

What a treat to see that beautiful creature!

 

Grinding away along winding dirt roads, we arrived at a prehistoric village site where Brantley has invited educational field study excavations.  The ground surface is thickly littered with potsherds and bits of broken stone tools.

Further along, we arrived at a historic Navajo camp.  When the Bairds acquired the ranch, the distant camp was occupied by a Navajo family who remained there as they raised their children, and kept their herds.  Eventually, the elders died and/or moved away to be near their grown offspring; however, the family continues to return to maintain the "male hogan", pictured below (so named because it was the style of dwelling during the Navajo patriarchal past . . .

. . . and the "female hogan", used later when the society transformed into a matriarchal society. . .

. . . and the sweat lodge.

Additional motoring along brought us to the star of the show - Chevelon Canyon - accessible there via a steep set of steps that allowed us to wander a ways alongside the stream that was slowly flowing around and over the water-scoured rocks of the canyon's bottom.

There are thousands of interesting and unique symbols and pictures chipped into the Chevelon's desert-varnished walls; of equal or perhaps even more interest for me is the complete serenity of that solitude . . . and of course my two fellers.

There never seems to be enough time of being with those we love, and reveling in the incredible places this world has to offer . . . or perhaps those very limits render the time even more precious.