Showing posts with label verde valley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label verde valley. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Sweet Summer Dreams in the Verde Valley

This story was written for Arizona Office of Tourism's Arizona Insider "Guest Blogger" program. The post, which ran July 14th, 2014, was edited and chopped up a bit strangely, making my story a lil' clunky/klutzy in their version. I thought I'd share my original here:

Sweet Summer Dreams in the Verde Valley

Verde River, Cottonwood, AZ
Brassy big band tunes waft over us from the landmark gazebo, packed full of percussion, strings and horns. Sinking deep into the dark edges of the park's soft summer lawn, we look up at the endless stars that echo the crowd of lawn chairs and blankets below. Cool breezes rolling down from Mingus Mountain add a faint hint of chill to the night air. Though, for a moment it feels we are part of a movie or some bucolic small town dream, in reality, it's the Town of Clarkdale's free Summer Concert Series and just one aspect of this season's magic in the Verde Valley. With live music scheduled on select Saturday evenings through September, it's not at all unusual to witness spontaneous acts of waltzing, two-stepping and foxtrotting in the historic town park.



Summer Concert Series, Clarkdale Park, Clarkdale AZ
The Verde Valley, named one of Lonely Planet's Top 10 US Travel destinations for 2013, is comprised of several historic, high desert communities, each springing forth from the 19th and 20th centuries to utilize some abundant natural resource or fill some urgent local need: mining, ranching, agriculture, military presence and bootlegging. Jerome, Clarkdale, Cottonwood, Sedona, Camp Verde and Cornville each have its own distinct personalities yet remain cohesive. The rivers connect us and flow through us, tangling us together as Oak Creek and Beaver Creek make its way toward the Verde. The region’s ideal climate has long made it an idyllic human habitat as evidenced by ancient dwellings throughout the area, including Montezuma Castle and Tuzigoot.



Verde River as seen from Verde Canyon Railroad, running red during summer monsoon season, 



A variety of attractions, adventures, art, wining and dining provides a wealth of intrigue for visitors. 


Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ

Scenic Sedona is the best known Verde Valley town, straddling the border of Yavapai and Coconino counties. Highlights include its expanse of national forest girdling the town, its many hiking and mountain biking trails, resorts, world class spas and cafes. This red sandstone wonderland is renowned for its spiritual energy, vortexes and new age sensibility. But Sedona is not just a postcard or a movie set. It's also a real place behind the scenes, where people live and work. It's where we go to the dentist and where we see movies!

Buddha Beach, Oak Creek, Sedona, AZ

Summer is our warmest season, and for this reason the most popular for riparian fun. We locals spend a good percentage of June, July and August along the shady river and creek banks, picnicking, paddling, splashing, floating or just totally submerged neck-deep in the cool water. The Verde Valley is enjoying some fresh renown as a river fun zone, with day-use access areas being improved from north of Clarkdale through Cottonwood, continuing past Camp Verde. Cottonwood’s Dead Horse Ranch State Park provides great trails, camping, fishing and river access. Verde River Adventure Center in Clarkdale rents kayaks, tubes and other inflatables, providing guide and shuttle service for easy day trips.

Verde River, Beasley Flats, Camp Verde, AZ

Another great way to enjoy the river canyon scenery and wildlife, without getting splashed, is to take a train ride aboard Clarkdale’s Verde Canyon Railroad. Running year-round on a varied schedule, this heritage railroad dates from 1912 and provides a comfortable climate-controlled way to catch a glimpse of the very rare ribbon where riparian and desert ecosystems meet. Starlight rides are a sensational seasonal specialty, heading out in late afternoon and returning through sunset and moonlight.




A flight at Caduceus Cellars, Jerome AZ

While in Clarkdale be sure to visit the newest additions to historic Main Street: The Copper Art Museum and Four-Eight Wineworks, book-ending the area’s mining past and wine future. The Verde Valley’s booming viticulture scene began in the 1990s in Cornville, a sleepy rural town near Oak Creek. Along the winding Page Springs Road, you’ll find the starting point for the region’s growing wine notoriety. Vineyards cascade down the sandy hillsides and wine-tasting rooms cluster like grapes. From here, the wine flows throughout the valley like the creeks that connect us.




Camp Verde, a river town with an adorable historic Main Street, is home to cowboys, horse ranches, pecan farms and Fort Verde State Park. If games of chance and glow-in-the-dark bowling suit your style, Cliff Castle Casino is an entertaining diversion run by the area’s Yavapai-Apache tribe. More daring yet: zip-lining over lions and tigers at Out of Africa Wildlife Park!


Old Town Cottonwood has enjoyed a renaissance over the past decade. Once best known as the bootlegging epicenter of the Southwest, by the 1990s this part of historic Main Street was a sleepy, going-to-seed, slow-down spot. Today, this vintage stretch of 89A is not just a place to tap your brakes. It's worth pulling over for serious exploration. Packed with pedestrians, wine-tasting rooms, antique shops and galleries, great restaurants and fun lodging, Old Town makes a great starting point for an area visit.















And there, mile high, twinkling and winking in the cool nighttime, Jerome watches over all from its lofty perch on Cleopatra Hill. This former ghost town is an exceptional place to enjoy a sunset glowing Sedona red in the distance. Ideal to explore by day or night, Jerome is home to great architecture, shops, museums, wonderful places to eat and historic, haunted hotels where you can rest your head. 


 The town’s popular ARTwalk takes place the first Saturday of every month; from 5:30pm-8:30pm galleries and studios stay open later than usual into the tranquil mountain evening, serving refreshments and conversation with real live local artists. We lived in Jerome for a number of years and enjoyed the tightly-knit community, a crazy mash-up of native long-time locals, hippies, artists and big city escapees. In the 1960s and '70s counterculture types arrived in Jerome and essentially saved the town's history and buildings with their gumption and elbow grease.

Jerome, AZ

With its milder, high desert temperatures, glorious landscapes and vibrant communities there are endless amusements in the Verde Valley, a variety to keep visitors delighted all summer long. As residents, we see a lifetime’s worth of beauty, adventure and cinematic moments everywhere we look.



Clarkdale Classic Station




Ellen Jo Roberts is an artist and shutterbug who lives in Clarkdale, Arizona, where she spends the workday as the group coordinator for Verde Canyon Railroad. Read more of her writing on: http://www.Ellenjo.com. Ellen Jo is a part of the Arizona Office of Tourism’s Guest Blogger Program.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Navigating the New Economy

Navigating the New Economy
The Outs - The Noise
January 2010
Ellen Jo Roberts






On “Black Friday,” the morning after Thanksgiving, we were nestled around a campfire, cuddling with coffee mugs to ward off the chill of the night before. We spent the holiday under the stars camped on a wild beautiful bluff overlooking the Verde River. Friends had organized an outdoor banquet, completely off the grid, but not lacking a thing. There were two turkeys, with all the traditional tubers and root side dishes, stuffing, numerous pies of assorted fruits and nuts, and a broad variety of beverages both hot and cold.
As we woke up to the day, all wild-haired and sleepy-eyed, somebody said,
“Isn’t it funny that at this very moment people are storming Super-Walmart, wrestling each other for the best deals on flat screen TVs?”
We all shook our heads, chuckling in disbelief.
The thought that people had camped out in the very same valley, the very same night, but in an asphalt parking lot waiting for “doorbuster deals,” could not have sounded more foreign to us.
Not just because we didn’t have the bucks to buy each other expensive electronics, and not just because the idea never even occurred to us — but also because frenzied spending seems a thing of the past — from a time when people spent money they didn’t have on things they didn’t need.

The current economy may be the new economy, the new normal — with the spendy memories of the not too distant past gone out like a tide that ain’t never coming back.
For us, our lives luckily have not changed too much — but, we’ve never lived large. Actually, that’s just a nice way of saying we were poor and broke before, and we’re poor and broke now. We here in Northern Arizona are well acquainted with “poverty with a view,” so for us it’s like the rest of the country is finally slowing down to our speed.
We may be on a low budget but this doesn’t mean our life isn’t rich. Our newest vehicle is 23 years old, and we don’t have any car payments. We bought a small house with a manageable mortgage. We shop local whenever possible. Many times we just go without. We seldom dine out, see movies at the show, or buy new clothing. Most everything we own is 2nd or 3rd hand. No cable TV, no satellite radio, no high-speed internet. For us, this way of life hasn’t changed much in 15 years.





This doesn’t mean we are without our extravagances.
I like a new pair of Fluevogs every few years, and ordering Fuji instant film for my old Polaroid cameras. Chad has expensive tastes in shampoo and hair wax. He indulges me the cost for art supplies, and processing 35mm film. We treat ourselves to new Levis every year, and splurge on a seasonal bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. Perhaps our most ridiculous luxury is jetting our Chihuahua, Floyd, around with us on (rare) airplane trips.
Despite these lil’ splurges, we live cheap, filling our lives with experiences rather than expenses. We are very grateful to both still be employed, keenly aware of the many Americans who’ve spent the last few years scrambling for jobs after being downsized, out-sourced, or having their retirement savings swallowed by economic failure.





How has your life changed? In what ways have you changed your habits to navigate the new economy? How have our local communities been impacted, being heavily reliant on tourism? This is what I wanted to know. This is what I asked people. I talked to many artists and creative types who, by nature of their creativity, adapt to whatever is dished their way.
I have friends who’ve taken pay cuts, lost their jobs, and lost their homes.
But even in these tough clouds, silver linings are evident.


“People don’t think so materialistically. They think of other values in life, and live more simply,” said Verde Valley artist, Birgitta Lapides. “So, I think some good can come from it. People can realize the truly important things in life. It’s more who you are than what you have.”
Ms. Lapides shows her work in Jerome, a town that operates in its own economic micro-climate, a different planet than Every Day, USA, but still not completely immune to the ebb and tide of the outside world. Many artists who sell their work in the town have found the need to offer lower-priced series of works because the grand masterpieces are just not selling like they used to. Anne Bassett, renowned Jerome artist and longtime resident, has survived there for years, in times both lean and rich.
“I have aspired to ‘scrape by’ but not actually attained that status yet,” jokes Ms. Bassett. “I expect the US economy to get much worse as our war debt impacts are felt. Our nation's pitiful education system has lost us the edge on being global innovators in technology, and our foot-dragging on global warming has hampered our nation in green advancement, which I believe to be the only expanding financial venue around. My art income has stayed about the same for a couple decades, fluctuations not withstanding. Gold, art and real estate appreciate.”






Real estate, while generally agreed a good investment, has been troubled during recent years, with the realty boom busting big time. Denise Lerette is a realtor in the Verde Valley. She lives in a historic bungalow in Clarkdale, with her cat, Barrington, and dog, Jaeger.
“I'm not exaggerating when I tell you it has been tough,” says Ms. Lerrette, “When it hit our entire economy, it hurt in several different ways. First, of course, is the ol’ pocketbook. I learned how to live very frugally last year. I cannot stress how frugally I really mean! I had my gas turned off for 6 months. I became very adept at heating a tub, doing laundry, and other seemingly common tasks with a bare minimum of energy expended. I did not have cable or even turn on my TV. This I now like! I discovered the library and long walks with Jaeger. I latched on to a little device called a ‘Kill-A-Watt,’ thanks to a good friend in Flag, and got my APS bill down to $25 a month. It taught me a lot about conservation, tenacity, and kindness, above all.”
Ms. Lerrette sees a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
“The upside to all of this was really learning something about the varieties of human natures that do exist. Fortunately, I have not lost my faith in humanity and have seen that human kindness still outweighs its polar opposite. People working together is the only way we will truly survive and live well.”

Bethany Bezdek is a married mother of 3, living in Clarkdale.
The turbulent economy has made a profound impact on her family.
“We gave up our house because of the economy. Big change,” said Ms. Bezdek.
“I used to go to the health food store once a week. Now I go maybe once a month and buy 4 or 5 items. Our grocery bill for the five of us is always more than I think it should be, even with these changes. I grew up on government cheese and powdered milk, so I am not complaining. I still feel very fortunate to have food and to be able to buy it on my own.”
The Bezdeks no longer purchase books or magazines, and have very few meals out. And rather than going to the movies, the family enjoys free entertainment like libraries, parks and hiking. Their life remains joyful, despite the wild financial ride. “Truthfully, it feels fine,” says Ms. Bezdek, “Although I do miss just going out for Chinese on a whim. As cliché as it sounds, I have really appreciated the importance of our family and how lucky we are to love each other and enjoy each other’s company.”

Many people have changed their lives in big ways, and many make changes in small ways that add up big: killing watts and their televisions, cutting cable and internet, brown-bagging their lunches, quitting cigarettes, planning smaller vacations or “staycations.” Many donate more to charity than ever before.





“We really don't realize how spoiled we are until everything has been taken away. Like a kid getting grounded and having their phone, computer and TV taken away,” said Stacey Champion, of Phoenix.
Ms. Champion is the owner of Champion Indoors, an environmental consulting firm. A single mom raising two young children, she takes coupons seriously, and has downsized the “fluff,” like everyone’s nemesis, “Target ‘impulse’ buying.”
Says Ms. Champion, “I feel very fortunate that I grew up Midwestern and blue-collar, because when everything was really good and the money was flying in, I didn't go out and buy a new car, new house, etc. My debt load probably isn't as bad as many other people's because of this. I also take my kids to do as much volunteering and charity work as possible now, so that they can see, first-hand, that even though we aren't able to necessarily ‘do’ or buy all of the things we used to, there is still an awful lot to be thankful for — like a roof over our heads and food on the table. Small but important stuff.”
Ms. Champion, an idealist, believes good times will return, and we will get through this challenging time, “being more grateful and humble in the long run.”

Kenny Mattheis is a jack-of-all-trades, a bit of a genius, and a self-proclaimed “hobo,” who lives in a tiny but chic house in Humboldt, outside of Prescott.
“The biggest change I've had to make in my life due to cutbacks, is the amount of income I can donate to things I believe in. I'm used to giving 60 to 70% of my income to causes I feel will affect my life directly. I'm still able to give the same percentages, but 60% is a lot less these days than it's been in the past.”
Mr. Mattheis is a big fan of a website called Instructables.com, which offers instructions and ideas for fashioning useful second lives out of assorted objects, and things people discard. “Turning some things I don't use any more into useful things I can use, or other people say that they would like, or need. I've even been able to make a little money on the side helping people with projects or making stuff that they would like to have.”

Another issue aggravated by the financial downturn is health care: the millions of citizens who don’t have it, and are farther away from it than ever. “I find myself donating more and more art for raffles or auctions to assist those without medical insurance cover their costs,” says Clarkdale artist Judy Jaaskelainen, “These are people who we might refer to as the ‘working poor.’ They are not 'poor enough' to qualify for AHCCCS or other government assistance, but they do not have the means to cover the cost of medical care.”
Ms. Jaaskelainen is currently involved in selling raffle tickets to raise money for local artist, Mary [Druen] McKeown, who needs two new hip joints. Artists, jewelry makers, and businesses have donated a great list of items. “There will be other fund-raisers on Mary's behalf in the New Year,” says Ms. Jaaskelainen, “Mary is only one of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of ‘working poor’ in and around the Verde Valley. Artists, craftsmen, and musicians seem most at risk.”

In interviewing people, I discovered restaurant meals are the expense most commonly being trimmed from budgets in this new economy.
Jet Tennant, owner of Jerome’s Mile High Grill, runs the restaurant lean, confronting the downslide head on, basing their plan of action on past seasonal successes. “We also keep a strong bare bones crew who are willing to work harder when it is busy, instead of over-staffing. We put off improvements for a year to see how we would be affected. Living in a tourist town offers us a influx of people that other places don't have,” said Ms. Tennant, “I feel like we are riding a wave. It feels a bit wild, but not out of control. Just a ride, which is why I got into the restaurant business and being self-employed in the first place.”



Sedona is one of Arizona’s top tourist destinations, and feeds dollars to all of the outlying communities. Nena Barlow operates Barlow’s Jeep Rentals in Sedona.
“We were lucky to not drop very much early in the ‘recession.’ We have worked a lot harder to make the same money,” explains Ms. Barlow. “We became more aggressive with specials, reviewed and increased our marketing efforts, and set very tight budgets to keep costs in hand.
“What I observed was that the higher-priced goods and services have been the hardest hit. If you have some product that is on the lower-end of the price spectrum for which your customers are shopping, they will still buy. Everyone is looking for a bargain, and no one is too proud to ask for specials or discounts these days. We aren't looking at this as ‘how do we survive?’ but rather ‘how do we run this leaner and meaner from now on?’ Sort of like adopting a new diet — it's not some fad, it's a necessary adjustment we need to make to stay healthy from now on.”

Bradley Blalock is a gifted singer, musician, and a licensed massage therapist, working at the ASIS Clarkdale campus. The current economy has stimulated his creativity. He spends more time practicing music and creating music at home instead of watching TV or surfing the internet. Mr. Blaylock surrounds himself with positive people, “Staying creative and positive, as best I can to live nobly through this, without self-destructively escaping into negative behaviors, one day at a time.”

Our pal Natasha Shealy, a perennial Noise favorite, offers her tips for conserving money. Ms. Shealy lives in smalltown North Carolina, a rural hardscrabble microclimate not dissimilar to our own. She is surrounded by creative people, artists, writers and musicians.
“I cut expenses, and build skills wherever possible. Perhaps a Protestant hangover, I thrill in cutting my own wood for fuel, growing our own food, and brewing homemade beer and wine. I have harvested fowl, but have yet to hunt deer. I leave that to the mountain man … I am recording my ideas for a book to share with others.”
Ms. Shealy has always been inspired by the 1970s series of Foxfire books, with mountain folk telling tales of making soap, building cabins, pickin’ tunes, and slaughtering swine. Something tells me she’d be living this lifestyle and writing about it even if she were a millionaire.



A Jeroman who wishes to remain anonymous shared her secret of success with us: “Once a week I take an hour to tour the great fortune that can be found in the charity and thrift stores of the valley. Had I known what a fun sport this was, I would have started it years ago. When I think of all the countries and cities I have traveled to and yet missed out on the random filtering of items considered surplus! The trickle-down effect of ‘one mans trash is another’s treasure.’ The sport and randomness of finds is a daily renewal on the thrift front. It’s the closest thing to gambling I have ever done ... Some days I want to run out of the store and toss my fist into the air with triumph, and do the Rumpelstiltskin jig of joy.”
I’ve long been an avid fan of thrift shops, dating way back to the year 1985, when a hip older cousin took me to scout out my neighborhood secondhand store in search of a trench coat for his New Wave ensemble. Thrift shops are chock full of housewares, artwork, office supplies, movies, books, clothing, tools, and vintage appliances manufactured better than anything made today and sold at prices well below their value.
We reevaluate the notion of “stuff.” We reexamine the products we use.

The new economy has affected us in interesting and different ways. Some of us not at all, and some for the worse. Some have actually benefited from it, due to special skills, and situations. Many of us live how our grandparents did in the Great Depression, stitching socks, surviving on soup, and growing our own food. Young people just entering the job market have no great expectations for the fantastic career, knowing their fine education now offers no guarantees. Older folks who’ve worked hard their whole lives, planning ahead like the ants for winter, now find themselves in a pickle like the goofy grasshopper, at no fault of their own. Everything’s been erased, re-written, wiped out, like a brand new ball game.
In the end, might we be better for it?
When the true value of the important things shines brighter than bling ever did?
I think you know the answer.


Ellen Jo Roberts is low on budget but high on life. She lives in a historic bungalow in Clarkdale, Arizona with “Bike Daddy” Chad, “Cool Cat” Clyde, “Five Pounds of Fury” Floyd, Ivan a.k.a. “Goofy McSuper-Spaz” and several ancient automobiles.
Read all about it at ellenjo.com

Friday, August 21, 2009

Small Life- The Outs, May 2009- The Outs, The Noise

Small Life

May 2009 Outs
The Noise
Ellen Jo Roberts




















I live a small life in a small town. This is not to say I don’t have big ideas, larger than life friends, and huge adventures. It also doesn’t mean I’m small-minded, uptight, or xenophobic. I just live in a small place. Very small. So small that it is sometimes absent from abbreviated maps. And my life is just as small, because I both live and work here, in Clarkdale, a historic “company town” that never outgrew its waistband much. Surrounded by wilderness, and framed by vintage boulevards, I seldom have reason to leave.I savor the tiniest aspects of this small life. The random new wildflowers that appear in my yard. Lizards sunning themselves on the hot bricks of our house. A posse of javelina on my favorite running trail. Familiar faces and autos, folks waving and smiling as I walk my dogs up Main Street. The way the night air is scented with soap and static cling as I stroll past the laundromat, reminding me of a Mexican motel I stayed at once. The postmaster knows me by name, and remarks on the packages and letters I receive.






















It’s remarkable to me how small and specific my life has become, because I grew up in the biggest of places, a sprawling megopolis full of every technology, nationality, religion, commerce, and possibility. Any band you wanted to see, any fashion you wanted to buy, any type of food or beverage imaginable. World class art and science museums, prestigious schools, and an amazing network of public transportation and city services. It’s funny that I have almost none of that at my fingertips now, in my very small life. I grew up in the city of Chicago, a major urban area along the southwestern coast of Lake Michigan, named after the wild garlic that used to thrive along its marshy shores. I was a city kid, taking buses and trains, and hanging around downtown. My public high school had 4,000 kids (more than the population of the town where I now live). I lived there until my early 20s, prior to getting the itch for sunshine, big skies and wide open west.


Remember that ol’ Tex Avery cartoon, about the country wolf and the city wolf? They were cousins, those wolves, and they went to visit each other in each respective location. The country wolf was a total freak in the city, just completely overwhelmed by all the urban activity, while his city cousin was as cool as a cucumber. That is, until the city cousin got out to the country to visit and went completely bonkers himself, overwhelmed by the natural rural beauty (and a sexy rural she-wolf). I asked big city folk what they liked about the country, and asked small town folk what they missed about the big city. And vice versa. I got some very thoughtful and thought-provoking responses.Natasha Shealy, a much-beloved voice here at the Noise, moved from a rural western town--Cornville, Arizona -- to a rural eastern town, Marshall, North Carolina. She’s also lived an urban lifestyle in cities like Tucson, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Shealy takes her sultry big city swagger with her wherever she goes, captivating small communities with her energy. “I miss the exotic foods of the big city, the frenetic energy, the intellectual current”, she says, “In the city you can buy stainless steel trash-cans after 5pm. In the city men wear really tight pants.” (Shealy has this theory she is continually hashing out, about men in loose pants vs. men in tight pants, and what it means from a sociological standpoint. I’m not sure if we’ll ever fully find the answer.) “To quote a friend, I am a ‘small town-junkie’ and have lived in my share of charming one street towns ‘til I returned home to Marshall, North Carolina, which is hands-down tops for small towns across America. Old Town Cottonwood gets my vote for second coolest small town, for its proximity to the river, the naughty charm of Kactus Kate's, and the irreverent peacocks who have inspired many a late night poem”.


My brother Jim, a true city slicker who prides himself on never having lived more than 10 or 11 miles from Wrigley Field, thinks that I know everybody in the Verde Valley, and that folks here are, in general remarkably friendly to strangers. “The stars in the sky stand out a lot more in a remote small town, but I’ll gladly forego a few stars for access to an occasional 3:00am taco.” Accessibility to goods and services is definitely a common concern with city folk. They're accustomed to being able to get whatever they want whenever they want it, and are unsure how they'd deal with someplace where the sidewalks roll up at sunset.


Jeremy McReady was in my 3rd grade class. I'll always remember him as a freckle-faced trouble-maker with a twinkle in his eye. He now lives only about 6 miles from his childhood home. “I was born and raised in Chicago, but we used to take weekend trips to a small Michigan town," he said. "Some of my fondest memories are the ones of isolation and nature. The walks in the woods, the fishing, catching frogs, bonfires with family and friends. I always remember a feeling of dread when we would pack up, look for the cat, Winifred, and start the 3 hour trek back. When you drive back the radio stations change and the music seems more aggressive."


Clarkdale resident, Doreen Gribauskas has an urban tale to share. "When I moved to New York City, I had culture shock for 3 months. The city life is so extremely wonderful and terrible all at once. You can see Monet's water lilies one moment and a Vietnam vet with no legs asking for pennies on the subway the next. I used to work down on 14th street making costume jewelry. It was right next to a meat packing plant. There'd be sides of beef hanging on hooks right on the sidewalk, butchers covered in blood, dumpsters full of bones. After work sometimes we'd get a 40oz and sit in the park nearby and watch the transvestites get ready for the night. Full-on meat market, human and bovine. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there!"


Elaine Bell-Quinn is a Chicago girl, though, when it comes to big cities she prefers NYC for being just a tad more cosmopolitan. "Living in Chicago, I miss New York City. New York City was great for having my laundry picked up, laundered and delivered, undies folded and back to me in the same day,” she laughs, “Amazing sushi delivery, and hearing many different languages on the block. The awesome, fully-stocked corner deli. The neighborhood feel of the city is so different. When I've lived in smaller communities, well, let's say I stuck out like a sore thumb."




















Erik Kuska, a Los Angeles animator, artist and puppet master, grew up in Moscow, Idaho, a small town with gravel roads, county fairs, and a 4-H Club. “It was the slowest place on earth to me, but now that I’m racing away in my late 30's, I miss it,” says Kuska. “Small towns to me were people waving as they walked by. A nod on the sidewalk, or a greeting on the trail. Pleasantries. People stopping when you were in the ditch or helping when your horses got out of the pasture. Front door is unlocked, windows left open… But an early trip to California had me yearning for bigger things.” Kuska moved to the Chicago suburbs, then later Los Angeles, and later, overseas to London, England for a time. “Your speedometer picks up as suddenly you’re driving faster, and hoofing it on busy sidewalks to catch trains and make meetings. It’s almost like people become obstacles rather than conversations. You’re dodging rather than greeting, and that’s that. I think all your senses get assaulted with the constant white noise of the city and cars and construction… Emotionally you have a lot more to compare yourself with. The fancy car on the right, the guy’s ipod in the elevator, the houses, the restaurants, the wines… Cities also get you to buy into some ridiculous concepts like $12 beers at Laker games, and $20 valet parking. As a farm kid, paying to have some guy park your car is the silliest thing, right next to bottled water for $3 or a cup of coffee for $4. But soon that’s what you’re doing. Your life becomes linked to your car, and drive-thrus, and traffic.


“Cities were fantastic as they always provided some event, or museum or destination to get excited about...Growing up in a small town taught me to enjoy being with myself, and being around the cities and masses exposes me to multitudes of ideas and concepts. And I find strength in both of those.” Kuska makes another fine point on small town life. Everyone knows your private business in a small town. “My mother, who grew up in McHenry Illlinois, well, she disliked the small town for the main reason that everyone knew everything. The gossip between house-moms, and just being under the microscope of a place where everyone knows each other. Yes, that help is there when you need it. But that pressure is there if you have unique thoughts and the community does not share them. Go to a big city and your neighbors don’t really know you so you can disappear from all that. And even I can admit I’ve had some nights out, where I wanted to disappear and had the pleasure of knowing none of these people knew me or my parents, and I was gonna cut loose!”

In a place like Jerome Arizona, I imagine most people in town have seen each other naked, helped each other through the best of and worst of times, and shared gossip about their neighbors as regularly as breathing oxygen.



Laura Jones of Clarkdale, commonly spotted in the vicinity of Miller’s Market on Main Street, is a native of Long Island, NY, "In my small town, I love picking up my mail at the post office and running into neighbors and chatting. I love attending town meetings where you can actually voice your opinion and think that someone might actually be listening. I love sitting on my front porch and having neighbors just stop by for a chat or beer. In the city, I love reading a great book while riding the subway. I love not driving a car every day."




















One small town concern I’ve heard expressed from many of my singleton chums, is echoed by city girl Dianne Tennison of Chicago, “After having stayed in Arkansas for a few weeks during my divorce, and after having seen what my dad got stuck married to where he lived... the dating pool sucks for us singles in small towns."


Mark Dolce is a photographer in Cody, Wyoming. “We, as humans, not necessarily man or woman, cannot live without altering our environment. To what extent is shown in the result of towns, villages, cities, campsites, roads, urban sprawls, golf courses ... a Circle K stuck out in the middle of nowhere or a farm or a field of corn or cotton,” says Dolce,“I prefer small towns - especially since 9-11 when every large environment with tall buildings and highly concentrated areas of people became potential targets. They always were but since 9-11 it became a reality. I do not like to see the air I breathe, I prefer wide open spaces, the landscape is pregnant with meaning ... even the cement jungle and asphalt playground we create in cities each has their own energy to offer.” Katrina Djberof is native to the Pacific Northwest, but she’s lived all over the Americas, both North and South, in cities big and small. “Life in the city that I love,” Djerbof begins, “…the diversity of city culture, food, music, independent media and film, community-owned radio. Individual fashion, dumpster-diving, community activism, reclaiming public space. Riding bikes all over, public transportation, avid recycling, community gardens. Lots of people, the small districts in contrast to the downtown bustle. The geography of Seattle, the walkability of San Francisco, the greenness of Portland, the absolute hectic-ness of Lima & Quito, and the architecture in Buenos Aires - lots of socializing,” flipping the coin, she continues, “Small town living that I love: conservation/preservation activism. A broad spectrum of ages in almost every enclave of activity. Knowing your neighbors, people pulling together to help one another out. The lack of traffic, beautiful sunrises & sunsets, little to no light pollution, spending more time at home and in the garden nesting."


Tina Raymond, grew up urban on the east coast, and now lives in Clarkdale. She rhapsodized over Jerome’s “Mountain Stranded Time” mentality, where time just moves more slowly, where people get sweetly stranded unawares. Raymond waxed poetic about its “2 lane highways, ‘get there when we get there’, walking main street at 2:00am of a misty morning, alone, window shopping.” Mountain Stranded Time hypnotizes us. The pace pacifies us. People just end up here, en route to somewhere else, they just end up staying. Driving to Sedona for a mundane errand I always think, “This is someone’s dream vacation.” The thrill never gets old for me. Maybe because I’m from another place, and I will never lose the romantic notions that drew us here. Sedona realtor extraordinaire, Jolynn Greenfield, offered some interesting opinions on this topic, as she deals with city folk all the time, seeking their own bit of wilderness and big sky. “Recently I sold a home in a [Sedona] neighborhood to a client who also has a penthouse in Minneapolis. She shared that they love the quiet, for a little while -- thus the Sedona purchase-- but they really love the shows, the food, the proximity to the action that they enjoy from their penthouse in ‘the city’.”


My cousin Johnny is a Chicago policeman, though he recently lived in Wyoming for a year or so and it put a spell on him. He's always debating heading back, despite the lower wages, "I gotta say that I liked small town living. It has its drawbacks, like no real place to eat, the shops are limited, the restaurants close early, etc. But life is slower. There is less tension. Maybe it’s where I lived as opposed to small towns in general. The mountains for me, and Jackson specifically, is the place to be. It offers the things that Chicago cannot. I missed my family, friends, home, all of that. But I liked the pace, the feel, the people, the fact that you can leave every door open to everything you own and no one will come in."

Michelle Hayman of Clarkdale sums it up with, “I have lived in the city, and it has its pluses, but I like where I am.” My small life is fully portable to every location. I have a different way of seeing since I’ve lived in the boonies so long. Spotting details I probably used to miss in the hustle and bustle of big city life. On a recent summer visit to Chicago I pointed out a large electric-green katydid in the shrubs near my brother’s condo. I plucked it up into my hand. He was duly impressed saying he’d not seen a katydid “in years”. As I set it back down on a leaf I thought, “I’m sure it’s always out here. He just didn’t see it.”

Artist and photographer Mark Foltz lives in Rimrock, a quiet community on the fringes of Camp Verde, AZ. “If you think of the total of your sense perceptions as a bubble that surrounds you, small towns allow that to expand. Your awareness increases,” says Foltz, “In the city, we have our defenses up to some extent, 24/7. That bubble of perception that surrounds us becomes smaller and harder; natural self defense, and less overall awareness. I like it here way better. I'm less stressed and more aware than I ever was in Akron or L.A.”


Big cities, despite their often times overwhelming metropolitan areas, are generally a collection of neighborhoods, knitted together, each with their own version of small life, with each neighborhood full of folks who seldom need to exit its bordering intersections. Each neighborhood has its own cast of characters, and favorite haunts. In certain regards, I am forever a city girl, since I need that structure of a community. I don’t know if I’d thrive living in a remote cabin in the forest, no neighbors, no library, no parades, nor pals. When I was finishing college and told an art professor my plan to move to Arizona he scoffed at me a bit. "You’ll be a big fish in a small pond there,” he said. I think he was sometimes right and sometimes wrong. I do miss some aspects of big city life, and have wondered where I’d be now had I remained there. But I also know this fact: fish will grow as big as the space allows them to. Maybe we’re all big fish with lots of room to brew up our big, huge, brilliant ideas.


Ellen Jo Roberts has lived in Chicago, and DeKalb, Illinois, and Flagstaff, Jerome and Clarkdale, Arizona. If you see her walking her famous dogs be sure to holler and wave as you drive past. Visit http://www.ellenjo.com/ for abundant silliness and good-natured amusements.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Crazy Fun Weekend


This weekend was action packed. Even the furnace-like heat of Arizona mid-summer could not fizzle the whirlwind of activities.

Saturday afternoon, we headed off to the Verde River with an ambitious plan--- to float from Dead Horse Ranch, where Tavasci Marsh pours in, all the way to the River Front Park.

In distance this isn't very long, maybe 2 miles from point to point by road-- but the way the river meanders everything always takes longer down there. Time slows down. Long looping detours.

Chad, Tim, Ruth Ellen and I shuttled in the bus from their vehicle left at Riverfront Park, so we had cars at both ends.



Many problems with the overall plan Saturday. Sounded good in discussion, but the actual execution was a bit more complicated. I think we all imagined an easy float, a steady current, just kicking back in our tubes, sipping cans of beer. However, to call it a "float" would be a stretch. It was not like that. It was more like a "paddle/ struggle/ sink and slice". First off, the river wasn't moving much at any of these locations. To get anywhere we had to kick and paddle, or risk circling in the same spot all day. The occasional breeze was blowing against us, blowing us backwards.





We got "jackpotted" several times. Jackpotted is an expression my Grandpa used to use, often times in reference to traffic conditions, and most frequently when a CTA bus would pull out in front of him-- basically it means, getting stuck, thrown for a loop-- jackpotted. Sometimes the river would just disappear, change routes, dead end-- we'd ended up in some sub-channel of the Verde and needed to portage our our rafts to a new spot to relaunch. I preferred saying "portage" with a French accent for a humorous effect. Por-tajjjjj. Tim said, "What's with this French thing? If you say portage one more time I am going to punch you in the face."



They brought along a raft just for their picnic cooler--full of fruit, chips, garden grown veggies, beers and margarita mixed up in a jug. They tugged it along by a rope, like a pet, and named it "Boozer", as in "Come along, lil' Boozer..." It was pretty tricked out!




My boat had a slow leak the entire time. Like before we even left the house Chad noticed it--he patched it 4 times, but the patches kept falling off. Hearing a "glub glub glub" bubbling under me throughout the trip was a lil' bit disconcerting. Later, Ruth Ellen's raft started to spew out great bursts of bubbles.


I spent much of the last part of the trip swimming alongside my raft, my camera gear and our small cooler taking my place on the mesh seat. Kicking through the cold, fresh, green-smelling river, tangling my ankles in weeds and other things too dark to see at the bottom. There are some long sections of river that are over 6 feet deep, with cold ribbons of current running through like a wonderful treat on a 105 degree summer day.

We made note of these swimming holes for future adventures.


For some reason, there's an abundance of old cars lining the banks of the Verde. Very vintage--I've seen 1930s-1960s. Someone once told me that back in the day people frequently used them as some kind of ridiculous erosion control.





We never made it to Riverfront Park. After one last wicked portajjjjjj left us all sliced up with green reeds and weeds as sharp as paper cuts, we made an early exit near what we figured was the "Jail Trail" in Old Town. Exhausted, all of us. Bleery eyed, hot, sliced to bits. Not what we had expected, but so much fun anyway. An adventure!


Tim and Ruth made us a delicious dinner on the barbecue, and that night we all sleep like rocks.


Sunday. Flagstaff. Meredith said it got down to 72 degrees up there. I thought it was in the 80s. Whatever it was, it felt cool to us, and we were all happy to be away from the Verde Valley heat, if only for an afternoon.



The reason for the Flagstaff trip was a board meeting for the Noise. http://www.thenoise.us/.
Alpine Pizza, for free pizza and beer (-Charles' sales pitch to get us all to attend).
Here are a few of the fine folks that bring you the Noise...
Bobby Carlson, Kyle Boggs, Aaron Levy, Charles Seiverd, and Meredith Seiverd...standing on Leroux Street, downtown Flagstaff.


Chad didn't want to go to Flagstaff, so I carpooled with Kahlil in his zippy 1962 Beetle.
"40 horses and they're all running at once!"
We laughed and laughed. All the way there and all the way back. I met Kahlil in 1997 or 1998, so he and I go way back-- he was one of the first people to befriend me when we moved to Jerome.
Tangled up in my day to day life, I sometimes forget what an awesome and hilarious person he is, so it was fun to hang out with him and act goofy. We get the giggles. Laughing about crazy nonsense! He really is the heart of our Ghostwagens car club, and keeps everyone together, everything running smoothly.


After the meeting we walked around downtown. Someone conned me into buying this ridiculous $7.00 "gold" chain with a giant dollar $ign on it, from Incahoots. So obnoxious! We laughed about my bling all the rest of the afternoon, how I was gonna show up back in Clarkdale with it swinging from my neck, saying, "Yo Chad, check me out! I'm back from the big city!" Everyone was cracking up imagining what Chad's reaction would be.

The cold alpine air of the Colorado Plateau felt great- especially after a brief downpour--
The wet Ponderosa forest smell reminded me of August 1995 when Chad and I first arrived, and lived in the forest in our camper. A very sweet and lovely time, full of adventures.

A side trip up to see pals at the Flagstaff KOA, before we hit the road for the long ride back to the valley. Home by 7:30pm. Chad's reaction to my $ bling? Nothing more than a raised eyebrow.