Forgotten gem of the Dells?

Historic preservation isn't faring well in the current recession. Sharlot Hall Museum is down to a skeleton crew, for example, as state funding rapidly dries up. Which is too damn bad. There's an important piece of Prescott history sitting over in the Granite Dells waiting to be available to the public, in one way or another. I'm referring, of course to the old Granite Dells swimming lake and attached facilities. I'm sure that there are others like me whose most poignant memory of Prescott is a memory of swimming and picnicking at the Dells.

All of which is by way of introduction to my recent adventure. Back in July, I posted pictures taken from the roadside of the remains, together with a bit of gossip about the site. A few weeks later, the current owner of the property made contact and invited me over to take a detailed look from the inside. Wow! Who wouldn't jump at the chance?

Friend Patty, who had also enjoyed swimming in the Dells as a child, drove me over to meet Mark Wirth, a Phoenician, for the guided tour.

I got a closer look at the remains of the pool...

...as well as pictures from the old days. The lake, by the way, was filled by a ditch that connected with nearby Granite Creek.

The old bath house/concession stand had been brought up to date.

And we were invited into the pavilion, half of which has been updated to provide a summer getaway for Wirth and his family, with the other half remaining "as is". Or, to put it exactly, "as was".

The pavilion was built right around this granite boulder. Many of the signs, pictures and other memorabilia were given to Wirth by Mrs. Payne, one of the original owners of the facility.

Amazingly, even a few of the old booths remain.

However, Wirth had a motive in inviting me out to Granite Dells: he's interested in historic preservation and a future for the property. At one point, the city, which has bought up a fair amount of acreage in the Dells, showed an interest in buying, but then backed out. A plan (see the map above) for a private club was shot down by county P&Z after nearby residents let out a NIMBY shout. So just what does happen to this gem? A conference center? A youth hostel? Museum? City park? It would be a shame for the land to get parceled out as just one more subdivision.

Ugg naughts

Winter is on its way, bringing thoughts of cold feet. I must say that if I'd had a pair of boots like these (above), I might not have left Chicago. Those are my first pair of not-Uggs, a $25 special from Costco three years ago. And, just to underscore my cold-weather dedication to all footwear that is shearling-lined, below are my well worn, scuzzy but cozy slippers.

You can understand how my eye was caught by these Ugg knock-offs over at the local WallyMart. But even made in China, a $10 boot couldn't possibly include the all-important shearling lining. Of course these did not. But seeing them reminded me that the lining of my current boots was wearing down; I wondered what Costco might have on hand this year (and how the price might compare.)

As luck would have it, I scored yesterday! A black pair would have been grand, but then our world is just too dusty for black. The chestnut color (above) was a good compromise. As much as I'd like to own the Real Thing and support the Australian economy, $37 beats $100+ any day.

Here's my new pair of Ugg-naughts. I'm ready for whatever this winter might bring!

Camo craze

Last summer, when the Sson's family visited, my teen-age granddotter was sporting grey camo pants. Which, of course, said that a fad was well underway, as epitomized by sites such as The Camo Shop.

Earlier this past summer I had seen this camp chair at a local auto show and two days ago, my taxi driver had installed a new cover for the passenger seat -- you guessed it, camo.

And here's the cap, worn by the same driver.

So I made a point of photographing a batch of camo clothing when I was last at the WalMart. A hoodie (above) and cargo pants (below) for a boy child.

Camo cargoes for a boy teen...

...fleece pants for dad (above) and a grown-up hoodie (below). Nice (and unusual) touch: images from Nature on the hoodie in place of the usual blobs.

Above, another different approach to camo design; below, inexpensive camo gloves ($4).

Baby camo I knew about from several years ago. But pink camo came as a complete surprise to me when the dotter discussed the problem of outfitting her young one for Halloween. (That's the GD who's, like, totally into pink.) Turns out there's girly camo all over the place, but especially at Target. The bedding (with matching curtains available) is just one example; Target even offers a tent for the budding princess in a similar pattern. Talk about an early introduction to irony...

P.S. Because I was sure you wanted to see my very own camo, here it is. Cool (literally) summer pants that originated as part of a sleeper set; the top was girly girly, with lace.

Gotcha!

If you look closely at the scrub jay above, you'll note 1) a small patch of blue and 2) the color fringe that's a dead giveaway that I pushed the zoom past its optical limit. However, the news is that I actually got a nearly passable picture of the elusive jaybird. Perhaps if I had a feeder, like my SIL had up in Flag, where the Steller's jays congregated, I might be able to do better. As it is, there are several of these guys living near my house, but if I spot one and make the least move, such as peering through a camera, he's gone in a flash. So I'm half-way happy with this picture.

So why can't a blue jay be more like a spider, huh? Spider sits in my bathroom wash basin and I click away. I guess that my future is as an arachnid portrait artist.

High-rise. Low-rise. Why???

So you own a car. Or a pick-up. And you figure your wheels could be improved. New paint job, maybe. A better hi-fi (heaven help us!) A locker for expensive gear. A power winch to get down into a small canyon or out of a mud hole. These are things I, a pedestrian, can understand.

But what I don't get are all those high-rise (above) and those low-rise (below) vehicle modifications. Exactly what do they get you, except, maybe envy from fellow louts?

Take the high-rise pick-up. More road clearance, a plus on unpaved mountain trails? Nope, if you look closely, you'll note that the differential is actually quite low, quite likely to get hung up on the center of a deeply rutted outback road. Apparently these vehicles haven't been modified for the boonies. So: what's the big deal? (Need I mention that a stereo with loud, booming base appears to be an auxiliary part of a high-rise pickup...)

Then we have the low-rise machine, truly a city phenomenon. As someone who loves the back country mountain roads, I keep envisioning one of these cars motoring up the bumpy, rocky road to the Copper Basin overlook. As. If. (And, as long as I am whinging, why, why, why, ruin the lines of a lovely antique automobile?)

The epitome of a low-rise job. I wonder if this street rod can even make it over a speed bump without ruining that lovingly polished paint job. It certainly wouldn't make it up Demerse Street these days, would it?

Off-the-Wall Links: Surely you've been wondering what how fractals look in 3-D. You know you have. Here's a place to get a few views. How about the domino world record? Two and a half hours for the last domino to be pushed over. I 'm fascinated by volcanoes and found this gorgeous picture of a recent eruption in the Russian Kuril Islands. And to think, the new word of the year comes from the burgeoning social web: the verb, unfriend, which has been added to the New Oxford American Dictionary.

Asphalt graffiti

Pretty pallid stuff compared to the works that Tombo finds in assorted underpasses, alleys and sewers; unfortunately, Tom's currently on hiatus, though PrescottStyle has just come up with a lovely graffiti UFO somewhere out the White Spar. (And, speaking of graffiti, there's that new fellow on line, Prescott Streets).

But, back to my subject. This quiet trail down the middle of Beach Street puzzled me when I saw it nearly a year ago and still does. Q #1 -- how was it made? Q #2 -- why? It isn't big and splashy like modern, upfront outlaw art, so why bother?

Perhaps what we have is a sedate older person, someone whose public expressions in the old days were limited to scratches in the dirt or mud and, on a very lucky occasion, in fresh sidewalk cement. Of course, I'm quite convinced that a bicycle was somehow involved.

The grunge primitives

Meet this year's crop of dolls from the Grunge Goddess, on display at the Victorian Holiday Boutique this weekend. One of the big Raggedy Ann lookalikes was spirited away right after I snapped this shot. What can I say except that I love these guys. All of 'em.

I'm lucky enough to have this cat, Eunice by name, in my kitchen. It was given me, as a complete surprise, by neighbors involved in the first of the Victorian boutiques, way back in 2007.

I think you should take a closer look at the dolls, especially the clowns to the right, suitable for Dia Las Muertes. The Grunge Goddess, BTW, is one Norine Centofante.

Isn't the cow splendid?
More clowns.

Assorted dolls plus another cow or similar ruminant.

Last year's boutique ladies...

...and three new beauties for 2009. I'd bet the pair below are possibly Spanish: that is what their costumes plus roses in the hair insist. I'd like to have every one of them, if I were not already inundated in Stuff!