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.