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Our interest in the Santa Fe Trail was piqued by our stay in the “City Different” so as we headed out of New Mexico on I-25 we decided to stop at two related sites along the way. Our first stop was just twenty-five miles east of Santa Fe at Pecos National Historical Park while our second stop was at Fort Union National Monument. Their locations along the Santa Fe Trail, which followed old Native American paths, means that their histories are intertwined.

The stories share a common thread, that of the exchange of goods and ideas. We’ll start first with the story that had the longest timeline, that of the people who built Pecos Pueblo. They had first moved into the Pecos River Valley around 800 AD, living in small, scattered villages. Sometime in the late 1300s the residents of the area joined together and began building a large five-story pueblo on a mesilla. It soon became the largest pueblo of the time with well over 2,000 residents and a fighting force of 500 warriors.

The key to the success of Pecos was, as they say in real estate, location, location, location. The pueblo was just east of Glorieta Pass, a break in the Sangre de Cristo mountains. To the west were the rest of the Puebloan people and the agriculturally rich Rio Grande Valley while to the east roamed the tribes of the Great Plains. Both groups had resources of great value to offer each other and Pecos Pueblo with its strategic location controlled the trade.

Much of the pueblo’s story from the mid-1500s on is well-known for not only did the Spanish explorers and other passersby write about the city but there were extensive archaeological excavations and (this last part just blows my mind) there are still living descendants from Pecos Pueblo. The last residents of Pecos did not leave until 1838!

When the thermometer reached 107 degrees we knew it was high time for us to hit the road. Don’t get me wrong, we love Tucson, but sometimes enough is enough. The funny twist to the high temps is that they are usually required in order to bring the conditions that typify our monsoon season. According to the National Weather Service the North American Monsoon, a season of high temps, high humidity and often violent rain storms, starts in mid-June and runs through September.

That may be the official time period but many people in the Southwest anxiously watch another indicator, the dew point. If the dew point is 55 degrees or higher for three consecutive days, the potential for actual precipitation increases greatly. Though it is still not a guarantee that southern Arizona will get thunderstorms or much needed rain. Considering that the monsoon season usually delivers half of our annual rainfall you can see why it is eagerly anticipated. Last year’s monsoon season was pitiful and everyone is hoping that this year’s will be much better.

I am always game to try something new to eat. Though I do not call myself a foodie, I know there is a term for people like me. The trouble is I cannot remember if I am a gourmand, gourmet, or something else.

First, let’s define the popular term foodie.

A person that spends a keen amount of attention and energy on knowing the ingredients of food, the proper preparation of food, and finds great enjoyment in top-notch ingredients and exemplary preparation. A foodie is not necessarily a food snob, only enjoying delicacies and/or food items difficult to obtain and/or expensive foods; though, that is a variety of foodie. —Urban Dictionary

Hmm. Enjoy food, yes. Only difficult and expensive food? No way. Often the most delicious foods are the simplest. Now let’s see what the legendary William Safire says on the matter.

In the lexicon of lip-smacking, an epicure is fastidious in his choice and enjoyment of food, just a soupçon more expert than a gastronome; a gourmet is a connoisseur of the exotic, taste buds attuned to the calibrations of deliciousness, who savors the masterly techniques of great chefs; a gourmand is a hearty bon vivant who enjoys food without truffles and flourishes; a glutton overindulges greedily, the word rooted in the Latin for ‘one who devours’. (Source)

Definitely feeling like a gourmand at this point. Great food without a flourish is my style.

… After eating, an epicure gives a thin smile of satisfaction; a gastronome, burping into his napkin, praises the food in a magazine; a gourmet, repressing his burp, criticizes the food in the same magazine; a gourmand belches happily and tells everybody where he ate; a glutton embraces the white porcelain altar, or, more plainly, he barfs. (Source)

I am indeed a gourmand. Thank you, Mr. Safire.

The funny thing is when I think back over the past few months my thoughts are filled with our house: toiling in the yard, working on the house, painting, minor repairs and trip after trip to the home improvement stores. Yet when I flip through the pictures I realize that isn’t the complete story. Looking back through the photographs it becomes clear that April, May, and June were filled with travels, family, and friends.

I kicked off April from afar—I was fortunate enough to spend Spring Break back in Ohio with family. It was my opportunity to get back there to meet the newest member of the clan, young Harper. What a wonderful trip—the weather was warm and sunny (Mother Nature’s joke on me, since I did not pack any shorts) and it was splendid to see everyone. I was even roped into helping out the Easter Bunny—who was running late that morning—and had a smashing time hiding the colorful treasures all over my cousin’s yard. Might even be safe to say I had more fun than the seekers. Though I might not be rehired for that gig since the first egg was found by the dog!

I returned to Tucson and hopped back into work and house projects. As part of our anniversary celebration, Lance and I took a break from chores and zipped down to birdy Madera Canyon for a relaxing day outside in the gorgeous Spring weather. Mount Wrightson, the tallest peak in the Santa Rita Mountains (and the Tucson-area), still sporting some snow, was a pleasant sight as we wandered along the flowing creek looking for birds in the canyon’s tall trees.

Out here in the Sonoran Desert, the land of five seasons, Spring is a short event running from February through April. Usually our Spring features a gentle warming trend that signals the end of our admittedly short and mild Winter. This year was a bit different as we experienced multiple rapid temperature swings over the past few months. There were several times when one night’s low temperature surpassed the next day’s high! Not really sure if it was at all related to the El Niño currents in the Pacific Ocean though I do believe we owe our extra rainfall to the phenomenon.

The crazy weather may have kept us guessing but it certainly did not slow us down. February was a month filled with visitors. We have many reasons to love Spring in Tucson but one of our favorites is that Tucson hosts the Gem and Mineral Show every February which brings our good friend Brendan to town. The majority of Brendan’s time is occupied with rocks and rock geeks but he always finds time for a small adventure. This year, since we have a house again, we were finally able to return all his generous hospitality and host him. Our first houseguest! Good thing he is easygoing because our house was (and still is) a work in progress. We promised him that by next February we’ll have things whipped into shape.

The first part of the year here at Rancho Sol has been a bit unusual. Winter and Spring have tussled over just exactly which season is in charge. Several times now I have washed our heavy blankets and stored them away only to have to retrieve them again—most recently about a week ago. It sounds like we have another cold storm blowing in this weekend, too. We haven’t minded the fluctuations all that much since the strange weather brought extra doses of much needed rain.

The Sonoran Desert has suffered from a rainfall shortage for close to a dozen years now so a wet winter is most welcome around these parts. Plants in arid regions respond rapidly to the presence of water and it seemed like a carpet of lush green had been unrolled overnight in our yard. Curious to see what kinds of plants we’d end up with we let them grow to an identifiable stage before beginning to cull. Mixed in amongst the small native grasses we were pleased to see a few orange California Poppies (Eschscholzia californica ssp. mexicana), several purple Cleftleaf Wildheliotrope (Phacelia crenulata), multiple yellow flowers that are clearly members of the sunflower family and one blue Desert Bell (Phacelia campanularia).

There is a dangerous invasion occurring here in the Southwest. Nope, not the human kind that has received so much media attention lately (that’s a whole ‘nother story for a different time). The invader I’m referring to has the potential to completely destroy the landscape here in southern Arizona: it is a plant known as Buffelgrass (Pennisetum ciliare). And, as is the case with most invasives, this one was purposely introduced by humans.

This fast-growing and fire-loving bunch grass was brought from Kenya by the U. S. Department of Agriculture Soil Conservation Service in the early 1900s. The grass had three valuable characteristics that appealed to range managers: it thrived during droughts, held down precious topsoil, and livestock actually would eat it. For an arid part of the country trying desperately to recover from the devastating effects of the 1930s-era drought, Buffelgrass must have seemed like manna from heaven.

Sign posted in a local Tucson eatery.

A cool yet sunny Saturday morning in mid-January found me in a carpool with some talented environmental educators. Our destination was Florida Station which is located, appropriately enough, in Florida Canyon along the northwest edge of the Santa Rita Mountains south of Tucson. And before I get to far ahead, you should know that it is not pronounced like the state. Instead it is flo-REE-duh, which is Spanish for “flowered.” I presume the canyon earned that name since it sports a permanent trickle of plant-pleasing water. This lesser known canyon is located just northeast of that world famous birding hot spot, Madera Canyon.

The goal of our trip was to design an adventure quest that would share some of the area’s stories with visitors, primarily middle and high school students. As we drove south Elizabeth, our coordinator, filled us in on some of the area’s interesting past. Though I had visited the Santa Ritas a few times before I knew relatively little about the history so I found it all quite fascinating.

Florida Station consists of a dozen small, wooden buildings that serve as the headquarters for the Santa Rita Experimental Range (SRER). The range, the first of its kind in the country, was established by President Theodore Roosevelt in 1902 to study recovery efforts on land that suffered from the devastating effects of overgrazing and drought. Though numerous studies have been conducted over the years the most substantial work on the Range was done in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. They were responsible for fencing the roughly 53,000 acre boundary as well as various stream control efforts. One of which was a dam in upper Florida Canyon that created a pool so deep that a diving board was installed for summer time enjoyment. During our tour of the property we stood below the dam and admired the fine craftsmanship of the CCC as their rock work towered over our heads. Even if the weather had been warmer we wouldn’t have been able to swim—nature had long since filled the pool with sand and sediment.

Last March I attended The Sustainability and Energy Exp09 here in Tucson. It was three days packed full of seminars, talks, movie screenings and a green marketplace—all designed to encourage citizens to reduce their impact on our local environment. I carefully arranged my schedule so that I could attend as many of the events as possible. Over the long weekend I scribbled down pages and pages of notes and gathered many helpful ideas that Lance and I could use to guide our decisions at the property we were hoping to purchase.

Looking back over my notes I remember having many ah-ha moments, noticeable since my excited handwriting became even worse than usual (and yes, that is possible). Many of the practical items we have now included in our plans for the house —some we have already started on while others, due to time and budget constraints, will have to wait until later. Of all the great information I received at the Expo there was one concept that really resonated. One that still does. It’s called the Theory of Anyway.

One of the speakers, Sharon Astyk, said she first learned it from Pat Meadows, a friend of hers. As I understand it the basic premise is that regardless of the size of an action’s impact or the outcome we should choose to do the right thing anyway. Just because. I don’t know about you, but I have been overwhelmed at times when faced with the enormity of our world’s problems. My small choices and steps seem so insignificant in comparison to the looming issues of a world in flux. Here’s where the Theory of Anyway fits in for me: I shouldn’t do X because it has any chance of single-handedly save the world; instead, I should do X just because it is the right thing to do.

I like how it changes the tone—according to the Theory of Anyway living simply, frugally, and carefully is not a political statement nor a moral judgment, it is just the right thing to do. Period. True, my actions may not make a big difference but they do make a difference. And think how much of a difference it would make in the world if everyone did all the small things that they could. As Helen Keller once said, “I can not do everything, but I can do something. I must not fail to do the something that I can do.”

Disclaimer: I am not even remotely suggesting that I always make the correct decision, but I am working on it.