This morning shortly after Kevin left the doorbell rang. I had to do a doubletake. Was I hearing correctly? I got up, combed my hair and went to the front door, and it was my neighbor from the corner lot, still in her thick long green robe, telling me the dogs had gotten loose. Oh great!
"I tried calling them but they wouldn't come!" she said apologetically. I reassured her the dogs' escape was nowhere near her fault. They take off like this a few times a month and I'm quite frankly tired of their behavior. And I blame Sara. She's the one who likes to bolt outside at any opportunity and drags Sammy with her, Sammy who by himself wouldn't even know where to pee if it weren't for her being around.
Sweet Sara, my ass.
I threw on my shoes, went to the back yard to see a side gate wide open, and took my bad mood with me as I went down the dirt road calling out Sara's name. The neighbor told me the dogs had run down the street straightahead, which is already their favorite route because that is where the three Greyhounds live that Sara likes to harrass.
I called and called their names, shielding my eyes from the already-bright morning sun, vowing to banish the dogs both to the backyard for the rest of their natural lives. I saw two black dogs in the distance and knew they were near the Greyhounds barking and waking up the rest of the neighborhood.
I almost made it to the Greyhound yard when both dogs came toward me. Sammy had his usual sweet face but Sara looked guilty. Both stayed close to me and heeled when I told them to for oncoming traffic. As soon as I got home they went to the back yard. And they watched me the entire time while they laid on the shaded patio.
And that is where they are now, hours later in this hot sun. I vacuumed and steam-cleaned the dog-furred carpet and went over the carpet a second time. I made sure they both stayed outside despite their howls and whimpers. At this moment they have annoyed me beyond reason. I even cancelled the drive to Ash Canyon with them in the morning because they had annoyed me. They got their exercise, and if they go on a walk later today it will be with me to the post office to mail off the utility bills; we got the water bill today and I nearly had a cardiac infarction. (Lesson learned: stop watering the front yard!)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A Slice of Paradise
I took the dogs on a neighborhood walk at 7am before heat got too intense. I saw three houses for sale, one on each block I was on. One house came with an interesting sales sheet, and I took one out of curiosity.
SLICE OF PARADISE
Get the best of all worlds, country living with access to services.
1457 square feet with three bedrooms, two full baths, galley kitchen, laundry room, large great room, bonus room, carport, shed, patio, nut trees and blackberry bushes on .36 acres.
See the Huachuca Mountains every day from your yard, as well as access them in a ten-minute drive (great trails for hiking and mountain biking), be in Mexico in about a half hour. Local restaurants five minutes away, even more 15 minutes away in SV, and 20 minutes to Bisbee. And if you want metropolitcan, Tucson is less than 90 minutes away.
So for less than the price of what it takes to drive your RV around with today’s increasing gas prices, you can rent or own your own slice of paradise. With lease to own option, rental fees count towards your down payment!
$1100/month long or short term or
$169,000 OBO
Although I think the house is slightly higher than what the seller wants, it’s in a great location and offers all the great things the seller mentioned in his sheet. We moved here in the foothills for all the same reasons.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Spending the day in Tucson
It turned out to be a pleasant day. A few days earlier we had made no plans, but the few hours spent with family was quite nice.
We drove Highways 82 and 83, two of southern Arizona's most scenic highways. The area north of Sonoita is open for discovery. We really haven't done much exploring there.
We arrived shortly after 10am, as a local Tri-Athelon was finishing up near the lake. We drove the kayaks to the lake and paddled the lake's perimeter.
My 73-year-old mother is in great shape. You wouldn't even come close to guessing her age when you see her. She is still fit and has muscular definition. In a country where fat and fabulous seems to be the norm (a euphemism to conceal a lack of self-confidence), she is looking great. There won't be any Blue Hair or Nursing Homes for her in the future!
The scary part is that I'm looking more and more like her: same physic, baseball cap and sunglasses, muscular legs and that ever-frown. Even my daughter says she is proud of my athletic abilities, something she has herself if she only applied herself.
Watching my mother paddle ahead of me with ease amazed me. My inflatable kayak, a purple Sevlor (which Kevin described with "This thing sucks!") could not get me forward in the small breeze. The man-made lake and its aerators pushed me along and I circled at least twice in frustration. The water was filthy and contained several dead and floating catfish in various phases of smelly decomposition.
Kevin's back hurt and turned around before the half-way mark. I made it to the other end but didn't go on second round, and I declined an attempt in my mother's better kayak. Instead, we went back to her place where we sat ourside in her water garden and talked about our family topics: the upcoming election, the fraud of registereing as an Independent in Arizona (because the state wants you to declare what party's ballot you want for November), guns, the garden they recently completed, the upcoming Lake Powell trip in September, and wildlife.
"I miss the thrashers" said Bill. "We used to have them all the time in SV. One even flew into our house once as if he owned it."
I haven't seen the thrashers since after the storm. I hope the surviving thrasher didn't move elsewhere to find a new mate? The dail calls of the birds were always a delight, and when it comes to talented desert birds, those birds' calls top the range of song.
My mother's garden is more of a combo-water garden/shrubbery. Very few flowers grew. Many citrus and small trees were in large pots placed around the garden, still small and young and not quite effective enough at providing shade. Her garden is clearly different than mine, mine which is more native and filled with mostly drought-tolerant perennials. Most of my shrubs are planted in the soil; the few that are potted are still waiting for their turn at full-time soil.
Billl and Kevin talked about their handguns. Kevin handled some of Bill's pricier weapons. It's nice to see men talk about useful stuff like weapons and their maximum range, rather than put up with men who talk about sports all the time. Despite my own indifference to weapons, at least I see value in owning a weapon and knowing how to properly use it. I am not, however, a gun fanatic.
While the boys were talking guns, Mom and I talked about travel. "Where would you like to travel?" she asked, and almost immediately I replied "Aregentinia...Chile, those coastal countries in South America." I've had the impression that most South American countries are more like a tropical Europe, with the laid-back culture, sense of family, and the race to be the richest person is not the primary goal like it is in this country. She seemed surprised by my answer.
"But there's also Italy and the rest of Europe" I added. I haven't pursued travel much lately because Kevin doesn't like to travel; he prefers to stay close to home and his beer.
The conversation diverted inside to Iraq, since it was Memorial Day and the local programs featured young servicemembers who gave their lives for their country. (Although experience has shown that lives are lost not for their country, but for their mission. Servicemembers are told what to do, no arguments are allowed, and the one solace is that if they are killed, they will be hailed as heroes. In the end, it's the surviging loved ones who suffer the most, missing their dead loved one for the rest of their lives)
Still, it's quite humbing to hear about the lives of these young warriors who risked their lives without second thoughts. We owe them a life-time of gratitude.
It was a pleasant day outside, with a gentle breeze and the sun shining above. We left at 6pm and made it back to town by 7:30pm, stopping only at Hasting's to read up on some new books and to check out the latest DVDs for rent. I picked out Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, a movie I never saw in 1989 when it was first released because my then-husband didn't like spending money on babysitters to go out to see movies.
I've got a lot of movies to catch up with.
We drove Highways 82 and 83, two of southern Arizona's most scenic highways. The area north of Sonoita is open for discovery. We really haven't done much exploring there.
We arrived shortly after 10am, as a local Tri-Athelon was finishing up near the lake. We drove the kayaks to the lake and paddled the lake's perimeter.
My 73-year-old mother is in great shape. You wouldn't even come close to guessing her age when you see her. She is still fit and has muscular definition. In a country where fat and fabulous seems to be the norm (a euphemism to conceal a lack of self-confidence), she is looking great. There won't be any Blue Hair or Nursing Homes for her in the future!
The scary part is that I'm looking more and more like her: same physic, baseball cap and sunglasses, muscular legs and that ever-frown. Even my daughter says she is proud of my athletic abilities, something she has herself if she only applied herself.
Watching my mother paddle ahead of me with ease amazed me. My inflatable kayak, a purple Sevlor (which Kevin described with "This thing sucks!") could not get me forward in the small breeze. The man-made lake and its aerators pushed me along and I circled at least twice in frustration. The water was filthy and contained several dead and floating catfish in various phases of smelly decomposition.
Kevin's back hurt and turned around before the half-way mark. I made it to the other end but didn't go on second round, and I declined an attempt in my mother's better kayak. Instead, we went back to her place where we sat ourside in her water garden and talked about our family topics: the upcoming election, the fraud of registereing as an Independent in Arizona (because the state wants you to declare what party's ballot you want for November), guns, the garden they recently completed, the upcoming Lake Powell trip in September, and wildlife.
"I miss the thrashers" said Bill. "We used to have them all the time in SV. One even flew into our house once as if he owned it."
I haven't seen the thrashers since after the storm. I hope the surviving thrasher didn't move elsewhere to find a new mate? The dail calls of the birds were always a delight, and when it comes to talented desert birds, those birds' calls top the range of song.
My mother's garden is more of a combo-water garden/shrubbery. Very few flowers grew. Many citrus and small trees were in large pots placed around the garden, still small and young and not quite effective enough at providing shade. Her garden is clearly different than mine, mine which is more native and filled with mostly drought-tolerant perennials. Most of my shrubs are planted in the soil; the few that are potted are still waiting for their turn at full-time soil.
Billl and Kevin talked about their handguns. Kevin handled some of Bill's pricier weapons. It's nice to see men talk about useful stuff like weapons and their maximum range, rather than put up with men who talk about sports all the time. Despite my own indifference to weapons, at least I see value in owning a weapon and knowing how to properly use it. I am not, however, a gun fanatic.
While the boys were talking guns, Mom and I talked about travel. "Where would you like to travel?" she asked, and almost immediately I replied "Aregentinia...Chile, those coastal countries in South America." I've had the impression that most South American countries are more like a tropical Europe, with the laid-back culture, sense of family, and the race to be the richest person is not the primary goal like it is in this country. She seemed surprised by my answer.
"But there's also Italy and the rest of Europe" I added. I haven't pursued travel much lately because Kevin doesn't like to travel; he prefers to stay close to home and his beer.
The conversation diverted inside to Iraq, since it was Memorial Day and the local programs featured young servicemembers who gave their lives for their country. (Although experience has shown that lives are lost not for their country, but for their mission. Servicemembers are told what to do, no arguments are allowed, and the one solace is that if they are killed, they will be hailed as heroes. In the end, it's the surviging loved ones who suffer the most, missing their dead loved one for the rest of their lives)
Still, it's quite humbing to hear about the lives of these young warriors who risked their lives without second thoughts. We owe them a life-time of gratitude.
It was a pleasant day outside, with a gentle breeze and the sun shining above. We left at 6pm and made it back to town by 7:30pm, stopping only at Hasting's to read up on some new books and to check out the latest DVDs for rent. I picked out Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, a movie I never saw in 1989 when it was first released because my then-husband didn't like spending money on babysitters to go out to see movies.
I've got a lot of movies to catch up with.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Memorial Day near Tucson
Shortly after we got home yesterday I called my mother to confirm our day together. Nothing special was planned. "Just come as you are, and we will improvise!" said my mom over the phone.
"Did you see the Mars landing?" she went on. The landing was broadcasted live on KVOA-Tucson, and scientists were celebrating the successful landing of the red planet by the Phoenix Mars Lander, a project that was designed and researched right here at the University of Arizona in Tucson. The success of this project, akin to a NASA landing, is big news for Arizonans.
But there was more my mother wanted to tell me. "Try to come over between nine and 10" she went on, "as I want to take you guys out on the lake with our kayaks."
Kayaks? I thought. The last time I was in a boat was in New Jersey, in my inflatable raft with my son Eric on Lake Pemberton, trying to show him out to use the paddles correctly. I was a total failure.
"Mom, we're going around in circles!" said Eric exasperatedly.
"Did you see the Mars landing?" she went on. The landing was broadcasted live on KVOA-Tucson, and scientists were celebrating the successful landing of the red planet by the Phoenix Mars Lander, a project that was designed and researched right here at the University of Arizona in Tucson. The success of this project, akin to a NASA landing, is big news for Arizonans.
But there was more my mother wanted to tell me. "Try to come over between nine and 10" she went on, "as I want to take you guys out on the lake with our kayaks."
Kayaks? I thought. The last time I was in a boat was in New Jersey, in my inflatable raft with my son Eric on Lake Pemberton, trying to show him out to use the paddles correctly. I was a total failure.
"Mom, we're going around in circles!" said Eric exasperatedly.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
High Lonesome Road and Gleeson
“I feel like driving down High Lonesome Road” said Kevin this morning and that is where we headed out to. The dogs hopped in the back of the pick-up and off we headed to Bisbee, where we gassed up for $3.69 at the Shell Station near Naco Road. Six miles further west we were on High Lonesome Road heading north on the dusty trail.
High Loneseome Road in the Arizona Gazetteer runs from Bisbee due north to Gleeson, crossing Davis Road in the middle. This was an old mining road, but in recent history has been used by illegal immigrants who follow its path for safe houses further north.
Tall ocotillo line the road on either side, standing tall in all phases of bloom as the Sulphur Springs Valley and Douglas beckon in the distance. Nowhere are the ocotillo so dense as they are in these fields between Bisbee and Douglas. They are a protected native plant, as as all native plants in Arizona are protected from illegal harvest and poachers who easily uproot the shallow-rooted plant and sell them from roadside displays off major highways in southern Arizona.
But other than ocotillo and the distant Chiricahua mountains, there wasn’t much to see on the first part of this narrow, dusty, gutted road. The hills east of Bisbee were dry and nondescript and we were still a good 20 miles away from Gleeson. Land tracts of 40 acres each were reserved for later development.
High Loneseome Road in the Arizona Gazetteer runs from Bisbee due north to Gleeson, crossing Davis Road in the middle. This was an old mining road, but in recent history has been used by illegal immigrants who follow its path for safe houses further north.
Tall ocotillo line the road on either side, standing tall in all phases of bloom as the Sulphur Springs Valley and Douglas beckon in the distance. Nowhere are the ocotillo so dense as they are in these fields between Bisbee and Douglas. They are a protected native plant, as as all native plants in Arizona are protected from illegal harvest and poachers who easily uproot the shallow-rooted plant and sell them from roadside displays off major highways in southern Arizona.
But other than ocotillo and the distant Chiricahua mountains, there wasn’t much to see on the first part of this narrow, dusty, gutted road. The hills east of Bisbee were dry and nondescript and we were still a good 20 miles away from Gleeson. Land tracts of 40 acres each were reserved for later development.
"I really don't like this road much" I said to Kevin.
Bullet-holed signs along the road warned drivers that the land on either side of the road was private property. NO HUNTING. KEEP OUT. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED warned the signs. Beer cans and bottles were haphazardly thrown along the road, and an occasional piece of sun-bleached clothing decorated the roadside.
We stopped at one cattle crossing sign. “What kind of cattle is that?” I asked Kevin, pointing at the humped-back cattle on the sign. Whatever that thing was, I haven’t seen that in Arizona.
“That’s a Brama Bull” said Kevin, “with a real large penis.” All along High Lonesome Road we never came across a Brama Bull, let alone one with a large penis.
It was starting to get hot as we drove along the gutted road into the cloudless sky. We gave the dogs water at every stop, but they were more interested in staying close to us as we strolled around some of the gulleys and ruins.
Within 15 miles we hit Davis Road, a paved west-east road that travels from Bisbee to McNeal. I thought it was Gleeson Road, but was surprised that nothing on this road looked familiar from last Sunday’s drive. We passed an orchard to our south, and several large new homes on either side.
Here is where we opted to drive east until we hit Highway 191, and from there we drove north into Elfrida, another small community with a convenience store selling regular unleaded gasoline for $3.89, a post office and the proverbial feed store. Homes in town were not much larger than two-story garages lined by mature cottonwoods, with rusty old pick-ups in the yards.
Kevin made an abdrupt stop at a small historical marker on the north side of the road, something we don't see enough of in Arizona (and something that is overdone in Texas). We both craned our necks out the pick-up to read the marker.
Bullet-holed signs along the road warned drivers that the land on either side of the road was private property. NO HUNTING. KEEP OUT. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED warned the signs. Beer cans and bottles were haphazardly thrown along the road, and an occasional piece of sun-bleached clothing decorated the roadside.
We stopped at one cattle crossing sign. “What kind of cattle is that?” I asked Kevin, pointing at the humped-back cattle on the sign. Whatever that thing was, I haven’t seen that in Arizona.
“That’s a Brama Bull” said Kevin, “with a real large penis.” All along High Lonesome Road we never came across a Brama Bull, let alone one with a large penis.
It was starting to get hot as we drove along the gutted road into the cloudless sky. We gave the dogs water at every stop, but they were more interested in staying close to us as we strolled around some of the gulleys and ruins.
Within 15 miles we hit Davis Road, a paved west-east road that travels from Bisbee to McNeal. I thought it was Gleeson Road, but was surprised that nothing on this road looked familiar from last Sunday’s drive. We passed an orchard to our south, and several large new homes on either side.
Here is where we opted to drive east until we hit Highway 191, and from there we drove north into Elfrida, another small community with a convenience store selling regular unleaded gasoline for $3.89, a post office and the proverbial feed store. Homes in town were not much larger than two-story garages lined by mature cottonwoods, with rusty old pick-ups in the yards.
Kevin made an abdrupt stop at a small historical marker on the north side of the road, something we don't see enough of in Arizona (and something that is overdone in Texas). We both craned our necks out the pick-up to read the marker.
Soldiers Hole
During the Chiricahua Apache Campaign (1861-1886) cavalry troops on maneuver camped here at a permanent source of water known as Soldiers Hole.
W.G. Sanderson and Ambrose Lyall struck artesian water nearby in 1883.
In 1892 a twelve-battery stamp mill was erected and a post office was established under the name “Descanso” meaning a haven of rest. A school was built here which the Mormon settlers also used for their church.
When the railroad bypassed Soldiers Hole in 1909, its usefulness came to an end.
“What’s a stamp mill?” asked Kevin.
“I was going to ask you the same thing!” I replied dumbfoundedly.
Things became familiar once we were back on Gleeson Road. We explored the abandoned buildings we drove passed last weekend, walking around the ghost town of Courtland with its three remaining ruins. Malachite once again peaked out from the sandy soil below, and red dirt shined in the low mountains ahead of us. This was now genuine mining territory, and Long Realty signs along Ghost Town Trail selling Mining Claims for $763,000 were posted on the property fences.
One white SUV passed us here, but all throughout our exploring in Courtland we came not across another soul. Foundations of long-gone homes still stood, overgrown with mesquite, desert broom shrubs and broken beer bottles.
We wanted to drive the entirety of High Lonesome Road from Bisbee to Gleeson but soon learned that was impossible now because of private property and private roads. The road curves around Gleeson from the former Joe Bono supply store but a few miles down this patch of hilly dirt a sign warned us not to trespass on private property. We turned around, and after stopping to explore the ruins of the former hospital and post office, we continued on to the Rattlesnake Crafts shop.
This Rattlesnake Crafts Shop, owned by Sandy and John Weber from Rockford, IL is a delight. The couple have been here in Gleeson for 28 years and have received many good write-ups, many fading newspaper articles which still are posted outside the rattlesnake shop. A sign even mentions an internview on NBC’s Today Show, so I won’t write so much about them here.
“I was going to ask you the same thing!” I replied dumbfoundedly.
Things became familiar once we were back on Gleeson Road. We explored the abandoned buildings we drove passed last weekend, walking around the ghost town of Courtland with its three remaining ruins. Malachite once again peaked out from the sandy soil below, and red dirt shined in the low mountains ahead of us. This was now genuine mining territory, and Long Realty signs along Ghost Town Trail selling Mining Claims for $763,000 were posted on the property fences.
One white SUV passed us here, but all throughout our exploring in Courtland we came not across another soul. Foundations of long-gone homes still stood, overgrown with mesquite, desert broom shrubs and broken beer bottles.
We wanted to drive the entirety of High Lonesome Road from Bisbee to Gleeson but soon learned that was impossible now because of private property and private roads. The road curves around Gleeson from the former Joe Bono supply store but a few miles down this patch of hilly dirt a sign warned us not to trespass on private property. We turned around, and after stopping to explore the ruins of the former hospital and post office, we continued on to the Rattlesnake Crafts shop.
This Rattlesnake Crafts Shop, owned by Sandy and John Weber from Rockford, IL is a delight. The couple have been here in Gleeson for 28 years and have received many good write-ups, many fading newspaper articles which still are posted outside the rattlesnake shop. A sign even mentions an internview on NBC’s Today Show, so I won’t write so much about them here.
But, their roadside display of wrought-iron figurines, old army helmets, large rock and gem displays and a small trailer full of rattlesnake wallets, belts, cell phone holders was like an oasis in the desert. Most of the items on display are not for sale, but most of the rocks are.
The large specimens of gypsum crystals, amesthyst, quartz and azurite were quite impressive.
“Are you a geologist?” I asked Sandy, who had approached us with a smile.
“Just what I remember from college back in Illinois” she replied, and then I realized she and her husband were another Midwestern couple who had moved to Arizona to live their American dream. Their little single-wide trailer was old, but the expansive view eastward toward the Chiricahuas was worth the isolation
“We have pretty good landlords here who let us keep this going” said Sandy, and added that the land around their craftshop was a working cattle ranch. Black angus traipsed not too far from our view.
We finished our drive once again in Tombstone, as the final hours of this weekend’s Wyatt Earp Days were winding down. Cowboys in western regalia, costumed outlaws riding tired horses and even a last shoot-out on Main Street closed the remaining minutes of the festival as tourists crowded the town’s streets with the outbound cars. The OK Corral Shoot-outs happen every day by aging re-enactors; seeing the Wyatt Earp Festival today would have been one more boring show to endure among restless, impatient out-of-towners.
The large specimens of gypsum crystals, amesthyst, quartz and azurite were quite impressive.
“Are you a geologist?” I asked Sandy, who had approached us with a smile.
“Just what I remember from college back in Illinois” she replied, and then I realized she and her husband were another Midwestern couple who had moved to Arizona to live their American dream. Their little single-wide trailer was old, but the expansive view eastward toward the Chiricahuas was worth the isolation
“We have pretty good landlords here who let us keep this going” said Sandy, and added that the land around their craftshop was a working cattle ranch. Black angus traipsed not too far from our view.
We finished our drive once again in Tombstone, as the final hours of this weekend’s Wyatt Earp Days were winding down. Cowboys in western regalia, costumed outlaws riding tired horses and even a last shoot-out on Main Street closed the remaining minutes of the festival as tourists crowded the town’s streets with the outbound cars. The OK Corral Shoot-outs happen every day by aging re-enactors; seeing the Wyatt Earp Festival today would have been one more boring show to endure among restless, impatient out-of-towners.
The last awe-inspiring view was a view of the Huachucas in the background, and Tombstone's alluvial grasslands shining golden in the foreground. The colors inbetween appeared three-dimentional with the Tombstone hills in their grey casts inbetween the mountains and the prairie.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
No weekend trips anywhere this time
I woke up this morning with no mood to do anything, from hiking to gardening to going anywhere. It felt good to do nothing for a change, without the guilt of not helping out the oil companies and their quarterly profits. I am one ofmany Americans this Memorial Dayweekend who is staying close to home; this has been the slowest Memorial Weekend since 9/11, say all the news.
I did check on the garden, walking on the still-soft soil in the back yard this morning. The softness felt surreal here in the desert. The light pack of snow on the peaks is still there, glistening in the eastern sun. That snow will melt this coming week when it hits the 90s again, and water will once again flow down the intermittent streams into the San Pedro River.
Two years ago this weekend we traveled to southwestern Colorado and hiked the high mountains near Durango, Gunnison and Crested Butte. The dogs loved the cool air and the lush green grass. I enjoyed all that as well, but also reveled in the isolated mountain pass towns along the way; defunct mining towns that slowly converted to small tourist traps for the passer-by. We both agreed we will be back someday.
But this weekend, with the high gasoline prices and the need to get a few more chores around here done, there is no guilt in staying home. We live in Paradise, so where else can we go?
I did check on the garden, walking on the still-soft soil in the back yard this morning. The softness felt surreal here in the desert. The light pack of snow on the peaks is still there, glistening in the eastern sun. That snow will melt this coming week when it hits the 90s again, and water will once again flow down the intermittent streams into the San Pedro River.
Two years ago this weekend we traveled to southwestern Colorado and hiked the high mountains near Durango, Gunnison and Crested Butte. The dogs loved the cool air and the lush green grass. I enjoyed all that as well, but also reveled in the isolated mountain pass towns along the way; defunct mining towns that slowly converted to small tourist traps for the passer-by. We both agreed we will be back someday.
But this weekend, with the high gasoline prices and the need to get a few more chores around here done, there is no guilt in staying home. We live in Paradise, so where else can we go?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Poking around with bugs
Today was my first real day training on the CCMG's microscope. JT, my trainer (a retired Army veterinarian/Special Forces colonel) showed me the ropes. He handed me a wet bag of what was an apricot branch, heavily infested with small, sticky black insects. "What is that bug and how do I get rid of it?" said the note attached to the plastic baggie in which the apricot branch lay. JT was a little dumb-founded, too, but as he looked through the various microscopes had the insect narrowed down to a soft-bodied sap sucker.
I was next to him leafing through the reference books--and there are many in the office--going through all the photographs of dark soft-bodied sap suckers. He gave up on a positive identification (PID) and went on to another bug question. I remained with the wet apricot branch, enjoying seeing the micro world up close and getting flashbacks to my zoology/botany courses from high school. I wasn't about to leave the office without a a PID on the bug and went through all the books available.
The bugs had been in the plastic baggie for several days and were dead. The bodies were dried up and distorted, which made the diagnosis even harder. At least we didn't have live bugs crawling around the office, though.
Two hours later I told JT "I think it's an aphid. Look at the humps on the butt area, its long swooping backward antennae..." and showed him.
JT googled my description and a few minutes later replied "I think you're right!" and called the lady whose apricot was infested with our diagnosis. There are over 2000 species of aphids and there's practically an aphid for every plant out there.
JT also gave me a few other bug samples and asked me what the bugs were. One was a cactus bug that I thought resembled a squash bug. It turns out the bugs are related anyway, so JT was pleased with my answer. JT has himself a motivated trainee!
I stayed from 9:20am until 1pm, and before I left I reminded JT that I am EAGER to learn more about bugs and regional plant life, that the hours and days are no problem until the fall when I go back to school, etc. I meant it. I enjoy poking around dead bugs and the smell of wet fungus doesn't bother me. Apparently there are few volunteers who are willing to spend time on bug and plant PID. Not me!
JT even liked some of the photos I've taken of bugs in the area and downloaded some to the master computer, to be used in slides for later classes. He was pleased with my Canon Rebel xTi that I've been using for snapshots while hiking; my better camera is still the Canon 30D that's still packed up and heavily protected.
I'll be back next week for another round.
I was next to him leafing through the reference books--and there are many in the office--going through all the photographs of dark soft-bodied sap suckers. He gave up on a positive identification (PID) and went on to another bug question. I remained with the wet apricot branch, enjoying seeing the micro world up close and getting flashbacks to my zoology/botany courses from high school. I wasn't about to leave the office without a a PID on the bug and went through all the books available.
The bugs had been in the plastic baggie for several days and were dead. The bodies were dried up and distorted, which made the diagnosis even harder. At least we didn't have live bugs crawling around the office, though.
Two hours later I told JT "I think it's an aphid. Look at the humps on the butt area, its long swooping backward antennae..." and showed him.
JT googled my description and a few minutes later replied "I think you're right!" and called the lady whose apricot was infested with our diagnosis. There are over 2000 species of aphids and there's practically an aphid for every plant out there.
JT also gave me a few other bug samples and asked me what the bugs were. One was a cactus bug that I thought resembled a squash bug. It turns out the bugs are related anyway, so JT was pleased with my answer. JT has himself a motivated trainee!
I stayed from 9:20am until 1pm, and before I left I reminded JT that I am EAGER to learn more about bugs and regional plant life, that the hours and days are no problem until the fall when I go back to school, etc. I meant it. I enjoy poking around dead bugs and the smell of wet fungus doesn't bother me. Apparently there are few volunteers who are willing to spend time on bug and plant PID. Not me!
JT even liked some of the photos I've taken of bugs in the area and downloaded some to the master computer, to be used in slides for later classes. He was pleased with my Canon Rebel xTi that I've been using for snapshots while hiking; my better camera is still the Canon 30D that's still packed up and heavily protected.
I'll be back next week for another round.
More Rain!
The winds never gave up last night and this morning at 2:20am I was awakened by winds hitting against the south windows. I jumped up to get the water barrels outside to harvest some of the rain, and this morning by 6am the barrels were full of water.
"Wow" said Kevin as he looked outside, undecided about going on the porch for his morning smoke. It was barely 50F degrees.
The dogs didn't want to go outside, either so I left them inside with the back patio door open for bathroom breaks. If an intruder was to attempt to get into the house I have no doubt that Sara would "rip him a new one."
A featherball rested on a plant hanger on the patio. I had to make a doubletake, not recognizing what that "thing" was. It turned out to be a thrasher resting on the planter edge, fluffed up to stay warm. What this the thrasher that lost its mate two days ago?
My rain gauge measured .5" before I left at 9am for my UA training. I put on socks and my hiking boots and even threw on my fleece jacket to stay warm! Even my fingers, despite hugging a warm coffee mug just before leaving the house for my drive into town, never warmed up.
And with this the start of the Memorial Day weekend, gasoline in town is now $3.69! That's already 14 cents higher than last weekend.
"Wow" said Kevin as he looked outside, undecided about going on the porch for his morning smoke. It was barely 50F degrees.
The dogs didn't want to go outside, either so I left them inside with the back patio door open for bathroom breaks. If an intruder was to attempt to get into the house I have no doubt that Sara would "rip him a new one."
A featherball rested on a plant hanger on the patio. I had to make a doubletake, not recognizing what that "thing" was. It turned out to be a thrasher resting on the planter edge, fluffed up to stay warm. What this the thrasher that lost its mate two days ago?
My rain gauge measured .5" before I left at 9am for my UA training. I put on socks and my hiking boots and even threw on my fleece jacket to stay warm! Even my fingers, despite hugging a warm coffee mug just before leaving the house for my drive into town, never warmed up.
And with this the start of the Memorial Day weekend, gasoline in town is now $3.69! That's already 14 cents higher than last weekend.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
High winds
I was sitting in the city library when at around 4:30pm the power went out. A calm silence overcame the building as darkness replaced light. The coffee shop employees a few feet from me took the outage in stride.
“It looks like it’s in the entire building!” said one young man sweeping the floor.
When the power went out we also lost the internet, something I quickly discovered as the photographs I was working on downloading to my on-line photo album wouldn’t take and I kept getting the error message. I left to drive home by 5pm.
Wind gusts that had been building all afternoon were at their peak now. Policemen stood at all major street intersections and guided traffic through. A visible sandstorm sent reddish-brown sand in the distance, and the Mule Mountains near Bisbee were barely visible. Organized chaos was everywhere, but drivers were cooperative.
Tumbleweed and plastic bags flew across the highway as my van shook across the road like an old dilapidated aluminum shack in a windstorm. It was so windy I had to drive with three hands holding the steering wheel, and that was no easy task. I was actually a little nervous driving against the wind, always expecting something to blow into the highway that I couldn’t avoid.
The further south I drove the fiercer the gusts became. San Jose Peak was barely visible 20 miles away.
The closer I got to home the more relieved I was to be safely behind my walls. A large tree branch lay against our perimeter juniper on the street, and the California Palm tree in our front yard lost two dead fronds. Our neighbors Hen and Jen across the street lost their trash bin as it rumbled down the street; I recovered it for them, but our house and yard were OK. Italian cypress bent at near 45-degree angles. Stray leaves were everywhere.
Kevin was already home as I drove into the driveway. He had picked up a new refrigerator and was in the opened garage finishing untying the bulky load. He was visibly relieved that he was safely home. “I was barely driving 40mph and was afraid I wasn’t going to make it” he said, after we hugged.
The backyard was a mess, as expected. Kevin’s work bench had collapsed and wood beams were scattered near the corn. One of the tarps that I had laid down a few days ago to solarize part of the backyard was overturned and the unsecure ends flapping in the wind. One compost bins had fallen over, spilling the contents of dried cow manure and dried grass on the ground. Papers and plastic bags were caught in the north side of our perimeter fence. An Arby’s food container near one of my raised beds was filled with hungry ants attacking the former contents.
The foot-tall sweet corn was bent near the roots. Two more dead fronds lay in the backyard. One large tumbleweed huddled against our chain-link fence, adding up to more community trash that will fill our dumpster for the next trash pick-up. Picking up anything was futile as the winds kept bringing in more debris.
The one item standing strong in the winds ironically was a kitchen towel still attached to the clothes line.
The storm didn’t relent. The dogs seemed to enjoy the high winds, but our palm tree precariously swayed from side to side. Loose fronds were barely attached to the tree. Blinding dust blew in whirlwind fashion. A tarp across the alley blew into the air and got caught in our neighbor’s tree across the alleyway, the same neighbor whose roof was losing shingles.
The weather was the breaking news at 6pm. “The wind has caused a few traffic accidents” said the announcer, reporting 67mph gusts for our town, but there were no major pile-ups along any roads. The winds were the strongest I’ve experienced here, but Kevin said a storm about a year ago was much worse, sending a trampoline airborne and crashing into a house in town.
We sat outside on the porch watching the wind. The temperatures were already cooler than earlier in the day, a bit of a refreshing breeze for a change. This wind was the edge of a cold front moving in from northern Arizona, although the winds were predominantly from the west.
The dogs wanted to go for a walk when they saw me, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit by falling debris. We did, however, grab the dog comb and dragged the steel comb across the dogs’ bodies. Sammy loved the back massage as his thick grey fur flew in all directions around us. Sara’s fur was more dense and matted and just came off in clumps. The wind made at least brushing the dogs a little easier and more fun as the view resembled a high-powered fan blowing against us.
The wind never died down as evening came, although the wind advisory was forecasted until 9pm. I sat in the living room, on alert for any possible crashing sounds against the house, be it the palm tree or loose objects from other peoples’ yards. One mobile home in Ajo lost its roof from the storm, but no local accidents were reported at the 10pm news. (The big news at 10pm was the American Idol finalist, a 25-year-old bartender named David Cooke) Had we lost power at any time the experience could have been more “exciting,” but I was just grateful that our neighborhood was spared more serious damage.
The wind picked up again this morning. I surveyed the yards for any damage and saw only minor wreckage: besides dead leaves everywhere and bent corn stalks that should recover with vigorous growth, the one sad discovery was a dead thrasher near the palm tree. We have had a thrasher family living in our palm tree since we moved into this house, thrashers that fly down every morning looking for seeds I leave out for them and our other feathered friends like the finches, raven and Gambel’s Quail. This dead bird still had a light-blue egg attached to its abdomen; apparently the bird was in its nest protecting its eggs when it got blown from its little home it was trying valiantly to protect.
Mother Nature can be so cruel at times. The thrashers have been a delight to have around, from listening to their creative calls to neighborhood birds, especially after they see me put birdseed in the garden, to watching them bathe themselves in our blue kiddie pool in the backyard, the same kiddie pool that was originally meant for Sara to cool off in. That kiddie pool that started out as a doggie pond was quickly taken over by the big birds as their bird bath. I make sure there is fresh water in the pool every few days.
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/05/22/news/doc4835132a1f7f5841710069.txt
“It looks like it’s in the entire building!” said one young man sweeping the floor.
When the power went out we also lost the internet, something I quickly discovered as the photographs I was working on downloading to my on-line photo album wouldn’t take and I kept getting the error message. I left to drive home by 5pm.
Wind gusts that had been building all afternoon were at their peak now. Policemen stood at all major street intersections and guided traffic through. A visible sandstorm sent reddish-brown sand in the distance, and the Mule Mountains near Bisbee were barely visible. Organized chaos was everywhere, but drivers were cooperative.
Tumbleweed and plastic bags flew across the highway as my van shook across the road like an old dilapidated aluminum shack in a windstorm. It was so windy I had to drive with three hands holding the steering wheel, and that was no easy task. I was actually a little nervous driving against the wind, always expecting something to blow into the highway that I couldn’t avoid.
The further south I drove the fiercer the gusts became. San Jose Peak was barely visible 20 miles away.
The closer I got to home the more relieved I was to be safely behind my walls. A large tree branch lay against our perimeter juniper on the street, and the California Palm tree in our front yard lost two dead fronds. Our neighbors Hen and Jen across the street lost their trash bin as it rumbled down the street; I recovered it for them, but our house and yard were OK. Italian cypress bent at near 45-degree angles. Stray leaves were everywhere.
Kevin was already home as I drove into the driveway. He had picked up a new refrigerator and was in the opened garage finishing untying the bulky load. He was visibly relieved that he was safely home. “I was barely driving 40mph and was afraid I wasn’t going to make it” he said, after we hugged.
The backyard was a mess, as expected. Kevin’s work bench had collapsed and wood beams were scattered near the corn. One of the tarps that I had laid down a few days ago to solarize part of the backyard was overturned and the unsecure ends flapping in the wind. One compost bins had fallen over, spilling the contents of dried cow manure and dried grass on the ground. Papers and plastic bags were caught in the north side of our perimeter fence. An Arby’s food container near one of my raised beds was filled with hungry ants attacking the former contents.
The foot-tall sweet corn was bent near the roots. Two more dead fronds lay in the backyard. One large tumbleweed huddled against our chain-link fence, adding up to more community trash that will fill our dumpster for the next trash pick-up. Picking up anything was futile as the winds kept bringing in more debris.
The one item standing strong in the winds ironically was a kitchen towel still attached to the clothes line.
The storm didn’t relent. The dogs seemed to enjoy the high winds, but our palm tree precariously swayed from side to side. Loose fronds were barely attached to the tree. Blinding dust blew in whirlwind fashion. A tarp across the alley blew into the air and got caught in our neighbor’s tree across the alleyway, the same neighbor whose roof was losing shingles.
The weather was the breaking news at 6pm. “The wind has caused a few traffic accidents” said the announcer, reporting 67mph gusts for our town, but there were no major pile-ups along any roads. The winds were the strongest I’ve experienced here, but Kevin said a storm about a year ago was much worse, sending a trampoline airborne and crashing into a house in town.
We sat outside on the porch watching the wind. The temperatures were already cooler than earlier in the day, a bit of a refreshing breeze for a change. This wind was the edge of a cold front moving in from northern Arizona, although the winds were predominantly from the west.
The dogs wanted to go for a walk when they saw me, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit by falling debris. We did, however, grab the dog comb and dragged the steel comb across the dogs’ bodies. Sammy loved the back massage as his thick grey fur flew in all directions around us. Sara’s fur was more dense and matted and just came off in clumps. The wind made at least brushing the dogs a little easier and more fun as the view resembled a high-powered fan blowing against us.
The wind never died down as evening came, although the wind advisory was forecasted until 9pm. I sat in the living room, on alert for any possible crashing sounds against the house, be it the palm tree or loose objects from other peoples’ yards. One mobile home in Ajo lost its roof from the storm, but no local accidents were reported at the 10pm news. (The big news at 10pm was the American Idol finalist, a 25-year-old bartender named David Cooke) Had we lost power at any time the experience could have been more “exciting,” but I was just grateful that our neighborhood was spared more serious damage.
The wind picked up again this morning. I surveyed the yards for any damage and saw only minor wreckage: besides dead leaves everywhere and bent corn stalks that should recover with vigorous growth, the one sad discovery was a dead thrasher near the palm tree. We have had a thrasher family living in our palm tree since we moved into this house, thrashers that fly down every morning looking for seeds I leave out for them and our other feathered friends like the finches, raven and Gambel’s Quail. This dead bird still had a light-blue egg attached to its abdomen; apparently the bird was in its nest protecting its eggs when it got blown from its little home it was trying valiantly to protect.
Mother Nature can be so cruel at times. The thrashers have been a delight to have around, from listening to their creative calls to neighborhood birds, especially after they see me put birdseed in the garden, to watching them bathe themselves in our blue kiddie pool in the backyard, the same kiddie pool that was originally meant for Sara to cool off in. That kiddie pool that started out as a doggie pond was quickly taken over by the big birds as their bird bath. I make sure there is fresh water in the pool every few days.
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/05/22/news/doc4835132a1f7f5841710069.txt
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Desert Ramblings
Today was our last class for the Cochise County Master Gardener's course. After 40 more hours I'll be a full-fledged MG.
The 100-question test, which was a week-long take-home test, was not easy. "It was meant to make you familiar with the manual" explained Rob, the primary instructor. The test took me five nights to complete, averaging three hours a night. It took me that long because I wanted to make sure I had the correct answers documented.
As it turned out, three questions were disputable and a few more were questionable. We graded our own test. The student next to me admitted that she didn't even finish the test, so how did she score higher than me?!
The highest score was a 93. I scored 83. My neighbor scored 87.
Graduation is on 5 June, the same day the hiking club is heading out for a week-long car camp in the White Mountains. We get our diplomas and orange polo shirts then and after our fifty volunteer hours are complete, we get our plastic nameplates. From here on out we must continue to take 25 educational hours a year, which is doable if I attend every monthly meeting for 12 hours, and the annual High Desert Gardening conference in February for another 16 hours (and $150!) Staying a MG won't be cheap...
So now I no longer have a fun excuse to drive into town on Wednesdays, where after class I'd visit Lowe's garden shop, browse the latest DVDs at Hastings, or sit at the library for hours surfing the internet. Some days I even bought lunch at Taco Bell, ordering two bean burritos for $1.93 (But even that has increased to $2.15 with Taco Bell's "new" menu of higher prices.)
Now the class is over. What now? Continue taking more UA courses, that is! I will get my schedule next month.
***
I've been gardening every morning faithfully for several hours every day. I am keeping busy and it makes the time fly. I was going in and out from the back yard yesterday when at 10:12am ABC interupted the showing of "The View" (the hosts were discussing Senators Obama and Clinton and the run-off to the Democratic Nomination) when the BREAKING NEWS concerning Senator Ted Kennedy from Massachusetts flashed across the screen. He had been rushed to the hospital last Sunday from his home off Cape Cod from a seizure, which doctors at the Boston Medical Center determined was caused by a left-lobed malignant brain tumor, a glioma, one of the rarest but most fatal kind of brain tumor. Patients wit gliomas normally live no more than 18 months after diagnosis.
Ohmygod I thought as I stopped in my tracks to hear the BREAKING NEWS. Senator Ted Kennedy has an aggressive, malignant brain tumor? He could die within 18 months? NO WAY! The Kennedys have been a part of my life since the beginning; it was the assassination of President John F Kennedy in November 1963 that is one of my earliest childhood memories. I was too young really to know what was going on, but what I do remember quite vividly is my mother holding me tight in the downstairs bathroom of our two-story house in Highland, IN and crying hysterically. The maternal hug was a rarity for me as a child, and thus something that I remember like a traumatic event. She was hugging me close and crying uncontrollably and all I could do was stay calm in her hug.
And then a few years later there were the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr on 4 April 1968 and Senator Bobby Kennedy, the youngest of the three Kennedy boys, on 5 June 1968 and I remember thinking why so many good people were getting assassinated and making the front cover of Time Magazine. It was the height of the Civil Rights Era and Vietnam frustrating the American people, events that have forever shaped my attitudes about rights for all and the necessary evil--and human suffering--of war.
I've witnessed Senator Ted Kennedy many times on C-SPAN debate a topic, be it No Child Left Behind (which is not popular with most educators in Arizona) , Health Insurance, Social Security or the Patriot Act. Watching him push a certain bill, get angry at Bush administration conservatives, or show outrage over the Iraq War to the point of "getting red in the face" were all classic Kennedy. Argue what one may say about the Kennedys, they were all very passionate about social change.
But I will never understand how he managed to survive his political career after the July 19, 1969 incident off Chappaquiddick Island, when he drove his Oldsmobile off a bridge and let his female campaign worker, Mary Jo Kepchne, drown. He didn't report the incident to police for several hours, his family ties kept his record clean but of course all the questions about drinking and driving and having an adulterous affair with a campaign worker certainly kept the topic alive all these years.
His family name and connections saved him. But that was 39 years ago and Ted Kennedy has been a Congressional senator since 1962, the longest-serving senator now in Congress. He is 76 years old now and faces his most intense battle yet, the battle for his life.
As a Congressman Kennedy will get the best medical care available to anyone, name the health care provided to all Congressmen for life. Despite the bleak outcome, he will be treated well.
Still, the end of an era is approaching. Other American icons of my childhood have passed on before Ted Kennedy that were just as dramatic for me: Lucille Bell, President Nixon, Johnny Carson, Peter Jennings. There were many others, mostly writers and politicians, who have died, but none were more dramatic than the ones here. These icons of Americana were never meant to die; they were to live on eternally.
Lucille Ball died the week Eric was born, and I was at home with him on Maternity leave when Ball first had a stroke and a week later a massive heart attack that claimed her life. (Or was it a heart attack and then a stroke?)
The news of Ted Kennedy's brain tumor shocked me enough to call Kevin at work to let him know that his own state senator was now suffering from something he most likely will not survive.
The news yesterday left me in a bleak mood all day. After a long night studying for my CCMG test at the library, I drove home late, with only the waning full moon rising over the San Pedro Valley and the lights of Naco, Mexico and the silhouette of San Jose Peak shining before me. It's that night-time view of Naco and the mountains of northern Chihuahua that always ellicit an exaggerated sigh as I drive past, that fleeting five-second view of the lighted valley before the village lights disappear behind the dark gestalts of roadside desert broom and mesquite.
I wanted to pull over along the road shoulder to photograph the view, and approached the Mesquite Inn off Highway 92. It was just my luck --again!!!--to see five USBP vans parked in the lot, with uniformed agents talking to several illegal immigrants. It was not the proper place to pull over and take out my Canon, so once again I drove off, with the waning full moon on hold for another month. One of these days I will park along the road and capture that view of the rising moon over Mexico and keep that image forever in a photograph. It's one of many views that make me grateful to live in such a beautiful place.
***
The price for regular unleaded is now selling for $3.59 in town, up another four cents from yesterday. The price for a barrel of crude sold for $126.52 ten days ago, it's now over $133!!!
Traveling anywhere is getting too expensive, and trading in my van for a Japanese hybrid is sounding more and more attractive...the 2009 Honda hybrids will average over 45mpg and sell for around $22,000. The Dodge Grand Caravan with its measely 20mpg couldn't compete with that! The more expensive gasoline gets, the less I like my van.
***
On a good note, the Anatolian shepherd-mix dog at the Sierra Vista animal shelter has been adopted! He had been there for at least a month, as I always check on the dogs when I drop off my aluminum cans there. He was a large, friendly dog with a heart-warming whimper. At least now I can rest assured that one good dog has found a forever home.
http://regulus2.azstarnet.com/comments/index.php?id=239994
http://pagingdrgupta.blogs.cnn.com/2008/05/21/inside-a-senators-brain/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/politics/special/clinton/frenzy/kennedy.htm
The 100-question test, which was a week-long take-home test, was not easy. "It was meant to make you familiar with the manual" explained Rob, the primary instructor. The test took me five nights to complete, averaging three hours a night. It took me that long because I wanted to make sure I had the correct answers documented.
As it turned out, three questions were disputable and a few more were questionable. We graded our own test. The student next to me admitted that she didn't even finish the test, so how did she score higher than me?!
The highest score was a 93. I scored 83. My neighbor scored 87.
Graduation is on 5 June, the same day the hiking club is heading out for a week-long car camp in the White Mountains. We get our diplomas and orange polo shirts then and after our fifty volunteer hours are complete, we get our plastic nameplates. From here on out we must continue to take 25 educational hours a year, which is doable if I attend every monthly meeting for 12 hours, and the annual High Desert Gardening conference in February for another 16 hours (and $150!) Staying a MG won't be cheap...
So now I no longer have a fun excuse to drive into town on Wednesdays, where after class I'd visit Lowe's garden shop, browse the latest DVDs at Hastings, or sit at the library for hours surfing the internet. Some days I even bought lunch at Taco Bell, ordering two bean burritos for $1.93 (But even that has increased to $2.15 with Taco Bell's "new" menu of higher prices.)
Now the class is over. What now? Continue taking more UA courses, that is! I will get my schedule next month.
***
I've been gardening every morning faithfully for several hours every day. I am keeping busy and it makes the time fly. I was going in and out from the back yard yesterday when at 10:12am ABC interupted the showing of "The View" (the hosts were discussing Senators Obama and Clinton and the run-off to the Democratic Nomination) when the BREAKING NEWS concerning Senator Ted Kennedy from Massachusetts flashed across the screen. He had been rushed to the hospital last Sunday from his home off Cape Cod from a seizure, which doctors at the Boston Medical Center determined was caused by a left-lobed malignant brain tumor, a glioma, one of the rarest but most fatal kind of brain tumor. Patients wit gliomas normally live no more than 18 months after diagnosis.
Ohmygod I thought as I stopped in my tracks to hear the BREAKING NEWS. Senator Ted Kennedy has an aggressive, malignant brain tumor? He could die within 18 months? NO WAY! The Kennedys have been a part of my life since the beginning; it was the assassination of President John F Kennedy in November 1963 that is one of my earliest childhood memories. I was too young really to know what was going on, but what I do remember quite vividly is my mother holding me tight in the downstairs bathroom of our two-story house in Highland, IN and crying hysterically. The maternal hug was a rarity for me as a child, and thus something that I remember like a traumatic event. She was hugging me close and crying uncontrollably and all I could do was stay calm in her hug.
And then a few years later there were the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr on 4 April 1968 and Senator Bobby Kennedy, the youngest of the three Kennedy boys, on 5 June 1968 and I remember thinking why so many good people were getting assassinated and making the front cover of Time Magazine. It was the height of the Civil Rights Era and Vietnam frustrating the American people, events that have forever shaped my attitudes about rights for all and the necessary evil--and human suffering--of war.
I've witnessed Senator Ted Kennedy many times on C-SPAN debate a topic, be it No Child Left Behind (which is not popular with most educators in Arizona) , Health Insurance, Social Security or the Patriot Act. Watching him push a certain bill, get angry at Bush administration conservatives, or show outrage over the Iraq War to the point of "getting red in the face" were all classic Kennedy. Argue what one may say about the Kennedys, they were all very passionate about social change.
But I will never understand how he managed to survive his political career after the July 19, 1969 incident off Chappaquiddick Island, when he drove his Oldsmobile off a bridge and let his female campaign worker, Mary Jo Kepchne, drown. He didn't report the incident to police for several hours, his family ties kept his record clean but of course all the questions about drinking and driving and having an adulterous affair with a campaign worker certainly kept the topic alive all these years.
His family name and connections saved him. But that was 39 years ago and Ted Kennedy has been a Congressional senator since 1962, the longest-serving senator now in Congress. He is 76 years old now and faces his most intense battle yet, the battle for his life.
As a Congressman Kennedy will get the best medical care available to anyone, name the health care provided to all Congressmen for life. Despite the bleak outcome, he will be treated well.
Still, the end of an era is approaching. Other American icons of my childhood have passed on before Ted Kennedy that were just as dramatic for me: Lucille Bell, President Nixon, Johnny Carson, Peter Jennings. There were many others, mostly writers and politicians, who have died, but none were more dramatic than the ones here. These icons of Americana were never meant to die; they were to live on eternally.
Lucille Ball died the week Eric was born, and I was at home with him on Maternity leave when Ball first had a stroke and a week later a massive heart attack that claimed her life. (Or was it a heart attack and then a stroke?)
The news of Ted Kennedy's brain tumor shocked me enough to call Kevin at work to let him know that his own state senator was now suffering from something he most likely will not survive.
The news yesterday left me in a bleak mood all day. After a long night studying for my CCMG test at the library, I drove home late, with only the waning full moon rising over the San Pedro Valley and the lights of Naco, Mexico and the silhouette of San Jose Peak shining before me. It's that night-time view of Naco and the mountains of northern Chihuahua that always ellicit an exaggerated sigh as I drive past, that fleeting five-second view of the lighted valley before the village lights disappear behind the dark gestalts of roadside desert broom and mesquite.
I wanted to pull over along the road shoulder to photograph the view, and approached the Mesquite Inn off Highway 92. It was just my luck --again!!!--to see five USBP vans parked in the lot, with uniformed agents talking to several illegal immigrants. It was not the proper place to pull over and take out my Canon, so once again I drove off, with the waning full moon on hold for another month. One of these days I will park along the road and capture that view of the rising moon over Mexico and keep that image forever in a photograph. It's one of many views that make me grateful to live in such a beautiful place.
***
The price for regular unleaded is now selling for $3.59 in town, up another four cents from yesterday. The price for a barrel of crude sold for $126.52 ten days ago, it's now over $133!!!
Traveling anywhere is getting too expensive, and trading in my van for a Japanese hybrid is sounding more and more attractive...the 2009 Honda hybrids will average over 45mpg and sell for around $22,000. The Dodge Grand Caravan with its measely 20mpg couldn't compete with that! The more expensive gasoline gets, the less I like my van.
***
On a good note, the Anatolian shepherd-mix dog at the Sierra Vista animal shelter has been adopted! He had been there for at least a month, as I always check on the dogs when I drop off my aluminum cans there. He was a large, friendly dog with a heart-warming whimper. At least now I can rest assured that one good dog has found a forever home.
http://regulus2.azstarnet.com/comments/index.php?id=239994
http://pagingdrgupta.blogs.cnn.com/2008/05/21/inside-a-senators-brain/
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/politics/special/clinton/frenzy/kennedy.htm
Monday, May 19, 2008
Driving Middle March Road through the Dragoon Mountains
“Do you feel like exploring Middle March Road? Asked Kevin Saturday evening over dinner.“Yeah!” was my reply, which is my standard reply to any exploratory hike in the area.
Middle March road is a 22-mile dirt road that cuts through the Dragoon Mountains, a route used by the US Cavalry from Fort Bowie to Fort Huachuca back in the 1870s. The Dragoons were also the home to the Chiricahua Apache Indians, a home they fiercely wanted to hold on to.
Now the Dragoons, home to the Cochise Stronghold is in Cochise County, a county the size of Connecticut and Rhode Island combined.
The dry, exposed granite peaks looking westward into the San Pedro Valley are alluring. I can see why Cochise fought to keep his home his. There is something mystical about these arid hills. The highest peak barely tops out at 7500'.
We stopped in Tombstone to gas up the pick-up at $3.57 before driving north of town to Middle March Road, a dirt road that branches off from Highway 80 and travels eastward through the dry mountains toward Pearce, AZ.
“I’ve always wanted to see where this road goes” said Kevin as we rambled across the dirt road. We stopped near Sheepshead Rock where I collected some dry cow manure for the compost pile--"That's some shit!"--while Kevin looked for arrowheads. (I saw nothing resembling arrowheads all throughout our exploration today, just plenty of minerals and ores.)
Middle March Road forked with another dead-end road a few miles further. “This road not maintained for public use” warned one forest service sign. It was this road that Kevin chose to take. I braced myself for an adventure.
This mountain range has no permanent water source anymore. What little water was used up by the now abandoned mines along this route. A windmill further on the road had a dry tank, and a few open mine entrances still lured a few bravehearted fools into the dark crevices.
Trees around us were showing signs of drought stress. The creekbed along the road was dry, oaks and junipers were holding on to dead and yellow leaves and few flowers except for a few lupines bloomed. We were near 5000’
The dogs were warming up fast in the exposed sun. When the truck could no longer climb over the ever-deeping cuts in the road, we parked the truck and walked the mile uphill to Soren Pass. We stopped along a few spur trails that led to nowhere but offered a few vistas of the eastern mountain ranges.
One ATV passed us with what looked like a father-son team. The son was drinking bottled Bud Lite and had a 12-pack in the back of his vehicle securely tied down. He told us that the road we were on lead up another ¼ mile to the peak but that the road continued on a few more miles.
“I’ll be picking up Bud Lite bottles along the road!” I commented to Kevin later, although there were luckily no glass bottles off the road.
Now the Dragoons, home to the Cochise Stronghold is in Cochise County, a county the size of Connecticut and Rhode Island combined.
The dry, exposed granite peaks looking westward into the San Pedro Valley are alluring. I can see why Cochise fought to keep his home his. There is something mystical about these arid hills. The highest peak barely tops out at 7500'.
We stopped in Tombstone to gas up the pick-up at $3.57 before driving north of town to Middle March Road, a dirt road that branches off from Highway 80 and travels eastward through the dry mountains toward Pearce, AZ.
“I’ve always wanted to see where this road goes” said Kevin as we rambled across the dirt road. We stopped near Sheepshead Rock where I collected some dry cow manure for the compost pile--"That's some shit!"--while Kevin looked for arrowheads. (I saw nothing resembling arrowheads all throughout our exploration today, just plenty of minerals and ores.)
Middle March Road forked with another dead-end road a few miles further. “This road not maintained for public use” warned one forest service sign. It was this road that Kevin chose to take. I braced myself for an adventure.
This mountain range has no permanent water source anymore. What little water was used up by the now abandoned mines along this route. A windmill further on the road had a dry tank, and a few open mine entrances still lured a few bravehearted fools into the dark crevices.
Trees around us were showing signs of drought stress. The creekbed along the road was dry, oaks and junipers were holding on to dead and yellow leaves and few flowers except for a few lupines bloomed. We were near 5000’
The dogs were warming up fast in the exposed sun. When the truck could no longer climb over the ever-deeping cuts in the road, we parked the truck and walked the mile uphill to Soren Pass. We stopped along a few spur trails that led to nowhere but offered a few vistas of the eastern mountain ranges.
One ATV passed us with what looked like a father-son team. The son was drinking bottled Bud Lite and had a 12-pack in the back of his vehicle securely tied down. He told us that the road we were on lead up another ¼ mile to the peak but that the road continued on a few more miles.
“I’ll be picking up Bud Lite bottles along the road!” I commented to Kevin later, although there were luckily no glass bottles off the road.
It was a short, hot hike to Soren Peak. The dogs drank most of their quart by the time we got to the pass. We could see the Chiricahuas from our standpoint, Mount Graham and the Pinalenos to our northeast, Miller Peak and the Huachucas were behind us to our west. But I couldn’t see Interstate 10 that travels west-east north of us between the various mountain passes.
“I figured we would see the glistening of the cars from here” I commented.
Isolated picnic-camp areas were all along Middle March road, and a pretty one was near the pass where a fire look-out tower once stood. Because of the one dead end, this is one place I wouldn’t want to be in case of a forest fire. There wouldn’t be a safe regress from danger.
We could hear the ATV below us. The father-son team met up with us later as we rested near the pick-up. We were parked at another turn-off that I briefly explored. There were so many trails that led to mysterious places in the Dragoons. This mountain range is definitely an ATV rider’s delight.
We continued on Middle March road as it now descended on the eastern slopes of the Dragoons. Dried brush lined the roads and canyons and very little wildlife except for birds and butterflies joined us. We could have blown a tire and no one would have found us all day. It was a thought that stayed closed to my conscience all day.
Kevin clearly was in an exploratory mood, turning off on little-used forest roads and climbing up canyons until the roads came to a dead-end by private property. Abandoned mines still littered this mountain range. We came across an old mine site that looked like an old copper mine, judging by the minerals on the ground. Rocks with copper ore and malachite littered the area. This is the stuff I like to explore, but I avoid all mines. We didn’t even see the open mine shaft until we climbed further up the hill. I was too busy looking at the chipped rocks beneath my feet to notice the mine entrance, and startled myself when I did look up only to stare into the black abyss of the mine tunnel.
"This is natural air conditioning" said Kevin as he held his flash light down the long dark tunnel. This was one big mine we came across.
The dogs faithfully followed us along the trail, resting in what little shade they could find. They accepted all the water we gave them. Kevin and I strolled around the broken rocks and ruins of this mine. The abuse the land around this mine took is still obvious years later after the mine shut down. I will never understand why mine owners don't bother to shut mine shafts after closing the mine, leaving behind permanent scars in the landscape. Not to mention the poisoning of underground watersheds from mining debris...
The sun was now high above us and we could feel the heat as we slowly exited the Draggons and followed the road to the ghost towns of Pearce and later Gleeson. Middle March Road ends here, at the intersection of Ghost Town Trail and Middle March Road.
There wasn’t much to Pearce except for four buildings at this one intersection. “The Old Pearce Store” stood across from “Old Pearce Post Office”, built in 1896. The post office stands next to a small pottery stand, but there is nothing else for passersby to see. The Commonwealth mine nearby flooded in the 20th century, killing all the miners inside the mine. The remaining inhabitants left for other places. The buildings are now all private property.
We continued on Ghost Town Trail, a wide dirt road that travels in a south, southeasterly direction as it skirts the Dragoons. Adobe ruins, abandoned buildings and the red dirt from old mining trails dotted the landscape. The hills were dry and barren. Who would want to live here, I thought, besides recluses who prefer it that way? In the distance in any direction we spotted spacious new homes being built, so obviously there are people who enjoy living in the solitude and in the shadows of the Dragoons.
The dogs faithfully followed us along the trail, resting in what little shade they could find. They accepted all the water we gave them. Kevin and I strolled around the broken rocks and ruins of this mine. The abuse the land around this mine took is still obvious years later after the mine shut down. I will never understand why mine owners don't bother to shut mine shafts after closing the mine, leaving behind permanent scars in the landscape. Not to mention the poisoning of underground watersheds from mining debris...
The sun was now high above us and we could feel the heat as we slowly exited the Draggons and followed the road to the ghost towns of Pearce and later Gleeson. Middle March Road ends here, at the intersection of Ghost Town Trail and Middle March Road.
There wasn’t much to Pearce except for four buildings at this one intersection. “The Old Pearce Store” stood across from “Old Pearce Post Office”, built in 1896. The post office stands next to a small pottery stand, but there is nothing else for passersby to see. The Commonwealth mine nearby flooded in the 20th century, killing all the miners inside the mine. The remaining inhabitants left for other places. The buildings are now all private property.
We continued on Ghost Town Trail, a wide dirt road that travels in a south, southeasterly direction as it skirts the Dragoons. Adobe ruins, abandoned buildings and the red dirt from old mining trails dotted the landscape. The hills were dry and barren. Who would want to live here, I thought, besides recluses who prefer it that way? In the distance in any direction we spotted spacious new homes being built, so obviously there are people who enjoy living in the solitude and in the shadows of the Dragoons.
"Really rich retired people, or former rich people live there now" mused Kevin.
We never came across another car along the road, as we enjoyed the desolate red mountains to our west.
Gleeson is a community slightly larger than Pearce, with a famous rattle snake ranch where the owner displays his rattle snake skins and other ranch art. This man designed a Gleeson town sign using just rattle snake skins. It is the one sole reminder that travelers are in town. But there isn’t much else to welcome the road wary: no gas station, no convenience store, no roadside café.
Still, I enjoyed this scenic loop of the Dragoons and would recommend the same drive to anyone interested in old Arizona history. Ghost Town Trail turned into Gleeson Road, which continues west to Tombstone and Highway 80 where our journey came to an end. The rest of the journey was now back on familiar roads as we climbed higher into the more lush valley of San Pedro and the nearby Huachucas. What a difference some water makes in the mountains!
We stopped at the river to let the dogs refresh themselves in the cool water, which they excitedly took too. Sara by now was looking very exhausted from the ride, sitting faithfully in the back of the bed and trying to lay in what little shade the sides of the bed offered.
We never came across another car along the road, as we enjoyed the desolate red mountains to our west.
Gleeson is a community slightly larger than Pearce, with a famous rattle snake ranch where the owner displays his rattle snake skins and other ranch art. This man designed a Gleeson town sign using just rattle snake skins. It is the one sole reminder that travelers are in town. But there isn’t much else to welcome the road wary: no gas station, no convenience store, no roadside café.
Still, I enjoyed this scenic loop of the Dragoons and would recommend the same drive to anyone interested in old Arizona history. Ghost Town Trail turned into Gleeson Road, which continues west to Tombstone and Highway 80 where our journey came to an end. The rest of the journey was now back on familiar roads as we climbed higher into the more lush valley of San Pedro and the nearby Huachucas. What a difference some water makes in the mountains!
We stopped at the river to let the dogs refresh themselves in the cool water, which they excitedly took too. Sara by now was looking very exhausted from the ride, sitting faithfully in the back of the bed and trying to lay in what little shade the sides of the bed offered.
We had traveled over 80 miles today, making a big loop to and from Tombstone.
"Let's go on exploratory hikes every Sunday from now on!" recommended Kevin later that night.
As if he needed approval from me...
http://www.fs.fed.us/r3/coronado/forest/recreation/scenic_drives/middlemarch.shtml
http://www.savedragoonmountains.com/
http://www.tucsonweekly.com/gbase/Currents/Content?oid=oid%3A97263
http://www.willcoxrangenews.com/articles/2006/02/01/news/news3.txt
http://www.discoverseaz.com/Attractions/GhstTWN.html
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/az-ghosttowntrail3.html
http://www.azstarnet.com/sn/ent_outdoors/225345.php http://www.tucsonweekly.com/tw/06-25-98/outthere.htm http://www.greatoutdoors.com/published/hiking-the-dragoon-mountains
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Scotia Canyon trail
This is a trail I'd hike again. Steve from the club led this hike. The eight club members were Steve,Paul, Susan, Steve, Rob and Casi, Hanna and I. We met on post and carpooled to the trailhead 30 miles away in the western Huachucas. By 8:45am we were on the trail and hiked the gentle ascent for nearly four miles.
The trail paralled an intermittent creek up the canyon, allowing the dogs fresh water. We hiked under giant alligator junipers, pines, and the proverbial cottonwoods and sycamores. And this time we had a special treat: the caw of the reclusive Elegant trogon, a subtropical bird that makes the Huachucas its home. Hanna, one of the hikers, could recognize the call.
I heard so many unique bird calls today and I couldn't identify one. One lone hummingbird came down to greet us as we reached an old ranch/pond that was our lunchbreak before we went back down the trail.
The trail paralled an intermittent creek up the canyon, allowing the dogs fresh water. We hiked under giant alligator junipers, pines, and the proverbial cottonwoods and sycamores. And this time we had a special treat: the caw of the reclusive Elegant trogon, a subtropical bird that makes the Huachucas its home. Hanna, one of the hikers, could recognize the call.
I heard so many unique bird calls today and I couldn't identify one. One lone hummingbird came down to greet us as we reached an old ranch/pond that was our lunchbreak before we went back down the trail.
We sat under some shady cottonwoods near the pond. I could smell wild onion (or was it the noxious onion weed the FDA is trying to eradicate from Arizona?) nearby. The lush green stalks of former flowering plants lined the pond with their fading blooms. Ducks, fish and toads swam in the pond.
The Forest Service is draining the pond. We don't know why for sure, but the pond is currently home to several ducks, toads and fish. We saw new pipes along a disturbed area...
It was a lovely day for a hike. Temps are back in the low 80s and skies were blue. The eight-mile hike took us five hours with several pleasant rest stops along the way.
We didn't see any other people on this hike and immigrant trash was at a minimal. Perhaps if we had hiked further on the Scotia Canyon trail to the Crest trail, we would have seen more...
The dogs did well, too. They started off leash going to the pond but after chasing deer and turkeys they were on leashes going back to the van. They were too tired to care by then.
The Forest Service is draining the pond. We don't know why for sure, but the pond is currently home to several ducks, toads and fish. We saw new pipes along a disturbed area...
It was a lovely day for a hike. Temps are back in the low 80s and skies were blue. The eight-mile hike took us five hours with several pleasant rest stops along the way.
We didn't see any other people on this hike and immigrant trash was at a minimal. Perhaps if we had hiked further on the Scotia Canyon trail to the Crest trail, we would have seen more...
The dogs did well, too. They started off leash going to the pond but after chasing deer and turkeys they were on leashes going back to the van. They were too tired to care by then.
Friday, May 16, 2008
RAIN!!!
It finally happened: we got a small amount of rain late yesterday afternoon. The humidity rose as the day wore on, reaching 80% after sunset and 90% this morning at 5am.
This rain didn't break the nightly "BREAKING NEWS" section on the news programs, nor did it make it into the yahoo weather section for our town. But I can vouch for the inch-deep wet soil in my backyard, and the water-runoff in the garbage bins under our roof. We definitely got some rain yesterday.
Nowhere else does a little rain make news headlines as it does in the arid desert Southwest. People back in New York, New Jersey and Maryland by now are sick of too much water. We here out West are excited over every little drop.
What a joy it was to see and smell the rain. After a day of overcast, grey skies the precipitation finally fell. It rained in Cochise county but kept Tucson dry, which doesn't happen all too often.
I didn't water the plants yesterday and saved some water there, then went outside and killed off whatever weeds I could find that were surely dancing with delight until my hoe made contact with its roots...the dogs were happy as well, sitting in the wet dirt in the back yard, wondering why I was so happy about the wet ground.
More rain is forecasted for this little section of Arizona later today, although right now the sky is mostly clear and the temperature in the mid 60s. The rain that will hit "east of Tucson" also means we are foregoing the camp-out near Safford; I don't want to risk a thunderous experience in the skyislands.
More than anything this little rain means that for a few more days we have stalled any potential of wildfires. I'm hiking with the club in the Huachucas tomorrow. Triple-digit heat is due back early next week, so why not enjoy this respite when we can?
This rain didn't break the nightly "BREAKING NEWS" section on the news programs, nor did it make it into the yahoo weather section for our town. But I can vouch for the inch-deep wet soil in my backyard, and the water-runoff in the garbage bins under our roof. We definitely got some rain yesterday.
Nowhere else does a little rain make news headlines as it does in the arid desert Southwest. People back in New York, New Jersey and Maryland by now are sick of too much water. We here out West are excited over every little drop.
What a joy it was to see and smell the rain. After a day of overcast, grey skies the precipitation finally fell. It rained in Cochise county but kept Tucson dry, which doesn't happen all too often.
I didn't water the plants yesterday and saved some water there, then went outside and killed off whatever weeds I could find that were surely dancing with delight until my hoe made contact with its roots...the dogs were happy as well, sitting in the wet dirt in the back yard, wondering why I was so happy about the wet ground.
More rain is forecasted for this little section of Arizona later today, although right now the sky is mostly clear and the temperature in the mid 60s. The rain that will hit "east of Tucson" also means we are foregoing the camp-out near Safford; I don't want to risk a thunderous experience in the skyislands.
More than anything this little rain means that for a few more days we have stalled any potential of wildfires. I'm hiking with the club in the Huachucas tomorrow. Triple-digit heat is due back early next week, so why not enjoy this respite when we can?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
State Highway 92
State Highway 92 is a short two-lane highway that connect Bisbee to Sierra Vista from a southern route. We live a mile away from this highway, which means we drive on it every time we have to go into town for errands.
It's not a fun drive at all. Although the southern trip at night is beautiful, with Naco, Sonora (Mexico) shining its lights in the distant valley, driving north into town requires some risks. Even I have trouble spotting vehicles that turn off from side streets onto the highway, and many a deadly accident have occurred on this stretch. Highway memorials along the road are proof of how deadly this stretch of pavement is. Three memorials have gone up along the shoulders in the past two years.
But today was also proof at how reckless drivers can be, drivers in full-sized pick-ups pulling fast onto the highway to beat the vehicle coming toward them. Slowing down for traffic seems to be unheard of around here, and perhaps also an insult to manhood.
I witnessed a white Ford Ranger with a business logo for a pest control company in town speed onto the highway and irratically swerve into the left lane. The driver, an older man with a roundish nose even got around me; apparently the posted speedlimit of 55 mph that I was driving was too slow for him. I saw him later swerve around another driver just to get in front of him. At one point I was next to him in traffic and the old man gave me a mean look.
A few minutes later, now driving east on State Highway 90, another full-sized pick-up, this one an orange one, did a similiar driving habit: coming up close to the vehicles in front of him and then swerving closely around to get in front. The driver was another male. I guess I'd drive like an idiot, too if I drove an orange pick-up!
These kinds of drivers are all too common in our area. And it's not just the drivers, but reckless motorcycle riders who refuse to wear a safety helmet (something about their first amendment rights according to the US Constitution) and cyclists who race through stop signs along the way.
Another new observation lately is the increase in local hitch hikers. More and more locals are ditching their cars and now hitching rides into town.
It's not a fun drive at all. Although the southern trip at night is beautiful, with Naco, Sonora (Mexico) shining its lights in the distant valley, driving north into town requires some risks. Even I have trouble spotting vehicles that turn off from side streets onto the highway, and many a deadly accident have occurred on this stretch. Highway memorials along the road are proof of how deadly this stretch of pavement is. Three memorials have gone up along the shoulders in the past two years.
But today was also proof at how reckless drivers can be, drivers in full-sized pick-ups pulling fast onto the highway to beat the vehicle coming toward them. Slowing down for traffic seems to be unheard of around here, and perhaps also an insult to manhood.
I witnessed a white Ford Ranger with a business logo for a pest control company in town speed onto the highway and irratically swerve into the left lane. The driver, an older man with a roundish nose even got around me; apparently the posted speedlimit of 55 mph that I was driving was too slow for him. I saw him later swerve around another driver just to get in front of him. At one point I was next to him in traffic and the old man gave me a mean look.
A few minutes later, now driving east on State Highway 90, another full-sized pick-up, this one an orange one, did a similiar driving habit: coming up close to the vehicles in front of him and then swerving closely around to get in front. The driver was another male. I guess I'd drive like an idiot, too if I drove an orange pick-up!
These kinds of drivers are all too common in our area. And it's not just the drivers, but reckless motorcycle riders who refuse to wear a safety helmet (something about their first amendment rights according to the US Constitution) and cyclists who race through stop signs along the way.
Another new observation lately is the increase in local hitch hikers. More and more locals are ditching their cars and now hitching rides into town.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Spittle
That is the kind if precipitation we got yesterday: spittle! The humidity doubled in the late afternoon, reaching 60% as the temperature dropped into the 50s and then 40s later. But as for precipitation, we hardly got anything. "Trace amounts of rain" at best. Willcox and parts further north in the county faired better.
I'm not complaining, as the vegetables surely enjoyed the cooler temperatures, especially the cabbage and beets. They are germinating now and soon I will struggle to keep them from wilting in the hot Arizona sun.
For a few hours last night it was downright cold, but today we are back in the 70s with clear skies and calmer winds. The birds were up early this morning with their choir.
I took the dogs out early today to Hunter Canyon, only to meet a mountain biker and then a man with two beautiful long-haired German shepherd dogs (on leashes). I have to now keep my dogs on leashes if I will continue to meet other morning athletes. I don't want my dogs to ruin other people's enjoyment of the national forest.
I'm not complaining, as the vegetables surely enjoyed the cooler temperatures, especially the cabbage and beets. They are germinating now and soon I will struggle to keep them from wilting in the hot Arizona sun.
For a few hours last night it was downright cold, but today we are back in the 70s with clear skies and calmer winds. The birds were up early this morning with their choir.
I took the dogs out early today to Hunter Canyon, only to meet a mountain biker and then a man with two beautiful long-haired German shepherd dogs (on leashes). I have to now keep my dogs on leashes if I will continue to meet other morning athletes. I don't want my dogs to ruin other people's enjoyment of the national forest.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
High winds over southern Arizona, snow in Flagstaff
It's windy again, and the mature trees around the neighborhood are breakdancing around me. A bird flew against the back porch window but managed to fly away apparently unscathed. It feels cooler than the current 78F (with 26% humidity).
Forecasters are calling for "a chance of rain later" as the storm that's dumping snow in Flagstaff moves further south and east. OHPLEASEOHPLEASEOHPLEASE come our way! I don't care if it's ten degrees cooler than normal. The beets, spinach and cabbage seedlings in my garden will appreciate the cooler temps.
Meanwhile, a 7.4 earthquake in central China is now claiming over 12,000 victims. The news continues to show the human suffering from the area: two middle schools collapsed killing many of the children, although survivors are still being rescued two days after the event that was first reported here late Sunday via CNN.
What is up with all our natural disasters lately? Even tornadoes are on a rampage all across the US, with our most active record since 1999. Even beautiful mini-mansions are getting destroyed and not just the trailer parks. (Which makes me wonder how strong those new homes really are when their foundations are made from pine wood?) Floods in Maryland, wet cold weather in Chicagoland, wildfires in central Florida...what's next?
Well, what's next is that insurance companies will raise their premiums, citing increased dangers even in regions that were once considered neutral.
Forecasters are calling for "a chance of rain later" as the storm that's dumping snow in Flagstaff moves further south and east. OHPLEASEOHPLEASEOHPLEASE come our way! I don't care if it's ten degrees cooler than normal. The beets, spinach and cabbage seedlings in my garden will appreciate the cooler temps.
Meanwhile, a 7.4 earthquake in central China is now claiming over 12,000 victims. The news continues to show the human suffering from the area: two middle schools collapsed killing many of the children, although survivors are still being rescued two days after the event that was first reported here late Sunday via CNN.
What is up with all our natural disasters lately? Even tornadoes are on a rampage all across the US, with our most active record since 1999. Even beautiful mini-mansions are getting destroyed and not just the trailer parks. (Which makes me wonder how strong those new homes really are when their foundations are made from pine wood?) Floods in Maryland, wet cold weather in Chicagoland, wildfires in central Florida...what's next?
Well, what's next is that insurance companies will raise their premiums, citing increased dangers even in regions that were once considered neutral.
Monday, May 12, 2008
It's back!!!
I was sitting on the couch reading my garden books this morning when I saw the critter back in the house by my books that were stacked on the floor! I took a closer look and realized it was NOT a whip scorpion, but a nonvenemous sunspider or solpugid that's related to both the spider and the scorpion. (No wonder I thought it was at first a scorpion by how fast it moved) with long pedipalps in the front. I caught it for the third time, took it to the bathtub to photograph it against a white background, and set it free outside under the shade of the creeping juniper shrubs.
The little guy seemed anxious to go underground, trying to burry itself under the gravel rocks. I went back inside to grab my camera and when I returned to the scene the little guy was gone.
Mo was nearby in the shade, meowing. He didn't seem to mind the activity at all.
(Seeing the photo of the sun spider here makes me realize how scratched-up the bathtub is. I never noticed those scratches before.)
More on solpugids, click here: http://www.whatsthatbug.com/solpugids.html
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day in the Desert
I had a wonderful day. It started with an early morning in the garden, doing the final touches of planting the last bush beans for the summer harvest (the second planting will be in September for a fall/winter harvest). Now all four raised beds are growing something, but the hardest part for me is over and I can now sit back and literally “watch the beans grow”
Kevin helped me out as well, cleaning out the kitchen and making the place quite livable, if it weren’t for our ugly stained carpet I wish I could rip out right now. A clean house is a restful house.
Kevin took a break and called his sister and his mom, both whom I really like and enjoy talking with.
"I can't wait to see you at the wedding!" said Evelynn, his mom.
Oh, the wedding in North Carolina, the same one I'd planned on driving to in late June while Kevin flew there. I planned on meeting him in town and spending the weekend with him and his family and then driving further north to New Jersey to see the rest of the family and friends, before driving back to Chicagoland and then North Dakota before heading south once I made it to central Montana. I had planned on being on the road for a month with the dogs, visiting friends, family and old places I've lived. That is not to be.
That vacation I can no longer afford with the way gasoline prices have risen and continue to rise. In some parts of the country regular unleaded is nearing $4 a gallon.
I didn't have the heart to tell Evelynn that I will most likely not make it to the wedding. One flight ticket will be expensive enough. My main focus is getting this house and garden done.
It got hot fast today, reaching 94F before we left to meet Mom and Bill at the Applebee’s in town at 2pm. The restaurant was surprisingly not too busy and there was only a 15-minute wait. Kevin and I each had one beer while we waited for Mom and Bill.
"Happy Mother's Day!" said Melody, our server, to Mom and me.
Our dinner was quite lovely, and my meal quite delicious. (I ate a chicken Ceasar’s salad with chicken penne pasta; Kevin had steak). Conversation was also quite interesting, as we talked about family, the late summer reunion, and of course politics. Mom and I can never get together and not talk politics.
Mom, as usual, is convinced the World as we know it today will end. Things just don’t look good for a lot of people all across the world and our escalating prices for everything is starting to scare me. (Gasoline prices alone jumped 20 cents in two weeks; prices are now $3.53 for regular unleaded)
We were at Applebee’s for over an hour and didn’t leave until after 3:30pm. Mom’s van had to get jump-started but luckily the battery was just dead and it wasn’t an alternator or starter; a quick visit to Sear’s at the Mall took care of that. While we waited for the van’s battery to get replaced, Kevin looked at stand-alone freezers. He wants to stock up on meats and freezable goods, mentioning all the tomatoes we are going to be canning later this summer after a bumper harvest.
Mom and Bill stopped by the house briefly. It had been a month since she’s seen the place and even she said there’s been so many improvements. Of course there were improvements, I have been working on the house and garden every day, so that after a month the work starts becoming obvious. Even I can see a big difference from when I first started with the back yard and now.
And the work’s finally over. Although I still have a few small projects to complete, tbe big stuff is done. Fertig. Gatoff. Now I have to finish cleaning out the garage and then the other big project will be cleaning out my “office” so that I can sit in my own room and compose essays again, essays I have been creating in my head but ignoring to write down.
I can’t wait to have my office cleaned out and reorganized so that I can spend endless late-hours writing things. I miss writing and do my best writing late at night when only the distant twinkles of the stars overhead provide company.
Before Mom and Bill drove off I was able to give her one of my Sunflower Heliopsis, a bunch flower with yellow-yellow flowers on 2'-stalks. They are pretty flowers but overseed prolifically. I've already transplanted two heliopsis into different areas of the front yard so that yellow doesn't dominate the garden; I want a steady color scheme of red, blues and other colors.
I have many more heliopsis growing around the original mother plant that I may end up pulling out and putting into the compost pile. At least one plant found a new home.
As soon as Mom left for her drive back to Tucson, I drove off to Hunter Canyon to give the dogs their much-awaited walk. As soon as I drove off, Erin called me. I was a block away from the house on a dirt road, and pulled over to talk to her. Had I driven any further I would have lost connection with her since we live in the country.
It was a lovely conversation with her. She sounded happy except that the weather back in Chicagoland was only in the 40s. My comments about my sun-burned shoulders that I got the last two days from bending over in the garden (“My gardener’s tan!”) were just annoying to her. But unlike Erin, although I love the heat I do worry about the excessive heat so early; weather forecasts recently are forecasting an early and excessive heat starting today through monsoon season.
I lost connectivity with Erin and drove off to walk the dogs before it got too dark to feel safe in the foothills with no cell phone connection. It was 6:15pm before I made it to Hunter Canyon, let the dogs out of the van and drove the forest road they have become all too familiar with. They either run ahead of me, sniff and pee along the way, or they run behind me, but they always stop near Kelly Springs to sniff the trash and backpacks that the illegals leave behind.
In fact, there’s been an obvious increase in the trash left behind by illegals. Has Hunter Canyon become the new pick-up point now that the nearby military installation has increased its border patrol?
Just as I approached the end of the “walk” near the initial trailhead off Highway 92, a Border Patrol van pulled off the highway and on the road. The dogs were still behind me catching up to the van and I was slowing down to stop and let them in. I made sure the USBP agent saw my van was empty and just for the dogs. He saw them jump in from the right side door, praised me for having well-behaved dogs, and drove off. If the agent found any illegals after seeing me I hope he had back-up, as he was entering the canyon without back-up.
The sun was low over the mountains and beautiful purplish-red streaks glided across the sky. When I got back to the house I called Carol from the back yard, standing in the darkening yard as I watched the color scheme change in front of me. Shortly after the last sun ray slipped behind the mountain, I went inside as my mouth was dry from talking. I had been outside for over an hour talking to Carol and getting caught up with family news.
I sat up in the living room getting caught up with the day’s news (severe storms across the southern Midwest again, killing 20 people in Oklahoma and Missouri; more deaths from last week’s devasting cyclone in Myanmar that has claimed 28,000 lives; Senator Obama now receiving as many Super Delegates--273-- as Senator Clinton…) when something small and fast darted across the living room.
OMG what was that thing scurrying across the carpet? It looked like a little tan arachnid coming toward me with a purpose. I didn’t want to kill it but I didn’t want it near me, either. Those pinchers looked vicious, too and I didn’t know if it could harm the sleeping dogs nearby, let alone Reina who was, as usual, sleeping on the backrest of the couch.
I quickly got online to compare the thing with “tan scorpions” and quickly found a Positive Identification: a tailless whip scorpion that has pinchers but no stinger. I trapped it in a see-through container and let it go outside near the north fence.
Ten minutes later the thing was back inside the house! Now how did it get back inside with the backdoor now secured? Is this another whipless scorpion looking for its mate, or is it just the same determined arachnid as before? It’s my first encounter with such a critter. I’m just glad I’m no crawling insect around that thing!
The second time I let it go in the front yard, and the critter seemed to want to follow the house and crawl back inside. I did not wait long enough to see if it did.
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/05/11/severe.weather/index.html?iref=mpstoryview
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/05/11/campaign.wrap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview
Kevin helped me out as well, cleaning out the kitchen and making the place quite livable, if it weren’t for our ugly stained carpet I wish I could rip out right now. A clean house is a restful house.
Kevin took a break and called his sister and his mom, both whom I really like and enjoy talking with.
"I can't wait to see you at the wedding!" said Evelynn, his mom.
Oh, the wedding in North Carolina, the same one I'd planned on driving to in late June while Kevin flew there. I planned on meeting him in town and spending the weekend with him and his family and then driving further north to New Jersey to see the rest of the family and friends, before driving back to Chicagoland and then North Dakota before heading south once I made it to central Montana. I had planned on being on the road for a month with the dogs, visiting friends, family and old places I've lived. That is not to be.
That vacation I can no longer afford with the way gasoline prices have risen and continue to rise. In some parts of the country regular unleaded is nearing $4 a gallon.
I didn't have the heart to tell Evelynn that I will most likely not make it to the wedding. One flight ticket will be expensive enough. My main focus is getting this house and garden done.
It got hot fast today, reaching 94F before we left to meet Mom and Bill at the Applebee’s in town at 2pm. The restaurant was surprisingly not too busy and there was only a 15-minute wait. Kevin and I each had one beer while we waited for Mom and Bill.
"Happy Mother's Day!" said Melody, our server, to Mom and me.
Our dinner was quite lovely, and my meal quite delicious. (I ate a chicken Ceasar’s salad with chicken penne pasta; Kevin had steak). Conversation was also quite interesting, as we talked about family, the late summer reunion, and of course politics. Mom and I can never get together and not talk politics.
Mom, as usual, is convinced the World as we know it today will end. Things just don’t look good for a lot of people all across the world and our escalating prices for everything is starting to scare me. (Gasoline prices alone jumped 20 cents in two weeks; prices are now $3.53 for regular unleaded)
We were at Applebee’s for over an hour and didn’t leave until after 3:30pm. Mom’s van had to get jump-started but luckily the battery was just dead and it wasn’t an alternator or starter; a quick visit to Sear’s at the Mall took care of that. While we waited for the van’s battery to get replaced, Kevin looked at stand-alone freezers. He wants to stock up on meats and freezable goods, mentioning all the tomatoes we are going to be canning later this summer after a bumper harvest.
Mom and Bill stopped by the house briefly. It had been a month since she’s seen the place and even she said there’s been so many improvements. Of course there were improvements, I have been working on the house and garden every day, so that after a month the work starts becoming obvious. Even I can see a big difference from when I first started with the back yard and now.
And the work’s finally over. Although I still have a few small projects to complete, tbe big stuff is done. Fertig. Gatoff. Now I have to finish cleaning out the garage and then the other big project will be cleaning out my “office” so that I can sit in my own room and compose essays again, essays I have been creating in my head but ignoring to write down.
I can’t wait to have my office cleaned out and reorganized so that I can spend endless late-hours writing things. I miss writing and do my best writing late at night when only the distant twinkles of the stars overhead provide company.
Before Mom and Bill drove off I was able to give her one of my Sunflower Heliopsis, a bunch flower with yellow-yellow flowers on 2'-stalks. They are pretty flowers but overseed prolifically. I've already transplanted two heliopsis into different areas of the front yard so that yellow doesn't dominate the garden; I want a steady color scheme of red, blues and other colors.
I have many more heliopsis growing around the original mother plant that I may end up pulling out and putting into the compost pile. At least one plant found a new home.
As soon as Mom left for her drive back to Tucson, I drove off to Hunter Canyon to give the dogs their much-awaited walk. As soon as I drove off, Erin called me. I was a block away from the house on a dirt road, and pulled over to talk to her. Had I driven any further I would have lost connection with her since we live in the country.
It was a lovely conversation with her. She sounded happy except that the weather back in Chicagoland was only in the 40s. My comments about my sun-burned shoulders that I got the last two days from bending over in the garden (“My gardener’s tan!”) were just annoying to her. But unlike Erin, although I love the heat I do worry about the excessive heat so early; weather forecasts recently are forecasting an early and excessive heat starting today through monsoon season.
I lost connectivity with Erin and drove off to walk the dogs before it got too dark to feel safe in the foothills with no cell phone connection. It was 6:15pm before I made it to Hunter Canyon, let the dogs out of the van and drove the forest road they have become all too familiar with. They either run ahead of me, sniff and pee along the way, or they run behind me, but they always stop near Kelly Springs to sniff the trash and backpacks that the illegals leave behind.
In fact, there’s been an obvious increase in the trash left behind by illegals. Has Hunter Canyon become the new pick-up point now that the nearby military installation has increased its border patrol?
Just as I approached the end of the “walk” near the initial trailhead off Highway 92, a Border Patrol van pulled off the highway and on the road. The dogs were still behind me catching up to the van and I was slowing down to stop and let them in. I made sure the USBP agent saw my van was empty and just for the dogs. He saw them jump in from the right side door, praised me for having well-behaved dogs, and drove off. If the agent found any illegals after seeing me I hope he had back-up, as he was entering the canyon without back-up.
The sun was low over the mountains and beautiful purplish-red streaks glided across the sky. When I got back to the house I called Carol from the back yard, standing in the darkening yard as I watched the color scheme change in front of me. Shortly after the last sun ray slipped behind the mountain, I went inside as my mouth was dry from talking. I had been outside for over an hour talking to Carol and getting caught up with family news.
I sat up in the living room getting caught up with the day’s news (severe storms across the southern Midwest again, killing 20 people in Oklahoma and Missouri; more deaths from last week’s devasting cyclone in Myanmar that has claimed 28,000 lives; Senator Obama now receiving as many Super Delegates--273-- as Senator Clinton…) when something small and fast darted across the living room.
OMG what was that thing scurrying across the carpet? It looked like a little tan arachnid coming toward me with a purpose. I didn’t want to kill it but I didn’t want it near me, either. Those pinchers looked vicious, too and I didn’t know if it could harm the sleeping dogs nearby, let alone Reina who was, as usual, sleeping on the backrest of the couch.
I quickly got online to compare the thing with “tan scorpions” and quickly found a Positive Identification: a tailless whip scorpion that has pinchers but no stinger. I trapped it in a see-through container and let it go outside near the north fence.
Ten minutes later the thing was back inside the house! Now how did it get back inside with the backdoor now secured? Is this another whipless scorpion looking for its mate, or is it just the same determined arachnid as before? It’s my first encounter with such a critter. I’m just glad I’m no crawling insect around that thing!
The second time I let it go in the front yard, and the critter seemed to want to follow the house and crawl back inside. I did not wait long enough to see if it did.
http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/05/11/severe.weather/index.html?iref=mpstoryview
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/05/11/campaign.wrap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview
Thursday, May 8, 2008
"You feel like going camping somewhere next week?"
Kevin asked me last night. "Next weekend I have a three-day weekend and we haven't gone anywhere since Easter weekend."
My first choice was Mt. Graham, a 10,700'-peak mountain just outside Safford in the Pinaleno mountain range, the tallest skyislands in souteastern Arizona. We have never been in those mountains.
"Sure, sounds great to me!" The drive alone would be breath-taking, starting from Safford's 3000' and rising to the mountain ridgeline of 9000+'. Panoramic vistas can be seen along the way. The Pinas also have a few perennial streams the dogs could enjoy.
I am so stoked about hiking up mountains. Trails I am interested in are Ash Creek and Heliograph Peak trail, a close-by waterfall and whatever other short trails we can find along the Swift Trail, the mountain-forest road off AZ366.
I've already done some trail research on that area. Several trail reports have revealed that snow can be found in May at higher elevations, and campground temperatures at night may be near freezing.
We'd also have to be cautious of black bears and mountain lions; both live in those peaks.
My first choice was Mt. Graham, a 10,700'-peak mountain just outside Safford in the Pinaleno mountain range, the tallest skyislands in souteastern Arizona. We have never been in those mountains.
"Sure, sounds great to me!" The drive alone would be breath-taking, starting from Safford's 3000' and rising to the mountain ridgeline of 9000+'. Panoramic vistas can be seen along the way. The Pinas also have a few perennial streams the dogs could enjoy.
I am so stoked about hiking up mountains. Trails I am interested in are Ash Creek and Heliograph Peak trail, a close-by waterfall and whatever other short trails we can find along the Swift Trail, the mountain-forest road off AZ366.
I've already done some trail research on that area. Several trail reports have revealed that snow can be found in May at higher elevations, and campground temperatures at night may be near freezing.
We'd also have to be cautious of black bears and mountain lions; both live in those peaks.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Bummer
We never got any precipitation yesterday, although the temperatures were way below normal and our humidity was around 30%. (It was 56% this morning at 5am). One lone dark cloud floated just north of the Huachucas yesterday, and I could see rain falling down from the cloud, but the earth's dryness was so high that the rain evaporated before it could even reach the ground. What a teaser that was.
The rain is now over New Mexico, which is actually getting rain.
I guess that means we here in Arizona have two more months to suffer through before the monsoons.
The rain is now over New Mexico, which is actually getting rain.
I guess that means we here in Arizona have two more months to suffer through before the monsoons.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Arizona growth
As Ariz. degrades, folks may leave
ASU report looks at growth, quality of life and how they may affect the 'Sun Corridor'
By Tony Davis
ARIZONA DAILY STAR
DID YOU KNOW
In 1969, General Electric computer executive Thomas Vanderslice predicted that someday, Phoenix and Tucson would merge into a super-metro area called the Golden Corridor. In 1973, state Real Estate Commissioner J. Fred Talley predicted a continuous city of 6 million people from Wickenburg to Nogales by 2020.
Source: Morrison Institute for Public Policy
A symbol of Arizona's growth is the U-Haul, bringing in families pursuing sunshine, mountains, cheaper housing and jobs as they pile in from the Rust Belt or Southern California.
But someday, the rental trailers bringing in newcomers may be outnumbered by those leaving unless Arizona protects its quality of life and improves its schools and job climate, according to a new report.
The report, from an Arizona State University research institute, focuses on the "Sun Corridor," described as an area taking in Tucson and Phoenix and straddling three interstate highways and other major roads from Prescott south to Sierra Vista and Nogales. Planners and other experts have predicted for many years that this area could have a near-continuous belt of people someday.
This area, now home to 5 million people, could grow to 8 million to 10 million by 2040, said the report, compiled by ASU's Morrison Institute for Public Policy. But starting perhaps as soon as the early 2020s, that growth could be coming mainly from an increase in births compared with deaths. The number of people leaving the state may actually exceed the number entering, the report said.
"It's a quality-of-life signal that something would be pushing people away, that something is not going well in our state," said Nancy Welch, the institute's associate director. "That quality-of-life signal has much to do with how everybody experiences Arizona. When people leave, they still leave tangible pieces behind: the pavement, the stores, the schools and other buildings. But are they taking away valuable human resources and human capital that is going to leave us poorer?"
The report looks at growth in general, traffic, schools, jobs, water supply, open spaces and climate change. Some key questions and choices:
● Depending on how the school system turns out, the Sun Corridor could turn into a powerhouse of global commerce or a string of warehouses along the interstates linking Mexico to Canada and product distribution centers for Southern California.
● The region faces environmental challenges, including questions about how its lower-density, sprawling suburbs can adapt to the presence of more households without children, more single-person households and more minority households.
● "The Sun Corridor is on a collision course with traffic congestion," the report said, and finding money for the needed public and private investments to make transportation work properly could take trillions of dollars.
● The report also cites the "tragedy of the sunshine," in which newcomers create a need for more pavement, roofing and concrete that make urban areas hotter on summer nights.
"If we don't get our act together, if we make this place hotter with the heat-island effect, if we don't get good jobs versus more service jobs, this area may lose its attractiveness," institute Director Rob Melnick said.
For years, California has had a net loss of migration due to crime, traffic, pollution and high home prices. Growth also has been slowing down at Colorado ski resorts because some mountainous areas literally have no place to grow, and many areas have had spiraling home prices, Melnick said.
"At some point, you can have too much of a good thing, and that is what we are trying to point out," Melnick said.
Another expert said he doesn't think the state's migration patterns will reverse as quickly as the Sun Corridor report predicts, although ASU economist Tom Rex said he has no doubt that it will happen someday. Rex, who is working on another study on population growth, said he doesn't expect that his report will predict such a phenomenon occurring even by 2040.
Still, "I think that the people in general and the developer types and everyone should realize that we do have to be watching out for the quality of life," Rex said.
David Taylor, a veteran Tucson planner, said he doesn't see growth patterns reversing in Arizona anytime soon. Even in Southern California, most of the net migration has occurred in coastal counties, while inland Riverside and San Bernardino counties are "growing like hell," said Taylor, of the Pima Association of Governments.
The Sun Corridor report makes a number of recommendations to improve the state, ranging from regional government to higher-density development in urban areas to improved open-space protection to better education, particularly in languages and the arts. Many of these topics have been discussed with little progress made since Melnick moved here in the early 1970s.
The stakes are higher today, he said.
"We are closer to running out of resources," he said. "We have an opportunity, but it gets harder to turn this ship around as we get bigger and more complex."
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/237616
ASU report looks at growth, quality of life and how they may affect the 'Sun Corridor'
By Tony Davis
ARIZONA DAILY STAR
DID YOU KNOW
In 1969, General Electric computer executive Thomas Vanderslice predicted that someday, Phoenix and Tucson would merge into a super-metro area called the Golden Corridor. In 1973, state Real Estate Commissioner J. Fred Talley predicted a continuous city of 6 million people from Wickenburg to Nogales by 2020.
Source: Morrison Institute for Public Policy
A symbol of Arizona's growth is the U-Haul, bringing in families pursuing sunshine, mountains, cheaper housing and jobs as they pile in from the Rust Belt or Southern California.
But someday, the rental trailers bringing in newcomers may be outnumbered by those leaving unless Arizona protects its quality of life and improves its schools and job climate, according to a new report.
The report, from an Arizona State University research institute, focuses on the "Sun Corridor," described as an area taking in Tucson and Phoenix and straddling three interstate highways and other major roads from Prescott south to Sierra Vista and Nogales. Planners and other experts have predicted for many years that this area could have a near-continuous belt of people someday.
This area, now home to 5 million people, could grow to 8 million to 10 million by 2040, said the report, compiled by ASU's Morrison Institute for Public Policy. But starting perhaps as soon as the early 2020s, that growth could be coming mainly from an increase in births compared with deaths. The number of people leaving the state may actually exceed the number entering, the report said.
"It's a quality-of-life signal that something would be pushing people away, that something is not going well in our state," said Nancy Welch, the institute's associate director. "That quality-of-life signal has much to do with how everybody experiences Arizona. When people leave, they still leave tangible pieces behind: the pavement, the stores, the schools and other buildings. But are they taking away valuable human resources and human capital that is going to leave us poorer?"
The report looks at growth in general, traffic, schools, jobs, water supply, open spaces and climate change. Some key questions and choices:
● Depending on how the school system turns out, the Sun Corridor could turn into a powerhouse of global commerce or a string of warehouses along the interstates linking Mexico to Canada and product distribution centers for Southern California.
● The region faces environmental challenges, including questions about how its lower-density, sprawling suburbs can adapt to the presence of more households without children, more single-person households and more minority households.
● "The Sun Corridor is on a collision course with traffic congestion," the report said, and finding money for the needed public and private investments to make transportation work properly could take trillions of dollars.
● The report also cites the "tragedy of the sunshine," in which newcomers create a need for more pavement, roofing and concrete that make urban areas hotter on summer nights.
"If we don't get our act together, if we make this place hotter with the heat-island effect, if we don't get good jobs versus more service jobs, this area may lose its attractiveness," institute Director Rob Melnick said.
For years, California has had a net loss of migration due to crime, traffic, pollution and high home prices. Growth also has been slowing down at Colorado ski resorts because some mountainous areas literally have no place to grow, and many areas have had spiraling home prices, Melnick said.
"At some point, you can have too much of a good thing, and that is what we are trying to point out," Melnick said.
Another expert said he doesn't think the state's migration patterns will reverse as quickly as the Sun Corridor report predicts, although ASU economist Tom Rex said he has no doubt that it will happen someday. Rex, who is working on another study on population growth, said he doesn't expect that his report will predict such a phenomenon occurring even by 2040.
Still, "I think that the people in general and the developer types and everyone should realize that we do have to be watching out for the quality of life," Rex said.
David Taylor, a veteran Tucson planner, said he doesn't see growth patterns reversing in Arizona anytime soon. Even in Southern California, most of the net migration has occurred in coastal counties, while inland Riverside and San Bernardino counties are "growing like hell," said Taylor, of the Pima Association of Governments.
The Sun Corridor report makes a number of recommendations to improve the state, ranging from regional government to higher-density development in urban areas to improved open-space protection to better education, particularly in languages and the arts. Many of these topics have been discussed with little progress made since Melnick moved here in the early 1970s.
The stakes are higher today, he said.
"We are closer to running out of resources," he said. "We have an opportunity, but it gets harder to turn this ship around as we get bigger and more complex."
http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/237616
Possibility of dry thunderstorms tonight
Precipitation for tonight has been forecasted for the last few days but I doubt this county will get any of it. At the 5am news I learned that Flagstaff received some rain from the Baja front, but Tucson and Cochise County remained dry. "Dry thunderstorms" may happen though, the announcers said, which means also a higher danger of lightning-induced wildfires.
We haven't had ANY rain since I've been back in Arizona. Texas has gotten flooded, though, most recently Laredo but Texas is no longer close to my heart because my heart is in Arizona. The only person in Texas I care about is my friend Mark in Lubbock.
I checked the back patio thermometer and at 6:15am it read 58F and 36% humidity, the highest I remember seeing for a while. Skies are clear and the wind is picking up, although it's not as windy as it was yesterday when gusts of close to 40mph blew through and knocked the clothes off the clothesline.
This is actually perfect weather for gardening. I carried the last of the black bags of dried yard grass to the dumpster (trash pick-up is Tuesdays and Fridays here) and want to get the last of the Russian thistle pulled, the stuff more commonly known as Tumbleweed but that is one of Arizona's noxious weeds.
I must be the only resident in our neighborhood who actually pulls the young shoots from the yard, when the shoots are still pliable and resemble mini pinetrees coming out of the dirt. My backyard will never again resemble an overgrown, abandoned lot like it did last November, when I singlehandedly pulled every weed by hand from the yard. I filled close to 20 bags from the backyard, bags full of weeds and dried grasses that had grown to bodacious proportions in the two years I was away. Never again will weeds overtake my yard!
My ultimate plan is to get the more troublesome portion of the backyard solarized, using our thick tan tarp to heat up the weeds under the plastic, and to keep it on the yard until the monsoon season. Monsoons shouldn't be here until late June (although I'd welcome them sooner any day!) and that should be enough time to kill off most of the weeds and bad nematodes in the soil. Thistles, nightshades, spurge, purslane will overtake the yard if I don't somehow control that growth.
The rest of the garden is coming along. The pole peas are now coming up, catching up to the beans that always germinate faster than peas anyway. I hope I have the same luck with the spinach, cabbage, beets and onions I plan on sowing soon, although the summer heat may postpone that until August.
The dogs haven't been walked since Sunday's hike along Bear Creek and they follow my every move around the house. When I am inside they snooze in my presence, always facing me and in a semi-alert status just in case they hear me approach the front door with keys in hand. When I put on my shoes, then put on my hiking cap, then grab the keys and leash and camera they know they are going for a walk and get excited.
The dogs are happy, lucky dogs. They are both up-to-date on all their shots, from rabies and parvo to having tested last month negatively for heartworm. But now the news is reporting a parvo virus outbreak in the Tucson animal shelters, a virus that is highly contagious to dogs and that can be spread easily from dog bowls and bedding to a human's hand. The shelters have been euthenizing one dog a day in the last 60 days; one dog was recently found dead in its cage from the parvo virus. (Oddly enough there are no articles in today's SVHerald or AZ Daily Star about the recent parvo virus outbreak; I only heard that on KVOA)
Which means I shouldn't be letting the dogs lick my hand at the local shelter when I go visit the homeless dogs. I let the friendly critters lick my outstretched hand as I gently talk to them. I could be unwittingly be spreading the deadly virus to the same animals I want to protect.
As I toil the morning away in the garden I will also wonder how voters in Indiana and North Carolina will vote today in their state primaries. I expect Indiana to vote for Sen Clinton, as the state is mostly white and people there are "traditional" and "conservative" which to me often means "behind the moon" in social thinking. I can't imagine Hoosiers outside the Chicagoland area voting for Sen Obama, our first black presidential candidate.
Hoosiers are hard-working, friendly people, both the farmers and the steelmill workers but both tend to vote on issues that are related to them. Farmers want their subsidies and the steelmill workers want their unions. Although I always enjoy going back to Indiana, this tunnel vision of the world still bothers me, but I have learned to accept my former statesmen for what they are.
Indiana for so long as been an outcast state. Northwest Indiana ever since the Industrial Age has become the dumping ground for Chicago. Now, years later, Indiana has become a tax haven for Chicagoans who now move to Indiana to save on taxes. Chicagoans have become what Californians have become to Arizonans: rude but wealthy new neighbors who want to overtake the neighborhoods.
Well, enough on that. There is so much going on worldwide that I could waste more daylight musing over all that I think about as I toil in the garden. 2008 will be one "exciting" year, with a massive recession and possibly new wars lingering over the horizon.
Update 7 May: http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/237824.php
We haven't had ANY rain since I've been back in Arizona. Texas has gotten flooded, though, most recently Laredo but Texas is no longer close to my heart because my heart is in Arizona. The only person in Texas I care about is my friend Mark in Lubbock.
I checked the back patio thermometer and at 6:15am it read 58F and 36% humidity, the highest I remember seeing for a while. Skies are clear and the wind is picking up, although it's not as windy as it was yesterday when gusts of close to 40mph blew through and knocked the clothes off the clothesline.
This is actually perfect weather for gardening. I carried the last of the black bags of dried yard grass to the dumpster (trash pick-up is Tuesdays and Fridays here) and want to get the last of the Russian thistle pulled, the stuff more commonly known as Tumbleweed but that is one of Arizona's noxious weeds.
I must be the only resident in our neighborhood who actually pulls the young shoots from the yard, when the shoots are still pliable and resemble mini pinetrees coming out of the dirt. My backyard will never again resemble an overgrown, abandoned lot like it did last November, when I singlehandedly pulled every weed by hand from the yard. I filled close to 20 bags from the backyard, bags full of weeds and dried grasses that had grown to bodacious proportions in the two years I was away. Never again will weeds overtake my yard!
My ultimate plan is to get the more troublesome portion of the backyard solarized, using our thick tan tarp to heat up the weeds under the plastic, and to keep it on the yard until the monsoon season. Monsoons shouldn't be here until late June (although I'd welcome them sooner any day!) and that should be enough time to kill off most of the weeds and bad nematodes in the soil. Thistles, nightshades, spurge, purslane will overtake the yard if I don't somehow control that growth.
The rest of the garden is coming along. The pole peas are now coming up, catching up to the beans that always germinate faster than peas anyway. I hope I have the same luck with the spinach, cabbage, beets and onions I plan on sowing soon, although the summer heat may postpone that until August.
The dogs haven't been walked since Sunday's hike along Bear Creek and they follow my every move around the house. When I am inside they snooze in my presence, always facing me and in a semi-alert status just in case they hear me approach the front door with keys in hand. When I put on my shoes, then put on my hiking cap, then grab the keys and leash and camera they know they are going for a walk and get excited.
The dogs are happy, lucky dogs. They are both up-to-date on all their shots, from rabies and parvo to having tested last month negatively for heartworm. But now the news is reporting a parvo virus outbreak in the Tucson animal shelters, a virus that is highly contagious to dogs and that can be spread easily from dog bowls and bedding to a human's hand. The shelters have been euthenizing one dog a day in the last 60 days; one dog was recently found dead in its cage from the parvo virus. (Oddly enough there are no articles in today's SVHerald or AZ Daily Star about the recent parvo virus outbreak; I only heard that on KVOA)
Which means I shouldn't be letting the dogs lick my hand at the local shelter when I go visit the homeless dogs. I let the friendly critters lick my outstretched hand as I gently talk to them. I could be unwittingly be spreading the deadly virus to the same animals I want to protect.
As I toil the morning away in the garden I will also wonder how voters in Indiana and North Carolina will vote today in their state primaries. I expect Indiana to vote for Sen Clinton, as the state is mostly white and people there are "traditional" and "conservative" which to me often means "behind the moon" in social thinking. I can't imagine Hoosiers outside the Chicagoland area voting for Sen Obama, our first black presidential candidate.
Hoosiers are hard-working, friendly people, both the farmers and the steelmill workers but both tend to vote on issues that are related to them. Farmers want their subsidies and the steelmill workers want their unions. Although I always enjoy going back to Indiana, this tunnel vision of the world still bothers me, but I have learned to accept my former statesmen for what they are.
Indiana for so long as been an outcast state. Northwest Indiana ever since the Industrial Age has become the dumping ground for Chicago. Now, years later, Indiana has become a tax haven for Chicagoans who now move to Indiana to save on taxes. Chicagoans have become what Californians have become to Arizonans: rude but wealthy new neighbors who want to overtake the neighborhoods.
Well, enough on that. There is so much going on worldwide that I could waste more daylight musing over all that I think about as I toil in the garden. 2008 will be one "exciting" year, with a massive recession and possibly new wars lingering over the horizon.
Update 7 May: http://www.azstarnet.com/metro/237824.php
Monday, May 5, 2008
I think Reina is pregnant...
Reina is my eleven-year-old Sealpoint Siamese. She's the mother of Moquito, aka "Mo", the nine-year-old Siamese, who is also the son of Chico, my other eleven-year-old Siamese. When I lived in California and barely could pay the bills, I bred Chico and Reina and sold off the kittens. That feline prostitution helped me and the kids get by.
As soon as I had my Ford Ranger Pick-up paid off, I had Chico neutered. I left Reina intact. Since neither cat ever went outside then, it was no big deal to leave Reina unspayed, but now that we live in Arizona and have a house, the cats do go outside from time to time.
Reina didn't get pregnant for the eight years after Mo's birth.
The first year here Reina never went outside. She stayed indoors and hid in the bedroom, or slept on the couch and looked outside through the front windows. When I was in Iraq apparently she got used to going outside and even got pregnant once. She bore one black kitten that died a few days later.
She was in heat in early April and somehow managed to get outside for one night. I found her sleeping under the firethorn shrub that's just outside the front door, a plant that all three cats seem to enjoy napping under as it provides safety from roaming wildlife like coyotes.
This morning Reina kept insisting on sleeping on my lap. She's been very affectionate this past month and sleeps near my face most nights, sometimes to my annoyance.
I felt her belly today and noticed that her teats were swollen. If she is pregnant she is half way through her gestation as a cat's pregnancy lasts 62 days. She is not a very big cat but her belly seems larger than normal.
I'm not sure we need more cats around here, but Reina is a good mom and seems to enjoy being around kittens. She's always gotten along great with any kitten I've brought home since arriving in Arizona. Unfortunately all those kittens somehow have "disappeared" in the last few years, falling victim to coyotoes, owls, snakes and what not. I try to keep the cats inside but they still manage to dart outside when the back porch door is open for the dogs, when we open the garage or front door, or whatever. It's hurt me everytime to lose any of my cats, as they are just as special as my dogs.
Reina is rather old to still get pregnant and I was always afraid to get her spayed because she's such a fragile small cat. She's more skinny than she is fat, and is easily half the size of the much bigger boys she shares her foodbowl with.
How old are cats when they reach menopause?
I saw a rather large tomcat stroll through the front yard early last month. Could he be the father of Reina's kittens? I guess we will see. I told Kevin about the possibility that Reina could be pregnant and he, naturally, wasn't too pleased. (He's also the one who lets the cats outside most nights because he just assumes they'll be back in the morning.)
As soon as I had my Ford Ranger Pick-up paid off, I had Chico neutered. I left Reina intact. Since neither cat ever went outside then, it was no big deal to leave Reina unspayed, but now that we live in Arizona and have a house, the cats do go outside from time to time.
Reina didn't get pregnant for the eight years after Mo's birth.
The first year here Reina never went outside. She stayed indoors and hid in the bedroom, or slept on the couch and looked outside through the front windows. When I was in Iraq apparently she got used to going outside and even got pregnant once. She bore one black kitten that died a few days later.
She was in heat in early April and somehow managed to get outside for one night. I found her sleeping under the firethorn shrub that's just outside the front door, a plant that all three cats seem to enjoy napping under as it provides safety from roaming wildlife like coyotes.
This morning Reina kept insisting on sleeping on my lap. She's been very affectionate this past month and sleeps near my face most nights, sometimes to my annoyance.
I felt her belly today and noticed that her teats were swollen. If she is pregnant she is half way through her gestation as a cat's pregnancy lasts 62 days. She is not a very big cat but her belly seems larger than normal.
I'm not sure we need more cats around here, but Reina is a good mom and seems to enjoy being around kittens. She's always gotten along great with any kitten I've brought home since arriving in Arizona. Unfortunately all those kittens somehow have "disappeared" in the last few years, falling victim to coyotoes, owls, snakes and what not. I try to keep the cats inside but they still manage to dart outside when the back porch door is open for the dogs, when we open the garage or front door, or whatever. It's hurt me everytime to lose any of my cats, as they are just as special as my dogs.
Reina is rather old to still get pregnant and I was always afraid to get her spayed because she's such a fragile small cat. She's more skinny than she is fat, and is easily half the size of the much bigger boys she shares her foodbowl with.
How old are cats when they reach menopause?
I saw a rather large tomcat stroll through the front yard early last month. Could he be the father of Reina's kittens? I guess we will see. I told Kevin about the possibility that Reina could be pregnant and he, naturally, wasn't too pleased. (He's also the one who lets the cats outside most nights because he just assumes they'll be back in the morning.)
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Hiking Bear Creek
This is an unofficial trail south of Forest Road (FR) 61 and the Huachuca Mountains that runs north-south toward the US-MEX border. There is no Forest Service trail sign indicating the trail, nor any other signs. The well-trodden trails on both sides of the creek were made by the feet of illegal entrants coming from Mexico. There are many such well-trodden trails along FR61 made this way.
Several deep swimming holes are in this creek near the FR, and a popular party hang-out for locals on hot summer days. Today, however, there was no one at the swimming holes, and the only sign of human use were six Budweiser cans strewn recklessly along the creekbed.
Bear Creek is normally lush with running water, hugged by oaks and sycamores and meandering along a shallow canyon toward the south. Open-range cattle graze along the green banks of the creek. We have never hiked it to the border as a private ranch separates us from that, but the 90-minute hike there is a lovely hike and ideal for the dogs as there’s no one to bother along the way.
No one other than open-range cows that linger along the creek…. Kevin had to tie the dogs to a rope for a while to restrain them, or else Sara would have bolted toward the bovines that we finally caught up to toward the border.
A wildfire a month ago had ravaged several hundred acres of brush on the west side of Bear Creek. We passed old ash piles and darkened trunks of junipers and oaks along the way. http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/04/09/news/doc47fc5e4f93257796621761.txt
Bear Creek broadens out near the border, revealing volcanic rock in carved meanderings as tadpoles swim in the water.
“A waterpark for dogs!” I exclaimed as I jumped around the round-topped rocks, looking occassionally south toward Mexico.
A fence kept us from walking further south. Was this an unmarked section of the border or a private fence as we've seen at so many other border areas? There were no signs telling us otherwise, and it was so tempting to walk further along the creek that etched itself further south along a shallow gorge. Mexico is so tempting along this part of the international border, with the Sierra MAdres luring futher along the horizon.
Someday I will discover Sonora better.
We turned around here, climbing uphill and bushwacking back along a ridgeline with the Huachucas now directly in front of us. The creek seemed further west as we walked north, approaching the southern edge of the Huachucas.
I was depending on Sara to find the way back, but it turned out that we were over a mile EAST of Bear Creek the further north we hiked, crossing a USBP road and a windmill by a stockpond. This no longer looked familiar.
“The creek is further west!” said Kevin, and I didn’t want to believe him. But he was right in the end, but even he didn’t realize how far west we had to go.
We stopped for a water break at one dry creek, sitting on high ground while the dogs laid down in the shade. We heard several vehicles nearby , and we knew we were near FR61.
It turned out we were just a few feet from the road. It was passed 3pm now and we turned west on the road. Shortly thereafter a USBP van came toward us from the west, stopped and the agent behind the wheel asked us if we were OK.
“Was that your vehicle down there?” said the young man, referring to Kevin’s pick-up parked off the road near Bear Creek.
“Bear Creek is that way” he added, pointing westward. What we didn’t know was that we were 1.3 miles away! How did we manage to get that far off course? The fenceline near Bear Creek is deceiving; perhaps the border is further south along the creek than we thought.
Another USBP van came by later and stopped again, also asking us if that red pick-up was ours. Again we confirmed that it was. "You won't see much activity until after dark" said the agent. "They like to hike up Copper Canyon at night." Copper Canyon is a steep, rocky canyon close to Montezuma Peak, a 6570' peak with a panoramic view of the borderland.
Bear Creek is a pretty hike and I figured it would be about a four-mile hike. But when we got back to the truck at 3:20pm it felt more like close to six miles.
I picked up two small bags of trail trash, mostly plastic bottles but a few Budweiser cans that came from hunters and not illegals passing through. We passed a burlap potato bag that we left on the trail, a US #2 potato bag that was surely used to smuggle drugs into this country.
FR61 is a very scenic road that I will always enjoy going on. It ends in Nogales 40 miles west, passing alluvial plains and wide canyons along the way. It’s a little-explored area that I hope to go to more often. Mexico is just a stone's throw away on this road, and so enticing.
"This is such a pretty road, and no matter how many times we drive along this stretch, I have to photograph the views!" I told Kevin. I could just "feel" his response as he smiled.
Several deep swimming holes are in this creek near the FR, and a popular party hang-out for locals on hot summer days. Today, however, there was no one at the swimming holes, and the only sign of human use were six Budweiser cans strewn recklessly along the creekbed.
Bear Creek is normally lush with running water, hugged by oaks and sycamores and meandering along a shallow canyon toward the south. Open-range cattle graze along the green banks of the creek. We have never hiked it to the border as a private ranch separates us from that, but the 90-minute hike there is a lovely hike and ideal for the dogs as there’s no one to bother along the way.
No one other than open-range cows that linger along the creek…. Kevin had to tie the dogs to a rope for a while to restrain them, or else Sara would have bolted toward the bovines that we finally caught up to toward the border.
A wildfire a month ago had ravaged several hundred acres of brush on the west side of Bear Creek. We passed old ash piles and darkened trunks of junipers and oaks along the way. http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/04/09/news/doc47fc5e4f93257796621761.txt
Bear Creek broadens out near the border, revealing volcanic rock in carved meanderings as tadpoles swim in the water.
“A waterpark for dogs!” I exclaimed as I jumped around the round-topped rocks, looking occassionally south toward Mexico.
A fence kept us from walking further south. Was this an unmarked section of the border or a private fence as we've seen at so many other border areas? There were no signs telling us otherwise, and it was so tempting to walk further along the creek that etched itself further south along a shallow gorge. Mexico is so tempting along this part of the international border, with the Sierra MAdres luring futher along the horizon.
Someday I will discover Sonora better.
We turned around here, climbing uphill and bushwacking back along a ridgeline with the Huachucas now directly in front of us. The creek seemed further west as we walked north, approaching the southern edge of the Huachucas.
I was depending on Sara to find the way back, but it turned out that we were over a mile EAST of Bear Creek the further north we hiked, crossing a USBP road and a windmill by a stockpond. This no longer looked familiar.
“The creek is further west!” said Kevin, and I didn’t want to believe him. But he was right in the end, but even he didn’t realize how far west we had to go.
We stopped for a water break at one dry creek, sitting on high ground while the dogs laid down in the shade. We heard several vehicles nearby , and we knew we were near FR61.
It turned out we were just a few feet from the road. It was passed 3pm now and we turned west on the road. Shortly thereafter a USBP van came toward us from the west, stopped and the agent behind the wheel asked us if we were OK.
“Was that your vehicle down there?” said the young man, referring to Kevin’s pick-up parked off the road near Bear Creek.
“Bear Creek is that way” he added, pointing westward. What we didn’t know was that we were 1.3 miles away! How did we manage to get that far off course? The fenceline near Bear Creek is deceiving; perhaps the border is further south along the creek than we thought.
Another USBP van came by later and stopped again, also asking us if that red pick-up was ours. Again we confirmed that it was. "You won't see much activity until after dark" said the agent. "They like to hike up Copper Canyon at night." Copper Canyon is a steep, rocky canyon close to Montezuma Peak, a 6570' peak with a panoramic view of the borderland.
Bear Creek is a pretty hike and I figured it would be about a four-mile hike. But when we got back to the truck at 3:20pm it felt more like close to six miles.
I picked up two small bags of trail trash, mostly plastic bottles but a few Budweiser cans that came from hunters and not illegals passing through. We passed a burlap potato bag that we left on the trail, a US #2 potato bag that was surely used to smuggle drugs into this country.
FR61 is a very scenic road that I will always enjoy going on. It ends in Nogales 40 miles west, passing alluvial plains and wide canyons along the way. It’s a little-explored area that I hope to go to more often. Mexico is just a stone's throw away on this road, and so enticing.
"This is such a pretty road, and no matter how many times we drive along this stretch, I have to photograph the views!" I told Kevin. I could just "feel" his response as he smiled.
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