Adventure 653: Casita Living/Post J

                                                                Blog Boy

After a night of measurable rain, we awoke to fog on the hillside, a desert personality we've not seen before, not that we've seen everything. We've never seen a wild javelina, a free range rattle snake, a  sun baked gila monster, or the desert bloomed in full color. We have seen roadrunners, ground rodents, jack rabbits, plenty of birds, and a plethora of sightseers like ourselves. We've warmed ourselves in the sunlight; we've inhaled fully the fresh air, and we've thoroughly enjoyed picking our way over jagged rocks, less so sloshing through soft wash sand, but in the last ten days, we've taken a full joyful measure of the Saguaro National Park. We've concluded that the place is worthy. Today, we saved one of the very short, highly traveled, and appropriately popular trails called the Desert View, for our last hike. We walked a mere three miles total, but the top of the ridge rewarded us with a panoramic view of the entire valley Southwest of Tucson. Unlike the other trails, this trail has clear signage indicating the names of the plants. The broad stair like trail glides gently upward to the viewpoint. It's not quite wheel chair friendly, but any ambulatory person could manage the hike, even young children. After lunch, we readied ourselves for the trip home. The casita has a washer/dryer, so laundry was in order. It's always preferable to return home with bags full of clean clothes. We buffed a few scratches from the rental car that we incurred when we overshot the casita in the first place, dropping our poor little Corolla into a deep saddle shaped wash bordered thickly by a grove of palo verde trees the willingly slashed the sides of the car with their thorns. I don't think we'll be charged for damages now, and thankfully the Corolla didn't spring a leak when I scraped her underside over the unforgiving granite boulders. We check out tomorrow at 10. As is our usual procedure, we'll leave the place nearly clean. The owners like to take care of cleaning towels, sheets, etc. Other than that, we'll leave them with very little to do. Our plane leaves at 5:30, so we'll spend the day once again with our friends, the Kral's. God willing we'll land in Spokane around 9:30 where the temperature will be shivering just above 20 degrees. I'll immediately ask myself why I'm there, and I'll probably dream about cacti for a few weeks. Mostly I'll be grateful I got to get away with my Bunny, and the bottom line as always will be that life is good, especially today.

Until next time, little casita.

Wow.

Amazingly, the phone camera actually picked up more of the mountains than I could really see.

O.K. you can be our friend, just take off your hat.

Hey, Bunny.

A more accurate photo of the morning mist.

Peace? YMCA? Or, you can tune a guitar, but you can't tune a cactus.

In late spring, the arms of the saguaro cacti will bloom in a blush of white flowers.

Young Falcon taking his parents on a fun visit to the ocean.

Not quite the stairway to heaven, but a view of God's work at the top for sure.

Adventure 652: Casita Living/Post I

Today's hike started in the sun.

 

We enjoyed a slow morning until we drove to Sabino Canyon to meet our friends, the Kral's, for another splendid hike in Tucson. Sabino Canyon Recreation area winds itself around the base of the Santa Catarina mountains on the northern border of Tucson. The area is arguably the crown jewel. We hiked about five miles up a riparian trail called Bear Creek. After our turn around, we watched, and soon felt the advance of a desert squall. Dark clouds dripped rain in the South. The front edge of the wind poured off the mountains from the North. And soon drops speckled our bodies, forcing us to reach for our rain gear. Although the amount of rain was minimal, it did serve to drop the temperature from around 79 degrees to a bone chilling 58. Fortunately, we didn't experience this change until near the end of our hike. Regardless, it's just another example of the harshness Mother Nature can deal out to the unwary. However, I'm quite smitten with Mother Nature. I respect her as much as I love the fact that she cares little whether I'm prepared or not. I've learned that lesson. I remember as a young man, I hadn't. I took an overnight bicycle trip mid August. My destination was Fort Spokane State Park, a distance of about 75 miles. It was 95 degrees when I left, dressed in  a cotton t-shirt, cotton gym shorts, and cotton socks. I carried no rain gear. After all, it was hot, sunny, and dry. A sudden summer squall ensued, drenching me. The temperature dropped forty degrees. I was very near hypothermia when I reach Davenport, Washington. I took shelter in a pioneer era log school house that is part of a display in downtown Davenport. I stripped to God's birthday suit, started my cooking stove, and hooked my soaked clothing off my tire pump like limp weenies over a campfire.  Meanwhile, I shivered and shimmied myself to warmth inside my sleeping bag. From that day forward, I've never taken a bike trip without packing my cold weather gear. I do so love Mother Nature. She's completely fair, completely impartial, and not moved in the slightest by petition. I wish mere men could be so just. But enough of memory lane. As usual, I spent today's hike enthralled with the saguaros. I will miss them dearly two days hence when we fly back to Spokane. But not to worry about a future yet to exist; instead, I'll relish the fact that life is good, especially today.

These fellows live right outside the front door of the Firelight Casita we're staying at.

The trail, dripping on both sides with majestic saguaros, goes all the way to the base of the mountain where a seasonal waterfall tumbles. Due to snow melt, monsoon season, and frequent sudden squalls, Sabino Canyon has abundant water making it like heaven for the flora and fauna.

These guys decided to live among the granite slabs.

The trail leads on and on. Who can say about tomorrow?

I'm always on the look out for heart shaped rocks to add to my friend, Liz Ulmen's, collection. This one will make her howl.

All too soon, this blue turned into that dark gray to the left.

Meanwhile, our grandson, Falcon, is making his first visit to the ocean. Seems like he's having a good time.

 

Adventure 651: Casita Living/Post H

Justice for All.

What a day! The Reverend Al Sharpton may have had the best quip of the day when he said, "Petty caught a plane to Florida." And Amanda Gorman may have asked the seminal question when she opened her poem with "When day comes we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?" Or when she pointed out that "...the norms of what just is isn't always just-ice." In the end she witnessed "...for there is always light, if only we're brave enough to see it, if only we're brave enough to be it." How inspiring!  I wish my spirit had her purity because when I flipped to Fox news for the take of "The Five",  my blood boiled the same as theirs. Their reflections centered on what they felt was the left's quest to punish the right. Jesse Watters sarcastically suggested that racism isn't a prominent issue in America. Greg Gutfield went on a poisonous rant about the cancel culture. It helps to realize that the the "battle for the soul of our country" as President Biden framed it still wages, but my great fear is that in the name of reconciliation, accountability will be lost. I'm guilty as charged in my blood lust for punishment. I find myself disgusted by Kevin McCarthy's comments, by Ted Cruz's mere presence, and the seditious over reach of more than one hundred congress members objecting to Biden's certification. I found myself less than generous about Mike Pence's stiff performance today, and I could barely listen to Mitch McConnell's Senate floor speech yesterday. This is all to say that I'm dismayed to find myself as part of the problem, as part of the great divide. I've become a profiler, muttering to myself as I observe other people, "That guy must be a Trump supporter; therefore he must be a moron. This kind of attitude isn't helpful, which is why I'm so grateful that a better man than myself is now at the helm of our country. Joe Biden is decent, compassionate, experienced, and empathetic. I'll do everything I can to support him. For it's good to think that better days are coming, which in itself is a baseless claim for me because my life is and has been good for some time. I pray that with the leadership of Joe Biden and the inspiration Amanda Gorman I'll be able to develop the courage to be the light. If so, I'll be able to get out of the shade of the petty plane.

Don't even get me started on the issues of free speech, media manipulation, and the disingenuous world of alternative facts.

Note: The above rant and admission of personal weakness is not necessarily certified by my Bunny. She has a much more positive view of today's events.

Adventure 650: Casita Living/Post G

Some say art, some say graffiti.

We enjoyed a special treat today, and I don't mean more saguaro viewing, although we'd see several magnificent specimens on our hike. The special treat was to spend the day with our niece, Miss Kate and her husband Scott, who are taking a winter respite from the cold climes of Goshen, Indiana. Miss Kate is Judy's late sister, Jane's, youngest daughter. She and Scott are young entrepreneurs who own and operate a flower farm on their one acre property in Goshen. They sell flower arrangements at the local farmer's market twice a week during the growing season. In addition, they run a CSA business supplying beautiful flower arrangements to people every week, other week, or once a month. They've built the business to more than 75 regular customers. In addition, they do weddings. But most of all, besides their business acumen, they bring beaming smiles, infinite hope, and a gentle kindness that this world needs. Scott and I had to remind Miss Kate and Judy to socially distance due to their tendency to grapple like Sumo wrestlers. That was just at the first meeting. We managed to control ourselves most of the day. We hiked a little over four miles in cool weather among a variety of cacti. The trail, worn smooth by constant mountain bike traffic, suited us much better than our sand trudge through the Panther Wash yesterday. After our hike, we ventured back into downtown Tucson for a second visit to The Little One Cafe. The food, as we've come to expect, was once again spectacular. We sat outside, fully spaced. In all, it was proof once again that life is good, especially today.

You may, but I never tire of these cacti.

Scott choosing our route.

Scott, braver than me.

Another reminder of our temporal world.

Last night's sunset, and grateful I was to see it.

Desert birds enjoy their saguaro condos.

Strange presentation.

Auntie and niece.

And in proper pandemic pose.

Scott and Kate.

Adventure 649: Casita Living/Post F

Good morning, sunshine (Veranda view)

A couple of folks from the North can surely get used to waking to  this crisp blue air, cloudless sky, and the promise of warmth in our bones. We hit the trail again today, this time a 4.6 mile trek along the Panther Wash via the Cam-Bo and the Roadrunner trails. The saguaros were plentiful, majestic as always, but on this hike they were enhanced by a plethora of bushy chain fruit cholla cacti, whose full furry tops beckoned. Only the unwary would dare pick their fruit. Like most inhabitants of the desert, they have prickly personalities. This will likely be the last wash trail we take. Walking in deep sand isn't as fun as it sounds, and the panoramic views are a bit stilted within the banks of these dry rivers. It's hard to believe that water ever flows in these channels, but warning signs that say, "Don't enter when flooded" are placed before every dip in the terrain. Nonetheless, our hike refreshed our spirit much like listening to the young poet who will read at Biden's inauguration. An amazing 22 year old, I can hardly wait to hear the poem she reads. Here's a sample of her work:

The Miracle of Morning

I thought I'd awaken to a world of mourning.

Heavy clouds crowding, a society storming.

But there's something different on this golden

morning.

Something magical in the sunlight, wide and warming.

I see a dad with a stroller taking a jog.

Across the street, a bright eyed girl chases her dog.

A grandma on a porch fingers her rosaries.

She grins as her young neighbor brings her groceries.

While we might feel small, separate, and all alone,

Our people have never been more closely tethered.

The question isn't if we will weather the unknown,

But how we will weather this unknown together.

So on this meaningful morn, we mourn and we mend,

Like light, we can't be broken, even when we bend.

As one, we will defeat both despair and disease.

we stand with healthcare heroes, and all employees;

With families, libraries, schools, waiters, artists;

Businesses, restaurants, and hospitals hit hardest.

We ignite not in the light, but in lack thereof,

For it is in loss that we truly learn to love.

In this chaos, we will discover clarity.

In suffering, we must find solidarity.

For it is our grief that gives us our gratitude,

Shows us how to find hope, if we ever lose it.

So ensure that this ache wasn't endured in vain:

Don't ignore the pain. Give it purpose. Use it.

Read children's book, dance alone to DJ music.

Know that this distance will make our hearts grow

fonder.

From a wave of woes our world will emerge stronger.

We'll observe how the burdens braved by humankind

Are also the moments that make us humans kind;

Let every dawn find us courageous, brought closer,

Heeding the light before the fight is over.

When this ends, we'll smile sweetly, finally seeing

In testing times, we became the best of beings.

By Amanda Gorman

Right on, Amanda. Life is good, even when it isn't. It renews itself every bright morning.

A full forest of these spiny guys.

Not fit for human touch.

Wash walking not recommended.

This whole side of the park is filled with stands like this.

My Bunny looks like she's never seen wildlife like this. I do wish I'd taken a picture of the cowboy: pinstripe collarless shirt buttoned all the way up. Suede vest; black stetson; Vandyke beard; thick leather belt adorned with jade jewels and a huge silver buckle. Didn't see a side arm, but I'll wager he owns one.

This part of the desert is surprisingly mountainous.

 

 

Adventure 648: Casita Living/Post E

Watched a little football, too.

As much to relax as to honor God, we enjoyed a day of rest. We indulged in a late breakfast, took a brief walk down the goat path, caught up on the news from Spokane with Libby, and then retired to the casita for a full day filled with casual nothingness. Judy sat out back in the warm sun knitting for a while (She alone can claim the accomplishment of the day: she finished one sock.). I spent the day alternating between reading Ivan Doig's Dancing at the Rascal Fair and adding a few years to my autobiography, which I'm writing, not so much for vanity, as for my children and grand children to have some record, albeit a biased account. Today, I relived the birth of my first child, Steve who was born on November 21, 1976. I had worked a shift as a bartender, which got me home in bed around 3 A.M. Annie woke me up at 4, announcing her water had broken. In a fit of first time fatherhood panic and dazed sleep seeds fogging my eyes, I managed to load her and the "go" kit into our car, a 1949 two door Chevy. Traffic was light, and we arrived at the hospital without incident. Six hours later things got a little hairy. Steve was transverse in the birth canal, and time was getting close for emergency measures. I didn't know then, but I know now that there is nothing to worry about with medical types until they start moving quickly. Around 10 A.M.  that morning, they started moving quickly. After some deliberation, Dr. Garabedian, our pediatrician, decided to enter the birth canal with a pair of forceps that looked like a large pair of scissors with spatulas on each side, while I looked on dumbfounded and helpless in the corner of the delivery room. Annie, I hope, was delirious with opiates. Garbedian deftly pressed against either side of Steve's soft baby head with the forceps, made a firm but gentle twisting motion, and an immediate suction sound released him. Out he slid, healthy and only slightly cone headed from the experience. He had slight reddish marks on either side of his head, but the skin wasn't broken. Dr. Garabedian then gently pressed here and there on Steve's head much like he was molding clay, and before you knew it Annie was holding our perfect son in her arms exclaiming, "Timmy, it's a boy." I was standing there in my hospital gown smiling tears down my cheeks. A couple days later we loaded him into the Chevy, and our lives changed forever. It caused me to think about how quickly life can change, and how much of it is either grace or luck. I'm thankful and think quite often that I'm the luckiest guy on the planet. When I talked to Libby today, I told her this story and related to her that she was not born yet in my personal treatise, but I did remind her that that, too, was a good day. Tomorrow, we resume our exploration of the Saguaro National Park, but as for now, life is good, another day among special days.

Wedding day, 8/21/71.

My two.

Steve with his baby sister born 6/2/84.

While not close in age, they've always enjoyed each other.

My precious boy.

My, how time passes.

Bud Man Doo.

Somewhere back over the rainbow.

They both smile their lovely Irish smiles even as the passing years have turned them into adults.

Adventure 647: Casita Living/Post D

Deja Blue all over again: A nice breakfast. An uplifting hike. And a fine day of watching basketball. Go Zags! We hiked the first portion of the Hugh Norris Trail, which according to the information is the best hike in the park. The entire route is a 9.8 mile out and back that gains a little over two thousand feet on the way to Mt. Wesson (4687 ft.). We did the first third which gains the first thousand feet up to the ridge through a spectacular and incredibly dense stand of saguaros. For a large stretch the cacti are as thick as a pine forest. The trail is literally a granite stair case that carves back and forth up to the ridge line. Though quite even, some of the stairs require a step up over a foot. We summited the ridge, which afforded us panoramic views in all directions. We reversed course, totaling 4.4 miles in an hour and forty minutes. The granite stair case, obviously split and cut with pneumatic drills is clearly a prodigious effort. The desert surface is hard; rocks of all sizes protrude like the hard noses of fanatical ideologues. I admire whoever built the trail. They weren't discouraged by a few unreasonable attitudes. The pandemic doesn't seem to be hindering us tourists. We met several parties, mostly pairs, some families, including one couple with three children, two in backpack carriers and a boy about four. We met them at the bottom on our way out. I'd be interested to know how far up the trail they went. We also passed one young stallion who passed us running up and passed us again running down. Ah, to be young! The ridge climb is quite steep but the granite stairs are evenly spaced and the footing is excellent. Most people we met donned a mask (as did we) when passing. A few parties were mask-less. In other parts of the park, the RV campgrounds are completely full. It seems that life goes on in whatever way it can, even during trying times. We've been nearly news free on this trip, but if some nonsense happens on inauguration day, I'm sure it will leak through our self-imposed hiatus. Good news came from home: power restored; freezer goods saved; damage minimal. Libby held down the fort in admirable fashion, so no worries. So naturally, gifted as we were with another fine experience, we can report once again that life is good, especially today.

What isn't some sort of prickly plant is some form of hard rock-all the way down to grains of sand.

I wish these photos could capture the sheer numbers of cacti in this wash.

One lonely sentinel saluting the dawn.

Notice the tiny arms beginning to form at the top.

Who would think the desert would be so mountainous?

Here's some sense of how many saguaros live in this area. 

They seem to sprout from the rock.

They're not reliable in terms of pointing the way.

Hiker babe.

To cap the night, self lighting briquettes.  Nothing like a tinge of butane as a seasoning element.