The Dog Days of Summer

With the summer season dwindling down and our energies more or less sapped from a trio of rallies, we installed ourselves at a quiet little campground at Crooked River Ranch.  It’s not easy to describe Crooked River Ranch because there really isn’t any town but rather a sprawling community along the banks (and into the canyon) of the Crooked River.  There’s a golf course and some light industry, some mini-mansions and summer cottages and a whole lot of rugged scenery with sand and sagebrush and the snow-topped Cascades off In the distance.  On the opposite side of the highway is the incredible pile of geologic formations known as Smith Rocks.  And, above all, there is a whole lot of quiet.  And probably more than one rattlesnake.

Just north of the small town of Terrebonne is a scenic overlook which affords a fine view of the Crooked River Gorge.  This photo was taken from the “old bridge” toward the “new bridge” and gives some idea just how deep (and narrow) this canyon is.  It’s difficult to imagine that smallish looking river has managed to carve a 600’ deep slit in the earth.  It is equally hard to imagine how many folks managed to ignore this sign!  (Click on photo to enlarge the image.  “Back” button returns to blog).  There is a rock retaining (or should it be restraining?) wall along the canyon edge but it’s not all that tall. 

From our location in CRR, we made several forays to surrounding towns.  We took the back roads to Sisters to enjoy the scenery and it was there that we came upon this alpaca ranch.  With their wide variety of colors and their oddly sheared bodies, these cute critters made for an arresting display.  Many of the area farm markets sell alpaca yarn and the garments knit from it, all at some pretty darn fancy prices.  But when you consider the hand-work involved in carding and spinning the fibers, it begins to look like a real bargain.  And it feels soooo nice.

Leaving Terrebonne, we headed northwest to Troutdale.  The route took us around Mt. Hood and down into the Columbia River Gorge where we hunkered down to wait out the heavy traffic that Labor Day usually brings.  It has been a number of years since we’ve driven the Old Historic Columbia River Highway and we had hoped to make that tour this year but, alas, forest fires rendered the air hazy for most of our stay and so we contented ourselves with lesser forays.  On previous visits we’d more or less explored everything there is to see and so we were just a bit bored….so, what better thing to do than to make a trip to Boring.  And it was.  No false advertising here!  A little further up the road, in the town of Sandy, we came upon the Sandy Historical Museum and discovered this wonderful old photograph.  If brains are that cheap, why don’t we buy up a whole bunch and pass them out gratis to those who appear to be in need of some?

And with Labor Day behind us, we took off for another visit to the Oregon coast with dear friends Gail and Ruthee.  By the time we finished weaving our way over the river and through the woods, they had already made camp and had dinner on the stove so we settled in, chowed down and reveled in the cooler coast temperatures.  Our campground is notorious for its collection of half-domesticated rabbits and they soon came out of hiding and began their I’m-so-cute mooching.  Unlike the wild bunnies of the area, these are not gray but come in a wide range of gaudy colors that could not survive in the wild.  One especially large and aggressive fellow was tricked out like a calico cat in shades of orange and black on a white background.  It wasn’t long before a cute-as-button honey colored little charmer befriended Gail and began a routine of racing to greet him every time he emerged from the coach.  The little beggar even went so far as to try to climb into Gail’s lap.

On a trip into Lincoln City we learned about a large bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln, donated by the sculptress when Lincoln City became a city (instead of the five little towns it once was).  But like so many free things, this statue ended up costing the city coffers ‘way more than anticipated since they had to pay for transportation from the East Coast, a spot to display it and routine maintenance on the little park that holds it.  It did give the newly-minted Lincoln City an identity in a way that a new sewer system would not – that was the other project option the city fathers faced.  A sewer system would be inadequate and obsolete by now whereas Abe provides a perfectly fine perch for seagulls and something for tourists to gawk at.

It must have been Darwin Awards Day on the day we chose to visit Pacific City.  We had  hopes of seeing some of the fishing dories coming ashore full speed ahead.  There’s no dock.  The boats just come ashore like so many landing craft at Normandy.  As we stood wiggling our toes into the hot soft sand, soaking up the sun and enjoying the sea breezes we were able to observe several instances of What-Were-They-Thinking.  Driving on the beach is allowed at Pacific City and access is provided via a paved ramp.  Private vehicles go to the left, tow vehicles for the dories go to the right.  One fishing boat didn’t quite get far enough ashore but the pilot and passengers got out anyhow and were standing around chatting when a bit of rough surf began to haul the empty boat back out into the ocean.  Like a rodeo rider trying to mount a bucking horse, the pilot attempted to climb aboard and very nearly lost the boat completely - not to mention his own life and/or limbs.  Someone was finally able to get aboard, start the engine and take the boat back out into deeper water.  It was later able to land safely in the prescribed dory manner.

As this was all taking place, the driver of a van loaded with senior citizens decided that a drive on the beach would be a lot of fun.  But instead of driving to the hard-packed wet sand, he turned smack into the super soft stuff and promptly sank to the axles.  The old folks with their wheelchairs, walkers and scooters were off-loaded while a tow truck was summoned and the van ingloriously hauled out to solid ground.  We hope the excitement wasn’t too much for any of the passengers.  Because both incidents turned out well, we can laugh about it now but both situations had plenty of potential for serious consequences.

Gail and Ruthee had to head back home after only a week so we were on our own for another few days.  We spent one afternoon whale watching in Depoe Bay and were treated to the sight of several migrating whales close in to shore, spouting and diving and roiling the waters.  Of course it’s nearly impossible to locate them and snap a picture before they’ve submerged, so most of the photos were of bits and pieces emerging from the rather rough surf.  And to wrap up this visit to Oregon, we traveled north to Astoria for a tour of the Lewis and Clark campsite at Fort Clatsop.  Frankly there’s not much to see…just a recreation of the fort and a small museum with replicas of various items associated with the Corps of Discovery.  It never ceases to amaze us how Lewis and Clark managed to get where they were going and safely home again, facing all sorts of dangers, in unknown territory.  Even with the GPS to guide us, we got lost trying to find the fort.

Also near Astoria is Fort Stevens State Park, situated on a peninsula at the mouth of the Columbia River.  Built during the Civil War by the Union, the fort remained in service through WWII and was meant to protect the river and her valuable ports.  The coastline near here was actually shelled by Japanese submarines toward the end of WWII.  As you’ll recall, Oregon was also hit by balloon bombs at Bly making it the only state to be “wounded” by the Japanese during that conflict.  Unfortunately most of the military installations at the fort are accessible only on foot and so that precluded much sightseeing on our part.  Neither of us is in good enough shape for such exercise and so we had to content ourselves with the small but interesting museum on the grounds.

So with summer over it became time to begin our trek back to winter quarters in Arizona.  The route chosen took us down I-5 and into California.  Our first planned stop was at Weed, a small community very near Mt. Shasta.  Just three days before our planned arrival, a wildfire ripped through the town, destroying over 100 homes and burning many acres of surrounding forest.  The fire moved fast, spurred on by 40 mph winds.  Ironically, Mr. Weed (for whom the town is named) established his lumber mill here to take advantage of the drying power of the nearly constant wind.  Because of the proximity to the town, the fire was fought very aggressively and was under control in just a few days.  We ascertained that our campground was not affected and by the time we arrived things were as much back to normal as can be expected when such a disaster hits. 

Although the fire came within a block of the Weed Historic Lumber Town Museum its curator Harold Orcutt was open for business on the usual schedule.  Typical of many small town museums, the main collection reflects the town’s major industry but there are also small displays of other things, usually donated by long-time residents of the area.  Harold led us through the exhibits and pointed out some of the more interesting objects, including a gloriously restored American LaFrance fire truck and this nice display of lace collars and other ladies’ finery.  The fur neck piece had a particularly mean expression.  Most of the burned-out areas were not open to non-residents (nor would we wish them to be) but you can see some of the burned trees behind the Weed sign.  Oh yes, and there are plenty of souvenir shops selling all sorts of—snicker, snicker… Weed-themed merchandise.

On a drive northward to visit the Living Memorial Sculpture Garden, we were able to see much more of the burned out area.  The road, which is a pretty heavily traveled truck route, had just been reopened.  There was a police car blocking the entrance to the town cemetery but it looked relatively unscathed.  The perimeter trees were charred but the lawns were green and the gravestones appeared undamaged.

The sculpture garden is 13 miles northeast of Weed on Forest Service land and features larger-than-life sculptures by artist Dennis Smith.  The garden is “dedicated to veterans of all conflicts”.  Again, some walking was involved to get up close to the statues so I opted to wait near the car.  (Need I mention that the high desert landscape looked like prime rattler territory to me.)

And that brings us to the Sacramento River Delta.  It’s raining and I’m watching a neighbor trying to load a big Harley into a small truck.  Stay tuned for the results.  Right now it doesn’t look good.

Wandering Around In Oregon

When you last joined us, we were heading out of Grants Pass and aimed northward to a series of RV rallies associated with Family Motor Coach Association.  Our first stop was Canyonville at the deluxe Seven Feathers RV Resort for the Full Timers Chapter rally.  We got to enjoy the company of some of our old RVing chums and to make some new friends, do some serious eating, check out the cluster of small nearby towns and just enjoy the magnificent setting.  As soon as the rally concluded, we saddled up for the long hard drive five miles up the road to Myrtle Creek where we continued to prowl the antique and thrift shops for whatever little baubles caught our fancy.  The trolling resulted in several more eggcups for the collection.

The highlight of our trip thus far was an 8-day stay with our make-believe relatives, Gail and Ruthee.  Their little slice of Oregon is blessed with a bucolic beauty, big hills, big open fields, big trees, big sky and a whole lot of peace and quiet.  Very quiet – except for a lumber truck or two that swarm past with a big whoosh.  Ruthee, being an enthusiast of word games, informed us that this flock/herd/covey of wild turkeys is known as a “rafter”.  This rafter consists of mom and last year’s crop of chicks, all boys.  They hang around quite often, hoping the horse will spill some her oats and they can nab a quick snack.

In the evening we were visited by this young doe.  She was eyeballing us with no small amount of suspicion as Howie leaned out the coach window to take this photo.  Earlier she and Ruthee had come eyeball to eyeball, barely three feet apart.  Obviously someone has been hand feeding her because she never did bolt away but rather sauntered off.  We hope her tameness and curiosity don’t result in a bad end for her.

Most of our stay with Gail and Ruthee was pretty laid back, consisting of hearty lunches (Gail’s an old farm boy and likes his big meal at noon) and an almost-as-hearty happy hour.  Net result?  Five more pounds.  We made treks to Albany and Salem to hit the stores and do some recreational shopping but our big outing was to Silverton for a tour of Oregon Gardens.  Open since 2001, this botanical display garden sprawls over 80 acres and includes a system to recycle Silverton’s waste water.  While there were plenty of plants in bloom, it was the conifer garden which most intrigued me.  The collection is extensive with heavy emphasis on dwarfs and weeping varieties.  And the place just plain smelled nice!

Upon first arriving at the garden, we took the 25-minute narrated tram ride around the entire garden and then set off afoot to explore the areas which most interested us.  And that saved our knees and tootsies for a stroll through downtown Silverton and its plenitude of antique shops.  Graced with enormous hanging baskets of petunias, Silverton is one sweet-smelling city.  The city also proudly displays  a number of very attractive murals on the walls of its downtown buildings, including a depiction of Norman Rockwell’s “Four Freedoms”.   And the antique shops yielded up a number of eggcups.  The collection had already taken a major step forward with gifts from Gail and Ruthee and a bonanza at J&J’s Antiques.  I’d tell you where it’s located but I have no idea…all I recall is that we went down a bunch of back country roads to get there and it’s an endless string of barns and barn rooms filled (and I do mean filled) with interesting stuff.

Although most days were clear and sunny, from time to time the air became hazy and there was a faint hint of smoke in the air.  Linn County is the Grass Seed Capital of the World and after harvest the remaining stubble is burned off to eliminate any weed seeds which might have invaded during the growing period.  These burn-offs, technically referred to as “thermal sanitation”, are heavily regulated and very precisely administered.  Billows of smoke such as this leave behind blackened fields with well-defined perimeters, often within just a few feet of dwellings. 

After eight days of dry camping, we had to stop at a full service RV park before heading off to yet another round of semi-boondocking.  Then we headed east via U.S. 20 which follows the Santiam River over hill and dale, around sharp bends through seemingly endless fir forests.  As we neared Sisters, we came upon a long stretch of forest badly burned, the remaining trunks black with silvered branches in stark contrast to the charred trunks.  We had ample time to observe the burned area, being slowed down by some heavy-duty road construction. 

The FMCA convention was being held at the Deschutes County Fairgrounds in Redmond.  This was our second rally at this site.  We expected to spend a night in the holding area and were surprised to be escorted right to our site.  The electric service wasn’t turned on until the actual first day of the rally so we did a bit of sweltering that first night.  Then a cold front came through and cooled things off to the point that we actually had to run the furnace a few mornings just to get warm enough to feel our toes.  The rally boasted the usual displays of motorized palaces, informative seminars and vendors selling things both useful and not.  We always fall for the “not usefuls”, things which look downright miraculous in the show booth and turn out to be the modern day equivalent of snake oil.  Once again we own a lifetime supply of a product designed to clean everything but we lack the time and energy to use it.  What we really need is a haz-mat team to come in and do the cleaning for us.

Among the new coaches were some retro-style Winnebagos that took us back to our first rig in the late ‘70s.  With their simplicity they really stood out amidst the full-body-paint motorized palaces with their glitzy (might I say gaudy) interiors.  Remind me again why two people need four television sets when they are “camping out”.  And then there was this fine example of the restorer’s art…a funky little cottage that harkens back to the good old days.

When the big rally wrapped up, we had one more quick small chapter rally to attend, this time in Prineville which is only about 20 miles east of Redmond.  After two days of marathon eating, the rally broke up and everyone hit the road, headed every which way.  We stayed behind to poke around Prineville and explore the A.R. Bowman Memorial Museum.  Housed in a block building which first served as a bank then as Mr. Bowman’s insurance office, the museum is nicely laid out with coherent displays of the area’s history.  Mining featured heavily in Prineville’s past with gold and cinnabar, from whence comes mercury, taken from them thar hills.  Water sports seem to occupy weekends for a lot of folks.  Dams on both Crooked River and Ochoco Creek have created reservoirs, used primarily for irrigation but providing boating and fishing opportunities as well. 

Our main reason for staying a few extra days was to visit our friend Betty.  It was great seeing  her again and we had a nice visit, capped off with a quick trip northward to visit a friend of hers who collects antique cars.  He kindly gave us a tour of his garage and took us on  a whirlwind ride in a bright red Model A.  My legs wouldn’t bend enough to get into the rumble seat so I got to ride up front while Howie and Betty struggled to get themselves into the back for a fresh air ride.  One wishes film existed of that little effort.  There aren’t even snapshots.  Lawsuits would likely ensue.  But there were belly laughs galore and a good time was had by all.

We’ll be hanging around Oregon for a few more weeks and will be making additional reports should time allow.

From The Valley of the Rogue

Ah, at long last we’ve found some moderate temperatures!  And we’ve found them in Grants Pass, Oregon whose city motto is “It’s the Climate”.  But, as it happens, just before we arrived, Grants Pass too was suffering from temperatures well up into the triple digits and with the humidity all this greenery is bound to generate.  A nice rain has changed all that and temperatures are back to normal.

But first let’s back-track.  After a slight cooling off period in the Verde Valley, we headed for a few days in Bullhead City, Arizona where we continued to roast at desert temperatures.  Our activities were confined to recreational shopping in air conditioned facilities.  The trek from Bullhead City to Pahrump, Nevada is through some of the bleakest most boring terrain you can imagine.  It makes West Texas look downright scenic.  If it weren’t for the stripes on the highway, there’d be no color at all.  Even the sagebrush refuses to grow.  I’m not sure what possessed us to plan to spend the 4th of July in that part of Nevada.  The “flip side” of Death Valley is hardly welcoming that time of year and this was no exception.  The outdoor thermometer seemed perpetually stuck at 111.1 degrees.  Fortunately we had good solid 50 amp electrical service and so could run both air conditioners when necessary (which was almost constantly). 

We’ve enjoyed 4th of July festivities in a variety of small towns over the years but this year was just plain too hot to venture out of the coach.  Rumor had it that there were activities at the town park on the morning of the 4th but we opted to stay indoors and drink gallons of iced tea.  Our campground was just across the road from the town’s major casino and they had planned a big fireworks display for the next night.  Even though we were facing the road and would have had a fine view from the coach, we hauled our chairs out to the street and enjoyed a grand fireworks display up close and personal, as they say.  We were so close to the staging area that it often felt as if the bursts were raining down on us. 

We also availed ourselves of a “two-fer” coupon for the all-American buffet at the casino.  When will we learn not to eat at casinos?  The food was bad but the air conditioning was good.

Driving through Nevada is so mind-numbing that the trip needs to be broken into several segments; we  made a two-day stop in Mina.  Suffice it to say that the campground is the very nicest thing in the whole town.  The two-day stay seemed much much longer.

Our next stop was Susanville, California where it was marginally cooler, being at a higher elevation, then on to Lakeview, Oregon.  Once again we stayed at the campground in the middle of an 8,000 acre cattle and timber ranch.  The last time we stayed here, there was a terrific thunderstorm and heavy rain.  Not this time…and they could certainly use some rain.  Unfortunately the county historical museum was closed on our only full day in town so we weren’t able to learn much about the region.  But they do have a wonderful jam-packed to the rafters antique shop which we trolled to our heart’s content.  They had several eggcups which have since joined my collection.  And Lakeview has a magnificent new library with a very complete used book shop where I discovered a copy of a book that’s been on my “read it next” list since the mid-‘90s.

The air in Lakeview was pretty hazy from nearby forest fires and the haze continued as we trekked across the bottom portion of Oregon, a route we had not traveled before.  I had it in mind that we needed to tour the museum in Klamath Falls so we could see what I recalled as “the world’s largest fire opal”.  The whole stop in K Falls (as it is known to the locals) was an exercise in futility.  To begin with, it was blazing hot, by Oregon standards, and our campground was 'way below par.  The voltage was so low that we had to keep everything (and I do mean everything) turned off just to have enough juice to operate one air conditioner. Although it is advertised that the campground had free cable t.v. that wasn’t exactly the case.  After making a $50 deposit, you are given a cable box and expected to install it yourself.  Two boxes and two hours later (including a 30 minute call to the cable company), we still didn’t have cable and gave up on that notion.  And the daily rate was well into what we’d expect to pay at a fine RV “resort” with all the amenities.  The amenities at this dump consisted of train noise, road noise and the odor from the horse pasture next door. 

With only one full day in town (thankfully we hadn’t made reservations to stay longer) we headed off to the Klamath County Historical Museum which is housed in a poorly-lit old armory.  There were a few interesting displays but most were too poorly lit to appreciate.  Their collection of antique washing machines was housed in a loft and had to be admired from a distance.  We did come across one small but very interesting display pertaining to a little-known fact of WWII.  The only Americans killed by the Japanese on U.S. soil were a group of teen-agers having a picnic near Bly, Oregon.  They were killed when a balloon bomb exploded.  The Japanese had been releasing balloon bombs in an attempt to set the forests on fire and thus distract troops from other war efforts.  The project was not effective because they started the bombing in May before the snows had melted. 

When we inquired about the fire opal we were greeted with some blank stares until it was realized that we were referring to a fire opal arrowhead which is housed at a local art museum.  A quick check showed the admission fee at that museum was well beyond what we consider “worth it” and so we went off to do some recreational shopping instead.  We wrapped up our brief visit to K Falls with an evening of non-cable t.v. and insufficient air conditioning.

And if ever there was a study in contrasts, our campground in Grants Pass provided the “Good” to K Falls’ “Bad and Ugly”.  It’s a lovely park with terraced sites and plenty of flowers and shrubbery.  Grants Pass is just the right size – big enough to have all the essential emporia, small enough not to overwhelm  and with super friendly, helpful citizens.  We got in plenty of recreational shopping and scored a fistful of eggcups for the collection.

We hope you’ll join us for the next leg of our journey around Oregon.

We’re Off And Running

After an exceptionally long stay in the Valley of the Sun, we are finally heading north toward cooler climates.  No matter what they say about desert heat being “dry”, it’s still heat and anything into the triple digits is nowhere near comfortable.  Oh, yes, you can go from air-conditioned stores to air-conditioned cars to air conditioned houses but sooner or later you’ll long for the smell of fresh air and a breeze that’s cooling, instead of one that reminds you what it must have been like to be the stoker on a steam engine.

However, before departing the Valley we did enjoy a couple of minor “adventures” that are worth reporting on.  The Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix featured an extended exhibit of Dale Chihuly glass sculptures set amid the cacti and other desert plants.  Initially we entertained the idea of visiting late in the afternoon so that we could enjoy the lights after dark.  Somehow days ran into weeks and before long it was too far along in the exhibit to partake of that particular thrill; we’d have been driving home at midnight which is never all that pleasant a notion.  But by dragging our feet and visiting the garden well into spring, we got to see so many things at full bloom, something we’d have missed with a winter visit.  We overheard one of the gardener’s comment that she’d never seen so many things in bloom all at once. 

The sculptures, of course, were magnificent with colors just glowing in the sunlight.  But the cactus flowers were not to be put to shame by the artwork.  There were screaming oranges and yellows, soft subtle pastels more like water lilies than spiny desert-dwellers.  Even the desert willows and jacarandas were in bloom so there were flowers overhead, at eye level and at one’s feet.  There was just enough of a breeze to waft the scents around, mixing and matching the way only Mother Nature can.

The Butterfly House was open, at an additional charge, and we took the opportunity to visit that as well.  The signage indicated that there were luna moths in the display and I was eager to see one in real life rather than just in a commercial for sleep aids.  Sadly, they have must have a very short life cycle.  We were told that the previous week’s shipment had apparently all expired.  But there were plenty of other flying bits of color to enjoy. 

During our winter stay I joined a newly formed chapter of an organization called Questers.  The members are interested in history and the preservation of historical artifacts.  In addition, most of us have collections of one thing or another and we take turns showing off our “stuff”.   One of our meetings was a joint one with the group from Wickenburg and we were given a tour of the Henry Wickenburg house.  A small group of historians are struggling mightily to preserve and protect this vintage home and we were pleased to be able to see it “up close and personal”.  Henry was a miner who discovered gold in them thar hills, which turned Wickenburg into a boom town for a brief period of time.  It was obviously a very hard life – fighting off Apaches, digging in the mines, battling dry desert heat.  In spite of it, Henry lived to a ripe old age (all things considered) but died under mysterious  circumstances.  It’s not known for sure if he was killed or if he committed suicide.  There’s even some speculation that Henry might have been the lost Dutchman of Lost Dutchman Mine fame.

Readying the coach to hit the road again was quite a hassle, not helped in the least by those triple digit temperatures and a certain lack of organization on our part.  But as soon as we were on the road everything felt familiar and comfortable, even when the engine’s “I’m Over-Heating” buzzer started making a fuss and the “I Need Water” light came on.  We got settled in Camp Verde with only a minor issue of the main slide not wanting to roll out the way it’s supposed to.  Copious amounts of iced tea, cold chicken and a good night’s sleep and we were ready to face the adventures of life on the road.

One of our favorite things to do while in the Verde Valley is to visit with dear friend Pat.  She always manages to plan an interesting outing for us and this trip was no exception.  The three of us paid a visit to the Clemenceau Heritage Museum housed in what was originally the Clemenceau High School.  The town of Clemenceau really doesn’t exist anymore, having been more or less absorbed into Cottonwood or Clarkdale but it was once home to a large smelter which handled processing of the ore brought down from the United Verde Mine in Jerome.  It was a self-contained company town which dried up and blew away once the smelter closed its doors.  Now, like the rest of the nearby towns, it’s main claim to fame is being listed in the National Register of Historic Places.

The museum, while occupying only a corner of the old school, boasts a fantastic model railroad set-up.  It depicts the heyday of railroading in the area, when seven lines serviced the needs of the surrounding communities.  The depictions are so accurate that it’s quite easy to spot buildings and landmarks which still exist in the neighborhood.  One can only imagine how many person-hours went into preparing this wonderful exhibit.  It is such fun to zero in on the little vignettes that represent the whimsy of the model railroaders – the car that hit an electrical pole and went down a steep embankment, the fellow being frisked by the local gendarme, the dinosaur on a far off hill.

Pat had prepared a taco feed for us so we could refuel after a hard day of museum-going.  It was a nice opportunity to kick back, relax and catch up on the goings-on in our lives.  Pat has boundless enthusiasm for all sorts of things and is such fun to be around. 

Denver may be the most thought-of Mile High City but Prescott, Arizona isn’t any slouch in the altitude department.  As we climbed the hill out of the Verde Valley, heading to Prescott, we were immediately aware of the milder temperatures and the many  RV parks and other accommodations for transients as soon as we reached the outskirts of Prescott Valley.  Only an hour’s drive from Phoenix and at least ten degrees cooler, it’s no wonder there was lots of evidence of expansion.  One of Prescott’s most famous attractions is the Sharlot Hall Museum and that was our destination.  Sharlot Hall was Arizona’s first historian and her collections make up the core of the Museum which bears her name.   The Museum complex, which covers 3.3 acres right downtown, consists of several buildings including Fort Misery, thought to be the first ranch house in Arizona, and a home once occupied by John C. Fremont.

In a display of household objects, I noticed an aqua colored glass ball.  Having just finished reading a book about antiques and collectibles, I was able to identify it as a fire extinguisher.  It would have been filled with chemicals for putting out fires and lobbed into the flames where it would burst and release the chemicals.  As the book pointed out, since they were meant to be smashed, there are not that many intact ones around these days.  There were a number of items displayed, such as the fruit pitter, that looked to be more trouble than they’d be worth.

There’s a very pretty garden which dominates the center of the museum complex.  Although most of the roses were finished with their earliest spring bloom (and in serious need of deadheading), it was nice to see phlox and daylilies and other such perennials which don’t generally flourish in Arizona’s killer heat.

Note to self:  read a detailed biography of John C. Fremont.  The docent gave us just enough intriguing information about his life to whet my curiosity.

We had barely enough energy left to do a quarter turn around the town square, stopping to fortify ourselves with an ice cream cone at one of the many snack bars that flourish downtown.  The streets were teeming with tourists and traffic was heavy so we concluded that Prescott was enjoying an upswing in its economy.  There were groups of teen-agers and young families enjoying the shade of the park which surrounds the county courthouse but there were also a disturbing number of street people sacked out on the ground as well. 

Geezer Gulch - Winter, 2014

As our dear friend, Linda, would say “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans”.  And so it has been for us these past few months which is why these pages have remained blank for so long.  Things are, we hope, back on track now and we can continue our odyssey more or less on schedule.

Finding something interesting to report on from a retirement community is pretty difficult.  (At least interesting to other people – we find it endlessly fascinating.)  We can’t imagine that you are remotely interested in hearing about our doctor or dentist appointments, craft projects started and/or abandoned, or home improvement expenditures.  Okay, that was pretty interesting – we had a new roof put on the house thanks to a leak at a solar tube in the guest bathroom.  The new roof eliminated the leak and the solar tube, leaving the bathroom dark enough now to serve as a bat cave.  We are in the process of deciding whether or not to have another tube installed in a slightly different location.  Facing this fairly major expense, we’ve come to realize that having a home, whether it rolls down the road or sits in one place, is a big pain in the wallet.

The Phoenix area has been blessed with good weather all winter.  It got down near freezing one or two nights in December, but for the most part it has been warm and sunny.  We recently got a nice soaking rain to keep things looking good.  Of course it came at a time when the citrus trees were in bloom and now the yard is filled with orange blossom petals.  The air smells heavenly and the back yard fairly hums with bee activity.  We do have a  mystery brewing with the grapefruit tree.  Last year all the fruit was round and normal-looking but somewhat small;  this year many are extremely large and lumpy, looking for all the world like a raging case of cellulite, more like pomelos than grapefruit.  We have no idea why and need to pose the question to the master gardeners who regularly visit the local library.

Not long ago I took a bus trip into downtown Phoenix to attend the Quilt Show.  The featured guests were members of the Tentmakers of Cairo, makers of hand-appliqued quilts with intricate patterns unique to the Middle East.  Given the number of man hours required to make these minor works of art, they were very fairly priced.

 

 

One of the quilting challenge themes happened to be cows and it was great fun to see how each quilter interpreted the theme.  Silliness prevailed, along with vivid imaginations.  I’ve decided that bus tours are highly desirable, floating along in a big Prevost with traffic and parking someone else’s problem.  I look forward to other trips in the near future.

 

Not long ago, Russ and Rochelle joined us at an afternoon concert at the rec center.  The featured entertainers billed themselves as “O.K. Chorale”, a trio of singer/musicians who performed many old Western songs in barbershop harmony.  It was a delightful show and a very pleasant way to spend a weekday afternoon.  If you find yourselves in Arizona and they are performing nearby, we hope you’ll take the opportunity to hear them. 

We’ve been so pleased to have a number of friends, mostly from our RVing circle, dropping by for visits when they found themselves “in the neighborhood”.  One particularly pleasant weekend comes to mind when our faux in-laws, Gail and Ruthee, were able to squeeze in a brief visit on their way back to Casa Grande just as David and Shirley were enroute back to their digs in Mesa and Randy and Lonna were camped out at an RV resort very nearby.  The house seemed dreadfully quiet after everyone had gone off in different directions. 

Due to budget constraints, Luke Air Force Base has foregone it’s biennial open house and air show for several years running.  Luke has been selected as the training headquarters for pilots of all services for the new (and controversial) F-35A jet fighters and so they wanted to introduce these new planes to the neighborhood.  Thus the open house and air show was back on this year.  Either more spectators showed up than expected or the powers-that-be forgot how to direct traffic, but getting to the Base was an exercise in patience and endurance.  We sat in traffic for a couple of hours, traveling no more than half a mile an hour, to reach Parking Area B.  Then we stood in line for nearly another hour to pass through the cursory inspection station before boarding a bus to be transported to the air field.  All the while most of the air show was going on above us so we had something to divert our attention.  By the time we reached the area where the static displays were parked, I was too leg-weary to do more than sit in the shade under the wing of a large military transport and people-watch.

The highlight of the program, aside from the chance to see the F-35A up close and personal, was a performance by the Air Force Thunderbirds scheduled to begin at 3:00 p.m. (more or less).  Just as the team was assembling for take-off a strong wind galloped out of the West and set up a dust storm that threatened to put a halt to everything.  Some of the tents set up for vendors were in danger of being blown over and we were ever more certain the performance would be scrubbed.  Like so many cows in a blizzard, we all turned our backs to the wind, closed our eyes and tried not to get too sand-blasted.  But before too long the wind died down enough so the Thunderbirds were able to get in their performance.  We have no idea how much they might have had to modify their program due to the wind conditions but it is still a thrill-a-minute performance.  You can check out the crew on their website, where we learned that the Thunderbirds had first formed as a performance group at Luke AFB in the 1950s.

The Sun Bowl concert season has started up again and Lonna and Randy were able to join us for the first one, an Eagle’s cover band known as “Take It To The Limit”.  Never have we seen such a crowd at the Sun Bowl.  Traffic moved along smartly (maybe the Posse should be invited to direct traffic at the next Luke open house) but, even with our early start, we found ourselves perched in the very last row and in danger of rolling backward down the hill to the parking lot.  We couldn’t see much, not that there’s much to see, but the sound was fine and we bounced around to the music and enjoyed the cool, clear evening.

There may be more frequent updates.  Or there may not.  Just depends.  Stay tuned to find out.