The River Runs On

Water brings life and death as it flows along, and the seemingly ever-present river is always changing. (As Pocahontas put it, "you never step in the same river twice.") The river, in a sense, is change. And a drop of water will travel from one river to another and to another and down from one region into the next. Ever flowing, ever growing. 

The Salt River has long been a favorite Phoenix pastime, especially among the young. Yet I had avoided it as a college party zone. And also of course you can add to that any concerns about the unpredictability of said changing rivers of water and their rapids. Earlier this month, however, I found myself floating down that very same river which I had always avoided. I happened to be there on my thirtieth birthday, and it happened to be a good way to usher in the new decade. 

We visited mid week and after the tubing company had mostly finished its run for the season. So there were very few other people, neither any beer cans nor marshmallows. Instead there were ducks and a plethora of butterflies. The late summer rains brought an abundance of caterpillars that by this point had made their transformation into winged creatures that flew around us. One landed on my shorts and tried to suck nectar from the printed flower on the fabric. Sorry to disappoint you, little butterfly.

Despite it being a warm day, being on the water (and not even being in it) did keep us cool. It's quite a treat to be able to spend time outdoors in the sun during summer without melting. The rapids we floated over didn't cause any trouble except for when they brushed us over to the trees hanging over the edge, but even then there were no mishaps. There is certainly great wildness in rushing over rapids over which one has no control; it's a little different from the controlled environment of Disney's Grizzly River Run, where you have no fear of anything going wrong. 

Because of time constraints, we made the short distance between Points 1 and 2 before exiting. It was also nice to start small. The time passed quickly. While it is possible that the fear of the ever-changing, never again the same river will keep me from going again, yet it was such a pleasant float down the water that it would be nice to begin participating in this favorite pastime regularly. 

Do you fear change, do you fear the unknown? Maybe this is why I have a sometime fear concerning watery situations. The doers infected with wanderlust dive into the water. Whereas I stare into its foggy depths overwhelmed by the possibilities. 

What Was Before

At the McDowell Sonoran Preserve, the Gateway Loop Trail will take you on a four and a half mile, moderately difficult circle around the nearest peak. The rocks are great; the saguaros are great; the teddy bear chollas are great; the ocotillo are great. And so are the fresh air and exercise. But you know the thing about simple trails? Sometimes they have secrets hidden in plain sight.

You won't find it on the trail maps, but Google Maps shows a little spot marked Old Mission Fort just off of the main trail. If you turned left to get onto the loop trail, then you can turn left at the second to last turnoff--that is, the Crossover Trail. If you turned right, then it'll be a right turn at the second turnoff. Turn the corner from the Crossover Trail and there you will find the light ruins of a near-forgotten building.

Museums take time and money and commitment. And, well, there also has to be the need and want for a particular museum in a particular spot. So sometimes old buildings get museums. Sometimes they just end up as near-forgotten ruins hidden in plain sight (or of course also sometimes hidden deeply). You could take the main loop trail a thousand times and never know this was here. 

It isn't the most terribly exciting to view. Just some blocks marking a basic foundation and size and shape. But it's enough for the imagination and enough for conversation. Who built it and when? How many times did it change ownership? Who lived here last? What did it look like in its prime? How many other buildings were nearby? 

Trying to research the place online doesn't bring up much. As the name suggests, it appears to have at one point been connected to the fort and at one point to have been a mission and also to have been a private residence related to the mine. If anyone knows of any books that reference it, I would certainly be interested. But beyond the specifics of who lived or worked in this building, it's simply nice to have a bit of a reminder of the past. A hundred years or so is such a short time ago, and yet still it sets the mind to thinking.

The paths we walk have been walked before by different feet. Some things were much the same and some things were quite different. It's just something to ponder: my life is just one life in a great big history of lives. 

(And just a reminder, take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints. And stay on the trail. If preservation doesn't matter to you, at least remember that rattlesnakes are not a myth.)

Gila Monster Crossing

As I was meandering along, suddenly I noticed that there was a Gila monster a couple or few feet from me. It cared not for my presence; it was simply walking across the path. So I walked on, on the opposite side of the path from the (adorable) venomous lizard. 

What a delight to see such critters. Lizards are a favorite of mine because of my bearded dragon at home (or perhaps I have a bearded dragon at home because lizards are a favorite of mine). So though a Gila monster is much larger than a bearded dragon, I delighted in the shape of its limbs as it stepped slowly forward. It seemed bigger and chunkier than the ones in captivity that are usually curled up asleep in their enclosures. And that's the gist of it, isn't it?

Have I been the Gila monster curled up in captivity? So now as I am struck by the lizard out in its true home, I think of myself stretching out, reaching out, stepping out. 

The breeze feels nice on a sunny day. Gentle inclines seem to matter little after you've passed the steepest ones. Ocotillo fill up with leaves after rain and lift their limbs up to the sun.

And maybe, just maybe you might catch some early ocotillo blossoms, the bright red tips on the green octopus limbs. So go on, walk across the metaphorical path, just like the Gila monster did. 

Gateway Loop Trail - McDowell Sonoran Preserve.

The Mountain and the Cactus

I was climbing over a little mountain. 

The path stretched up and around and down, then up once more and down some more, and then all back and over again. 

There were ocotillos, ripe with leaves after the rain. There were saguaros and teddy bear chollas in abundance. The rocks were mostly pale. 

The sky was bright blue above me, and far away were the Four Peaks up against the horizon. 

My feet paced over the dirt and gravel. I didn't mind the light inclines and declines, but the handful of steps that were as high as my knees did give me pause. I found myself not much taller than the children on the trail--except that I had not quite their youthful, scampering energy. So I paused for half a beat to look at the view or lean on a boulder. 

On the first part of my walk, there was a story--that is, a story not my own. Or was it? 

The slides told in words and pictures of a cactus. The prickly one who tried to be content on its own, until it realized it was lonely, and others were lonely, too, and maybe they it would be better if they could be together. 

I smiled at the cactus in the pictures, and stretched my legs toward the next peak, the next bend in the path. Do you know what might be there?

In less than two hours, I had gone there and back again. I soaked in sunlight and perspective both. 

Pinnacle Peak Trail.

These Is my Words

When I bought Nancy E. Turner's These Is my Words at an antique store a while back, I thought maybe I had read the book in middle school or something. It seemed like the type of thing I would have reached for. Certainly, at least, the name and cover felt familiar to me. On finally reading it, I find that no, I have never read this book before--but it is certainly one with which to be familiar. When I read Vanished Arizona from Martha Summerhayes, I felt like that was something for every Arizonan to read. The same goes for this book.

They are somewhat similar and yet completely different. While Sarah Agnes Prine was a real person and Nancy E. Turner based her character on what she knew of her great grandmother, this book is fiction. As I read, I wondered how much was based on fact--a quick Internet look afterwards shows that most of it is indeed fiction (except for historical things like the army's activity--this is still a well-researched book, even if it is fiction). But it reads very real, so real that it could be and so that is therefore quite reflective of real people's lives in the Arizona Territory.

Martha Summerhayes was an outsider who spent some time living in Arizona as an army wife. Her book is a great read and I do recommend it. But Sarah Prine grew up in the West and lived her whole life in its harsh landscape. When I say I love Arizona today, I am well aware of the fact that the Arizona that exists today is nothing like what it was 140 years ago and who I am today would probably not have been at all able to live in that setting. This book is full of love for the place: Sarah made a home and made friends and family and held onto hard work and hope and love. So even when potential opportunities came to leave, she did not want to.

What makes Sarah's love for her home even more real, though, is her portrayal of its negative side, as well. Although she has a touch exterior, she is internally terrified of attacks, whether Native American raids or from outlaws. She is a good worker and willing to do whatever is necessary, but she tires from the physical labor and she wishes for pearls and velvet. She sweeps snakes off of her porch with nary a thought, then weeps to save her daughter from a rattler. Her love of her home is like her love of her husband: she declares her hatred of him as often as her love. She is passionate and honest--and even though she has emerged as a remarkable person, you can also see her brokenness from growing up under such harsh circumstances. 

While the journal style can be reminiscent of the Dear America books (which are targeted at what, 9 to 12 year olds?) just as much as real memoirs and the 1800's setting of Little House on the Prairie, this is decidedly a book for adults. It is much more graphic than either of those series. Attacks (using any definition of the word) happen and injuries happen (it also has more adult love content, though probably less than the average YA book has). It's quite a heartbreaking book, in fact. And yet it's interesting. Sarah Prine is someone who aims only to live her life--and she knows that other people around her are doing the same. So she is just as sad to know of the Native American camp that was attacked as to know of her own wagon train. And when she is in communities with people, she responds to behavior rather than prejudice. She befriends the Chinese family in the wagon train and helps teach them English, she becomes like family to her Mexican neighbors and learns Spanish and recipes from them, and she is the only army wife to host the Yavapai scout. In contrast, she is turned off by the behavior of the snobby ladies on the train, and is exasperated at her brother's wife who proves herself to be rude rather than dainty (and from whom Sarah must defend her friends). So there is sadness in here, but hope, too.

And you know, the love story is nice, too. We all like a good love story.

This book is an interesting story to read because of its historical portrayals. But it is equally moving to read because it is a portrayal of life lived. There are such strong emotions in here. We might all be thinking of different events in our own lives when we are moved by things in Sarah's life, but I think everyone will be touched emotionally. It is a heartbreaking book, and one of the best books I have read. 

My Painted Heart

 The Painted Desert has my heart, truly. When I'm there, I feel like I am the land. Most often, my trips up to the Petrified Forest are in September, when everything is in bloom (which also makes it the worst time to go if you have allergies, which I do not). This year I was too antsy, though, to wait and also wanted to mix it up. I had never been in August before and the land looks different depending on each season. 

It's quite healing to be outdoors, too. This is a great destination for a solo visit because you're within the safety of a national park (versus the anonymity of a random trail) but it can feel very wide open, too. I sat at lunch in the empty picnic area with just a raven for company--and the blowing, blowing wind. (Yes, the park was emptier than normal currently, but the picnic area has always been empty in my past experience, too. Maybe everyone grabs fast food on the road?)

I tried to make this trip a little bit different than the usual. The park contains a 28 mile road that you drive along, with various look out points and stops along the way and a few trails. You can spend a short time or a very full day or any amount of time in between. Given that I still had quite a drive home, I skipped some of the look out points that I've ogled at before to save time. I'll see them again another time. The Blue Mesa trail is one of my favorites, so I had to walk that one. I skipped the Agate Bridge and Puerco Pueblo. But I walked the Crystal Forest, which is one and a half minutes and gets you close to some lovely petrified wood, some dark and some sparkling. 

Then I made my way up to the Long Logs and Agate House trails. Now, they are only about two miles when combined. But you can no longer drive up to the trailheads, so you have to walk from the visitor center parking lot. And that's I think a mile and a half or so. So this is a long walk through plain, grassy land that is quite beautiful but also quite long if you've already been out in the heat for a while. I can see why most people end up skipping this one (it's also kind of hard to spot now, unless you're specifically trying to get to it). 

But it was a lovely cap to my day. I passed a pair of people when I was going in and saw another pair at one point. Otherwise, for the hour or so that I walked along I was completely alone. The wind had settled somewhat, but there was a storm gathering to the southeast as per usual in summer. That made for lovely views. The grasses spoke silence around me. My skin was growing tired from the heat (the low 90's were fairly comfortable but were starting to get exhausting at the end of the day), but I welcomed the chance to feel tired from sun and slopes. I've been indoors too much this year.

The Agate House is the ruins of a building from a thousand years ago. It was partially reconstructed in the 1930's, which the sign made sure to mention isn't something that would be done today. But it certainly makes it more fascinating to look at. Big chunks of petrified wood used like stones in the construction create a style like the river rock buildings in Cottonwood, though formed together more like the structures at Wupatki. I was so thrilled at the little house on the hill that I got to admire all on my own.

Burning Across the Mountain

Last year I walked across the mountain of dried lava; I wore a green lace dress.

This year I walked across the same mountain while wearing the same dress.

I felt free and alive and happy.

My heart was stretched across the land.

I came home and thought of you and was sad.

I will never forget you. I burn with life.

(Boyce Thompson Arboretum State Park)

Let It Stay

Normally I don't post anything about the Images of America books. Usually they're not well-suited towards the typical reaction-to-a-book post, though I do quite like them. You can find one on whatever city or town you're interested in--and probably on your favorite state park or historic bridge, too. In fact, the sub-topics are so many now that I wonder how many total Images of America books there are about the greater Phoenix area.

I did have something to say about the Downtown Phoenix book: it was rather depressing. Phoenix history is fascinating because it's in many ways the history of the effects of industrialization. People had been settling in Arizona for decades, but Phoenix didn't really take off as this massive, constantly growing thing until it had a good water supply and a connection to the railroad. So the start of the boom for Phoenix was the turn of the century, when electricity and motor cars and refrigeration were on the rise.

It was quite a "cultural" place. You turn the pages of this book and find all sorts of beautiful or fascinating buildings. But then you get to the end of the caption and read "no longer standing" or "demolished in ___" and it's really quite sad. Like a lot of cities, Phoenix became quite awkward as people started settling more in the suburbs and focusing their attention into those places.

Think about even today. You'll go downtown if you're going to see a game or a show or if you work in one of the office buildings. But for a cute old town district, you go into the surrounding cities. For restaurants, probably the same, unless you're catching something right before the show or game starts--even if you are going to Phoenix, it's probably higher up than the downtown area.

Granted, the entertainment area is there in Phoenix (I miss you, Symphony Hall). Even some of the historical has been saved (looking at you, Heritage Square). And there is art, too, with First Fridays and the art galleries. But when you look at the pictures of great brick buildings that were smothered and then torn down, it's regretful that things didn't happen differently.

The hope is that when we build things, we build things for permanence. And when we look at a place, we also look at it with permanence. Instead of saying, what can we demolish, to say what is already here that we can continue to use? I don't like the idea of a place where buildings are torn down and rebuilt every few decades. How wasteful is that? Instead I hope that we can more often build things to stay and maintain the things that we have.

Arizona Falls

Phoenix history is very much the history of water in the valley. I like to tell people the story of how Phoenix got its name: settlers dug up the old Hohokam canals and started using them again, so like the mythical bird that rises up from its ashes, a new civilization was starting up again where one had previously been before.

Early Phoenix was agricultural. If you have agriculture, you need water. And if you have as many people living in a place as live in the greater Phoenix area today, you need water. So the history of the canals and the dams is linked tightly with the history of Phoenix settlement.

Today I'm drawing attention to a place that was historically a day trip destination and is today a little taste of history and a little education on the canals and a little leisure spot. That's Arizona Falls, of course.

True to its name, it was once essentially just a waterfall that people would visit, a place where they'd go to try and cool off or to enjoy a picnic. You can see pictures of people in their Victorian garb sitting out there and hear stories of how it was an all day thing to get there from what is today Downtown Phoenix.

Technically Arizona Falls is in Phoenix, but it's really just a hair away from Scottsdale. It's right next to a park and walking trails today. And it's changed. It's more covered up--but you can still see and hear and feel the power of the water.

Signage explains the history of water in the valley and the importance of the canals. Benches provide seating so that you can enjoy a quiet moment--well, quiet except for the roaring of the water. Art, in the form of design and poetry, sets this place up not just for function but also for beauty. In fact, the very point of incorporating art here is to establish the beauty of functional, necessary things--to let them in themselves be art.

Water is powerful. Water is necessary. Water is life. Here, now, and always. That's the message Arizona Falls conveys.

Old Town Cottonwood Chocolate Walk 2019

I first attended the Old Town Cottonwood Chocolate Walk in probably either 1999 or 2000. When you're a child, an event like this is fun--it's like trick-or-treating except that you get all chocolate and it's filled with Christmas cheer instead of Halloween fright. But being in December, it was also cold. As the night got darker and colder, we would just skip the last places on the map rather than run over to them in the cold. And after you've done it a couple years, you just kind of stop.

Revisiting good memories from the past in a new way, though, can be great fun. So this year I decided to go for it again--about twenty years later for me, it was the 26th Chocolate Walk for Cottonwood. And it's changed a bit.

I remember getting a hand-decorated bag. It had a glittery Christmas tree on it. Not to say that there was anything wrong with the sticker-bedecked bags this year; it's just a difference. And this year the hours were 3-7. I doubt it started so early twenty years ago; I don't think we waited until dark just because. Maybe we did . . . but I'm thinking they've just brought the start time earlier. If that's the case, I'm all for it. Cottonwood, for those of you outside of Arizona, is in the very center of the state. Phoenix is in the southern half. So Cottonwood (which is two hours from Phoenix) and the rest of the Verde Valley experience cooler temperatures and greater temperature drops than the Phoenix area. In winter, especially after the sun sets, it's cold to be spending much time outside.

Plus, there was some rain on the forecast for evening. So three o'clock sounded like a great time to start to me. Everyone else seemed to be there right at the beginning, too. There are some tickets available at the door, but mainly you'll want to purchase them ahead of time, then you pick them up at the Club House. It was built in 1939 by the WPA with local river rocks. 

Old Town Cottonwood itself has changed so much in twenty years. It's been remodeled so much, mainly for the better. It was a little beat up in the nineties; now it has that cute small town look again. And it's filled with restaurants, shops, businesses, and lots of wineries. 

The Chocolate Walk gets you your little bag with a map to take to 30 different spots. You have each participating business mark off your map and they give you a piece of chocolate. So it's a great way to refresh yourself on what businesses are there, maybe visit a couple you'd never stepped in before. I did have to do a quick walk through of Papillon Antiques; they have some great pieces there.

There are window displays to check out as you go along, as well as some indoor decorations. 

A couple spots had hot chocolate, too, which is great when you are starting to get a little cool. 

I took a picture of the bacon chocolate not because I like bacon chocolate (I confess, I picked off the bacon) but because it was the only chocolate that wasn't in a bag. So I figured it was deserving of a picture with Old Town in the background. That white building on the left side is the Tavern, which was once a movie theatre that caught on fire. I remember seeing it like that, as a former theatre.

Technically you can go quickly and finish in an hour. I finished in probably an hour and forty-five or fifty minutes, something like that. Then I bought a tamale to eat on a bench with some of my chocolate while I waited for the lights at 5:30.

They call it a light show. And it may have covered a small space, but hey, it was still pretty great. If this were Disneyland, it would be packed shoulder to shoulder. The lights set up over the buildings can light up to show different shapes and characters. It's all synced to music so that you'll see certain images to go along with certain songs. The images turn on and off and switch up. They're Christmas lights; it's fun. 

It was all pretty awesome timing, too. The raindrops started as little speckles once the lights turned on. So I got to enjoy it all without turning into a wet duck. 

I took my bag of chocolate and departed through the growing rain. 

Here is what 30 chocolates minus a couple that I had on the night look like. Sure, tickets can be a little pricey at $25, but you're paying for a community event and you are in fact getting a pretty decent amount of chocolate. If you're going with a group, you don't necessarily need a separate ticket per person. Depending on how much you want to share, one ticket can be good for two to five people. Of course, I realize I'm saying that as someone who got to keep all the chocolate for myself. 

As you can see, they're mainly handmade. Most are pretty simple. Fudge or toffee or pretzels, or this adorable Oreo/Hershey's-kiss/cherry-cordial mouse. But remember, there are also many restaurants (some with quite good food) and wineries in Old Town. So they're not necessarily going to hand out basic fudge and call it quits. A couple of these are going to be quite good, the type that you would spend $2.50 on in a chocolate shop. 

So you get the fancy piece of chocolate bark or a great cake pop without the stick and you get the chocolate rice crispy treat and the chocolate cookie. You get a mix and most of it is in what I'd call the "holiday cookie" variety. Homemade sweets, essentially. I mean, if it were going to be about gourmet truffles, well, tickets would be more than $25 and all the businesses would be taking chocolate making classes from Black Butterfly in Prescott beforehand. It's glorified trick-or-treating, remember.

That being said, I'm quite glad I went again. The novelty was great. I had fun. It was a pleasant way to spend a December evening. And I'm enjoying eating my chocolates. Community events are fantastic.