A little slice o' heaven

Sunday was a picture-perfect day around here, as opposed to Saturday when the wind howled and gusted and rocked the house, and today, when the wind howled and gusted and rocked the house. It was so bad on Saturday that the sky above the horizon disappeared into a dusty wall. But yesterday - sublime - which called for another mini roadtrip, this time to Sedona, a little slice o' heaven.

Just about two years ago to the week the ex-husband and I drove through Sedona but for one reason or another we didn't stop. I always wanted to go back and in fact, my three good friends from high school and I were supposed to meet there last April to celebrate (?) our 60th birthdays, but we all know what was going on with me last April. It wasn't fun, games, and bottles of wine, but this almost-April is very different from a year ago.

Before I experienced this part of the country, I long maintained that the Oregon coast was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen, but Sedona surely gives it a run for its money. I could keep both of them as favorites if I say it's comparing apples and oranges - the coast and the high desert are both very beautiful and very different places.

So off we went to Sedona on Sunday morning, my partner and I. It's just a short distance south of Flagstaff, which is a couple of hours west of the park on I-40. I've seen many pictures of Slide Rock State Park and we happened on it before hitting the town of Sedona, so we pulled in.

The park was in private hands for some time. Frank L. Pendley arrived in the canyon in 1907, formally acquiring the land under the Homestead Act in 1910. Due to his pioneering innovation, he succeeded where others failed by establishing a unique irrigation system still in use by the park today. He established an apple orchard in 1912 and over the years expanded the varieties. In the 1930s he built tourist cabins; this is one of the remaining buildings.

His own homestead was built in 1927. The apple tree in the background is trying hard to burst into bloom, but the one at the back of the house is ablaze with flowers.

The packing facility is still standing. It appears the state is still maintaining the property as an orchard as well as a public park; there was a crew behind this building planting saplings and fencing them off.

The scenery is spectacular.

Sedona is known to some for its areas of spiritual energy, an area believed by some to have vortexes that are conducive to healing, meditation, and prayer. I don't know about this but I keep an open mind. It would seem to me that you'd have to feel something when you come to an area of such power and presence.

Below are the younger trees in the orchard. On the other side of the walk to the creek and the water slide is the one remaining tree from the original orchard.

Here's the real draw of the park. People don't come here to look at old buildings and apple trees. They come for the creek

 There's an 80-foot natural slide in here somewhere but I never found it.

I suspect that in the summer it's standing room only, but yesterday it was just cool enough to keep the crowds down some.

I kept this photo because of the size of the boulder beside the creek. It would keep me looking up over my shoulder at the cliffs above.

Above the creek was a lone apple tree soaking up the sun, such a welcome sign of spring.

At creek level.

The creek has thankfully not been "improved." There are deep passages and shallow basins, rocks, and polished channels, all creating their own textures, encouraging a longer look.

Highway 89A crosses over the creek and creates this shady oasis. I could spend a long time just looking at the color in this one spot alone.

We spent a really nice couple of hours here and then went into Sedona for a quick look around. It's a tourist town. That's about all that can be said for it. The $10 spent to gain entrance to this park gave us more pleasure than if we'd spent 100 times that on anything the shops had to offer. My motto, after years of collecting stuff and finally seeing its true worth: Collect moments, not things. The ex-husband never got it. My partner does.

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Thought of the day:
May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us, may God turn their hearts.
If he can't turn their hearts, 
May he turn their ankles
So we'll know them by their limping.  (In honor of St. Patrick's day)

Pi Day in Pie Town

Yesterday was Pi Day, and if I knew about it, living in a cave as I do, there's no excuse for any of you not to know, too - you know, pi, the math term for 3.14 and so on. I learned by chance that there's a... town is stretching the term, in New Mexico that is coincidentally called Pie Town. They close for the winter and open again every year on March 14 so yesterday was the big day.

Legend has it that a man by the name of Ed Jones was one of the Dust Bowl émigrés who landed in the area of the 8000 foot Continental Divide that is now Pie Town. He walked seven miles from his homestead to a crossroads every day to sell pies. Why pies and not axles, or beans? Why did he not make his homestead closer than seven miles? If he walked, how did he transport his pies? Maybe that's why it's a legend. 

So my friend and I drove over yesterday to partake of some fresh pie, plus we were looking for a mini roadtrip. It was about 180 miles, not bad when you think of 75 mph speed limits on the interstate, but lots longer, waaaay longer,  on secondary roads. We got there in time for lunch and to see three whole pies walking out the door and not much else on the sideboard where they're showcased. Lucky for us, we were told two more were coming out of the oven shortly, an apple-cranberry crumble, and a chocolate chess with chili and pine nuts. Chocolate for me, apple for my friend.

When we owned our spectacular failure of a bakery, one of my goals was to move from what I called "bucket pies," those whose fillings came premade in a bucket, to all-scratch pies. If I remember correctly, we charged $17 for a bucket pie and $23 for a scratch pie, but that was only for fruit pies. Our pumpkin, coconut cream (killer recipe), chocolate cream, French silk, etc. pies, all scratch, too, were not that much. Pecan pies, yes, because I loaded those crusts with pecans, about three times what the recipe called for. We were not a failure because of quality and quantity, that's for sure. But back to the pies. We used Pyrex deep dish pie plates and they held a lot of pie - fruit pies had four pounds!! of filling. I made the crusts from scratch and the crusts of all all sweet pies were brushed with egg and sprinkled with coarse sugar before going into the oven. I wove lattice tops - no cheater stencil-cut tops that pretend to be lattice. We made beautiful, wonderful pies, but to even think we could have gotten away with $27.25 for a pie would have been sadly laughable. That's what the Pie-O-Neer Restaurant charges and they were walking out the door in droves. They could not keep up with the demand. Our samples were good, but not what I'd say was worth their price. I wish I knew their secret for getting top dollar for their product.

This was the clue we needed to stop.

 The one operational building in Pie Town that I could see.

However, if you're in the market for a fixer, they got 'em.

1.

2. This one comes with cross ventilation.

3.

Even though the pies were something of a disappointment, when I can spot some old Detroit steel, it's a good day. According to some website I looked at, this is a 1961 model of the Chevy Impala. Kind of a dull-looking style here, but

 modified fins on the rear end

 

and that deep V on the trunk make this worthy of being a project car. Not for me, but for someone.

On the other side of the restaurant was this maybe 1949 Chevy.

 Could be sweet with some money and elbow grease invested.

The only part of this car was the bullet-ridden door. The first thought in my head was Bonnie and Clyde.

Pie Town also has a windmill museum, courtesy of the local well-driller.

I've seen several small-town museums and it's interesting that what we might think is silly or even ridiculous has real meaning to the person who curated the exhibits. Just because this is windmills and other places have tractors or items of local history doesn't mean their value is intrinsically less than, say, the collection of the Met. It's hard for me to fathom, but there are plenty of people who are bored to tears by what I call art. Define "value." I think it's like beauty - in the eye of the beholder.

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Thought of the day:

Cars are like rolling diaries, metal and paint and plastic tableaux of the last ten years of their drivers' lives... every dent, every drooping slice of chrome has a story behind it. (Jim Atkinson - Texas Monthly, "Heaven on Wheels," September 1984)

Cars are like rolling diaries, metal and plastic and paint tableaux of the last ten years of their drivers' lives ... every dent, every drooping slice of chrome, has a story behind it.

JIM ATKINSON, Texas Monthly, "Heaven on Wheels," Sep. 1984

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/c/cars_quotes.html#rTFc8klP7C3Dc0WP.99

Cars are like rolling diaries, metal and plastic and paint tableaux of the last ten years of their drivers' lives ... every dent, every drooping slice of chrome, has a story behind it.

JIM ATKINSON, Texas Monthly, "Heaven on Wheels," Sep. 1984

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/c/cars_quotes.html#rTFc8klP7C3Dc0WP.99

Going to Marathon

I hung my hat in Marathon, Texas for a couple of nights when I went to Big Bend National Park. It's a cute little town with lots of friendly people, and the campground was only about $20 a night. That's a bargain. I'll show you the town another time, but just look how nice this little independent motel is.

I love old signs and have found the best ones in the southwest, where it's dry and they don't rust to shreds. Think back to the time when having television was a big deal, and that gives you an idea how old this sign is.

This building houses the reception desk. The young woman who works there also works evenings at the Gage Hotel just down the road. I went to dinner there one night and my server said he drives 30 miles each way to work to put himself through school in Alpine, the home of Sul Ross University.

A closer view of the character of the little door in the side of the building. Note the detail: not just the pots on the roof, but the detail on the pots on the roof.

There's a lot of public space on the grounds. If the weather had been warmer I would have taken advantage of the plentiful seating everywhere.

The grounds were beautifully maintained, which was a factor, along with the more than reasonable rate, in my deciding to stay an extra night or two.

Beautiful, isn't it? It's one side of the courtyard through the entrance above.

There wasn't a fire this day, but can't you smell something - anything - good coming from that oven?

 Pedro's wholesale and retail ice. It's another nice old sign.

There's a website that I often check for decent campgrounds to stop at, rvparkreviews.com. I've contributed several reviews of my own and rely on it for real users' honest opinions. Processing these photos tonight reminded me that I haven't reviewed the Marathon RV park yet, and I need to get to it. I'd stop here again for sure.


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Thought of the day:

The reason a lot of people do not recognize opportunity is because it usually goes around wearing overalls looking like hard work.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/hard_work.html#GU6t712AcVOXgSOU.99

The reason a lot of people don't recognize opportunity is because it goes around wearing overalls, looking like hard work. (Thomas Edison)

Rock art in the desert

March is Arizona Archaeology & Heritage Awareness Month and I got to tag along on a hike led by the park's archeologist, one of the Bills. The other Bill is the paleontologist. They really are jointly known as The Bills. Archeologist Bill is leading four hikes to two different places this month, alternating between a site out in the Painted Desert that's down a mountain goat track, and the other to old Route 66 - two widely different destinations but if he's in charge they can be nothing but interesting. 

If I hadn't been on this hike I would never have seen the path that took us down from Lacey Point, a pullout on the Painted Desert that's named for John Fletcher Lacey. Lacey is significant in the history of the conservation movement for his role in writing (with the help of anthropologist Edgar Lee Hewett) and enacting the Antiquities Act. The Act has been pivotal to the preservation of major archaeological sites in the Southwestern United States. The path is down a mere sliver of ridge atop one of the sloping sides of the point, where I took no pictures as I was too busy watching my feet. A gazelle I am not, nor a mountain goat.

The distinctive banded reds of El Desierto Pintado, so named by Colonial Spanish explorers.

Petrified wood litters a ravine and has tumbled to the desert floor.

The truncated mound is our destination for petroglyphs. I've heard there are petroglyphs everywhere within park boundaries, and there are probably some yet unknown. The expansion lands span tens of thousands of acres and no one has been over every bit of them yet.

The rugged terrain of badlands:

One member of our party is on the hunt for rock art. We weren't told where it is but just given the direction to go look for it.

This is an impressive representation. The desert vanish in which the art is inscribed is dark and still intact, and the figures are sharply detailed. The human figure is sometimes called the Jitterbug Man.

You can see here how the desert varnish has chipped away. One rock I looked at from the side had varnish about 1/4 inch thick. I'd never realized it was that thick.

There aren't any codes or keys anywhere to say what the images mean. The archeologist told me he used to teach an undergraduate course and at the beginning of the semester took in a copy of Beowulf in Old English. When he asked students to read it they were generally unsuccessful, and that's how he introduced rock art. No one wrote a lexicon. Your guess is as good as anyone's, and even the Hopi and Navajo people, who claim this land as part of their ancestral heritage, don't have records handed down over the 50 or so generations since these messages were literally carved in stone.

Here's an example of rock art that will be lost soon. The desert varnish is flaking away in large spots, making the images harder to see. I saw this rock from a distance and couldn't tell if I was actually seeing something there, or if it was just a lucky confluence of spots. There is something there, an arrow sloping from upper left to lower right in the upper right area of the stone, and to its lower left, a couple of boxes. A few more chips falling off the rock and this image will be gone.

Archeologist Bill was standing to the left when I came across this rock and started taking pictures. When it seemed I was done, he nodded to the space between them and told me to look in there. Wow.

I could be entirely wrong but this looks like a kokopelli figure (the flute player) to me. To the left is what I called a ladder and learned that others call it a centipede.

There are lots of glyphs of big horn sheep in the park. See how this one is deteriorating? What a shame. There aren't big horn sheep in the park now.

A horse? A mule deer? Whatever it was, it was important enough to the scribe to chip it into the stone.

A sun and other images that are starting to fall away. It looks like there was a human figure on the right, now half gone.

 More animals and a human and a half.

I've read that meandering lines are thought to represent rivers, which is easy to interpret on some rock art I've seen. I don't know if this boxy meander means the same thing.

 This spiral is about perfect. I'm sure someone knows, but I wonder if it's a solstice marker.

Up around the hill to the right was a treasure trove of pottery sherds. This is maybe from ladle handles.

Wonderful detailing, and imagine how large the pot must have been, judging by the wide curve of the sherd.

The black is from the fire the pot was cured in, and the red was a glaze that was applied before firing. This would have been another large pot.

Bill talked about the difference in pottery decoration, depending on its use. A dish or bowl that would be presented to a guest during a meal could be decorated very differently from a large one outside the pueblo door that served an ornamental, rather than functional and intimate, purpose.

This part of the site was almost carpeted with broken pieces, as though it was the village dump. As much as one can tiptoe in hiking shoes, I was doing my best not to crunch the artifacts into crumbs.

The site is a couple of miles off the road. I couldn't see the pullout from the desert floor and would not have ventured out without someone who knew where he was going. But I now have, thanks to a good, good friend, a great GPS that will bring me home even if I can't make out a beacon on the rim. More discoveries await when I figure out how to use it.


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Thought of the day:
Write what should not be forgotten. (Isabel Allende)