A return to winter
March 5, 2017

 Granted that the bulk of our time away was not particularly warm in the weather department and granted that snow in the mountains in February is not at all surprising, but some part of me was hoping that the season had magically transformed during the month and we would return to fragrant blossoms and balmy temperatures.

Alas, the reality, although lovely to look at, was somewhat jarring.  Our timing was good, though: the roads were clear and the wind not too bad for pulling the trailer home.

Willcox . . .

Our final stint out was in Willcox, known as the home of "The Arizona Cowboy" - Rex Allen.  That claim to fame is wholly insufficient as an economic stimulus; the town is a faded shadow of its former self, although perhaps the burgeoning vineyard/winery enterprises in the Sulphur Springs Valley region may provide a shot in the arm.

Speaking of wineries, our prearranged rendezvous with friends Gail & Normand led us to the Zarpara Vineyard & wine tasting room, where we indulged ourselves in a reprieve from the wind and dust to sample the offerings.

We three sipped while Chris helped himself to a guitar parked in the corner.

Okay, so I forget the dog's name (was it Tillie?), but she and Normand forged an instant friendship.  Look at that tail wagging and those love-fillled eyes.

One of the more amusing aspects of the Zarpara wine tasting was this picture hanging in the ladies' room.

Okay, so we stopped at a second wine tasting room - couldn't help it, really - it was right next door to our friend Casey's house, so she joined us for a late-afternoon session.

Cranes in the wind . . .

The purported purpose of our Willcox stopover was to share the sandhill crane experience.  The shallow basins of the playas thereabout fill during the winter, becoming the seasonal home of many thousands of migratory waterfowl.

Sandhill cranes numbering more than 13,000 jostle for position along the wading waterways, departing for surrounding grain fields for daytime feeding.  While we were there, the wind seldom ceased, whipping up dust clouds of gargantuan proportions, and creating pretty unpleasant conditions for outdoor activities of any kind.

The steady strong wind evidently affected the cranes' behavior, resulting in little flight activity; the birds primarily stayed put and many even lay down lest they be toppled over (I felt like doing the same - it was blustery enough that I had difficulty holding my binoculars steady).

Normand kindly located a sheltered corner for our picnic lest it be blown away before we could enjoy it.  Note our windblown coiffures.

Cochise Hotel, Big Nose Kate and other ghosts . . .

As we know, it's all about the journey, not necessarily the destination, and that weekend was no exception.  As we wandered back roads searching for birds that were not out there in the fields (despite having the proverbial bird brains supposed to be of minimal effectiveness, they were huddled at their more protected roosts), we encountered several sites of interest.

The 1882 adobe Cochise Hotel is one with which we have more than a passing acquaintance.  We were sorry to see that it is no longer open for its original purpose after serving as a hotel and more from 1882 until 2007.

Named for the town in which it sits, the inn originally faced the railroad depot and served as lodging for the Southern Pacific crews, in addition to serving as the Wells Fargo office.  The depot is no longer there and the town scarcely exists.

We have lodged there twice and quite enjoyed the unique experience.  At that time, the proprietors were two elderly women (remember, the "elderly" designation is relative), Lilly & Liz, who made sure that their customers toed the line.  Breakfast was served family style at 8 a.m.; Lilly cooked and insured we didn't miss the meal by rapping sharply at each room door and calling us to the trough.

The parlor was scarcely navigable, it being necessary to wend one's way around the antique furniture that overfilled the room.  At the end of the hallway was the original water closet.  Although it remained operational, we were grateful that upgraded rooms included private bathrooms.  When the water closet developed a leak during the night, Chris rose to the occasion and fixed it.

Big Nose Kate, companion of the equally infamous Doc. Holliday, was employed at the Cochise Hotel at some point after his death in 1887.  As I was not present at that early date, I cannot personally substantiate that.  Kate (I'm torn between calling her that or Big Nose, but not being intimately acquainted, I opted for the more formal Kate) later lived in Prescott's Pioneer Home, where she died in 1940.  Actually, her birth name was Maria Katalin Horony, and she was later known as Mary Katherine Horony-Cummings, but as usual, I digress.

Now a private residence as the general store has been at times, the Cochise Hotel offers a bed & breakfast respite.

Cochise's general store, constructed in 1913, remains standing but not operating on an adjacent corner.

A sad tale in Pearce . . .

Pearce was another waystop, and as bereft of human activity as Cochise.  In the same way, private residences have usurped the uses in Pearce's historical structures.  A latecomer, Pearce was not established until the 1890s with the development of the Commonwealth Mine's gold and silver.

One preserved historic building in the ghost of Pearce is the "new" jail, constructed in the second decade of the 20th century to replace the original structure.  When we see these buildings from long ago, it is difficult to visualize real folks living their real lives in and around them.  Since our stop there, I located an interesting and harrowing account of one use of the old jail.

Undoubtedly, others were incarcerated there, but two notable denizens were brothers, William & Thomas Halderman, aged 21 and 18, who were held in the Pearce jail before being transported to Tombstone where they were hanged in 1900 in front of a sizable audience.

The Halderman brothers' saga is one that seems to have escalated all out of proportion to its beginnings, possibly as a dispute over two young women.  I will not attempt to relate the tragedy, but offer this link to anyone who is interested:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shootout_at_Wilson_Ranch.

We were stumped at discerning the intention of odd "decorations" on and around the Pearce jail.

The former Pearce general store is a handsome building now utilized as a private residence.

Casey . . .

This sojourn has been chock-full of our favorite thing: people - friends and folks in the process of becoming friends.  Another of our long-time cherished amigos, Casey, now lives in Willcox, having moved into town from her family homestead, the Riggs Ranch.

She and her friend Fred joined us and Gail & Normand for a little dinner party at the Wuehrmann ranch - the travel trailer.  'Twould have been nice to gather a little earlier in the day; however, an unplanned jaunt to Tucson to replace a slashed truck tire consumed the bulk of the afternoon.  In spite of that, a good time was had by all.
 

If Casey had not spotted this  damage to our tire, I feel sure we would have had a blowout, most likely in a dangerous and certainly less convenient time and place.  We have no idea what happened, but were happy that we could access Discount Tire for a replacement even though it was not our ideal way to spend the day.

We had not been to Casey's house in Willcox, so enjoyed getting acquainted with her new digs and seeing her wonderful studio.  She is an excellent, but modest, artisan; I have always been in awe of her work.

We also got a tour of Fred's A-frame house that he designed and built himself, an impressive work in itself.  He resides in nearby Dos Cabezas, a settlement of mostly adobes that figured prominently in my childhood, but that's a story for another time.

When Chris played Fred's grand piano, we were astounded at how beautifully the music resonated in the space.

Sulphur Springs . . .

Water being of necessity for human survival, it is not surprising that early settlement always occurred where it was available in one form or another.  Many of those locales use the word "spring" in their name, but more often than not, the actual water source has disappeared.

The Sulphur Springs Valley where Willcox is located is no exception.  We got to wondering just where the water had bubbled up out of the ground and whether it continued to do so and whether it was sulphurous (seems likely) or whether it was warm.  Casey knows her way around that country; after all, her family has ranched there since her great grandparents set up housekeeping in the region, so she guided our quest.

We located the plaque that refers to the two springs and proceeded from there, and a fascinating explore it was. 

When we found the bedrock mortars mentioned on the plaque, we knew we were in the vicinity.  The depressions had obviously been utilized by early peoples for millennia - there were dozens of them and they were all very deep.  I have never seen so many in one place.

We surmised that this is the spot from which the spring water flowed.

This may be the remains of Indian agent Tom Jeffords' headquarters of the short-lived Chiricahua Apache Reservation.

We fell right back into our long-ago routine with Casey of scouting around for anything of interest.

I like this and the next shot; they are reminiscent of the following deer pics when they stop to assess whether I am a danger, although I'm fairly certain that Casey and Chris did not feel threatened by my camera.

This and the next three were taken on the Riggs Ranch, where Casey's family settled long ago.

Look at the abundant graze out there, a clear indication of plentiful moisture over the past months.  No wonder there are so many deer.

This is becoming quite a large issue in that region because of depleting the aquifer and causing the water table to drop.

This mineralized deposit combined with the vibrant hue of lichen for a beautiful sight.

Bowing to the force of the unrelenting wind, this butterfly remained in its sheltered spot on a rosemary plant.  It was there when we arrived at the winery and it was still there when we left.

Over it in Tucson
February 23, 2017

Ankle surgery done and recovery complete - check!
Eye surgery done and recovery complete - check!

It’s now back to life as we conceive it.  A kamikaze drive from our current roosting spot in Tucson to Mesa netted the all-clear signal from the surgeon.  In fact, Dr. Graff seemed inordinately tickled with what he saw while perusing the images of Lefty’s nether side.

He explained the pictures the techs took of my eye’s inner workings (this really is miraculous stuff here, folks!) that showed the macular hole completely healed with only a tiny cyst residing there that will resolve itself in short order.

The doc was practically gleeful in announcing Lefty’s recovery.  Upon hearing the good news, I was compelled to ask him whether I had actually questioned during the procedure if he was doing the surgery with a q-tip, and sure enough, folks, I really did do that - was kinda hoping I had imagined it in the foggy twilight.  “It was adorable”, he laughingly said, and he truly did seem to mean it.

My other burning question was whether I could have actually seen the vitreous being drained from my eye, or if I might have imagined that.  Sure enough, because the optic nerve remains in working order while the orb itself is chemically stilled, I could, and did, witness the fluid in my eye being drained away.  A sight I will never forget, it contained dark streaks that I presume were the multitude of floaters departing within the vitreous.  Admittedly, I was fascinated with the sight, even in my somnambulant state.

Rincon Country West, trains and planes . . .

Our first time in Rincon Country West RV Resort, so aptly named, we are finding much to appreciate.  We were scarcely in our space before we were invited to happy hour at a neighboring RV.  Everyone at the large outdoor circle welcomed us and a good time was had by all as we imbibed our adult beverages and feasted on potluck appetizers.

Chris’ keyboard playing on subsequent evenings garnered lots of appreciative listeners and allowed us to get acquainted with even more folks, interesting and experienced RVers who shared memories and recommendations for places to visit and stay.

Extensive facilities for sports and activities of every imaginable ilk abound here and there are clubs, gatherings and games constantly, not to mention the largest garden railroad (who knew that was a thing???) in Arizona is here.  My pics of the layout do not do it justice, unfortunately.

The railroaders are a bunch of fun enthusiastic fellers that have done a bang-up job with the large intricate lines and incredibly detailed scenes - everything from Barney Fife at the diner to an Indian village with a woman hard at work at rug weaving to an outdoor dance pavilion, a pink jeep and rock climbers to a rural setting complete with appropriate barnyard sounds and so much more!  In response to my excitement about the layout, I got the VIP tour that didn’t miss a single detail.

One of the model railroaders hard at "work".  The layout requires a good bit of maintenance, some of it interestingly due to javelinas that arrive of an evening for refreshment from the model's running waterways.  I was astounded that they don't do more damage to the sets.

Railroad aside, the planes part of being here is not nearly as fun, but seems to go with the territory in Tucson.  Civilian airliners and military jets are often overhead and make their presence noisily apparent.  It seems very odd to be hiking on a trail in the serene quiet of the desert mountains, only to have the solitude broken regularly by large accelerating and decelerating aircraft.

And about that hiking:  we had a marvelous day of it with cousins Barb & Jim.  Barb planned a primo day for us: a rocky trail into the Tucson Mountains culminating at a roofless stone house followed by a to-die-for late lunch at Starr Pass Resort, and a nice birding finale at Sweetwater Wetlands Park.

In addition to the phenomenal sights and views in the mountains - impressive numbers of saguaros rising majestically above varied abundant desert vegetation - we were surprised to hear the call of a great horned owl.  So unexpected that we were rooted to the spot as we scanned the surrounding mountainsides trying to spy the bird.  Finally, he called again, allowing us to zero in to his location.  Once we spotted him in a palo verde tree, we were even more astounded to see that it was a pair of owls calling to us from across the canyon.  Too distant to get a good photo, we gave it a try anyway.

There really is a pair of great horned owls in this picture.

The trip bird list grew on the hike with the addition of black-throated sparrow, black-tailed gnatcatcher and canyon towhee.

The stone cabin is a popular trail terminus; a small group of people were there when we arrived.  Evidently, enough trekkers have visited there and left crumbs from their snacks that the neighborhood avian life bops in to try out the tidbits left behind.

The house was built in the 1930s by Sherry Bowen, ostensibly as a suitable place for his wife to regain her health.  The couple returned to New York from their very isolated perch after the birth of their only child to resume their vocations of writing and reporting for the Associated Press.

At Sweetwater, we identified common gallinule, gadwall and gray hawk to add to the trip list. . .

. . . and there were turtles by the gazillions, which always makes me go a little snap-happy.

In addition to our welcome time with Barb & Jim, we had a lovely evening with dear friends Norma & George and a lunchtime get-together with Walter & Paulette, who have relocated back to Arizona from their long-time home in Washington.  For some reason, they did not heed my admonition to move to Prescott and are now ensconced in Tucson.  I dropped the photographic ball and forgot to get a shot of us with Walter & Paulette, but we managed to get a restaurant staffer to shoot us with Norma & George.

I dropped said ball again when I was too involved laughing with the “princesses”, a small group of school chums from one of the Dakotas, all of whom were sporting tiaras for their reunion and having the best time ribbing each other about their respective roles way, way back in elementary school days.

Agua Caliente . . .

One final foray prior to departing Tucson, Chris & I drove alllll the way across the city for a short look-around at Agua Caliente Park (the expanses of pavement and traffic filling it, everyone vying for their own spot at a speed far too rapid for safety are just about my undoing).  Although normally a fine birding locale, our mid-afternoon stop on a chilly windy day was not conducive to seeking nor finding, with one exceptional exception.

We had scarcely arrived when I heard a distant call of a great horned owl.  We began to follow the sound, although we heard it only seldom and despite the fact that the bird was surely hidden within the depths of the very bushy unshorn palms.  Our only clue besides the occasional sporadic vocalization was the approximate area we had seen a great horned on our only previous visit several years prior.  Despite the seeming impossibility of spying the owl, we located him in short order and were able to share our exciting find with a birder from Chicago who was appropriately impressed with our good fortune - skill, he called it; plain dumb luck seemed more like it.  And I even got a nice shot of of the magnificent bird during one of the times he poked his head out of his hidey hole far up in the tree.

This was our first glimpse of the owl.

Imagine finding that tiny speck 30-or-so feet up somewhere in this mass.

This cactus wren was relentless in warning us away; perhaps we were encroaching too near to her nest.

The señor finds the oddest things sometimes, like this millipede exoskeleton.

Speaking of odd: whilst lunching on the terrace, we witnessed verdins industriously worrying at sugar packets.  Of course my curiosity required satisfaction, thus we inquired of the staff and discovered that the birds have developed a taste for the natural sweets and distinguish between the real thing and artificial sweeteners identified by their colors.  More discerning than their human counterparts, they eat only natural sugar.

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."  That sentiment was artistically chalked onto the floor of the stone cabin.