We came across this sticker on a painstakingly restored VW bus at Agua Caliente Park in Tucson. We had to smile at the van’s only bumper sticker.

Our travels in the RV these past few years helped us scratch a few potential locations off our list. For a variety of reasons we narrowed our list down to either southern New Mexico or southern Arizona. We knew we had far more ties to the latter but again, price made us lean towards the Land of Enchantment (and with a tag line like that who wouldn’t want to live there?).

But then the U.S. economy fell off the wall and broke into a zillion pieces. By September we, like so many others, were watching our retirement accounts dwindle. Since we usually wait until fall to max out our retirement accounts (it’s just the way our money comes in) we were sitting on a small pile of cash. A quick look around the economic landscape; faltering stock markets and lower real estate prices convinced us that it was the right time to start looking for our dream place.

By the time we reached the Tucson valley in November we had our list of requirements ready for our agent. We contacted the agent who handled both the buying and selling of our previous Tucson home; we figured we might as well stick with someone we trust. Poor guy—he had his work cut out for him—all we wanted was a small house on over an acre of horse property, close to town, and affordable. That’s all…

We knew we were aiming high but why not? Our criteria reminded us of our good friend Karen; her husband Rich jokes that she didn’t want much in a house—just a log cabin on a few acres in downtown St. Louis. We too, wanted all the rustic comforts of rural living and the amenities of a city.

It was not an easy search, obviously our preferences eliminated the majority of the properties right away. We had a few false starts, submitting two offers that didn’t go through, thankfully. Several months passed, Winter ended, and Spring warmed up but we kept searching, checking websites, and pestering our agent. One day near the beginning of March, after yet another false start, Lance offhandedly mentioned a property that was just outside our original search area. The MLS listing piqued our curiosity so we hopped in the car and cruised by the place.

We were sufficiently interested to schedule a viewing two days later. We met our agent at the house and the elderly woman who owned the place welcomed us in. Walking into the ranch house built of baked adobe brick was like entering a museum exhibit dedicated to the 1970s. Seriously, from the shag carpeting to the overly dark and ornate kitchen cabinets to the furniture and basic decor, not much had changed in the house in the last several decades.

And that caught my eye. The lady and her husband had purchased the house while it was still under construction in 1966 and they were content to leave well enough alone. They didn’t put the house through a remodeling blitz every decade like so many of the places we had seen. The structure was intact, in good shape and simple—just the way we like it!

Then we stepped out into the fenced backyard—wow—the place was set up for entertaining; a large covered porch, a huge built-in grill, patio seating areas and a pool; too cool! We were impressed with what we had seen and it was only a small portion of the 3.68 acres so far.

Leaving the backyard we wandered around the acreage to get a visual on the property lines. I think the most rundown part of the place is what most intrigued me: the tack room. The weather-beaten wooden structure had seen far better days, the roof was partially caved in and pack rats had stuffed every nook and cranny with their nests and various accoutrements. Our agent suggested it could be torn down but I knew it had a story…

Finishing our tour we re-entered the house: Charlotte was sitting in her chair, smoking a cigarette, drinking a bourbon and water. She was happy to answer our questions. Talking over the blaring TV her eyes lit up as she regaled us with tales from the good, old days: family weddings in the backyard, horseback rides up Wasson Peak, and of course, parties with friends. I could’ve settled into one of the chairs and listened to Charlotte until she ran out of stories (which would have been a very long time, I’m sure) but we had another property to view.

Not that it mattered, I think both of us were already sold. We stayed up late that night considering our options, examining all the aspects of the property, discussing the pros and cons, and compiling our list of questions and concerns. Two days later we made an offer.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. They countered, we countered, they countered and then we all took the weekend off to reflect on the situation. On the following Monday we found common ground and the purchase proceedings began. We were nervous while we had the house poked, prodded, and checked for the overall health of all its systems; what if there was something majorly wrong? Thankfully, other than a few wear and tear items the house passed with flying colors. Whew, one hurdle down, a million more to go.

The seller asked for extra time so that she could deal with 42 years of accumulated stuff. As much as we hated it, we had no choice but to wait and wait and wait. It took so long that we even felt compelled to drive by the house a couple times just to make sure it was the same as we remembered it! Since nothing would be final until we signed on the dotted line we were hesitant to tell anyone about it in case the deal fell through. The last few weeks before we signed I checked in daily with our agent to ensure the process was going smoothly.

Finally, on Friday, May 15th, after some last-minute paper chasing and stress we found ourselves seated at a shiny wooden desk with mounds of paper in front of us: signing time! The deed recorded that afternoon and then the house was officially ours. Yipppeee!

The next morning we drove up our driveway and parked in our carport and got right to work. The car was loaded with tools and cleaning supplies. Obviously, the carpet had to go, and the linoleum under that. We took out some of the kitchen cabinets, removed all the face plates, and vents. We patched the walls and prepped them for painting with a odor-sealing, stain-covering primer. We contacted various handymen and contractors for estimates on some projects we were interested in. We trimmed long neglected trees, we cut down non-native oleanders¹ and arborvitae. We thinned one section of our Jumping Cholla “forest” and we cleared an area for our RV site. Along the way we amassed two massive piles of debris so large that we were intimidated and called in experts to haul the mess away. It took the team two days and four dump trucks!

Near the end of May we finally moved our RV from the small RV park we’d been staying in for the previous six months to its new spot on the property. It didn’t take long to get it all hooked up and leveled. Though we hadn’t even considered this when we first purchased the RV it is very convenient to have a portable home while we are working on our future home. Especially since we need to remodel the kitchen…

Right about now there are probably several questions running through your mind—one of which probably goes a little something like this: Does this mean they are finally settling down and will quit vagabonding? And the short answer is: No. As excited as we are about our house and land we will continue traveling in our RV. We think of our newly acquired property as our long-term plan, our refuge where we will someday live, work, and play full time.

This summer’s trip will be truncated but we are still leaving for a jaunt to Ohio to spend time with family. Next year we figure we’ll spend about half of it in Tucson (the good half: Fall, Winter, and Spring) and the rest on the road exploring the countryside and visiting family and friends.

And now I must be off—there are house projects calling my name… I hope this helps explain our diminished web presence for the past few months, things should be a bit more normal around here soon.

Photos: View the photographs that go with this post: The Time Was Right….

Notes:

¹ Reasons I despise oleanders: they are difficult to keep looking nice, they shed like crazy, and they are poisonous. If you ate enough of the plant your heart would stop. Of course I don’t know anyone who would eat the bitter leaves but in a new book called Wicked Plants: The Weed That Killed Lincoln’s Mother and Other Botanical Atrocities (Amazon) the author, Amy Stewart, tells of a woman who tried to kill her husband with the leaves (he survived that attempt but she later offed him with antifreeze). According to Stewart close to 70,000 people a year are poisoned by plants. That’s a much higher number than I would have guessed, so to be on the safe side the oleanders had to go. ↩

UPDATE: Thanks to an informed reader (see thepoisongarden’s comment below) we now have a better understanding of what the 70,000 number represents: they were calls to poison control centers concerning plants but less than 10% of the cases needed medical attention and there were no deaths. Good to know…

After contacting the powers-that-be (and fellow do-good birders) we arranged for an early morning clean-up near the end of April. The morning was a complete success! Though we had fewer people than hoped for we still managed a complete sweep around the perimeter of the Wetlands. We filled twelve 45-gallon bags with garbage—the resident pack rats will not be happy as we took many of their shiny things away. Beer bottles and cans were the most prevalent items with plastic bags (shopping, snacks, and bread) coming in a close second. Other items picked up included clothing, shoes, an eyelash curler, and two glass “pot” pipes. Clearly, the area gets many visitors who have other things on their minds besides watching birds.

It was a warm yet slightly breezy morning and we were treated to a close-up view of a Bobcat, a two-foot-long Diamond-backed Rattlesnake, a five-foot-long Gopher Snake, and two Pond Sliders laying eggs. Along the way we scored five golf balls, a softball and three pennies (we’re still not sure where all the balls came from…). All in all it was a great morning and Sweetwater looks a heckuva lot better!

The next evening we attended a book signing event where Amy Goodman, the host of Democracy Now!, gave a speech about the function of media. Amy was about 30 minutes late but nobody in the packed house was worried—we all knew it would be worth the wait. The emcee explained that Amy was wrapping up a busy day that had started with a breakfast speech in Los Angeles, a lunch meeting, another speech and book signing in Phoenix in the afternoon, and would end here in Tucson. Though not everyone will agree with all her views no one can deny that Amy is a tireless crusader for independent journalism, something she considers crucial to a free and just society.

Her speech was powerful and moving; Amy could have gone on all night expounding on the potential dangers of a for-profit media that neglects to tell all sides of the story. The audience was eager to listen for as long as she was willing to talk… Lance and I had seen Amy once before and then, as now, we left invigorated with plenty to think about.

A few days later April ended, and with it, Spring. Though many people joke that the Sonoran Desert has two seasons, hot and not hot, there are actually five seasons and the one that May ushers in is Dry Summer. There are many amazing things that occur during these two months (saguaros bloom and birds migrate through) but it is my least favorite season. May and June are typically hot and dry—residents of Tucson celebrate if they see a cloud, plant life drops leaves and turns brown, wildlife resorts to munching on cactus (spines and all), and the desert seems to be holding its breath, waiting for July to come and bring with it the Monsoon Season.

During the first weekend of Dry Summer was the Tucson Folk Festival, a free annual event downtown that draws hundreds of acts from all over the country. This year’s headliner was none other than Todd Snider—one of my favorite performers. He’s a singer-songwriter with a sharp wit and some pretty strong political opinions. Of course, he prefaced his concert with a short disclaimer—he isn’t trying to change anybody and most of his lyrics don’t have a point, they just rhyme (yeah, right). As to be expected, Todd put on a stellar show, a few of the old faves with some new tunes mixed in. Sounds like we’ll have to pick up his new album…

We squeezed in some Letterboxing, venturing out early in the morning or late in the day to avoid the worst of the heat. I picked up a new Hitchhiker and dropped off a couple along the way. I still have one or two that are awaiting the next leg of their adventure. I’m hoping that my sister and I can grab a few hours to Letterbox soon.

Lance received one of those dreaded jury duty notices and as luck would have it, he was selected to serve. We both know how important it is for us to do our civic duty but I do wonder why it is that we get called up at the most inconvenient times. Following the instructions to the letter Lance refused to talk about the case. After days of testimony and hours of deliberation the case ended in a hung jury, from what little Lance mentioned there was just not enough evidence for a guilty verdict.

After Lance’s emotionally charged week we figured a night out was in order so we headed over to Top Hat Theatre to catch Agatha Christie’s Mouse Trap. As with most of Christie’s work the perpetrator was not the person that the initial clues pointed to. It was a small troupe of actors but they did a great job, and we had a wonderful time.

There is no shortage of free and interesting events in Tucson throughout the year and it’s nice to be here to join in on the fun. Lance took a pass on attending the Historic Miracle Mile Tour but I think he missed out. I love learning about hidden stories and the forgotten past of areas, and this was no different. Miracle Mile began life as a humble dirt road that early car owners would travel on their way westward, following not maps but the directions of locals which included such waypoints as windmills and saguaros.

By the 1930s the dusty path had been converted into U.S. Route 80 that connected Tucson to Benson and Casa Grande. 80 was once known as the Broadway of America and brochures bragged that the road connected “the citrus groves of Florida and California.” A small section in Tucson—the first divided highway in Arizona—received the name Miracle Mile and Arizona Highways magazine called it “an almost perfect piece of roadway.” Back in the day it was the northern entrance to town and the road was lined with motor courts built with the utmost in modern conveniences to serve the needs of the motor age¹.

Miracle Mile’s glory days lasted until the interstate blazed through on the western side of Tucson in the 1960s. Travelers no longer motored through town looking for a quaint motor court that advertised amenities such as Pool, Color TV, and Refrigerated—instead they started zipping around the town, using off ramps at exits that had more convenient lodging. Business dried up and the motor courts slowly fell into disrepair. Some were demolished while others were re-purposed into less than reputable establishments; the name of one, the No-Tell Motel (which rents rooms by the hour) should give you an idea.

In 2004 the city, area residents, and local merchants formed the Oracle Area Revitalization Project with the goal of reclaiming Miracle Mile and its 85 historic motels. The group seems to have made some progress—the La Siesta Motel has been renovated in a fashion that celebrates its place in America’s motor story, and the Ghost Ranch Lodge (which I talked about last year) is in the process of becoming affordable senior housing.

I learned all of this while on the informative tour—a wonderful way to introduce people to the story of a long neglected yet still treasured area. Afterwards I joined others in the shady courtyard of La Siesta motel for a tasty meal, cool drink and concert. Looking at the sparkling pool, the stereotypical saguaro signpost, and the neon sign it was easy to imagine Miracle Mile’s glory days.

The following week contained two very important dates, one of which was Lance’s birthday. To celebrate we gathered together some family, good friends, games, and food for an evening of fun in the park. Thankfully the weather cooperated and it wasn’t too hot, always a concern in May. I think it’s safe to say that a good time was had by all…

As for that second important date? I’ll get to that story next time. Hang in there—we can’t wait to tell you all about it…

Photos: View our photographs for And Now It’s Dry Summer and for Lance’s Birthday Party.

Notes:

¹ Tucson’s long love affair with cars began back in 1899 when Dr. Hiram Fenner took delivery of the first automobile in Arizona Territory. Fenner’s car was called a “Locomobile”, a steam-powered vehicle that could reach speeds of 35 miles per hour. Dr. Fenner was the first person in the territory to possess a driver’s license and according to local lore, he also has the dubious distinction of having the first car accident. It is rumored that Dr. Fenner ran into a saguaro within minutes of climbing in the driver’s seat. ↩

I know two things about Cactus Wrens: one, they are the largest wren in North America; and two, they are notoriously active (and mischievous). We watched this one at Sweetwater Wetlands in Tucson for about 10 minutes—during which time it took a dust bath, rooted around for insects on a mesquite tree, and finally settled in to preen. Never once did he sit still.

Please be as specific as possible. Good luck!

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Instructions: When you think you have figured it out, enter your guess in the comment field below. Be sure to check back next week to see if you were right.

The photo has not been doctored; it is the glorious combination of two things, my lack of ability as a photographer and the subject’s stubborn refusal to be photographed. Happy guessing!

That is not to infer that this Spring hasn’t been beautiful, on the contrary, what we’ve seen of it has been amazing! Easter morning found us driving up the Mt. Lemmon Highway with our friend Nancy—the female half of the Nancy and Denny duo, the male half doesn’t do windy mountain roads with steep drop-offs.

First stop, the open, grassy desert of Molino Basin, at roughly 4500’ it’s a good two thousand feet above the valley floor. The place was packed with families participating in all the typical bunny-and-egg day festivities. At first we thought the commotion would ruin our chances for bird sightings, but thankfully, we were proven wrong. It didn’t take us long to pick out some of the usual suspects: Greater Roadrunner, Canyon Towhee, House Finch, Pine Siskin, Rock Wren, Mourning Dove, Gray Flycatcher, Lincoln’s Sparrow, and Mockingbird. Later we discovered a Black-throated Gray Warbler and a Cassin’s Kingbird. An auspicious start to the day!

Further up the mountain we stopped at Middle Bear Picnic Area, adding another thousand feet in elevation and a completely different ecosystem. Now we were surrounded by towering trees and on the ground, snow! A fast moving cold storm blew through the Tucson area the Friday before, leaving behind rain in the lower elevations and snow up higher. We weren’t even out of the car with our various gear when we sighted four bird species: Red-naped Sapsucker, Acorn Woodpecker, Yellow-eyed Junco, and Ruby-crowned Kinglet. We ambled through the picnic area following one bird call to another, adding a White-breasted Nuthatch, Bridled Titmouse, Spotted Towhee, and two nifty warblers, Olive and Grace’s.

We had time for one more stop so we scurried up to the Rose Canyon Recreation Area at some 7,000 feet in elevation. Unbelievably, we were skunked. Though we could hear birds all around us we couldn’t see them! Luckily, just as we were leaving we were rewarded with a female Broad-tailed Hummingbird sitting on her nest. Since it was quite cool up there and snow covered the ground we were surprised to see a hummingbird up there at all, much less one tending her eggs. By then it was time for us to turn around and head back down the mountain. Though Nancy was disappointed that we dipped on a Red-faced Warbler a quick stop at the Windy Point overlook allowed us to pick up a Zone-tailed Hawk, which was not a bad bird to end on.

Zipping down to the welcome warmth of the valley we met up with Denny for a late lunch (he spent the morning shooting trains—with a camera, of course). It was quite an occasion for us, not only was it Denny’s birthday but it was our last visit of the spring since they were leaving for home in a few days. Discussing their upcoming road trip made Lance and I a bit desirous to hit the open road ourselves but there’s a good reason why we’re still here in Tucson (more about that in a future post).

Down in the valley my Letterboxing adventures led me past some of Tucson’s hidden treasures, small works of art that are slowly fading away. Isn’t it funny how you can drive by a place daily and yet never notice how interesting it is? Or in some cases even know that it exists at all? Having grown up in Tucson I thought I had a pretty good handle on its character and heritage, humph, little did I know. In my pursuit of Letterboxes I have traversed this town, often on foot, traipsing through random neighborhoods and down tiny side streets. Along the way I’ve stumbled across some fascinating adornments, such as the neon Termite, the Bull Fight scene, and the pictorial history of ranching in Tucson.

The former were new discoveries, the latter I have known since I was a child but for once I finally took the time to appreciate it. The several hundred feet-long mural covers the brick wall around the now defunct Farmer John’s meat packing plant. In 1962 the Clougherty family expanded their meat packing operations from California into Arizona with the opening of the plant near Grant and I-10. Just as they had done at their original locations they hired Leslie Allen Grimes to paint a mural depicting ranch life: cowboys, and cattle cavorting through the artwork. Though much less visible, Grimes also painted the exterior of the buildings inside the wall, they are most notable for their lack of bovines.

Grimes, an Australian-born wrestler and former set painter for the Fox and Charlie Chaplin studios died doing what he loved—in 1968 he fell to his death from a scaffolding while painting yet another mural for the Clougherty’s. Finishing that mural and maintaining the others was a job that soon fell to Arno Jordan. According to local lore, Jordan had to paint over one of Grimes’ dirt roads after a man tried to drive on it (to no surprise, the man had just left a drinking establishment). The Farmer John’s mural soon became a local landmark and was later included in a book about modern folk art. Unfortunately, since the plant closed in 2001 the mural has fallen victim to tagging and vandalism. It makes me wish I had stopped to photograph the wall years ago, while it was still in good shape! At least I captured some of it. By the way, if you haven’t been a tourist in your own home town, I sincerely recommend it—you never know just what you might find!

Mid-week we attended a family barbecue—Lance’s parents were in town for a few days before heading off to Spain for the summer. It was a lovely night and we enjoyed catching up with everyone. Friday evening we took our bikes downtown for a bike tour of historic buildings. An incredibly diverse group of close to 30 cyclists rode along the maze of one-way streets. Though our group at times blocked entire roads, motorists were kind. I think most of them were surprised to see that many people pedaling through downtown. The tour ended at a historic, old adobe building that we are intimately familiar with; Cushing Street Bar and Grill (I worked there for several years before we moved from Tucson in 2005).

Saturday found us unencumbered with previous engagements so we headed for the hills. This time we retraced our steps up Mt. Lemmon but with a very different purpose, instead of birding we were hunting… for Letterboxes. By my rough estimation there are over 20 LBs tucked into little nooks along the Mt. Lemmon Highway, some close by, others requiring hiking shoes. Though Lance doesn’t officially Letterbox (he doesn’t stamp in), he is a super sleuth. I was glad he was along since many of the ones we found that day weren’t easily recognizable as they weren’t hidden under SPORs (suspicious piles of rocks). The day was a success—we scored 12 LBs, four Hitchhikers, and three First Finder Awards! Hitchhikers are micro-Letterboxes that travel from box to box, as the finder it became my job to take the HHs to the next LB I find and I’m looking forward to it!

All this and April isn’t even close to over yet! Hurray for Spring!

Photos: View our photographs to accompany this post: Hurray for Spring.

Notes:

¹ Southern Arizona’s five seasons are: Spring (late February through April), Dry Summer (May and June), Monsoon (July through early September), Fall (late September through November), and Winter (December through early February). Read more on Wikipedia.

In final count the total number of birds in the picture was well over 100 (which surprised even me): 94 Northern Shovelers, 15 American Wigeons, 2 American Coots, 1 Mallard, and 1 Cinnamon Teal.

(Click to view larger version. For those of you that have a high speed connection, there is also a full-size version available [4.6 MB].)

As the photo attests, Northern Shovelers far outnumber any other species during Tucson’s cool months. A picture today at the Wetlands would probably have Coots as the most numerous, since by now the Shovelers have migrated north.

Though we do not have an official winner kudos to Karen for getting the main species correct and to Leah for getting pretty close in numbers.

Hopefully May will be kinder to us all…

On Saturday morning I dropped Lance off at a French bakery, for breakfast with his good friend Boubacar, on my way out to the park. It was a clear, sunny day—a bit on the warm side though a mere hint of what’s to come in the summer months. Driving north on Oracle Road brought back memories of horseback riding along the Cañada del Oro Wash and the long bus ride from Catalina to both middle school and high school. Before the strip malls and fancy houses there were cattle ranches and historic adobe homes, and in the mountains, Bighorn Sheep. At least some sections, like Catalina State Park, were preserved.

It was a nice surprise that the park waived the entrance fee for tour participants—in spite of budget issues. The tour was one of the last free events offered statewide during March as part of Arizona Archaeology & Heritage Awareness Month. Arizona contains some impressive historic and prehistoric treasures which the state figures people will be more willing to protect and preserve if they are more informed about them. At the trailhead parking lot I joined an eclectic group of twenty five or so. Bill Gillespie, an archeaologist with the Santa Catalina Ranger District of the immense Coronado National Forest, began with the usual desert cautions and a quick introduction.

The rather flat hilltop we were touring had evidence of human habitation that extended back to 300 A.D. The residents that left the most behind were the Hohokam, a prehistoric culture group that is believed to be the ancestral link to Tucson’s modern day Tohono O’odham tribe. From the rubbish and crumbled walls of the 15-acre site archaeologists have ascertained that the Hohokam lived in rather large groups (the Romero Ruin site had over 100 pithouses and two ballcourts), practiced various types of agriculture, and traded extensively throughout the region. This village was lived in for almost a thousand years before the Hohokam faded from the archeaological record.

Around the time of the Hohokam dispersion two new groups arrived in the Tucson area: the Apaches were first, shortly followed by the Spanish. The most recent residents tolerated each other with a wary eye and skirmishes were not infrequent. In the mid-1850s, about the time the area became part of the United States, Francisco Romero built a small home on the same hilltop. In an early example of recycling, the walls of his house were built from the same rocks that the Hohokam had used for their walls a thousand years earlier. Unfortunately, Romero’s habitation of the spot was short lived, most likely he was chased off by the local Apaches that did not tolerate encroachment on what they considered to be their territory.

Overall, the tour was quite thorough and interesting with Bill making sure to point out recent discoveries such as the extensive agave propagation fields. Overlooked for years archaeologists now understand the function of the small rock piles and low rows of terracing that cover many of the foothills in the region. While much of the information was familiar to me I did pick up a few new tidbits. I was surprised to learn that the 5,493-acre park is actually owned by the Forest Service which has an agreement with the state to run it. That was news to me. The other bit was disturbing: in southern Arizona archaeologists call February “Pot Hunting Month.” They aren’t sure why but looting of prehistoric sites by treasure seekers increases dramatically during the short month. Some wonder if there is a possible link to the Tucson Gem and Mineral Show, which also has a large Native American artifact marketplace. I hate to think so but any time there is the opportunity to make a quick buck, some people will.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I returned home. Since my relatives weren’t due in until the evening I threw myself into cleaning and tidying up our little home. Nothing like waiting ‘til the last minute, eh? Lance and I drove down to the airport ten minutes early to wait for their plane to come in and good thing we did. When we walked into the baggage claim area the Ohio clan was already grabbing their luggage off the conveyor belt. Apparently their plane landed 20 minutes early—unheard of these days! We were thrilled to see them and I think they were relieved to see us as we supplied four extra hands and they had a lot of luggage! My Uncle Lanny and Aunt Sharon packed for their three week stay while my cousin Shane and her husband Steve had two little girls that still needed car seats and they were staying eight days. Whew.

Quickly we helped them load everything into their rental van and then we whisked them to dinner (Mexican food, of course) at El Charro downtown. By the end of the meal, our travelers were fading fast so we rushed over to the hotel where I am sure they quickly flopped into bed, exhausted by a long day. The following morning we met up for breakfast. It was wonderful to catch up with them! Though Lance and I have been back to Ohio to visit multiple times (and I was back there last summer) it’d been eight years since my aunt and uncle were last out here and four for my cousin’s family.

To be sure, they didn’t come all the way out here just to visit us though we were fortunate to still be in Arizona at the time. Instead the primary reason for their trip was our family matriarch, Eileen, who just turned 93 the month before. There is also my parents and my other aunt to spend time with, all of whom live in the far southeastern corner of Arizona near Portal. So, after a leisurely lunch the Ohioans clambered into their rental van and drove south on I-10. While neither Lance nor I could go down for the entire week, I did manage to get down there for a couple days.

It was heartwarming to watch Grandma interact with Frankie and Gracie, her great granddaughters. Since Grandma stopped traveling a few years back she had not met tiny, little Gracie before. It was amusing to see the similarities between the two—they are both delicate, yet not fragile, creatures. I don’t think Grandma ever weighed more than 100 pounds, even when pregnant, and she currently tops the scales at a mere 85 when dripping wet. Steve and Shane have been so worried about Gracie because she barely makes the bottom of her pediatrician’s weight chart. If Gracie shares any more of Grandma’s other characteristics she will be in good stead.

My cousin and her family drove back up to Tucson the day before their return flight so that we could spend more time together. It was another of Tucson’s signature spring days, warm and sunny. A picnic in the park, a trip to the zoo, a late afternoon swim, and a pizza party for dinner made for a long, fun day. Though everyone was exhausted it was hard to tear ourselves away, nobody likes to say goodbye. I think it was one of those trips that was too busy to be considered a vacation, yet we are so glad they came.

So, April was off to a good start. Wonder what the rest of the month will bring…

Photos: View our photographs from And So March Ended, April Began.

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Apparently, I’ve been living under a rock because even though I’d never heard of him everyone else I talked to raved about his work. Intrigued, the three of us (Aunt Coralie, Desiree, and I) made arrangements for our visit to The Valley of the Sun. Quick aside—Phoenix recently officially shortened their slogan to just The Valley, since the sun part implied that Phoenix was hot (which it usually is). As if changing their slogan changes the weather!

So we shot up I-10 in my aunt’s Prius, which I got to drive—yay. I love cruising along and not worrying about fuel. It is one of our main concerns when driving our RV—not just finding gas stations but locating ones that can accommodate a 34’ long vehicle with a clearance over 12’3”. Of course there was construction (when isn’t there?) but overall the drive down to the valley was quick and uneventful. Notice I said down? Phoenix is roughly 100 miles north of Tucson so one could legitimately say “up” to Phoenix, but our lovely capital city is 1500’ lower in elevation than the Old Pueblo, so I am justified in saying “down.” I also say a lot of other things about Phoenix but few of them are appropriate for all audiences.

When we arrived at the Desert Botanical Garden a little after eleven all the parking lots were jam packed. We expected they would be busy on weekends but that crowded on a Tuesday? DBG is raking it in! Which is exactly what they were banking on. Chihuly’s exhibit, which has been on display since November and will remain through the end of May, is a pure moneymaker. For both DBG and Chihuly. In fact, in anticipation of large crowds, DBG required advance reservations for one of three admission times, 8 to noon, noon to 4, or 4 to 8. Since none of us were even remotely interested in trying to make it by 8 in the morning we selected the noon option. We did briefly discuss the later option since the sculptures are lit after dark, which would have been a neat perspective.

Our early arrival gave us time to read up on Dale Chihuly and his work. Born in Tacoma, Washington in 1941 Chihuly was into art from early on: he graduated with his first degree, interior design, in 1965, followed with an M.S. in sculpture in 1967 and a year later he travel to Venice to study glass on a Fulbright Scholarship. The diaphanous quality of glass seemingly entranced Chihuly and upon his return to the states he made it his lifework. In the early years Chihuly based his glass pieces on both Native American and natural designs, though it was the latter of the two that won him the most acclaim. Chihuly blew through the limits of traditional glass work and elevated the status of his glass sculptures from craftwork to artwork.

That change did not happen overnight nor was it merely based on his inventive, unusual work—Chihuly, by all accounts, is a persuasive and determined man. In a combination rarely seen in artists, his skill for self-promotion and dealmaking rival his ability to create art. Over the years Chihuly has evolved from an artist into a brand; he hasn’t blown glass since 1979. Instead he is at the helm of a multi-million dollar company which owns a large factory filled with craftsmen and contractors, and a storage room filled with blown glass. Chihuly describes his role thusly, “more choreographer than dancer, more supervisor than participant, more director than actor.” Obviously, there are detractors, how can it truly be his art when he more than likely never even saw the piece of glass? Though few, if any, dispute Chihuly’s contributions to the world of glass art.

As for myself, I am not a collector nor an art critic so I was content to wander the pathways at DBG and enjoy the view. According to their brochure, the planning for this installation took three years with Chihuly visiting the garden in 2007 to design the layout. A combination of old pieces, new works, and some modified ones were used to create twenty-one sculptures planted throughout the garden.

Our group had grown to five with the addition of Coralie’s friends, Larry and Mary Ann, who met us at the Garden. Apparently, we picked a great time of day to visit as two school buses full of children were just leaving. Don’t get me wrong, I like kids, just not so much when they are in large groups on a field trip. Like adults, kids can lose their manners when en masse. We attempted to follow the map on our brochure but quickly gave up on the idea and instead wandered randomly. It seemed like an appropriate approach since the glass sculptures were then a surprise.

I wasn’t sure what to expect but overall, the glass was astounding—the pieces were immense but delicate, they varied from multi-hued, to streaked, to spotted, to swirled and all were intensely vibrant, many imitated nature while some were directly inspired by civilization. I’ll be honest, there were definitely some pieces I did not like. I much preferred the flowing, simple pieces over his massive, ultra-hyper, frenzied tangles of glass. Of course, I was most attracted to the cobalt blue pieces. My sister said that in the glass industry they call it “cash flow blue.” If you want a piece to sell make it out of cobalt blue glass. Which in my mind raises the question, why? What is it about cobalt that attracts the attention of people the world over? I’ll leave you to ponder that one. If you have an explanation, I’d love to hear it!

Photos: View our photographs from Chihuly at Desert Botanical Gardens.

Dates: We visited the Chihuly exhibit at Desert Botanical Gardens on March 24th, 2009.