Clean Mountain Air

So the hotel (which I will describe more fully in days to come when I feel less bitter) was not full of clean mountain air. It was mildewy, masked with air freshener spray. The beds were uncomfortable, the room cramped. I hardly slept, because I was coughing more and more, and it was getting even harder to breathe.

Nevertheless, with the optimism of any eager traveler, I thought I would snap out of it and be fine any minute, and we continued on our itinerary to Sedona, land of artistes and red rock. Amazingly, on the beautiful two-lane winding road, when we dropped to 6000 feet, I gasped and drew air deeply into my lungs! Crap! It wasn't just the chemicals, I had altitude sickness as well!

How that happens is beyond me, unless it was just because my respiratory tract was compromised. I've been to the Grand Canyon area before and never had trouble. But oh, blessed road down the mountain! Suddenly the world seemed a lot better than it had.

Like a wonder of the ancient world, along the side of the road there appeared a nice little parking area beside the likes of which I have not seen since I was young and the mountains of Pennsylvania were cleaner: a spring, with water pouring in twin streams, drinking water fresh from the earth. I tasted it, and it was delicious. We filled up all our emptied water bottles avidly, trading comments about how good it was, and how amazing it was, with locals and tourists alike, for the spring had an unending stream of patrons.

For that alone I would have made the trip to Sedona, and I would love to visit Sedona again in the future. We drove, and walked, and snapped photos and soaked in the splendor.

After dinner at The Barking Frog, (an eclectic little restaurant with good service and tasty food), we returned to the top of the plateau at 7300 ft.

Again I coughed through much of the night. I can tough this out, I thought. It was Wednesday, and I only had to make it through Thursday night.

In the morning, we headed for the Grand Canyon. I had in mind walking the rim trail from the Visitor Center to Bright Angel Point, about 4.4 miles round trip. Easy.

Not.

Even though we took it slow, the exercise was wearing on me. I couldn't get more than about 50 - 75 feet before I had to sit and catch my breath. We got some good photos, and saw some incredibly beautiful vistas, but by afternoon, the only thing I cared about was my next breath.

I began getting a typical altitude-sickness headache, and was losing my sense of direction; crossing the parking lot to the car was an ordeal. I can make it one more day. Feeling the tightness as I breathed in ... No, I can't.

Hurrah for Expedia! When we hit our hotel room, I fired up my laptop and was able to book a room at a Holiday Inn Express in Kingman, Arizona. We loaded up and headed west. By 5000 feet, I could draw a breath again, and by 5pm, we were in our room, happy as birthday-party children about how CLEAN and luxurious the room was.

There are lots of photos, and lots of things to say, but they will have to wait. We made it there, we made it out. We took our grand-daughter to see things she had never seen before.

Maybe next road trip, we'll just stay along the coast.

Oh, the Sun Still Rises and Sets

We were sitting out on the back patio the other evening, and a sudden trick of the clouds and sun gave us a surprisingly reddish light. All the brickwork glowed, and the pool looked especially deep blue. This photo sort of captures what we saw, but not quite. Not red enough.

In only about three minutes, the light had changed; the sun was dipping behind the houses across the street.

You just have to savor the moments when they occur, because it's possible that oh-so-rich light may never return in this lifetime, and even if it seemed to be similar, the flowers -- that sweet mix of summer vinca, autumn mums, and winter color carnations and pansies -- would be different, the clouds would be different. And whether the beautiful time lasts three minutes, or thirteen years, all you can do is remember it with wonder and appreciation.

The radiant painting faded, back to normal. The sky dimmed to the usual lovely evening light of this season, and we sat out until the patio lights came on and scattered their pattern of shadows across the herringbone brickwork.

The weather service claims, in its long-range forecast, that in about a week or so, nighttime temperatures will be in the 40s, and that rain is possible. The beautiful light won't be there, but times of chill and rain have their purpose, and that's good, too. I have kohlrabi and lettuce and peas and chard and spinach and turnips and beets that all like the season of winter, so I will rejoice in what I have that lives and grows, and hold the memory of amazingly beautiful times in my heart.

Caught Up in a Whirlwind

Thousands upon thousands of fragments spiral around you, catching the light on their shiny-sides, contrasting with the deep blue sky with their golden harvest sides, sparkling, flying, sailing, dazzling, twenty feet wide, seventy feet high ...

We picked Lillian up at her rural charter school and for a change of habit, took Division D road to take us home. On the way, we saw a farmer on a big tractor tilling his field, which had recently held rows of corn. The chaff of his corn-cutting mixed with the dirt, and the breeze conspired with the  fragments to produce a dust-devil, dancing and swirling only about 50 feet away from the road. We stopped the car (there was no traffic behind us) and watched it glittering.

With amazement, we held our breaths as the dust-devil headed toward us, carrying the shreds of cornstalk leaves; with awe we looked around us and up through the Vibe's moon-roof to see the dust-devil move over the car in its mini-tornado, sparks of light and dark and tan weaving through the air above and around us. Within minutes, it had jumped a levee and went to play among the trees along the river.

In 59 years of life, I have never seen anything like that. Inside a dust-devil, who could have thought of such an event. O God, it was so beautiful, thank You for such a blessing.

Simple Things

We went to the Egg Place to buy eggs today.

Commercial producers of eggs for local markets, Den Dulk also has its own retail outlet a couple miles down the road. We buy our eggs there not only because they are inexpensive, but mostly because they are so fresh and taste sooooooooooo good.

Today, we found that the young hens are still producing a myriad of Medium Brown Organic eggs.

Hot dog, we say, that means we get five dozen eggs for $3 -- beats paying $3.69 or more at the store for Organic Brown Eggs.

When I picked up the flats of eggs, I had a look at them, and said to the cashier, "Wow, these are absolutely beautiful!"

She giggled nervously, and said in an offhand kind of way, "Yeah, uh ... simple pleasures, right?"

Obviously, she didn't think I was serious.

But I was. Look at these eggs. They are works of art. Technically they are all "Medium Brown Eggs" but what a difference in each of them! One such a dark brown; one so light with a dark cloud sketched upon it. Speckles, freckles, on the others, darker, lighter, in a cap-like pattern ...

I really meant it. They are beautiful.