Floyd Goes Global!

Floyd Goes Global!

In March of 2013 I was contacted by Jane Zhao, a representative of a popular Chinese Magazine, "Outdoors". They'd found my Floyd travel photos via Flickr and wanted to enlist me to write a story and send images for an upcoming special issue.

In May 2013, the article went to print and Jane sent me the pdf.
Just to make sure it wasn't complete bunk, I plugged the story into a free translation website to see if it was really the one I'd sent them.
Here is the story, loosely and hilariously translated back into English, more or less.

(My original story is here too, at bottom, to help decipher the stranger aspects of the "translation"!)

 

 

 

 

outdoor exploration -special "travel with pets" issue- page 1

SPECIAL ISSUE special report

Mini travel companions
Traveling with a Chihuahua Ellen Jo Roberts wrote Ellen Arizona travel enthusiasts, The owner of three dogs and four cats, pets Travel was her way of life. Freud The Chihuahua weighs five pounds, their footprints Two States, all 13 States, with dozens of Flights flight experience, travel For ten years.

In 2003, Freud in central Arizona Valley Ranch was born.
The first time I saw it, It is a skinny little dog babies, and its brother Sisters huddled together inside a cardboard box.
At that time, FLOPink Floyd and the brothers and sisters nails and sold at a local horse feedStore, quietly waiting for someone to buy them out.
Accidentally glimpses on the side "selling a Chihuahua" this ad Immediately after comes a 180 degree turn around and went straight into the home Shop. Then, we are proud to welcome the first official adoption Dog: Chihuahua in a handsome, lively. Although Then my family and has a number of other "members", butFreud always come first. Although size Petite,Is it personality the most. Due to the Petite, so travel with it is very convenient. Every time we holiday adventure, whether short or long,Floyd will be included in the travel plan. With pets Holiday made the journey more enjoyable, but it is also accompanied by more Difficulties. We plan travel destinations at all times consider the dog 's. Whether motel, campgroundOr hikes were accepted and became the pet
The dog. When selecting a flight, to book in advance in order to Fellow pet set aside special locations-usually you can reset The portable suitcase under the seat.

 

 

 

 

 

10 journey, from the West Coast to the East Coast, from the most Deep valleys to the highest peak, have left a Freud Footprint. It slept in a cabin, slept on the ship,Slept in the tent, spend the farmhouse, lived in rice Shop. Of course, never slept less in our lap, countNot clear it has on our legs how sleepy were hit.It visited small towns also visited the large city. In the 66th,Road and highway has left his story, 1th. It Had entered the Atlantic, Pacific, and Mexico Bay, kesitehai And the Great Lakes. It several times along the Mississippi River. It United States extreme South-Florida from Key West Miami 160 kilometers away. As typical of Mexico, and Floyd visited it "South of the border", visited the province of Sonora. And if With the typical American, Floyd, Washington, DC,Get a picture before the White House. Travel with Freud andFor many years, we have come to feel one thing: no matter where And as long as we're together, Floyd, right at home.

 

Warm no matter how difficult the road, how climate and evil Worse, how hard the journey, as long as we're together, Florida Lloyd is like playing happy. Whenever we prevail Travel Pack is always quietly from time to time found it Myself curled up in my suitcase, or lying in my On a pile of clothes, as if saying: "don't you leave meGo. ”

 

Floyd is so lovely that it appears always Caused a lot of people knees. But they do not know, Freud Real is a fierce little guy. "Furious five pounds Meat, "this is my alias for it. If there is a stranger When it get too close, it will be upset. First the nose Slight wrinkling, looming soon thereafter revealing its tip The tooth. If a stranger talking continued, Freud would open Started screaming, and then full attack! But and are familiar with When they were together, it changes back to the loyalty charm small Love. And with another dog, it's like a foreign Ambassador, other dogs is like spending time with it. And Freud's many years of experience tells me: no matter In what city, people see cute little Chihuahua Will smile and say hello to it. Floyd is now living in Arizona, accompany it There are other pet friend, Ivan, a Boston dog; Keeley Hazell, a mixed Chihuahua; Ned, a lively House cat. If the foot is not so much small thing, without it Brings the various "surprises", not those out all Yes ... ... Our lives may be able to lighten up. But If that were true, home will be much better than now Joy. Perhaps one day in the future, Freud would pass across the The sea, appears in the familiar small-town streets

 

 

The REAL story, original English version:

 

Greetings from Floyd Street

Travels with a Chihuahua

By Ellen Jo Roberts

 

Dozens of airplane trips.

13 states.

Two countries.

Ten years.

5 pounds of Chihuahua.

 

Floyd was born on a ranch in Arizona’s central Verde Valley in 2003. He was a tiny puppy when I first met him, in a cardboard box with his siblings. They were for sale at a local horse tack and feed store. After seeing a roadside sign that read, “Chihuahuas for sale” I pulled a quick u-turn and headed back to have a look. Soon we were proud owners of a handsome and feisty Chihuahua, our first dog as adults. Others have since added on to our “pack”, but Floyd was the first. Despite his tiny physical size, his personality is the largest.

 

His small stature makes him an easy traveling partner and we have included him in our adventures both near and far. Traveling with pets makes adventures more enjoyable but also more difficult. We must plan locations that are pet-friendly. Motels, campsites, hiking trails all must allow dogs. Airplane flights must be booked well in advance with special additional reservations in place for the pets who join us, in carry-on travel cases stashed under our seats.

 

In his 10 years, Floyd has traveled from coast to coast, from deepest valley to highest mountains.

He’s slept in cabins, boats, tents, private homes and historic hotels. And on our laps. Lots of lap naps.

He’s been to ghost towns and mansions. He’s cruised storied roads like Route 66 and Highway 1.

Floyd’s set foot in the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of Mexico, the Sea of Cortez and the Great Lakes. He’s also crossed the Mississippi River numerous times. He’s been to the Southernmost Point of the United States, in Key West Florida, 100 miles from Miami.

Like any proper Mexican, he’s visited his homeland south-of-the-border, touring the state of Sonora.

Like any proper American, he’s had his photo taken in front of the White House in Washington D.C.

One thing we’ve realized in all of our years of traveling with Floyd is that no matter where we go, he is home as long as he is with us. No matter how different the landscape or the temperature, or the duration of the expedition, he is game for any location as long as we together. As we’re packing for a trip I often times find him curled up in my suitcase, nestled among my clothes as if to say, “You’re not leaving without me.”

 

Floyd is so cute he always attracts a crowd of admirers. Unfortunately for them, he is a vicious little brute.

“Five Pounds of Fury” is what we call him. If strangers try to approach him too closely, he gets angry. He starts with a slight wrinkling of the nose, then the faint hint of fang. If the approach continues, he begins to growl and soon it is a full-fledged attack.With those he knows and loves, he is a devoted and charming little fellow. He’s also a great ambassador with other dogs, all of whom love him instantly.

Another thing I’ve learned in our years traveling with Floyd: No matter the city, people will always smile at a tiny Chihuahua walking past.

 

Floyd lives in Arizona with a few other pet pals: Ivan, a Boston Terrier, Hazel, a Chihuahua-Mix, and Ned, a frisky housecat. Our lives would probably be easier without all these animals underfoot, pestering us for treats and getting their fur on everything… But it would certainly be quite a deal less amusing.

Perhaps some day Floyd will take his show overseas and perhaps you will see him strolling the streets of your town.

 

P.S.

 As always, for more Floyd travel fun, visit....

http://www.ellenjo.com/greetingsfromfloydstreet.html

 

 

A River Runs Through Us: Viva La Verde Via Artists

A River Runs Through Us:
Viva La Verde Via Artists
The Noise 
May 2013 
The Outs 
Ellen Jo Roberts 

Sometimes we're high and 
Sometimes we're low. 
Just like the river, 
We go where we flow. 
Reflecting the sky, 
Connecting the earth, 
It all comes together, 
Through sorrow and mirth-
chorus of “Life is a River” by Wendy Harford.
© April 2013

 

 Cool grey-green waters and muddy footprints. Polished rocks of all sizes, down to the tiniest bit of warm, grainy sand. Caves, cliffs and dried reeds tangled high in the willows. Shaded arboreal canopies cooling a summer day. Starting with a trickle from its headwater springs near Paulden, the Verde River builds up speed as it collects groundwater, tributaries and springs en route to its eventual joining with the Salt River. Its lush banks of ancient Cottonwoods, a curving trail of green when seen from high above, gives name not just to the river but to our entire valley. The Verde evokes images and emotions in all who have frolicked along its banks. A perennially flowing stream, its very special riparian ecosystem makes up a rare 2% of Arizona’s geography. And as with any rare element, demand exceeds the supply. However, one thing not in short supply locally is creative folks: Painters, sculptors, photographers, poets and musicians. Perhaps they can use their talents to engage the public about the river’s value and the importance of its conservation. A group of 25 Arizona artists is attempting to do just that. In launching their kayaks downstream for a three-day group camping and paddle excursion this spring, they soaked up the river’s beauty and now prepare to translate it into fine art.

 

 The Verde Artist Challenge, a project sponsored by the Cottonwood-based Verde Valley Land Preservation Institute, will share their inspiration via a traveling art show, “A River Runs Through Us.” The artwork, in a variety of styles and media, will be the results inspired by the group’s foray along the Verde. The first showing opens on July 27th at the Manheim Gallery in Old Town Cottonwood, and will travel to other local venues throughout the next year. Phoenix Sky-Harbor Airport has also expressed interest in the series, sharing the artists’ view of the Verde River with an international audience.



 “The Verde is a verde emerald in the high desert. An incomparable jewel,” said VVLP president, Bob Rothrock. An avid river-runner, Mr. Rothrock explained to me how the Verde Artist Challenge took shape, nearly by chance during the “Walkin’ on Main” event along Historic Highway 89A in Old Town Cottonwood last autumn. Attracted to a piece of art created by the multi-talented Wendy Harford of Cottonwood, Rothrock and wife Kristen began a conversation with the artist about the river and were quite surprised to discover she’d never paddled it. Mr. Rothrock, an avowed paddle-junkie, admitted he gets a “large charge of taking people on river trips.” I can practically see the light bulb going on above his head as he says, “Wouldn’t it be great to get artists on the river and get them inspired?” Working with Ms. Harford who had experience with artist group events, the Verde Artist Challenge came to life. Artist applications were accepted and judged in early 2013. “At first we thought, gosh, are we going to get enough artists to apply for this?” said Mr. Rothrock, “It was uncharted waters.” They received 32 applications for 25 positions.



 From April 5th through 7th, the 25 artists participated in a 10 mile Verde River adventure beginning at Camp Verde’s White Bridge and ending at Beasley Flats. Two nights were spent camping at Rocking River Ranch, midway, with daytime symposiums on birding, nature photography and archaeology led by local experts. During free time at camp, artists were able to sketch and paint en plein air, take photos, swim in the river and dangle from rope swings, play music, sing and write songs around the campfire. Videographer Bryan Reinhart of the Sedona Film School joined the group to film the journey for a future documentary.



 The grant-supported trip provided river guides, inflatable kayaks for the artists, as well as meals at camp. The grant also provides each artist with a $200 stipend for their eventual donation of art. Each artist will donate at least once piece of art to the VVLP, with rights for the images to be used by the organization. At the finale of the traveling exhibit, the artwork will be auctioned with all proceeds benefiting the VVLP and the Friends of the Verde River Greenway.

 

 “Honestly, I feel more importantly than the money is the public and getting their hearts connected to the river,” said Mr. Rothrock. By connecting the community to its river on an emotional level and engaging with the art, we share the Verde’s importance to the populations it touches. I was able to join the group for the final five-mile stretch between Rocking River Ranch and Beasley Flats. We’ve spent many rewarding afternoons floating the Verde in Clarkdale and Cottonwood, but this was my first time paddling this portion of the river, extremely scenic with gypsum cliffs, limestone caves and something the river guides referred to as The Tunnel of Love. Though most of the rapids were no more than Class 2, they were abundant. Several were slightly technical and all quite thrilling, eliciting a “weeeeeee” more than once. Refreshing splashes made me happy to have packed my cameras in a dry sack. The artists, most from the Verde Valley, but several from further away, were each a delight in their own unique fashion. Most had never visited this stretch of the river, and in fact many had never kayaked before. “Kayaking down the Verde River was a magical and visceral experience; one that reminded me how precious water is in the desert and how often we take it for granted in our lives,” shared Saskia Jorda, an interdisciplinary/installation artist from Phoenix,“The river is part of nature’s circulatory system and so it becomes an extension of our own. Protecting and caring for it is vital to our own existence.”



 Watercolorist Judy Jaaskelainen of Clarkdale struggled to verbalize her rich feelings from the trip, “My part, as an artist, is to paint what that felt like, to describe in some way how being with the river delicately touched my patched-up heart. I am still processing my experience from the weekend. I am so very grateful to have been included. I don't know how to put into words how meaningful it was. I hope my artwork will reflect some of the pure joy and happiness evoked by this sweet, sweet gathering.”



 “Water is integral to life,” declared Jerome multi-media artist, Richard Johnson, “Rivers are the veins of our living earth. Without our life-blood flowing, part of us will die. The Verde River is that important to me.” As a potter and a sculptor, Mr. Johnson remembers harvesting buckets of clay from the Verde’s banks in the 1970s, “and will again soon, with other artists from our magnificent river trip.”



 On April 11th, 2013 at the Camp Verde Multi-Use Complex Auditorium, the U.S. Geological Survey presented the findings of their study "Human Effects on the Hydrologic System of the Verde Valley, Central Arizona, 1910-2005 and 2005-2110: Applying the USGS Northern Arizona Regional Groundwater Flow Model." The groundwater model was based on data collected from 1910 through 2005, incorporating the Verde River Watershed and estimating the impact of human activity on the base flow of the Verde River at the Paulden, Clarkdale and Camp Verde stream gauges. This study of the Verde River’s flow, prepared in cooperation with the Verde River Basin Project and the Town of Clarkdale, indicates a decrease of water in the river due to increased groundwater use. There is future potential for the river to run dry during summer months. Per the Bureau of Reclamation report “Central Yavapai Highlands Water Resources Management Study” a conservative estimate indicates that by the year 2050 the Verde Valley and Prescott will exceed the available water supply by 45,000 acre-feet per year. That translates to more than 14 million gallons we’ll be short if we continue on our current trajectory. The Big Chino Sub-Basin (groundwater aquifer) northwest of Prescott is considered by many to be a crucial element of the Verde River’s flow. Prescott, a historic city and Arizona’s first territorial capital, has exceeded safe yield of water since the 1980s and each year development of the area’s tri-cities lowers the Little Chino Sub-Basin an additional 18 inches. The goal of the Verde River Basin Partnership is to educate the public about conservation and preservation of the river before changes are irrevocable.

 “As artists, we are site interpreters,” said Ms. Jorda. “We have the responsibility of showing the world how we perceive the beauty and force of our surroundings. Through this work, we ask our audience to love and respect the Verde River for future generations to enjoy.” "Verde River to me is the tranquility, solitude and home to the most precious life,” explained wildlife illustrator, Lynn Zubal of Sedona, “Preservation of the Colorado, Verde, and Salt River will protect all life and surrounding areas. We as artists can capture this beauty through art and our art can help protect all rivers and wildlife for a lifetime.”



 Marika Vaaranen is a Camp Verde painter and an avid kayaker who grew up in Finland. She and her husband chose their location in Camp Verde because of the river. “To me the Verde River symbolizes life itself. The sounds of the river echo the sounds of all living beings. It takes each individual drop of water to make the river just as it takes each of us to make a community.” Though Ms. Vaaranen knows the Verde River well, she says, “I am still amazed by the amount of beauty and wildlife around her. Especially kayaking you notice that you'll never see the same river twice. The water flows down to the ocean and perpetually returns from rainfall. We hope. The Verde inspires my art and spending time in or near her makes me happy. She is the reason the desert is livable.”



 In what ways can artists help the Verde River? “Artists can open windows to the Verde River for people who may not otherwise have noticed or appreciated her fully,” explained Ms. Vaaranen, “Hopefully the art created by the 25 Verde Artist Challenge artists will make everyone who sees it want to deepen their relationship with the Verde River in some way. Once people have a heart connection to the river, they will want to protect her.”

 For more information on the Verde Artist Challenge and “A River Runs Through Us”:

verdeartistchallenge.org.

www.verdevalleylpi.org

Ellen Jo Roberts lives just up the hill from the Verde River in Clarkdale Arizona. You can read all about it at ellenjo.com

 

Check-In Time: A Fascination with Historic Hotels and Motels

Check-In Time:
A Fascination with Historic Hotels and Motels.
Ellen Jo Roberts
November 2012

"Ellen @ Monte Vista" ©10/96 Debbie Leavitt

     

Check-In Time:

A Fascination with Historic Hotels and Motels.

Ellen Jo Roberts

 

      I have history with historic hotels. My first job upon arrival in Arizona was working the front desk day shift at Flagstaff’s famous Hotel Monte Vista. Affectionately known as The Monte V or simply The V in local vernacular, the massive brick structure has firmly shored up the city’s downtown since it first opened in January of 1927. There is something beautiful and sinister all at once about that grand ol’ dame. Heavy energy. Haunted, sure. Legendary stories oft-repeated, and many famous guests and wild nights adding to the intrigue. A crossroads of  European tourists, Navajo and Hopi, musicians, bar patrons, college students, hobos, old-time locals having daily breakfast in the cafe, off track bettors playing the ponies and average travelin’ folk made the hotel a colossal vortex of magic in my world.  The late night lounge scene and high lonesome train horns certainly added something to the mix.

 

Soon, the only surprise was a day when nothing surprising happened. The guests and their stories, a clash of randomness and coincidence. The hotel staff who alternated from being tightly-wrapped like family to hissing and spitting at each other like alley cats. I sometimes felt like an extra in a movie, orchestrating a concerto of check-outs and check-ins, decked in pencil skirts and pearls, playing 1940s tunes and Nuyorican jazz on cassette.  The rooms were mostly named after the famous guests who had slept there, including Michael Stipe and Bon Jovi, and each had their own quirk, angle, view, perks. Windows could be opened to access the mountain breeze above and the street sounds below. From my years spent in the cinematic lobby of a historic hotel I am forever stuck on vintage lodging. Such places always have the best neon signs. No fresh construction or easy parking for us. No anonymous chain motels. We prefer to share space with the memories of the thousands who slept there before us. Luckily, our region is chock full of historic accommodations both high and low brow.

I always think of La Posada during the winter, as we spent one cozy Winslow Christmas there with friends and dogs, playing board games in the great room, warmed by the fireplace and whiskey-spiked egg nog.

 

 

One of the few remaining Harvey House railroad hotels, La Posada was rescued from destruction by creative California couple Allan Affeldt and Tina Mion in the 1990s. Tearing away the false ceilings and walls, installed when the building was converted to office space for the Santa Fe Railway, bit by bit the architectural glory of Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter’s 1929 grand design was restored. The real appeal of La Posada is the wealth of public space both indoors and out: cozy reading nooks and seating areas, fine art, shelves full of coffee table books to borrow, and in recent years, lush gardens, broad lawns and al fresco hideaways.

Trains both freight and passenger cruise past regularly, punctuating your world class dinner at the hotel’s Turquoise Room. La Posada is like its own island, its own self-contained nation in a threadbare location. Winslow (once on track to become The Next Santa Fe before travel patterns changed from railroad to highway and airline) does become more interesting and artistic each year, expanding beyond The Eagles’ “Standin’ on a Corner” nostalgia. Travelers from all over the world visit La Posada, adding to the sophisticated atmosphere.

Have you slept in a Wigwam lately?

We have. It was slightly pointy and totally fantastic. From the 1930s ‘til the 1950s there were seven Wigwam Villages nationwide, each featuring a row of the same concrete tipi-shaped cabins, inspiration for the “Cozy Cones” of Disney’s “Cars”. Now only three villages remain: No. 2 in Cave City, Kentucky, No. 7 in Rialto, California, and Wigwam Village No. 6 in our very own Arizona. Route. 66, Holbrook.  Holbrook’s Wigwam Motel has been owned by the same family for six decades, and it’s consistently booked full, a popular overnight spot for Europeans touring the Mother Road.  The parking lot is decorated with sun-faded automotive relics parked at each wigwam, enhancing the sensation of time-travel. Holbrook is friendly, with a good archive of Route 66 artifacts and roadside dinosaurs, but there’s not much happening to keep the average city-slicker engaged beyond the nearby Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Parks. Onward east on 66, to New Mexico, and just over the border into Gallup.

“The Charm of Yesterday and Convenience of Tomorrow” can be yours at Gallup’s El Rancho Hotel. Built in 1937 by the brother of the Hollywood director D.W. Griffith, the hotel served as base camp for movie crews and stars on location in New Mexico during the hey-day of western films. Its script neon sign is the only 20^th century touch to the exterior, built to resemble a wealthy western rancho of stone, brick and Spanish tile. The rooms share some famous guests with the Monte Vista; Spencer Tracy, John Wayne, Humphrey Bogart have their names emblazoned on doors, as do a lengthy collection of other midcentury celebrities, including Ronald Reagan.  On our most recent visit we stayed in the Betty Grable room, named after a 1940s actress most famous for her fantastic gams. 

 

Like most of the hotels we visit, El Rancho is pet-friendly, so your dog is welcome to join you for no additional fee (though you do need to mention your pets when booking). An impressive two story lobby features a wishbone-shaped staircases wrapping around a stone hearth and is decorated with Navajo art, elk heads and hundreds of framed black and white autographed head shots of El Rancho’s famous visitors.

 

 

A player piano entertains folks as they enjoy a card game and their iced-teas.  The upper deck opens to a front veranda, a vantage point to enjoy views of Route 66, Interstate 40 and the BNSF railroad passing by all at once. El Rancho is a real place, a beating heart of Gallup, and a favorite with the locals who utilize the restaurant and its adjoining 1960s-flavored Andalusian Room banquet hall for their special events. During our most recent stay, a large family celebrated a noisy Sweet 16 birthday party, dance music and balloons cascading out past the restaurant and tumbling into the lobby.

Gallup is somewhat lonely and the streets, even downtown, are empty most days, except for a regular flow of panhandlers. Route 66 beggars of the west are generally non-aggressive, but that’s counterbalanced by the sheer number of them. Often times they offer a very specific reason why they need your money…. “I need to get to Flagstaff.” “I need minutes for my phone.”  If you say no they don’t offer any resistance other than a pained expression and pleasantly walk on.

Gallup is famed as a trading center for the bordering Navajo and Zuñi tribes. A visit to the Zuñi Pueblo is recommended for anyone in the vicinity. Thirty miles through sagebrush-scented landscape brings you to the compact pueblo. Adobe structures of varying vintages crowd the hilly community. A photography permit may be purchased at the visitor center for $10.00 per day, allowing you to snap images of the monolithic “Corn Mountain”, also known as the Zuñi stronghold Dowa Yalanne, and the adobe exterior of the old Zuñi Mission, a classic symbol of New Mexico-style Christianity. The A:shiwi A:wan Museum and Heritage Center is a wealth of information on the tribe, ranging from historic films to modern art and future goals.

 

The sunny southwest is a harsh climate, but history preserves well here.  A cruise along Arizona’s Highway 60 in any direction is a museum of sun-baked neon signage.  Classic cars fade from UV rays but not rust. Historic buildings are never damaged by hurricanes or earthquakes. If it’s built solidly, a desert structure can live on and remain useful for centuries. Locally, Jerome is home to several classic overnight options, including the 1898-built Connor Hotel, well-maintained and regularly restored, anchored on the corner by its popular Spirit Room bar. Though 21^st century Jerome features a great variety of vintage lodging possibilities, the Connor may be its only remaining hotel originally built as a hotel. The oldest continuously-operating business in Cottonwood, since 1917, is Old Town’s Cottonwood Hotel, best known as a place where Elvis once rested his pompadour.

Historic lodging is often times less expensive than modern chains, simply due to their lack of 21^st century amenities and their propensity for hobo sightings in the lobby. They’re odd, sometimes spooky, and definitely native to their locations. You may have strange dreams. You can check out any time you like but you can never leave. A historic hotel is always a treasure, with its strange idiosyncrasies, rowdy cocktail lounge, ghosts and awkwardly-shaped bathrooms. A recurring character starring in much of the town’s history, celebrations and fame, it’s an important citizen of its community in its own right.

 

Ellen Jo Roberts is a fan of 20^th century automobiles, architecture, cameras, and husbands,

Read all about it at ellenjo.com

Highway 89 Tales:
Hooked on Utah
The Outs
Ellen Jo Roberts
The Noise
October 2012

Back when we were flatlanders, our first dose of the west came in the form of Utah in its many brilliant southern incarnations. Slick rock. Slot canyons. Natural arches. Fragrant sagebrush. Abundant sunshine and fine dry air. Hypnotized by the big skies and postcard perfect scenery we soon plotted our escape west and by the following year we had Arizona drivers licenses and a Flagstaff P.O. Box.
            Visiting Utah always reminds me of those first enchanted days of our new life. In the early days, we used to spend more time north of the border, with frequent treks to the national forests and all of the park highlights: Zion, Bryce, Arches, Canyonlands, Cedar Breaks, the Grand Staircase. Back in the 20th century we often rented a sea kayak in Flagstaff, strapped it to the roof of our truck and headed up to Lake Powell, launching near Lone Rock to paddle and camp in secluded side canyons. But the spirits of Glen Canyon buried deep beneath the flood are too eerie and sad, and combined with a read of Edward Abbey's The Monkey Wrench Gang we eventually lost any enthusiasm for the damned lake. For the natural places of Utah, however, high excitement remains.

It occurs to me on our most recent visit up Highway 89 that Utah was my gateway drug to the west. It hooked me on the high desert. It's far too easy to be enchanted by it, so over-the-top ridiculous in its bounty of natural beauty.

           Our most recent journey took us up 89 to the historic town of Panguitch and the vicinity of the infamous Butch Cassidy and his "Hole in the Wall Gang". Red Canyon, a junior Bryce complete with matching fantastic fairyland formations of the Paunsaugunt Plateau is seven miles from Panguitch, along Scenic Byway 12. Our goal was primitive camping in the Dixie National Forest. No motel, no reservations, no running water. Just sun and sky and campfire at night, alone under the stars, just like all those years we traveled on the fly and on the cheap.
    The eye-popping scenery begins on our side of 89, and its pretty little sister, 89A, slicing through the Verde Valley up into the Colorado Plateau like a heaping helping of amazing geography. Up through the alpine ecosystem of Flagstaff and back down into the piñons, junipers and painted desertscape of the Navajo Nation. Roadside craft stands punctuate long stretches of badlands and vast panoramas. Many of the lonely lean-to structures are now decorated with giant photographic wheatpastes of Navajo life created by Jetsonarama, (a.k.a. Chip Thomas) and his Painted Desert Project.
A stop at the historic Cameron Trading Post, adjacent to the Little Colorado River, always arrives at the perfect time, just when your legs were starting to need a stretch. Just far enough from home to feel like we were really on an adventure. Buses full of Asian and European tourists join you, as do river running excursions towing trailers full of kayaks and inflatables.

Continuing north you can take two routes into Kanab: stick on 89 through Page and past the Glen Canyon Dam, or detour via 89A up over a winding alpine pass, through Jacobs Lake, gateway to the Grand Canyon's North Rim. Overall, Highway 89 is quicker, but please beware the speed traps just inside the Utah border, between the weigh station and the entrance to Lone Rock Beach. I am not kidding when I say we have been pulled over nearly every time we've cruised that stretch of highway, by assorted law enforcement officials (DPS, National Park Ranger, Utah State Police, etc.) for infractions so minor it leaves us shaking our heads. License plate light burnt out. Going 65 in a 60. In the end they always wave us off with a warning, and we drive off chuckling about how silly it is. (On this most recent journey Chad was pulled over on the way up, and I was pulled over on the way back.) Kanab is a historic community filled with Hollywood lore and surrounded by red sandstone buttes. This city is perhaps now most famous for being the home of Best Friends Animal Society, a large-scale rescue sanctuary tucked into nearby Angel Canyon. Begun in Arizona in the 1970s to save animals from kill-shelters, the society moved its operation to Kanab in the early 1980s. Carmel Junction and the Thunderbird Café (“Home of the Ho-Made Pies”) signals your turn towards Zion National Park, if you’re so inclined, but it was not on our itinerary this trip. Following 89 north the road continues to entertain as it curves through canyons, high prairie and a smattering of small tidy towns that appear to have been forgotten somewhere in The Twilight Zone. Orderville, where all is in order, you betcha’. Glendale, where sun-baked classic cars forever sit in a sales lot, waiting for “or best offer”, and a young boy prays you’ll buy some of the orchard pears from his roadside stand. Soon the Sevier River appears alongside you, grey-green, glassy, impossibly tangled and loopy. The Sevier (pronounced  “severe”) is the longest river completely contained within the state of Utah. By the time you are in Panguitch, a cute little Mormon town with tidy brick architecture and a row of vintage motels lining 89 you feel both far from home and yet completely safe. There’s a small downtown with a couple of gas stations, a grocery, a few diners, antique shops, a thrift store and a movie theater. Nothing is open on Sundays so it took us forever to track down a can-opener (forgotten from our camping gear). Brianhead Ski Resort is not far from Panguitch, but not close either. I get the impression from the locals that the town pretty much shuts down between October and April.



In the Dixie National Forest, our campsite, at the base of bright red hoo-doos and our own secret canyon, was perfect and sparsely visited. Despite there not being much traffic or disturbance by other humans, there were tall ladders in all of the piñon trees surrounding the area of our camp. I'd never seen anything like it. Manning the ladders were migrant workers draped in sap-coated aprons, bandanas and desert-style head coverings. Later, upon chatting with them in Spanish, we found out that they were all from Arizona, imported from Phoenix by a company contracted to harvest the piñon nuts now at their fattest, ripest and stickiest. It had never occurred to me, while eating pasta, pesto or any other assorted dishes featuring pine nuts where those nuts might have originated. The harvest workers’ camp was apparently not far from ours, because one night we heard them serenading the full moon with Mexican lullabies.

     Red Canyon, a favorite place for many years, is a more pet-friendly, less crowded alternative to Bryce Canyon National Park. Lots of great trails, a nice visitor center, and a large, inexpensive public campground. Many of the trails throughout the area are technical, steep and challenging, but the views are a fair reward. We’d not been to Bryce, 14 miles further along Highway 12, in a number of years. As with many national parks, dogs are not usually allowed on most of the trails. During one visit to Bryce Canyon, back before we traveled with pets, we enjoyed hiking down into a deep bowl of hoodoos while surrounded by German tourists. They called out to each other in German, their echoing hollers of “Nicht so schnell!” imploring others to slow down on the precarious steps. Upon reaching the bottom I was startled to encounter a French lady in high-heeled espadrilles, languidly smoking a cigarette. Bryce Canyon, a national park since 1928, was named after Scottish immigrant, Ebenezer Bryce, a Mormon pioneer who homesteaded nearby. Legend has it that Mr. Bryce said the unique weather-formed rock formations, complex red hot riddles of hoodoos and towering spires, was “a helluva place to lose a cow.”
(Perhaps an apocryphal tall tale, though still oft- repeated.)
     Ruby’s Inn, largest shopping area for 100 miles or more, sits just outside the park entrance. It’s a tourist city of sorts, where you can buy anything you ever needed, or never needed, including just about any kind of fancy beer. Hotels, laundromat, groceries, souvenirs, tours, fake western town. They even have a one-hour photo lab. Surrounded by a great variety of foreign languages, you can always recognize the Europeans before you can hear them speak. Their shoes are always just a bit futuristic. Let’s get out of here, back to our piñon pickers, back to our own canyon and secluded campsite. Our own private Utah.

Chad, the dogs and I spent several nights in the wilderness, cuddling sagebrush, heading off on daily adventures to explore trails, sipping on fancy IPAs and cooking dinner at the campfire, under the big sky full of stars. “This feels like home”, I’d say, “All of it. This is what brought me out west.” Favorite places like these across Utah makes me feel both young and old at the same time. Old tallying the past visits, and young remembering my first glimpses of this place as it if were yesterday.

For more information:
speakingloudandsayingnothing.blogspot.com 

bestfriends.org 
utah.com


Ellen Jo Roberts arrived in Flagstaff in 1995. She and her husband lived in a vintage pop-top camper for a couple of months, until winter came. Read all about it at ellenjo.com

Utah and the Pervasive Scent of Big Basin Sage.

In writing a new tale of a Utah adventure, I thought I should revisit the last story I wrote, published back in Nov. 2008...


Utah, and the Pervasive Scent of Big Basin Sage
November 2008
Ellen Jo Roberts
The Outs
The Noise



What to do when the economy is in the toilet, the stock market has taken a nosedive, and we’ve entered the next Great Depression? I’ll tell you what to do—take a road trip, that’s what. That’s what we do.

Why, back in the day when we barely even had jobs we managed to muster up enough gumption and funds to hop on the highway and head to unknown destinations, with only a map and a bedroll. We’d sleep in our vehicle, in forests, or in parking lots, showering at campgrounds, with no notion of our next meal.

We’d subsist on walnuts. We never knew where we’d end up. The Appalachian Trail during a winter blizzard? Sure! A Florida Keys biker bar? Why not? A field of fragrant Big Basin Sagebrush in Utah? Yes, my favorite. Life was simple then. All that mattered was the scenery, the next town, the postcards, some snap shots, and the road home. Nowadays we still travel on the cheap, focusing on the fundamentals of the journey rather than on high dollar accommodations or phony luxuries. The true luxuries are present in the rich scenes, sights, sounds, and scents of our country, in its myriad varieties.

Chad read an old “Desert” magazine from 1973 that advised “Septober” is the best season to visit Southern Utah, so all summer he’d had it written on the calendar as an extended weekend trip.

Early October is still summery hot in Arizona, but a few hours north, autumn was already taking place, bathing river valleys in golden foliage, and causing us to bundle up in jackets and sweaters we’d not donned for months. Though we are big fans of Zion and Bryce National Parks, our destination was farther, Escalante, and Boulder Utah, and the heart of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Designated by President Bill Clinton in 1996, the Grand Staircase encompasses 1.9 million acres of amazing natural features- vast slickrock, multi-hued canyons, mountains, valleys, rivers, important archaeological sites, and locations of major fossil records. It is considered a vital location for scientific study. However, Utahans were caught off guard by its protected designation back in ‘96--there was some bit of controversy about it, during Clinton’s re-election bid. Many felt that the amount of acreage protected was too huge, and others were upset it put the kibosh on a planned coal mine located within monument’s limits. However, upon seeing the region, one cannot help be nostalgic for an administration that had enough foresight to protect extremely beautiful and fragile areas for future generations.




Highway 12 is insane! You could totally crash from gawking at the incredible scenery. The stretch between Escalante and Boulder is a marvel of engineering. Winding through Calf Creek Canyon, and then rising above it, some sections of the highway are only as wide as the road, with steep drop-offs on each side, leaving you staring down into crazy deep canyons and endless slickrock. A freak Pacific storm rolled in during our visit, sorta putting a damper on the promised Septober glory, but the rain could not diminish the natural beauty. In fact, saturated with rain, the colors of the rock were deeper, the brisk scents of Utah even more autumny. Or maybe that was just the handful of big basin sage crushed in my pocket. I have had a fondness for Big Basin Sage ever since first encountering it on a winter camping excursion to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. All twisty and shaggy-barked, tenacious, with its fragrant silver leaves flooding the hillsides. It grows throughout the high desert west, but in Arizona it is generally only found in the Kaibab National Forest, as it fades into Utah. One may purchase sagebrush at Clarkdale’s “Arizona Botanic Garden” greenhouse, to plant it in your yard, as we have, but, as it is not native to the Verde Valley, it never seems to thrive in the same way as it does in its homeland.





Gas station clerks in Southern Utah are not very friendly to people they perceive as "outsiders". They are somber and suspicious. Arizonans are far friendlier to strangers. I remember once asking a guy at a Moab mini-mart if I could use their restroom and he barked at me "It's not a shower!" They are cantankerous with tourists. A clerk at a small convenience store near the entrance to Zion was obviously aggravated when a large tour bus of French folk disembarked out front. It was also obvious when the escort greeted her by name that every bus from this particular tour company stops at this mini-mart prior to entering the national park. Trying to lighten her sour mood as we hurriedly paid for a tomato juice I said, “Wow, these buses stop here all day? That must sure keep you busy!” Barely looking up, she grunted, “Yeah. But most of em can’t even speak ENGLISH!” Yikes. As I popped the top off my juice I thought to myself, “As long as they speak the color of money, I dunno what she’s griping about.”



We stayed at a cute 3 room motel called the “Circle Cliffs”, off of Highway 12, in Boulder. Boulder is very rolling and pastoral, with an abundance of livestock, and a distinct lack of traffic. The vintage motel is owned by a very sweet, friendly cattle-ranching family, and is surrounded by fields of horses, llamas, and an apple orchard. Across from our room were two mares, avidly panhandling for apples. I asked the owner if they saw lots of French and German visitors and he told me that most of their guests were foreign nationals. “They prefer this type of lodging. Americans seem to prefer the chain places, seem to be more comfortable at the Motel 6s”. The Circle Cliffs was not at all fancy. The TV only got the limited local channels, but there was a big bathroom with a tub. The room was well appointed, warm and cozy during the chilly all-night drizzle.

Boulder is quite small, population less than 200 residents, but is perhaps slightly famous for the Hells Backbone trail, and the eponymous Hells Backbone Grill, located at the wee Boulder Mountain Resort. Very highly regarded and reviewed, the restaurant is owned by Flagstaff ex-pats Blake Spalding and Jen Castle. Now in its eighth season, Hells Backbone grill has one of the highest Zagat ratings in Utah, and follows principles of sustainability, emphasizing use of locally raised organic heirloom fruits, vegetables and meats, and a commitment to the environment.



Escalante is a bigger town than Boulder, and home to the Fighting Moquis state champion basketball team. Many relics of Escalante’s Mormon heritage and settlement remain in the tidy little town, and most of the businesses are closed on Sundays, even the gas stations.



Eleven years ago we camped at Calf Creek, with our pop-top camper backed up against the largest Big Basin Sagebrush I’d ever seen. As big as a tree, that sage, in bloom, and scenting my dreams. The Calf Creek Recreation Area features camping, picnicking, and access to the Lower Calf Creek Falls trail, a several mile long hike through a glorious and steep canyon, following the creek to the falls that feed it. Our attempt to revisit the falls was rained out, and our hike cut short, but we were pleased to shake hands with that colossal sagebrush again. It was still there, at our old campsite, and bigger than ever.



The Burr Trail is a paved road where no paved road should be. It winds through a red canyon between Boulder and Bullfrog, at Lake Powell, where you can take a ferry across the lake for a shortcut back home. We took that ferry once. It was really cool. This time, though, we were just out for a stroll.



We found a slot canyon off of the Burr Trail and came back for it. On an otherwise completely vacant road, on a completely vacant trail, in a completely vacant slot canyon, a pair of bozos arrived right behind us, and sidled up right next to us, snapping photos with a cellphone for their Facebook pages-- interrupting our slot canyon solitude, with their chatter and small talk, and with no notion whatsoever that their wilderness etiquette may be lacking. We attempted to wait them out, but they showed no sign of leaving. Instead it was us who were chased off. It reminded me of hiking the Narrows at Zion. The technical aspects of hiking in knee deep water and navigating submerged rocks paled to the challenges of negotiating the crowds of fellow hikers, like a downtown rush hour, the sound of “Excuse me, pardon me” echoing a thousand times against the canyon walls.



The landscape of Garfield County is dotted with half a dozen tidy little towns, somehow seeming foreign, as if we were driving across Sweden or Denmark. Entering Tropic, Utah, we looked over to see a young girl speeding through a field on a small motorbike, dwarfed by giant bundles of wheat. Red Canyon, a miniature introductory version of Bryce, features numerous pull-outs, trails, and a visitors’ center. The highways were smooth, but occasionally cluttered with rental RVs. Soon we had rejoined Highway 89, with glorious landscape leading us all the way home, flat glossy rivers, red maples, hoo doos, jagged mountains, and vintage motels. And the pervasive scent of Big Basin Sage, tickling our noses and bringing back memories of past adventures.


Approaching Arizona, the sun came out for us, like a beacon showing us the way home. One last stop, on the Navajo Rez, on the bridge overlooking the Colorado River. Running so deep, quiet and green, contrasting with the oranges and reds of the terrain around it. We shed ourselves of autumn jackets and the Utah rain, and basked in the summery warmth, knowing it would be short lived. Autumn was following us in the rearview mirror.





For more information:
http://www.blm.gov/ut/st/en/fo/grand_staircase-escalante.html
http://www.escalante-cc.com
http://www.boulderutah.com/index.html
www.hellsbackbonegrill.com



Ellen Jo Roberts was born in 1972. Her house was built in 1914, and her car dates from 1973. She lives with a husband who graduated high school in 1990, and a few assorted pets that were born in the 2000s.

You can read all about it at www.ellenjo.com

Dog Days of Summer

Dog Days of Summer

The Outs

The Noise

August 2012

Ellen Jo Roberts

       Dogs are loud. They're stinky. They roll in filth. They destroy your favorite possessions and frequently get into mischief. Dogs require lots of our time, attention and energy. In many ways they're just like children except they'll never need help with their algebra homework or ask to borrow the car. We love dogs, but perhaps not nearly as much as they love us.

"I really try, like the old quote goes, to live to be the person my dogs think I am. I fail, daily, but they do inspire me."
Now that we have three dogs at our house we are officially "Crazy Dog People". (The three of them are so small, however, that combined they only add up to one average-sized dog.)
The self-sufficient cat can be left home alone for days. The dogs cannot. Daily I am up at dawn to let them out for their morning constitutional, standing in the yard in my pajamas in all kinds of weather. When I come home for lunch they eat theirs before I do. They're a lot of work, these stinky, slobbery little critters, always needing food, water, exercise, health care. And treats.
Don't forget the treats. In exchange, the rewards are great. They charm us with their grace, affection, devotion and enthusiasm. I interviewed folks about their relationships with their canine companions and the ways they enrich our lives.

"Dogs teach us about unconditional love and make our lives better and more fun. They love just being with us and we love being with them. The sheer joy they exude reminds us every day to cherish the little things in life."

"They make me laugh. They keep me warm. They're very cuddly and sweet company."

"I can't imagine life without my dog. He's seen me through some sad times and never left my side. When I'm sick he races to me with, what I swear, is a look of concern. We sometimes call him Dr. Dog."

"Gosh, people have written books, screenplays, songs and poetry answering this question. In too many ways to count. They renew my faith in the universe several times a day. They give me more endorphins than I deserve. They entertain and amuse me -- and they give me someone to take care of, something I wasn't able to name or recognize until a pet saved and changed my life once when I desperately needed it."

"I look forward to seeing them everyday. I can't imagine my life without them. I am recently divorced. I would have given away anything just as long as I got to keep them."

"Dogs enrich my life by offering comic relief, enthusiasm for my existence and an easy route to happiness via tricks for treats. Simple."

"I have an early memory of being asked to leave a movie theatre with my mom as a toddler because I became hysterical watching 'Benji Come Home' -- at the point I realized Benji was lost from his family and being pursued by some 'bad men.' It's a oft-repeated family anecdote that sums up my lifelong bleeding-heart-for-animals personality."

     I have a similar story of overwhelming grief watching a Peanuts cartoon as a child. Snoopy lost in wintery woods, being chased by wolves. I was inconsolable. Dogs tug on our heart strings.
I cannot ever watch the pitiful pleading-eyed pooches on those ASPCA commercials without getting choked up.

        My father was a dog trainer in the U.S. Army, stationed in Korea in the 1960s. My first dog was a handsome German Shepherd named Goru, though we frequently called him "The Gripper" or "The Grip" for reasons unknown. He was born a year before me and famous in our neighborhood. Goru was a dog that commanded respect. Intelligent, regal and obedient, he guarded my young life until he expired at the ripe old age of 12. He had been assisted in his endeavors for a number of years by the Scottish Terrier, MacDuff (aka Duffy, Boo, and an assortment of other bizarre nicknames). Duffy died when I was in college and it wasn't until I was 31 that a dog lived in my home again, bred on a Cottonwood ranch and purchased on a whim at a local feed store after driving past a hand-painted sign advertising "Chihuahua Puppies 4 Sale". A tiny animal with an outsized personality, his acquisition was inspired by an admirable dog within our circle of friends. We named him Floyd, and in addition to encouraging art, photos and adventures our success with Floyd inspired bravery to add more to our pack. What I learned from Floyd is that wherever we go, he is at home as long as he is with us. Whether we are touring some strange city or camped in a tent in some far away wilderness, if we are with him he is home. We are his home.

"The dogs inspire me creatively and artistically, and I feel blessed to have such devoted little friends and companions."

    I sometimes look around at all of the pets scurrying around our house, usually bunched up in a traffic jam happening in the same room as us, and ask, "Why do we have these little animals living in our house with us?" Sometimes it seems so weird!

       "Man's Best Friend" may have very well domesticated itself, opportunistically lingering along the edges of prehistoric camps, trading scraps for affection or alerts. Many breeds of dogs were cultivated as favorites of royalty and signs of wealth. In some cultures dogs considered unclean and contact with them is taboo. In France, dogs allowed inside restaurants and aboard public transportation. By nature they are eager to work hard for a small rewards and provide endless service to mankind, working on ranches, chasing off bears, pulling sleds, assisting the physically impaired, working under the harshest conditions and during dangerous times of war. In more commonplace situations, it's a proven fact that pet ownership improves a human's health, soothing our anxiety, and encouraging us to exercise.

“I walk more, which is good... I never really knew my neighbors until I had a dog. Going outside twice a day for walks totally changed my connection to my neighborhood. My dogs calm me. How can you watch a sleeping dog and not feel more relaxed?"

We are constantly making accommodations to have dogs participate in our lives but we don't ever seem to notice it anymore. It's become second nature.

"I don’t really remember what it was like before dogs. They are part of our lifestyle and always will be."

       Planning ahead, searching for dog-friendly activities, hotels, hiking trails and restaurants with outdoor seating so we can take them along on adventures with us. Extra expenses, surcharges, fees, detours, supplies. Traveling great distances with our dogs tucked under our seats in the airplane cabin creates an added layer of anxiety to an already stressful mode of transport, but we've done it many times. The extra fun of having them along cancels out all of the hassles. We tailor the house to better suit them. We share our space. We know not to leave food unattended.

"I sleep at the edge of the bed. I've learned not to fall off during the night. Amazing how two small dogs can take up an entire queen-size bed."

"I've learned to turn over in bed without launching them across the room."

"They are always able to surprise me in how they find new and exciting ways to gross me out, get into stuff they shouldn't and tear up things you'd never think they could."

"I've learned to put away -- REALLY put away -- things that are precious or delicate, I've learned to roll with the punches of life from my dogs. I've learned to care more and less about things than I did before when it was appropriate, and I've purchased a whole lot of junk to make my car, home and stuff dog/cat-proof: water/stain-proof car seat covers, portable fold-up water bowls, baggies of dog treats ever-present in my purse, only staying at dog-friendly hotels."

"We won't leave them at home in their kennel for an extended amount of time. We take our responsibility very seriously, so we never leave them in the yard while we're gone. So we will leave a party early to get home to let the dogs out or make sure they get their dinner. So they definitely come first. We take it very seriously...Leaving a party to let your dogs out? People think it's a convenient excuse, but it's for real!"

"The biggest accommodation is finding good sitters when we want to leave town together. Sometimes we just don't go somewhere as a result."

   Our pets become a part of our families, always there wagging when the key turns in the lock.
And their lives are always far too brief. When a beloved pet dies its dozen years with us are taken away with it, ending an era and leaving us forever changed. That's why I treasure every little moment, squeezing in as much quality time as possible. When the dogs have taken their final breath, there will be no regrets because we operated at maximum capacity. Avid participants in nearly everything we do, they've been extensively catalogued in paintings, photos and words, forever immortalized in the art they inspired.

"I have lost three of my dogs in the past seven years, and to me it is like the loss of a child. They have such big, dramatic personalities, and love with such ferocity, that the void left by their passing is immense and devastating. People with kids are often insulted by this, but I don't have children and pour all of my maternal love and energy into my dogs."

"The little dogs, they're so fragile. I just want to wrap them in armor. It may be the closest I ever come to feeling what parents feel."

     There is something about the geographical location of our home that seems to be a magnet for stray dogs. I've found far more than my share, and helped most of them find their ways back home. The intuitive creatures must sense an inherent friendliness emanating from our vicinity. Many homeless dogs need to find proper owners; unwanted animals left to run loose, left behind in foreclosures, unexpected puppies with no place to go. The local shelters are consistently full.
Do you have a place for a canine companion in your life?

"I lived in an apartment that didn't allow dogs. Although the place was nice, I couldn't wait to move so I could have a dog. I even had a name picked out for future dog, just in case..."

Perhaps you don't have a place for a dog in your home, but still have a place for one in your heart? Humane Societies welcome donations of supplies, but also welcome donation of your time. You can volunteer to spend time with the animals.

"I would love for folks to do more research before they bring home a dog and be 1,000% sure you can commit the time, love, and money to keep your dogs healthy and happy. It's time well invested."

adoptforlifecenterforanimals.org/

coconinohumane.org/

humanesocietyofsedona.com/

http://www.yavapaihumane.org/

Ellen Jo Roberts lives in Clarkdale, Arizona, with Floyd, a 9 year old Chihuahua, Ivan, an 8 year old Boston Terrier, Hazel, a 9 month old Chihuahua mix, Ned, a one year old cat, and Chad, a 39 year old mongrel of mixed heritage. They all know how to give "high fives" and roll over.

Read all about it at ellenjo.com