In the movie version of the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy's real but bleak Kansas home is depicted in black and white; once in the Wonderful Land of Oz, suddenly the world is in bright colors. This visit and revisit to the house of my Grandparents Gardner on Baseline Road in Phoenix south is quite the opposite, as you shall see.
The story began during one of my Aussie bro's periodic visits, this time in the mid-90s while my mother still lived in Sun City. After all those years Down Under where traffic follows English rules, the bro avoids driving in the States. However, he had practiced a bit among the golf carts and such in Sun City. In case you didn't know it, I have a streak of Loki (as in mischief) in me; I goaded my sib into driving south on 97th Avenue which was a quiet rural section road all the way down to Baseline. Once on Baseline, we both figured we might as well try to find the old family home, if it still existed. We headed east, past Central and soon, there it was, behind a stand selling tropical trees. The stand's operators gave us permission to photograph the house. BTW, one of the original date palms towers at the left, complete with a crop of fruit.
Here is the old house as we found it, surrounded on all sides by the glare of the desert, with but a handful of straggly trees.
In contrast, this is the house as I remember it from my childhood. Those huge plants in front are red-flowered cannas, arranged in a great circle around a lowered, grassy expanse. My grandmother G. is behind the plants, to the left. The acreage, most of it in citrus, enjoyed a good water allotment from the Salt River Project and on irrigation day, we grandchildren could play in the water in that circle.
More of Grandma G.'s garden at the front of the house -- rose bushes and honeysuckle vines. These pictures are from about 1932.
Harvesting a huge fig tree, which was to the east of the house. As I recall the tree from a couple of years later, there was a great hollow in the center, which made a grand playhouse or cave.
My grandfather in front of one of his several date palms. In the background, citrus trees.
This is the rear of the old house that bro and I saw that day in the 90s. As bleak as Dorothy's Kansas.
In my grandparents' day, it was shady behind the homestead, with a pleasant lawn and furniture for relaxing. The big branch you see was an ironwood -- a Sonoran desert tree. In Phoenix summers, we spent much time out of doors, especially in the evenings. In fact, in the hottest weather we moved our bedding out under the stars (and mosquito netting), hoping that the summer rains would not drive us back inside. I became fascinated by astronomy as a child because the seeing was so spectacular.
I wonder when the owners or tenants of the house gave up their water allocation. What a difference it made. That stump right by the house is the sad remains of the ironwood. There was no sign of the grape arbor, which I liked to climb. The folks sold the property long before I returned to Phoenix for college in 1944 and we heard gossip that it was occupied by a hippy tribe during the 60s.
My grandfather relaxes in one of several standard folding sling chairs -- a predecessor to today's standard white plastic model. Below are more of his date palms that grew at the rear of the house, including a good view of the citrus acreage.
At some point, the interior of the old house had been painted a shiny, icky tobacco brown. Heaven only knows why; almost no other color you could pick would emphasize the heat as thoroughly as brown. Long ago, the dining table was at this end of the long living room; here we ate big family dinners complete with aunts and uncles and played cards of an evening. (Though Methodists, the grandparents allowed cards.) I was amazed at how low the brown ceiling. The door at the left rear is the bathroom -- cold in winter, requiring one of those funny old round electric heaters with the element in the center.
In days past, this cement square surrounded a 3-4 foot deep structure where well water was always present, along with a bullfrog or two; ground water was not used for drinking. Below are remains of old outbuildings, of which there were several, in much better shape! Missing: the well house, built in Dutch style with a windmill on top.
What a different world that was! Try to imagine, if you are able, the ladies "putting up" peaches and plums. In August, over a hot stove in the hot kitchen. Try to imagine how comfy it was the day Grandpa G. put together his first swamp cooler made from a fan in a wooden box, with a hose trickling water through a batt of excelsior. And think about licking fresh strawberry ice cream from the churn on a hot Sunday. It was a good life if you were a kid and not worried about the Depression, as all the grown-ups were. And what's there today? I suspect houses, lots of houses, many in foreclosure.
After having lived in the Prescott area for over 25 years, it seemed like it was about time. Those bright red berries on my several squawbushes have been beckoning me for several days; today, as I did a daily climb up my hill, I picked about two small handfuls, brought them into the kitchen and proceeded.
Step one: I put the berries in a glass and added water, then stirred. After a couple of minutes, I tasted one of the berries and, finding it flavorless, figured that the all the sour had been washed off into the water.
Time to drain. Oops! Not being a tea drinker, I have no small strainers so I had to make do with the big sieve I use for pasta.
This should give you an idea of the size of the berries -- and the amount I used for one glass of "lemonade".
Next, sugar to taste. Guess what: it tastes pretty much like the real thing. All that lore is correct, although I suspect Robert Laurence, who wrote about the subject, never tried it -- he said one should crush the berries. If one did that, I'm sure that the woody flavor would be released to ruin the "lemonade". BTW, I probably collected enough of the flavor principle on my fingers while gathering berries to have made a second glass of "lemonade"; be warned!
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