My long very personal journey . . .

. . . with Del Rio Ranch began late in 1976.  We were driving south on Highway 89 through Chino Valley on our way to put down Yavapai County roots when I looked over to the east side of the road and there it was.  A scattering of buildings, verdant pasture land greened from a spring-fed pond, all snugged up against low hills that stretched back from the scene.

Immediately the energy of the place cast a spell on me, bringing a connection that has persisted through my adult years.  Was it the setting?  Did it conjure a longing that had lain fallow?  Perhaps the energy projected by all those who had passed there struck me.  At any rate, it was to play a peripheral role in most of my adult life.

As I settled in to my multi-faceted life in central Arizona, I made certain that Del Rio was an often-visited site.  I learned that Arizona’s Territorial government and its accompanying military contingent was there for a number of months in 1863 & 1864 before becoming established further south on Granite Creek near the burgeoning mining camps around what is now Prescott.

Who could have foreseen that far down the time road, I would publish & edit a weekly newspaper just south of there, and for a special occasion, would use a duplicate of a newspaper’s front page that was the original one published at Del Rio in 1864.

As I explored the ranchland occasionally on foot, wandering over the hills, its history intrigued me.  No longer in reportorial mode, as I said, I intend this to be only my relationship with that important area, important because of its abundant artesian water flowing freely from the depths, and surrounding ample grasslands.

On-site accounts tell us that there were Hispanic folks living there prior to the Territorial hubbub’s arrival.  Indeed, the walls of an adobe building were standing roofless when I showed up; I recall seeing Indian pottery shards embedded in the weathering mud walls, testament to the Native population that recognized & utilized the resources so freely available there.  

It was not too long after my first visit there that a new ranch owner bulldozed those walls down.  Even now, one can see where the house stood; the tree that shaded its back yard has died and fallen over, but its branch structure is still recognizable.

In my early days there, the Del Rio cemetery was in good repair - fenced and with numerous inscribed stones marking the final resting place of many ranch families from nearby, the first being the 11-year-old Banghart boy who was killed by a lightning strike.  That family’s stage stop stands yet just north of there, now a private residence. 

I took photos in that graveyard in 1977, all donated now to Sharlot Hall Museum, and numerous other pictures around the ranch and structures, so no need to repeat those now, although they are a testament to the toll that weather has taken.

My close friends, Pam & Donna (oh, the joy of that camaraderie that I miss so much) and I wandered those hills that overlook the headwaters of the Verde River, savoring the quiet, the beauty, the birds, the pronghorn herds, and reveling in the memory of the folks who had worked hard to subsist there.

Descendants of some of the Territorial military contingent remained to homestead the Del Rio area: Hannah Postle Rees filed a homestead there, the first by a woman in Yavapai County, thereby becoming a person of great interest to me,  I have written much more about her and the area’s history, so will not do much more at this juncture.

Fast forward to more memories: the wonderful lake/pond that stored irrigation water for pasture lands, bald eagles nesting in the mammoth cottonwood trees that sprang from green posts cut for fencing.

Somewhere in the small world that was Chino Valley in those days, I became friends with some quasi-hippies (will they laugh when they read this?) who rented a house at Del Rio.  

Along the way, it followed that there was a wedding reception/barn dance on the ranch.  It was then that Chris first photographed me as I was arriving for the festivities.  I noticed him sitting on his front porch snapping away as the revelers arrived.

Not too long afterward, a life-changing event: an introduction to the señor by mutual friends, the Del Rio connection being that he was also renting a house on the property.  There followed, of course, more time on the ranch, even a funny time for our son Darren.

Harvest over and we had a bit of free time from the farm - we were both working for Gil Bisjak's farm at the time - we wed and thought a bit of honeymoon travel was in order, so Darren was to stay with Dave & Sam at Del Rio.  Without his Mom to prod him into wakefulness in time for school, he missed the bus, unbeknownst to those who were looking out for him.  In standard Darren mode, he simply spent the entire day wandering the ranch.  He gauged when it was time to show up by peering in the window to see what program was on television.  

That house is shown here beyond some of the barns from Fred Harvey days.

Occasional times out at the ranch visiting ensued until it seemed that Del Rio’s beauty and environ was doomed to become a paved-over housing development, a sad travesty the same as so many millions of acres across the landscape . . . but then a light.

Via the visionary efforts of so many, a dream has been realized: a large portion of Del Rio Ranch, the section that has the most historic significance, is slated to become an Arizona State Park, its importance recognized.  

Our most recent visit there was to witness the ceremonial exchange of keys, cementing the culmination of so much work behind the scenes. 

It seemed fitting to have a photo on the porch of the house where the señor resided when we first met some 40-something years ago.