Across the expanse of the Navajo Reservation, we could see the San Francisco Peaks jutting up from the flatland and we knew we were nearing Flagstaff. As we climbed up from the desert to the 7,000 foot altitude that accommodated Flagstaff we were once again surrounded by snow.
Flagstaff got it’s odd name when some of the first settlers there stripped the limbs from the tallest ponderosa pine that overlooked the area and hoisted a US flag to the top. The flag could be seen from miles around in every direction.In the 1970's we always approached Flagstaff with great trepidation. On all our leavings of Phoenix, we never seemed to have a good enough vehicle, good enough tires, good enough fan belts, good enough radiator, etc. etc. And we were always at our worst after the long, hot climb from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Many times we limped into Flagstaff on 3 tires and a steaming radiator. We could hear the sound of the Flagstaff auto repair people rubbing their palms together when we were within 25 miles of their town. They knew they had us and they charged accordingly.
In 1996 just Dale and I were traveling to Phoenix and we approached Flagstaff winding down out of the very heart of the San Francisco Peaks from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon on Highway 180. Traffic slowed to a crawl and we soon saw that the forest was ablaze in front of us. Police blockaded the road and traffic was at a standstill. Huge ponderosa’s were blazing and we could hear the crack of the fire and trees falling. Smoke billowed into the air. We watched the blaze work its way closer to the highway and there we were stuck. Finally as I was beginning to panic, traffic was diverted onto a small forest road and we were able to work ourselves into town and out onto the freeway where I stuck my camera out the window and snapped pictures of the gully we had been stuck in. Flagstaff was our Nemesis.
The Hopis, Havasupai, and Navajos considered the San Francisco Peaks as sacred – the home of the Gods. To the Hopis, these mountains are the home of the Kachina People – and these mountains were not to be trespassed upon. Only those People who were authorized to collect sacred medicines were given freedom to search the sacred slopes without fear of retribution.We were not of the People, and we were not collectors of sacred medicines. It seemed to us that we were always being singled out from the hordes trespassing on the sacred mountain for Gods’ vengeance and retribution. But this day, as we held our breath and connected onto I-17, the Gods seemed to be looking the other way, and we sped, without mishap, toward Phoenix.
We stopped next at the Lake Powell Visitor Center as we always did on our travels back and forth from Phoenix. The kids always liked this stop because it gave them leave to use the forbidden word: DAM (without the n, of course). “Can we go on the dam tour?” “Just park in the dam parking lot.” “Let’s go down the dam elevator.” “The dam restrooms are over there.” And they'd all giggle their heads off with each new use of “dam.” And, I have to admit that we, adults, reverted back to that mischief as we drove into the "dam" parking lot.
We used to look forward to the elevator ride down into the depths of the Glen Canyon Dam. In the 1970's tours were self-guided and we could venture down by ourselves to see the huge humming generators, then go out the door at the bottom of the dam and gaze up at the tons and tons of concrete towering above us. It was at the bottom of the dam that I caught my first siting of a Black Phoebe.
In 1965, my brother and sister-in-law, and Dale and I borrowed a boat and spent 3 glorious days on Lake Powell. At that time the lake was still filling and there were hundreds of serene sandstone hollows to explore. Each channel was calm and quiet as we stopped the engine and paddled up into the far reaches of the fingers of water. Each little red sand beach would invite us to stay and swim and dive from the red cliffs.
I had actually never been on a boat on the water before! It took some time for me to get used to the water swirling around, not sure that it would not just suck me right in and swallow me up. But I had not ever felt such freedom as I skimmed over the water with the wind blowing in my face, and I gloried in it. On the second night we were all sunburned so badly that we could hardly climb into our sleeping bags.
Everyone tried water-skiing and when it came my turn we were right at the buoys by the dam. I knew that the water was 600 feet deep -- from the dam overlook I had seen some of the humongous fish that swarmed there; and I just knew they were lurking right below me, waiting to eat me up. I never could get up on the skis. My head would go down and my feet would come up and the boat would drag me head down, feet up – trolling for fish. Everyone finally gave up on me and dragged me exhausted, shaking, and scared back into the boat.
We enjoyed that trip so much, that when we got home, we saved and got a small used boat ($600) which we enjoyed all through our Phoenix years, and finally upgraded when we returned to Utah. We were a boating family for 27 years - and in all that time I never again tried to ski!
FYI: Do you know that Page has a WalMart???!!!
In our travels back and forth between Phoenix and Utah in the 1970's, we always looked forward to Kanab where we would stop and get huge ice-cream cones, and then about six miles north of Kanab, starting into the canyon, we would stop at a beautiful pond at the side of Highway 89. The pond lay cupped at the very foot of an over-hanging red sandstone cliff. A few large trees grew at the edge of the water, and some fun-minded person had hung a sturdy swinging rope from the largest limb of the biggest tree providing instant recreation for a car full of restless traveling kids . At that time the pond, the tree, and the rope were non-restricted and welcomed all comers. It’s a wonder we never had to fish a kid out of the water. The only thing that ever had to be retrieved was Dale’s cowboy hat (See picture #1 for the retrieval process - he snagged it with his foot.)
It wasn’t until years later that we learned that this pond has a place in western folklore. The story goes: About 450 years ago, after Montezuma was killed, the Aztecs brought their gold and treasures and hid them in a “water trap” in this very pond. In 1989 treasure hunters found a handmade tunnel about 4 feet wide and 7 feet tall under the water. When the tunnel explorer got 30 feet into the tunnel he became completely disoriented, got caught in a heavy current and was afraid he was going to be swept into an underground river. After fighting his way out, he tied a tether line onto himself and went in again. This time, he felt the line go completely limp. A few months later, he had the courage to try again, and this time he brought 3 professional divers. The divers reported that the tunnel was about 100 feet long and ended in a huge 80 foot room. Their metal detectors showed heavy metal at the end of the tunnel. It was too late in the day for further exploration and they exited the tunnel and pond. That night one of the divers had a dream that as he swam back into the tunnel an Aztec warrior appeared and threw a spear at him. That diver was the first to enter the tunnel the next morning. He started screaming that someone was grabbing and choking him. When he was pulled from the water, he was white as a sheet. The next diver went down and had the same experience. Two weeks later when the divers tried again, they experienced the same choking feeling as they entered the tunnel and they both had to be pulled up. They did not return. The pond and is now surrounded by a high chain-link fence placed there by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to protect the only know habitat of the Kanab Amber Snail. Hmmmmm. . .
So on this February trip there was no temptation for stopping, or swinging; and when we reached Kanab, even the ice cream stop was gone – The true lost treasures of Kanab . . .
On Feb 11 we left for Phoenix and didn’t return to Boise until Feb 25. We took Kevin, went (down, longitude-wise – or up, elevation-wise) to Utah, picked up Karen, and wound our way south through Utah via Kanab and Page to Phoenix where we spent 10 great days at Doug’s house.
We lived in Phoenix from 1967 to 1979, so have traveled that route dozens of times, but always with a car filled with kids and dogs, and even cats and plants, and assorted relatives – and usually during the summer months. So traveling with adults during the winter was breathtakingly new to us.
Snow covered the farmland; herds of deer rooted in the snowy fields, and rafters of wild turkeys shared warm tree-protected alcoves of snowless ground with cattle.
Meandering creeks cut through the vastness of the white – the snow banks curving right down to touch the water, where, every now and then a mallard duck pair, bottoms up, searched for food.
Where the flat farmland ended, juniper trees dotted the snow, and then magnificent red sandstone cliffs rose straight up out of the white. God and his committee of earth-builders have to be proud of Southern Utah.
BIRDS
Golden Eagle
American Bald Eagle
Common Crow
Common Raven
Red-tailed Hawk
Ferruginous Hawk
American Kestrel
Yellow-billed Magpie
Mallard
Ring-billed gull
Meadowlark
Mourning Dove
Wild Turkey
Today is March 5 and I’m 68 years old! I am so excited about life and thankful for it. I have so many things to do - and so many things I want to redo - and so many things to learn . . . And time is so short! I remember in 1964 Dale was purchasing a life insurance plan and I just could not fathom such a far away life - at that time, in my thinking, everyone 45 years old was OLD! And here I am - still alive, happy, and looking forward to at least 10 more years.
Today I’m thinking about the folks in the eastern part of the U.S. who are covered in snow – hoping they have the comfort of a warm home with family gathered safely around. All I can offer in the way of comfort to them are two recipes that I like to make on cold wintery days. The chili is so easy and quick to make -- you can be eating it within 30 minutes of starting. And this cornbread recipe is my favorite -- the texture is smooth and cake-like. I keep the ingredients for these two recipes in my cupboard at all times because Dale likes chili almost as much as he likes meatloaf!EASY CHILI½ lb. ground beef browned with chopped onionsAdd: 1 can pork and beans2 or 3 cans beans (red beans, kidney beans, pinto beans)1 8 oz. can tomato sauce1 tsp. (Or to taste) chili powdersaltpepperSimmer until flavors blend. (At least 15 min.) (If I choose to add the third can of beans, I also like to use a little bit more ground beef.)_JIFFY CORNBREAD1 box Jiffy cornbread mix (8.5 oz)1 box Jiffy yellow cake mix (9 oz)1/3 cup milk½ cup water2 eggs1/4 cup oilMix all ingredients. Pour batter into a greased and floured 8X8 pan.Bake at 400 degrees for 5 minutes, then lower temperature to 350 degrees and bake for another 20 - 25 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.
Got a fever?Feel a chill?Call the doctorIf you’re ill.Take two aspirin,Go to bed.Call tomorrow,Unless you’re dead.Have had the woozy head, sore throat thing for 2.5 days. But I am holding my own - drinking Airbourne like it’s party punch. I thought back to a day in May 1988, when Kent and I were waiting in Dr. Taylor’s office. Kent was sick with fever, sore throat, etc. The poem just came tapping out of my toe. We read it to Dr. Taylor and he almost fell off the stool laughing and asked for a copy, and since my only copy was on a scrap of paper that I wrote on in the waiting room, he sent his nurse in with a piece of paper to get a copy which they hung in the office. So once upon a time a copy of this little ditty was hanging around – somewhere.
