Sunday, January 11
Bridget and I walk from our campsite to the fee pay station at the entrance of Painted Rock Campground, west of Gila Bend, Arizona. The morning sun is warm on our faces as we meander around the creosote, rabbitbrush, and ratanay bushes. We’re both feeling good.
I don’t know what it is about the harness and leash that gives Bridget a case of happy toes. She loves being on-leash! Here she is walking with . . . What IS that thing? A demon dog?
We encounter a man in short pants coming the other way.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it!” he calls out cheerily as he approaches. “This sun is GREAT!”
“Yes, it is,” I respond, smiling and squinting into the sunshine. “I remember my childhood in upstate New York. Sure does make me appreciate these days.”
“We’re Canadian, so . . . ” He hesitates.
“So . . . there ya’ go!” We laugh with camaraderie and continue on our way.
Later in the morning Bridget and I walk out into the desert.
I put my Keen trail shoes back on. “C’mon, little explorer. Let’s do the wash.”
Since our campsite is at the far end of the campground, we quickly step outside its boundaries directly into the desert plain. Bridget can run loose. We cross three narrow washes on our way to the big wash.
We walked over here yesterday, but it was too overcast for photos. The palo verde trees grow well here, very thickly branched. They look deceptively soft.
This wash is like a superhighway across the desert. I’m happy to see that there aren’t any tire tracks. I see a pile of rabbit droppings and tracks in the sand . . . . likely coyote or fox.
Bushes grow out of the rocky berms. I notice several entrances to rodent tunnels.
Walking the desert is very calming. No raucous ravens here. A few cactus wrens scratch the ground.
Bridget waits while I take photos. I turn around quickly and catch this one before she can make a stinky face. I’m not too steady with the camera. The element of surprise is the main thing . . . .
I want to go further, but . . . .
Who am I to make that decision? I look behind me and Bridget is headed back the way we came.
“Gosh, Bridge. Quittin’ already?”
She sits on her fanny, waiting for me to catch up.
Again she waits before we climb out of the wash.
It amazes me that Bridget’s paws aren’t torn up with the rough rocks outside the wash. Thorny little plants only an inch or two high are all over the place. She trots through it with ease.
Without any help from me, Bridget leads us home.
A new commenter on this blog asked this question under the previous post:
“One of the motivations for reading your blog was to learn about what we would do (my wife and I) if we took off in our TC for long trips. How would we entertain ourselves day to day? I am retired 4 years now, and keeping myself busy and entertained here at home is hard enough, even with all the projects, the internet, tv, etc.”
I’m not a good one to give an answer to that question.
Here’s why I’m not. My guess is this reader has a task-driven personality. I don’t. My idea of a task is adjusting the reclining angle of my lounger. “Read, relax, and ruminate” probably isn’t this man’s idea of a full day!
Maybe you would like to share some ideas in response to his question:
“How would we entertain ourselves day to day?”
rvsue
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