My Old Stompin' Ground

Casa Grande, Arizona, was the site of my first "adult" job at the brand new replacement public library.  On my way from Tucson to Chandler for a visit with Deb, I took the back road so I could see what CG looks like these days.  It's practically a suburb of Phoenix, complete with every big box store you could never want.  But....

"My" library has been turned into the senior citizens building, while the old city hall is now the library.  Not very inviting. Henry, my old boss, would be horrified.

BUT, my favorite eatery is still just around the corner, the only difference being the drive-thru.  I did my usual walk up, and was elated that the food is still mouth wateringly scrumptious. 

Desert as Yard or Yard as Desert?

Tucson is in the forefront of xeriscaping, a wonderful, if retro by several thousand years, concept.  Shirley, however, has always xeriscaped, and I love its zen calm. Plants around the base of the house add a bit of color, without being gaudy, and more native vegetation blends the property into its desert habitat.

Recently planted, and not native, I take some pride in keeping this bougainvillea thriving in Shirley's absence. (OK, I do see the misplaced modifier, but I'm retired, so what the hell.)

A prickly, and colorful in springtime, welcome to visitors

Barrel...doh.

Prickly pear....beautiful blossom but ouch!

Variety of hedgehog -- the herbivore version

Ocotillio in the spring, before blooming.  Indigenous.  Used for fencing around patios and for animal enclosures.

As with oaks and maples, spring brings green leaves to the ocotillo in Shirley's yard.

Quite the ouchee, if you fall into it.

An agave, perhaps the source of tequila....

Even in the desert, life springs up.  These two little cacti volunteered between the water hose and the house.  I repositioned the hose nozzle for scale.

And yes, green, green, green, even in the desert -- staunch ironwood

Departed -- to the judgment

Departed to the judgment,
A mighty afternoon ;
Great clouds like ushers leaning,
Creation looking on.

The flesh surrendered, cancelled,
The bodiless begun ;
Two worlds, like audiences, disperse
And leave the soul alone.

Emily Dickinson

Tubac was the first European settlement in Arizona, founded in 1752.  Today, it is both a state park and an artists' colony. I began with a visit to a cemetery which both mirrors and reflects the older culture and peoples.

Homage to the University of Arizona, along with a contemporary headstone, and the color of Hispanic culture.

The Virgin, safe from storms, providing her protection and love...

This hand-crafted crucifix is intended to lay horizontal with the earth, rather than rise to the heavens.

From her austere northern room, I wonder what Emily Dickinson would have thought of this brilliant color.

A canopy to protect Jesus who offers solace

Not all is colorful

Nor always marked with other than local stones, placed by non-professional hands....

A small mausoleum

Carefully whitewashed, with a heavy door....

Note the date, and the remnants of the hand-carved crucifix.

Over fourscore years

Marked only by nature

Horses

Even here, a chain link fence encloses...or excludes....

Was it a sad Christmas?

Or a loving celebration of a life that has Departed --

My Tucson Home

I experienced a quiet sense of home-coming when I arrived at Shirley's house.  Many years ago, I'd been nanny to her two young kidlets, the newborn Tanya and 19 month old Juliana.

OK, I couldn't resist that deluding intro.  Shirley has this wonderful collection of masks, and agreed to let me post these photos.  These masks are in no way a reflection of her kidlets, whom I diapered and fed and loved those many years past.  And just for the record, I still do love them, dearly.

Just around the corner from the masks....Every wall is a visual treat.

ARIZONA!!!

I did NOT take these photos while driving.  I stopped...on the interstate....  But there wasn't much traffic.  And I'm closing in on my destination....TUCSON!!!!

Don't think I was driving 75.  I pretty much maxed out at 70.

Even though I was a slowpoke, those 248 miles just rolled by, and soon, enough, I was at the bottom of the state known for "The Big Hole in the Ground." 

 

A Nail, not a golf tee

No, it isn't a weird golf tee.  It's a handmade nail.

Sorry I don't have a better photo, but just think of this as "art."

The New Mexico Farm and Heritage Museum in Las Cruces looked like an interesting place and the day was sufficiently cool that I could incarcerate the canines in the car while I ambled through this indoor/outdoor museum. 

I like living history, perhaps as a residual memory of going to Williamsburg as a kidlet and seeing glassblowers and horse shoers.  This codger was making nails, mostly in a traditional fashion, though with the aid of modern tubing running to his fire pit.

Here he's cutting off a piece of hot metal, the length of the four-sided nail he'll be crafting.

Nail head.

Finished product.

 

 

I've given much thought to this simple nail, which took him about 5 minutes to make, though part of that time was talking with me and holding up his work for me to photograph.  I go to a big box store where I'm forced to buy a bag of 50 nails, or an assortment of 10 types of nails, when all I really want is two.  If I were forced to make my own nails -- or buy them from the person making them -- I would use the carefully, rather than wantonly, as I'm apt to do.  Don't get me wrong.  I don't wish to return to the days of handmade nails, but I do with we could learn the lesson of carefully shepherding our resources a bit better.