Mailbox matters

(Note: I had plans for a big post about the chainsaw/wood carver neighbor that I finally met on a recent walk, but the dotter caused a major distraction by sending me this link, which was all about Oz. F'rinstance, did you know that Princess Leia's do was inspired by the two poppy earmuffs that Princess Ozma always wore? But, enough!)

On to more mundane matters, such as mailboxes for the individualist. Or (above) for Miss Kitty's Cat House, that wonderful cottage on Granite Street inhabited only by felines.

A neat post to support these prosaic boxes -- they are mounted on a very large, tall pine tree.

Then there is this cute little barn I came across recently. Bet these folks subscribe to magazines -- the container is quite wide enough.

Pigs were in favor in one neighborhood -- a good way to recycle small tin cans, apparently.

But the pigs and barns and such are the product of city dwellers working to distinguish themselves from one another. Out on the desert countryside, the mail remains an important lifeline to the rest of the world. I find the occasional row of boxes out in the middle of nowhere evocative of a yesterday that most of us never knew.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

There it was, leaning up against the tiny white cottage. An large, ornate mirror, for which there was no room. The young woman had emptied her U-Haul and furniture, some of it quite fine, spilled over into the street. Overseeing the lot was a supersized plush bear. The YW and I chatted, briefly, and I continued my walk. I've no idea what has become of the wonderful left-overs from this particular long-distance move.

Going to seed already

Spring is a short interlude in Arizona, even in the mountains. April showers? Hah! A handful, if we're lucky. May flowers? Yes, a few, if only because up at our elevation, most early wildflowers are perennials; the annuals usually wait for the summer rains to make an appearance. Many grasses are already turning brown, though I found vivid green on my walk yesterday.

But the grasses are putting their energy into seeds.

Other delightful spring pods, ready to scatter seed for next year.

A garland of leaves

One day it occurred to me that if one was searching for variety amongst plants, leaves were quite as interesting as flowers, though not nearly as gaudy. I began collecting pictures and suddenly realized that I was likely to clog my archives with zillions of leaf pix. It was time to publish and get over the obsession!

How about a strawberry leaf for starters. When this image was blown up, the little hairs on the leaves were quite apparent -- and highlight the edges, a plus for the photographer. The nasturtium leaf (below) is quite distinct, being round with the stem in the center instead of one end. Good in salads, too.

English ivy leaves are darker than many, also being rather leathery, not to mention evergreen, no doubt a major reason for the popularity of the vine. Apparently, ivy is given to spontaneous generation of leaf varieties; I noted a new branch on my porch with spikier lobes just this morning.

An object for size comparison is really needed when you present a honking big hollyhock leaf. Say, a baseball mitt or small sauce pan. But then everything about the hollyhock is somewhat supersized.

The coral bell leaf is a rounded shape like the hollyhock, but smaller. Again, note the general fuzziness. BTW, why all those highlights? The plant had just been watered.

A leaf group from the emery oak, our local evergreen tree oak which produces Gourmet Acorns -- nuts that are edible when they fall to the ground. Quite unusual for an oak; the rule is that acorns have to be retted to get rid of the bitter tannin.

The scrub turbinella oak is a totally different creature. For example, take a look at those spikey leaves, which remain spikey when they've been in the mulch heap for a couple of years. In Arizona, one is advised to wear garden gloves at all times! Scrub oak is one of the reasons.

It always cheers me up when these big cotyledon leaves pop open in my garden pots. The first sign of morning glory, these distinctive leaves were curled up inside the seed.

The next leaves are usually these heart-shaped affairs, tho some reds grow highly lobed leaves (below).

The lacy leaves of scarlet gilia, a plant that colors the roadsides near Flagstaff a brilliant red in the fall.

Mountain mahogany, with spent flowers about to produce those curlicue seeds that glow in the sunlight. Another evergreen, with quite small leaves.

A total mystery, a grey ground cover from the nursery. Up close, the leaves look to have been produced by knitting.

Dandylion, either a weed or a food plant, depending upon your point of view.

And why am I closing this post with a sprig of paintbrush? First, because it is bright R.E.D. But also because the bright red parts are actually modified leaves which enclose the small flowers, which you can distinguish if you look carefully.

Signs of the times

Public signs often say more than they were meant to say or they simply might not say what was intended. At other times, the wording makes one wonder. Look what happens when a sticker was slapped on a box at the library (above). Makes a big difference.

Here's a sign that offends me mightily. I can't help think of the girls run in for sharing an ibuprofen tablet at schools where I'd bet that there are other, more serious deals going down in one of the loos. I caught the strange sign below at the same school one evening (as you can plainly tell). Obviously Perlak is not a drug.

I know, I know, this sign is meant to welcome ladies out walking their toy terriers. However, I can't help imagining a big burly dude showing up with a mastiff in his arms to inspect the antiques & collectibles beyond that door.

The problem must have the heat of the summer (or perhaps a sample of the Miller) when the supermarket guy wrote this copy. Sounds like the store had a deal with a contractor, maybe; or were they simply planning to drop of the bills on one's patio?

On the other hand, this sign really means it! But why the ban on cardboard in this big dumpster? Doesn't compute.

I'm from Chicago, where building inspectors are the favored enforcement tool of heavy-handed politicos; therefore I truly appreciate this sign.

In contrast, I suspect that this admonition outside the McCormick Place condos on Gurley is unenforceable. The last time I heard it, the sidewalk out front was still public property.

And how could I resist including this real estate special from a couple of years ago. My, how times change!

Partners on Cortez Street (above, below). Someday, I'll have to show up between 2 and 5 a.m. to see just what is happening at that hour (other than javelina wandering the streets).

This sign on Beach Street behind the Sharlot Hall Museum flat out lies. If you look down the street, you'll see the outlet down at the McCormick Street end.


And, finally...

Road Trip: Thompson Valley Road

Most people simply call it the Bagdad Road or, sometimes, the Hillside Road because those are about the only possible destinations for most people. Oh, yes, there's also the Santa Maria River, which is where my dotter and I might often be headed. The county calls the stretch from the Kirkland railroad crossing out to Yava and thence to the Hillside take-off the Thompson Valley Road. I like to think of it starting at the tufa gates just beyond Kirkland (above) where the road turns to the west. The mountains seen here in the distance are the Weavers.

A good snapshot of what the road is like. Straight, through high desert range land. It parallels the little canyon of Kirkland Creek, where the Santa Fe tracks are located. Several prosperous ranches front on this perennial waterway, though the former Ruger property has been subdivided into a big development on both sides of the highway. The mountains in the distance are between Yava and the Santa Maria.

Kirkland Peak is a major landmark on your right shortly after leaving the little crossroads hamlet. Unlike most of the area, it is granitic.

Mesas formed from great flood basalts surround the flat terrain of Thompson Valley. A romantic piece of me has wanted terribly to make it to the top of one of these mesas, convinced that there's a strange and wonderful new world on top. My inner realist, of course, knows better. More prickly pear, grasses and cat's claw acacia, most likely.

One year, the dotter and I did the tour of the mine at Bagdad; we asked the company geologist if he could tell us where these basalts originated...where was the great crack in the surface of the world fron which oozed all this lava. His disappointing answer is that, frankly, no one knows.

Long shadows are the clue that this is the return trip, arriving shortly back at the tufa gate to Kirkland.