Saturday, June 20, 2009

Crying Wolf (berries)




Yesterday our neighbor called and told us the wolf berries were ripe. As new denizens of the desert, my husband and I were both clueless about this announcement. I was thinking that a wolf berry was an exotic cousin to the much hyped and sought after goji berry or a cousin to a mangosteen of Noni juice fame or perhaps it was the exotic wonder that my brother bought at Whole Paycheck err Food. Regardless I was sure it was something I too should be excited about.
Immediately I got on line and discovered that indeed this was a wonder plant from the nightshade family resembling tiny tomatoes. It was rumored to cure almost anything, very expensive to purchase and most people ordered it from some place far away like China or Sedona.

Even after looking at the leaves and the berry/fruit/globule pictures on the internet, I wasnt sure if it grew on the ground or high in the tree. Hoping it would be hanging aloft since it is rattlesnake season I opted for the wolfberry quest on horseback.

I gathered up empty plastic cartons to laden with berries, bottles of water as I was sure it would take awhile for me to find this holy grail of flora and a camera so I could take a picture of Smoke my horse and I proudly retrieving nature's bounty. I quickly saddled Smoke up with extra cantle pack and saddle bags to hold all the goodies and we took off despite the darkening sky.

When I heard thunder I didnt even consider turning around -our all knowing neighbor Raven said if I didnt get them soon- the birds would have them. I thought about how much the dried berries sold for on the internet and urged Smoke to keep going.

It started to rain. I hadn't included a jacket in this excursion-this is the Sonoran desert and early June. My head gear was enough to keep the rain off me. Of course my first hint of doom was when my large brimmed hat had blown off as I cantered down the drive. I had been to lazy to pick it up, convincing myself I really didnt need it and could use some tan on my face.

As the drops trickled down my face, I started searching the vegetation with blurry vision. All I could find were striped lizards scurrying among the rocks from the hoof beats or the rain. I saw nothing red.

When we had traveled three miles from home, I started to wonder just what I would do with these berries. Would they really give me more energy? Could you eat them on ice cream? Could I can them and present them as gifts at Christmas. Perhaps I could dry them and use it as tea? This would be a wonderful story to tell my Midwestern family and friends. However,
I was beginning to wonder if I was looking on the right trail?

I called Raven and asked again where he had seen the elusive plant. He repeated where they were and I repeated back to him that is where I had been. There was no sign of any wolf or berry along the deserted roadside-no birds feasting on anything and the only foliage was mesquite and a few pricklypears that werent yet bearing fruit.

Perhaps I had missed them in the rain. I turned around, Smoke quickened his pace. The rain came down faster. But still I kept looking . I must admit i was losing my fascination with the wolfberry. I had plenty of vitamins. My Christmas shopping were done. I already had plenty of stories about Gila monsters and rattlesnakes to entertain family and friends from afar. I just wanted to get home. I would be altruistic-the birds, deer and javelina needed this desert delight far more than I did.
However this afternoon adventure was not without treasure. I didn't find the wolfberry, but the sun came thru the rain and the gleaming rainbow appeared with the tail disappearing behind the hill where my house and husband were waiting. I took out my camera; the rain dissipated, I took the shot, and I went home with empty cartons , but a great picture and memories of a rainy day in a dry desert. But I am beginning to think Raven was just crying WOLF "berries".

Thursday, May 28, 2009

On friends and family!!


Friends are the family we choose. A loyal friend is worth a thousand relatives. These sayings are hanging from my kitchen wall in ceramic tile, the other in bedroom hand lettered on wood. I think about them often and find great comfort from the truth that is painted on those signs.
I am blessed with an abundance of fabulous friends. In fact I often wonder why I am so lucky when it comes to friends, but family is a different story.
As an only child for almost seven years, I cannot recall any childhood friends only family. Usually kids have lots of buddies,but my friends were classmates in Sunday school or a member of my small now extinct school. I remember two friends growing up from first grade to twelth-one was my beautiful exotic cousin Nancy who lived part-time in Florida , another a neighbor on a nearby farm, Ruth Ann , another tomboy who wasnt allowed to wear jeans who rode bicycles with me for miles on the gravel roads surrounding the fileds of corn. Lving on a farm, kids were separated by both miles and lineage and , play dates were a rare treat. Mostof the time it was me and the dog-at least that is the memories of yesterday that are with me today.

The story of true friends begins at Illinois college in Jacksonville in August of 1972. Instantly I had dorm friends, college pals, enough dates to be considered popular. There was always someone to borrow books from ( I usually spent my book money on beer not required text), another to borrow a new dress for the dance, or Jean my roomate (now living in Frisco, Co who just made her 3rd visit to spa with me Arizona -who would lend me her super wide bell bottomed Levis ;38 years later we are still sharing clothes . Those are friendships to endure. In fact I felt like I had so many friends I changed roommates every year always wanting to live on a different floor with a different friend expanding my network.
After college was a return to my hometown to teach for a year- I only remember too many margaritas, too many lonely nights with Monty Python and Mary Hartman. I ventured to graduate school -I immerssed myself in my classes and substitute teaching to pay for my .20 cents a carton of mac and cheese, or 10 for a dollar ramen noodles. I lived so much in the darkroom in the photography wing-I became allergic to chemicals. There were no friends; there was no family. It was a dark and stormy night that lasted from teaching high school to Sangamon state thru teaching at Danville Junior College. This three year vacumn of friends ended when my brother and I went to the University of Illinois together. He was a freshman and I was both teaching and studying in Shampoo-Banana.

When I went to graduate school for the second time in the fall of 1979 I found myself once again swamped with people to do things with ...walking dogs, hitting Murphy's the grad bar or Garcia's for a slice of pizza, riding bicycles into the country, walking around Allerton, taking up golf to meeet men or occasionally even studying for exams. It was a wonderful time to sit in a darkened theater and watch foreign films; it was a time to protest the treatment of the Iranians on campus by the FBI, and there was always time it on the shady porch on Green street with my housemates and lament and wonder about our lives.

In 1984, I moved to Williamsport, Pennsylvania. I was released the summer of 1991. This was my time without friends. I was a college professor in a land of people all over thrityand I was 29, aquaintances who were right wing Rush Limbaugh lovers who went to the local Holiday Inn to hear lounge lizards sing songs from the fifties. My true friends were the neighborhood cheese steak shop with extra onions and peppers please and my canine companions, who were too furry to be allowed to accompany me to any of the wonderful Italian dining establishments where I also met my friends Ravioli, Pizza and Eggplant Parmigiana.
I had two colleagues who were kind and caring,but were busy with their own careers and pursuits. It was a time when a few wonderful studentswere my family and with whom I share many memories of laughter both in and out of the classroom. However there were no real compatriots who were able to share my life, my loves, my interests.

I found my true friend mecca in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Everyone I met was on my page. We were all reading the same book, wanting the outdoor life, the green path, the explore nature-how many days did you ski, backpack and hike this year life. Everyone had 2.4 dogs and took them everywhere with them. I was home. Even tho I was a thousand miles away from where I was raised. These people shared my story. This was a community of 6,000 comrades.
When my mom disappointed me by not showing up to my first wedding,but I had four friends who traveled two thousand miles to be there(Jeanette and Darla from Pennsylvania and Karen and Tim from North Carolina) . Madeleine made my wedding dress and luminaria, and helped clean out my closet and we had only known each other for a year. These friendships have had the occasional lapse but I know I can call or tap the keyboards and they are still with me. My father' cousins and their children and my aunts and cousins came across four states to see me married for the first time at age 38.
When my brother and his family didn't bother to make it to my second wedding 15 years later, I had even more friends who showed up , who cleaned my house, arranged chairs, and read from the Bible for the wedding. My cousin Bernadette married us. My Swartz cousins, once again made the trek and I had both friends and family.

I now live with the best friend I have ever had in my life (well that is not counting canines of course). When we met , he promised me he would be my best friend-I didn't believe him but he has proven true. John and I do not live in Steamboat anymore, but I have discovered I still have a family of friends even here in the wild west of Arizona..

My pal from Illinois College days has moved here to teach in Bowie. One of my bestest buddy's and her hubby from Steamboat are moving to Arizona in July and bought twenty acres just a short horse or bike ride away. Another Colorado pal is splitting her time between Colorado and Tucson and we are able to sip martinis and munch sushi and hit resale shops as frequently as I can afford. My cousin Bernadette, her husband Paul and son Bob share their Christmas dinner with John and I each year. It is a family tradition and we dine off our grandmother's state plates. Friends and family meld and in a good way.

Even within this sparsely populated Cochise County I have managed to make new friends, Dusti and Tony who live across the sage and cactus and who were professors in Montana, Tim and Therese, Midwesterners at heart who are our social directors for all of Dos Cabezas parties, Kas who helps me with my U of A job, and Diana who shares my love of horses. Our neighbor Raven who gives injections to my horse, helps John with building and shares storie sof the Salados, and Mogollons and other peoples of the past.

There are others too who have re-entered my life via Facebook and email including extended Swartz family -long neglected by distance and time but now re-connecting for this chapter of my life.
My husband has called me a maven in people interactions; others have suggested I am starting my own hippy enclave here in the high desert foothills. Margret Mead the famed anthropologists has said No matter how many communes anybody invents, the family always creeps back.
And that is okay too.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Unexpected delights in the desert...



Life as a retiree in rural Arizona has a plethora of unexpected perks:


~Rainy days and Mondays never gets me down.

~Fuchsia cholla blossoms

~Gila monster sightings; these are exquisite creatures...salmon or pale yellow beading on black velvet...just don't let them chew on your toe.

~ Incredible lightening shows during the monsoons.

~Javelina parents parading with their young down the driveway.

~Free tomatoes from Eurofresh-almost every week.

~Ringtail cats playing on the bedroom balcony.

~Birds of paradise flowering by the thousands in our wash.

~Roadrunners running...

~Basha's Food City in Willcox, limes only 50cents a pound for my Coronitas...

~Prickly pears' lemon yellow blooms, followed by magenta fruit being made into prickly pear sorbet and syrup...

~The mail lady calls me when I have an important package arriving-great service!

~Neighbors who give my horse its needed injections, coz I am too squeamish.

~A patient and well mannered farrier who gives me much needed advice on my equines, when my veterinarian is out of town.

~The poem DHARMA by poet Billy Collins tucked in a Christmas card by my vet. ( Dharma is my always charming much too psychic Australian shepherd).

~St. David's monastery tucked away under gigantic cottonwoods.

~Pumpkin tamales sold at the grocery store at Christmas time.

~The smell of fresh roasted chiles anytime.

~Hiking Muleshoe canyon and discovering a troop of coatis scrambling up the side of a hill. They are sooooo cute.

~A picnic at 9,000 feet in the Chiricahua National Monument

~Sitting outside for Friday night dinner at Coronado Vineyards with live music by Whiskey Girl and Nowhere Man.

~Fort Bowie Historic Site .

~Wine tasting at Crop Circle .

~Rooftop campouts during the Perseid Meteor shower

~UFO sightings while sipping dirty martinis with old friends.(this seems to always happen-do aliens like vodka or what ?)

~Dawn breaking on Cochise Stronghold.

~Going to a dinner party with new friends in Dos Cabezas

~Old friends deciding to move here too-just a few more and we can have a commune!

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Laments of neophyte desert dweller



I knew there would be regrets when I moved to rural life in Arizona, but I am still having a hard time adjusting.....

*Not having a rhubarb plant…I miss homemade rhubarb custard pie in the spring…

*Ditto - fresh picked asparagus


  • A daily paper delivered to my door


  • The regrettable exercise of driving my car 100 miles to get sushi


  • Should have invested in Johnson and Johnson-I have never seen so much dust.


  • Scarcity of animal assistance groups in rural area-I guess it is the Old West-people out here forget animalss are human!!!


  • Mojaves and diamondbacks-Snakes not on a plane…..but should be and get the hell off my property....


  • Scorpions and brown recluse- ok I must admit I almost ever see these guys-but I know they are out there...


  • Speeding ticket on 191 near Safford-so if everyone gets fined there-why didn't anyone tell me?


  • Sneaky emissions from power plants-you wouldn't know unless you get up early


  • Tarantula hawks …the name is scary enough-get the idea


  • No holly jolly feelings in December-


  • Hunter harassment laws-don’t get me started on this one-$300 for defending our property


  • Fish and game -no more Macho-B…Ken Salazar come and kick these assholes butts-


  • …available signs-adopt a highway please


  • Temperatures over 94 degrees…really it is a dry heat until it hits 95. Then it is too damn hot!


  • Long lines at Safeway Pharmacy……Walgreens? CVS? -you could make a fortune here.


  • Dairy Queen addiction……having lived 20 years without a DQ I am making up for lost time…chocolate truffle Blizzard anyone?


  • Antiquated meeting formalities which waste time…uh excuse me…what is the point of this protocol?


  • Abandoned dogs in Bowie-please contact Best Friend Animal Shelter Kanab, Utah..maybe they can do something, or if you have any extra money..it goes for abandoned ad abused animals all over.


  • Bees, honeybees, yellow jackets, bumble..killer…You can hear them humming the theme from the Godfather as they pass overhead


  • Cows on the road-it’s a Bar-B-Q- tonight….I’ll bring the beef…


  • Canyon wrens disguising themselves as chattering monkeys in the early a.m.

    fights over shady parking spots

  • burning trash in barrels-uh are you reading this John?
  • Mail delivery four miles away

  • Here comes the monsoons, there goes the road!!!

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I want a gun!!



I want a gun! Not an Uzi or Luger or anything automatic..but a colt 45 with a mother of pearl handle. I see myself as a modern day Annie Oakley, a pistol in one holster; my Blackberry waiting in the other.

Almost every week I see an ad extolling the virtues for women to sign up for a concealed weapons class. And almost every week I think "hmm maybe I should sign up" and I picture myself on my horse with my gun hidden in a saddlebag waiting for that moment when I defend myself from a rabid bobcat, or fierce pack of coyotes, or a herd of rattlesnakes refusing to move, not allowing my horse to tiptoe around them..

For a brief time I almost had my husband convinced. I told him of all the women I knew in Cochise County who carried guns. Finally one weekend he loaded his 22 and we shot at cans and bottles. I didn't do too bad, if I am ever threatened by a diet Coke can or a Coors Light bottle, there is a good chance I will win the fight .Encouraged by my sharpshooting skill, the next day I took his Beretta and shot up our NO TRESPASSING signs. I scared the horses with the loud blasts and had to wear apple treats to get them to come near me for the next week.

The following weekend I dragged my reluctant better half to three pawn shots in Tucson and perused their weapons. None of them had pearl laden pistols. When I got home I called my brother in Wisconsin remembering he had inherited a lady like pistol-maybe I could convince him it should be mine.

On the phone I reminded my brother I had take riflery class in college. He reminded me I supported the Brady Bill. I reminded him I had joined the NRA when I was 18. He reminded me I was thrown out of an animal rights group for being so militant. I told him I needed the gun to protect myself from rattlesnakes and rabid coyotes. He relented and said he would send me just what I needed.

I thought about our conversation. There was some kind of cognitive dissonance going on with me. My brother was right I was opposed to guns. I had a bumper sticker on my car saying "Support Our Right to Arm Bears". When I was still teaching college I always lectured to my cross cultural communications classes against guns, revealing the research that more murders occur in Washington D.C. yearly than in all European nations combined where guns are banned.

But now I live where Mohave rattlesnakes creep inches away from my Tevas when I walk ito the house, where a gang of coyotes lounging between our front door and our gate, took a chunk out of my brave dog on Thanksgiving day. I ride my horse alone following a sandy wash and am three hours from the nearest point of civilization. I am in the Old West-I need a gun.

I prematurely put "Janie's got a gun" on my Blackberry's ring tone. My old friends freak out when they leave a message, obviously I have been in the Arizona sun too long. Where is their bleeding heart liberal non-gun toting pal? I call my brother again wondering where my weapon of choice is. My brother says the package has been sent. My husband is starting to worry-a scatterbrained wife and bullets will not mix well. I do have a tendency to scream, then run wildly in circles stuttering when I see any kind of snake. My patient spouse is fretting I will shoot one of the cats, or dogs, or hot tub, or him while stumbling around getting my up up my courage to aim at the evil venomous rattling shaking snake .

At last a package arrived with the appropriate return address from Cheeseland. My brother had came through. I ripped into the brown paper wrapping, and withdrew the weapon my brother had sent.

It was a Walmart slingshot.

I sent it back postage due.

Do they have a gun section on Craigslist?

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Hay 17 dollars a bale, farrier 90 bucks a visit, riding your own horse in the desert-Priceless.


When I retired to Arizona, trading my career, my friends and my home in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado for my life in Arizona-I had one condition for moving to the desert of the Sulphur Springs Valley-my own horse .

I was brainwashed by Misty of Chincoteague in print. I was glued to the TV by shows like Fury and My Friend Flicka. So infatuated by these four legged creatures that people rode in the west I talked of nothing else. Surprisingly it was the Easter Bunny that heard my pleas and in 1961 when I was 6years old that generous old rabbit brought me my own Shetland pony and saddle. I think I might have stayed in the saddle for about 3 minutes. I was terrified. I don't remember the equine's name-I only remember being so very ashamed that I was so afraid of a small fuzzy pony. The fate of my first pony is also lost in the reality and fantasy that muddles in our mind when we grow older.

In high school, I rode my friends' horses any chance I had. I was braver or maybe just more foolhardy in the Age of Aquarius. . By graduate school in the 80's.I enrolled in some class offered by the University of Illinois and drove somewhere outside Urbana twice a week to officially learn to ride. In the mid 80's I was driving 25miles once a week with 3 other friends in our 30's to ride at a stable in Milton, Pennsylvania when I wasn't teaching college classes in Williamsport.

By the time I moved to Steamboat Springs, Colorado in 1991 -I had lost my cowboy boots, but not my passion for horses. Sam, my next door neighbor had two horses and I was soon in the saddle again! It was like Christmas anytime she would ask me to ride. We rode Sarvis Creek trail , crossing the water carefully -each hoof gingerly being put in the water by Maverick and I was on his back praying that he wouldn't slip. We rode along Copper Ridge at sunset and became so emerged in our ride that we hadn't noticed the sun setting. We took a short cut back-no time for timid wading thru the stream. It was hold on and just shut my eyes..Maverick decided to jump it. I held on and felt like I was the wind. I was 45 years old and still wanted my own horse

When we moved to Arizona, I bought Horses for Dummies and almost every book related to horses and their care on Amazon.com. I read the Tucson Star ad the local Strange uh.. Range News for horse classifieds. I went on line every day looking for my horse...one that was gentle, , smart and wanted me for an owner. My price limit was $2000. I found Smoke on the Internet at Christmas, thought about him until January and when he finally arrived on our 40 acres it was almost February. My husband thought I was crazy and the horse crazier.

Smoke growled at me when I went to pet him; ran in circles bucking in the air, and wouldn't whoa when one of my horse savvy neighbors volunteered to ride him first. I was horrified I had spent $500 on a saddle and tack , 2500 dollars for a trailer (that I still haven't used) ,and I paid the farrier $85 dollars for my equine's shoes and a pedicure. All for a horse that I was afraid of...I was 53 and knew my bones would be slow to heal if I was bucked off, but I was channeling those fears of my 6year old self.

It took me 8 days to get up the courage to get on this underweight Appaloosa that had been salvaged from a drug auction. Armed with apple oat treats I approached my horse talking horse baby talk . I started brushing his back, blowing my breath into his velvet nose, relying on my readings from Parelli and Cameron. I remembered the bond between the Lone Ranger and Silver, Roy Rogers and Trigger, Rex Allen and Koko. Finally I brought out my Troxell helmet, instead of a cowboy hat, a handful of molasses grain,not silver spurs and with bridle and saddle waiting on the corral, I talked to the Appaloosa that was finally mine. I am not sure what transpired but soon I was on my horse's back, singing Happy Trails at the top of my lungs . We have been best friends ever since.

If I forget to tighten the saddle Smoke will refuse to trot until I discover it. When the dogs decide to jump underneath him..he shakes his head at them; smiles knowingly at me. He lets Skippy the alpaca give him a kiss while we are leaving for a ride, and knows to stop when he hears the sizzle of a rattlesnake. Somehow he makes me turn around when a storm is going to approach in an hour and we always make it home before it rains.

So even though hay has gone to $17 a bale, a vet visit is more than I make in a week working for the U of A., riding my own horse into the desert sunset is priceless. I am finally living my childhood dreams.

Desert Journey


An appaloosa of a thousand desert journeys
carries a breathless me.
Through the tracks of quail, and doves we search
of signs before...


Homesteaders, Cochise, Coronado,

legends of lost treasures,
lure me with thoughts of lore.


My husband, even sometime hears, the ghost of Rex
sing in a voice forlorn.

The magenta hue beckons,
a prickly pear explodes.
A Calliope and Rufus
become vibrant in their quarrel.
The loser lights upon the century plant
and I continue to explore...

Down the sandy wash we travel,
my faithful partner and I
looking for chunks of f gold
washed from a Dos Cabezas mine.

My horses’ ears flicker
and I look up towards the sky,
the rush of circling sandhill cranes
whirling on a downdraft to find
crops of corn calling,
and Playa shrimp already brined.

A mesquite maze beckons
with promise of more wings
but dusk is deepening over the Dragoons.
The sunset starts to wane.

Reluctantly I turn my reins ,
but not before I see the raptor
roosting in the walnut tree.

I have not had the wilderness sojourns
of my dedicated horse.
I thrill at the sudden splash

of a crimson tail
hidden with a mouse
not so mighty in the brush.

We tiptoe by the smell of musk
we hear the muffled grunt
of javelina jostling
and selecting which cacti to munch.

We hear the wings of a night hawk
then a great owl hoots goodbye

My horse and I turn toward home
no gold of Coronado,
or Apache arrowheads found
but I have been enthralled
with all the valley’s sounds.


I too have found treasures
not perhaps in Wall street’s worth
but of four leggeds , flying feathers,
and simple pleasures of the earth.

Followers