And . . . we're out . . .

. . . and about - our inaugural walk on a surface not manufactured by human hands since the señor acquired a new knee.  That makes it sound a bit like something he ordered it via Amazon . . . if only, but as we know, the medical profession, in its infinite wisdom, has evolved a process to replace failing human joints that seems a bit on the miraculous side to me; at the same time, it has become so commonplace that it's akin to Henry Ford's assembly line clacking parts together and sending the completed bodies out the door.

So, with outpatient surgery three weeks in the rear-view mirror, we were off to slightly warmer climes in the Verde Valley for our maiden voyage.  Our objective was a State park in its infancy.  It is indeed new-born, and to my awareness, very little heralded.  

Somewhere or another, I had spied a notice that the great state of Arizona was opening its latest state park over the mountain from us; the Rockin' River Ranch seemed like the perfect place to try out the señor's mobility, while offering me the opportunity to get outta Dodge near my favorite stream of water, the Verde River.

Endless delays . . .

In the same way that we managed to put off and put off Chris' knee surgery, the powers-that-be have only just now opened the Rockin' River to the public, despite that seven million dollars of a conservation fund was used to purchase the 209-acre property way back in 2008.  It was slated to open to the public in 2018, but affairs of government prevented that plan, and then . . . well, we know what happened in 2020.

At any rate, we wandered our way south of Camp Verde on Salt Mine Road until the goal was attained: a day-use-only property with primitive dirt paths that lead variously along the river near its confluence with West Clear Creek and/or through the high desert chaparral.  Gravel pads here & there sport picnic tables offering views of the Verde through the dense & tangled riparian vegetation.

 

Huge gnarled cottonwoods and sycamores share status as the venerable denizens of the Verde's shoreline, while slender willows and their ilk crowd together beneath the overhead spread, and limit access to the river's edge.

I heard & watched the approach of two canoeists, colorful in contrast to the drab still-leafless thick vegetation.  They were quickly past as I glimpsed them through an open patch, moving rapidly in the receding, but still flood-stage waters.

 We saw flood debris in branches impressively far overhead; the river's flow was much reduced from that stage, but was still far out of its banks.

In accordance with medical & physical therapist advice, we did not overdo our jaunt, but I was pretty impressed with my pard's finesse while traversing gravely downslopes.

With a clear view from behind, it was easy to note the contrast between the straightened left leg and the still-bowed right one, soon to have its own procedure.

Obsession .  . .

Having recently begun to dabble with acrylic painting, I find that I am even more obsessed with the landscape around me.  Previously, my interest was confined to how to convey the world photographically; that view has been combined with how I might paint what I am seeing.  It equates to noticing nuances and details that I might before have seen in a more overall sense.

We found the surrounding mountains, Squaw Peak in particular, still spotted with snow, not to the extent on our side of the county, but more than I expected.

 

With our release from surgery aftermath ending, we called a halt at an unusual sight along the way.  There in the dirt alongside an unremarkable crossroad, curiosity demanded that we stop to discover what was up with a multi-hued cart topped by a large bright umbrella.  

 

"Fruta Picada" was emblazoned on the cart's front.  Utilizing my sometimes-handy computer/phone, I found that the interesting Mexican street vendor in that unlikely place would probably be offering something in the way of cut-up fruit.

Although the young man spoke little English and I spoke little Spanish, I did learn that his name was Daniel.  It required no language at all to see that he was a master with a very sharp knife.  His ice-filled cart carried a variety of tropical fruit and cucumbers, which he was incredibly adept at chopping into pieces.  He quickly filled a large clear plastic cup with the pieces, and ceremoniously added chamoy (a sauce used in Mexican cuisine), a red spice and lime juice.  The result is a savory, salty, sweet fruit cup that I have decided might be an acquired taste.

It was an absolute delight to watch him at work; I can't wrap my mind around how someone could become that adept and quick without losing fingers in the process.  He was quite the showman!