GrannyJ's Famous Trail Mix

I am definitely not a foodie, though I worked on a restaurant trade magazine for many years. Maybe that's the reason. It takes energy, imagination, and a palate more delicate than mine to focus so intently on the food one eats. Not to say I don't enjoy hearty ethnic foods but cooking for one day in and day out is close to being a chore. That's why I keep a supply of GrannyJ's Famous Trail Mix on hand at all times. Not for hiking, but for lunch. The recipe is simple: collect as many different kinds of dried fruits as possible (including sun dried tomatoes), dice the big ones and mix the lot into a nice jar. At serving time, add a generous topping of sunflower seeds plus larger mixed nuts if you have them on hand. If you're feeling extra energetic, dice a bit of celery or an apple quarter for added crunch. Best sources for variety in dried fruit: Costco and Fry's, since we have no Trader Joe's.

Note of the Day: I was never a rock-climber, but oh how tempting the granites over in the Dells. Our newcomer Rich, who posts at Gadget's Airstream Chronicles, is not only staying at the Point of Rocks campgrounds right in the Dells, but he has been climbing those huge rocks and taking awesome pictures. Go take a look -- scroll down to get to the first of the pictures and continue on. Two other on-line visits to make: 1960s Prescott at the Courier's site and OmegaMom's cogent comments on Virginia Tech.

Ghosts of Cars Past

I hadn't intended to box myself into an existentialist corner when I tackled the problem of those wonderful old cars on display at the McIlvain Motor Co. I merely wanted to get pictures.

Two problems: #1, the owner died, apparently his heirs are not interested in continuing the business, and all is tied up in probate. #2, the showroom windows face south and reflect like crazy, resulting in images of cars past overlain with cars present.

So, the question is, dear reader, which car is the Ghost and which is the Reality, out there on the street.

The Triumph manages to assert itself! Lovely car -- we had a TR4 when we moved out here to Wilhoit; a car made for tooling back and forth on the White Spar. It was bright red

Here is the prize of the collection, however. Look closely through the reflection of here and now and you get the outlines of this beauty.

The photographer (me) managed to create enough shadow to bring out the elegantly upholstered seat. Red.

But, like the Cheshire cat, the car relic is less substantial than the reflection in the showroom window!

One of these days, the probate business will be settled and the question will arise of what happens next at the corner of Gurley and McCormick. In the meantime, hie yourself down there to lust after those antiques while it is still possible.

Bad Blogger!

Down Blogger! Sic 'em Blogger! Whatever I said last night did not arose the sleeping beast to post my pictures. Same all over the world apparently. Anyhow, I'm still here & it looks like the problem is solved. So come back in a while and discover why the picture above is captioned "Cheshire Car."

Prescott Media Watch

There's a new(s) blogger in town; his mission is Courier-watching. And critiquing. A fine entertainment for Steve as well as his readers. A blog sure beats letters to the editor as a way to get heard on a regular basis, though it probably doesn't reach nearly as many folks out there. Criticism may improve the writing style of our paper; I question whether it will have any impact on treatment of local sacred cows that the editor dare not touch.

Picking on the local newspaper is a time-honored tradition and by no means confined to the shortcomings of small town journalism. When I was young and a copy girl on the long-lamented Chicago Sun, everybody carried on about Col. McCosmic and his Chicago Tribune: his politics, of course, but also his hang-up on spelling reform (fotograph, anyone?) Nonetheless, any time one of Marshall Field's hand-picked crew got an offer from the Trib, he/she jumped at it. The colonel paid twice as much as the guild papers in town. Oh, yes -- politics aside, the Trib's local coverage was also a lot classier. We had a Hearst paper to pick on, but its problem was merely that it was tacky and on the way out.

Curiously enough, I would guess that right now the Courier is in better shape financially than 2007's Chicago Tribune, which was just sold, or possibly the Arizona Republic, which appears to be cutting back. Is the Internet doing what TV failed to accomplish? Consider those classified ads, whose role is being undercut by the on-line likes of Craig's List. The classifieds kept pumping $$$ into newspaper tills over the years even as national display advertising migrated to the tube. No more.

It has to do with that old truism: the classified, like all news, is local. And good, bad or mediocre, local is why I read the Courier. And ReadItHere. And the Yellow Sheet. And Monsoon. And those slick-paper magazines that pop up periodically. (Right now Yavapai Woman and Yavapai.) Yep, I'm a print junkie...

But I also link over to Coyote Radio, The Truth PV (even more critical of our local press than the new kid on the block), and now Courier Watch. To find out what's happening in my world, a world I can enjoy here and now and possibly influence -- as opposed to Everywhere Else, where I'm just one more atom. If I want to get the feel of the real world out there, I read local blogs from Elsewhere. They are written by people who are firmly anchored in their own piece of the earth -- and it shows.

(Note: I may have spoken too soon about the health of the Courier. When I consulted the Google for the Craig's List URL, I discovered CL had recently opened new Prescott and Flagstaff editions. The link above is to the local version!)

The Balloons Look Down

By me, they are innocent enough, these colorful, helium-filled balloons. But I fear my dear cat Max was marked for life by such a balloon. The occasion was the 1st birthday of our newest granddaughter. At Albertson's, I saw a silver plastic balloon with a smiley that said "Happy Birthday." Bought it. Tethered it in the hallway at about person height during the party.

At the end of the gathering, on a lark, I fastened the tether to Max's harness. Not a happy idea. So I disengaged the big silver smiley, which promptly floated up to the ceiling. We all forgot about it.

In the middle of the night, my husband woke me up. "The cat's going crazy," he said. Where the bedroom ceiling slanted up to the clerestory windows, the balloon was floating back and forth, back and forth, with the face looking down at us -- and the terrified cat. Shortly thereafter, the knight in shining armor slew the dread monster.

However, ever since that night, Max cat goes into hiding when he hears a car pull up and he takes his time emerging to inspect any arrivals. I suppose if I were a cat or a little kid and saw those eyes staring down at me as the face drifted back and forth, back and forth on the ceiling above me, I'd be more than a little traumatized, too.

Skateboard Park

There's something very 21st Century about specialized parks. Prescott has at least two of 'em -- a park for dogs and their people and the skateboard extravaganza above. Very photogenic.

I got a good look at it back last summer when the remarkable Niece from Memphis was visiting. Neither of us could resist taking a picture despite the very overcast weather! Very much a boy kind of place, I'd say...

...though that kid looks sort of lost down there!

Oops.

A Trove of Lost Things

When you go walking to See rather than to Work Out, small details worm their way into your vision. Often they are lost things. A couple of jewel cases. Empty. What happened to the CDs? Uploaded to the iPod, possibly. Maybe passe and used as frisbees. We'll never know.

This small shoe looked very lonely, sitting up there on the corner post across from the school. I could envision the toddler, hopping along, one shoe off and one shoe on. Not to mention a very annoyed mother...

Tent signs tend to get blown around this windy spring. As it happened, the only businesses near this sign were two mortgage houses and an auto parts store. No, they don't got sandals.

Here's an item that is frequently showing up lost these days -- the decorative auto wheel cover. Every time I see one lying by the roadside, I'm inclined to shout, "Bling, bling, who's lost the bling!"

But there's nothing bling about this lost (or tossed) item. This mattress has truly seen better days -- if indeed it ever enjoyed them in the first place.

Note: FizDane over at Splendid Pictures from Around the Net has posted several of my junkyard horse pictures. BTW, if you like interesting or beautiful or outlandish pictures, be sure to stop by Mr. F's site on a regular schedule.

Copper Is Hot Again!

That's the big story in today's AzRepublic business section. When Phelps Dodge and BHP closed their mines over in the Miami-Globe area of the state at the recent turn of the century, copper was selling for a mere 65 cents/pound. Thanks to big demand primarily from China, the price has risen as high as $4 and is currently at $3.25. Time to reopen some mines, say the big companies. So what does this have to do with Prescott, you might ask. Let me count the ways, starting with the simple fact that we do live in copper country.

#1. There's Bagdad (above), only 60 miles west of town, which never closed, even during the bleakest days for mining. #2. There's the Zonia, south of town in Peeples Valley east of SR89; this smaller open pit was still being maintained when we moved into the area back in the early 80s. It's changed hands a couple of times; the current Canadian owners are considering reopening.

Before I continue with speculation (#3 & #4), let's pause for a moment in Bagdad. That house-sized machine above is just one of the sights you might see if the annual mine tour is offered this year. Take a careful look at the open pit at the top of this page; you'll see tiny vehicles on the roads; they are the size of this behemouth! If you don't get the opportunity to visit the mine, go to this site for a picture tour (BTW, it's the source for the picture above.)

How serious is mining in Yavapai County? Answer: the ad above ran in today's Courier; I've seen help wanted ads for Bagdad several Sundays. And these just happen to be probably the best paying jobs in the county for skilled workers.

But I said I'd speculate. PD owns more than the Bagdad mine complex. Remember Jerome, #3? As far as I've heard, the huge mining company has never relinquished ownership of the mine(s) or the entire town, for that matter. I'm sure that this is not for sentimental reasons.

And #4? Well, Copper Basin Road is named that for a reason. Travel the road west over the ridge and you're right there, in the Copper Basin. Also owned by PD; in fact, this is where Phelps Dodge got its start. Back in the early 80s, there was more than a bit of a kerfluffle when PD and the Forest Service proposed a land trade which would have upped PD's local holdings. The trade didn't happen. Instead of a compact open-pit, out-of-sight eyesore offering hi-pay jobs, we've lost thousands of square miles to development and gained who knows how many bottom-of-the-barrel retail "positions." But that property is still in PD's hands; who knows what the future will bring.

Note: To learn more about mining in Yavapai County, here are some sites to visit. Sharlot Hall Museum has an archive of mining photographs as well as an article about the history of Bagdad. Another collection of info about Bagdad is here. A quick review of Jerome history will be found at this site. And The Google sent me to Amazon for a book, After the Boom in Tombstone and Jerome.

Guardian of the Latch

I'm pretty sure the structure above is an old icehouse, possibly used to store produce or dairy products for a neighborhood delivery route. The door, more than a giant's step above the ground, is obviously meant to provide an opening for stuff, as opposed to people entry. The handle is heavy-duty, to make sure that the thick, insulated door stays good and tight.

Just last week, I was walking down this, one of my favorite alleys, and look at who I found. Sitting up on that heavy-duty handle, daring any passerby to try opening it.

That's one ferocious warrior cat-woman ... lion lady ... leopard lass. I think she may belong to a local blogger; I'm about to check it out. Hope I have better luck than I did in asking The Google about icehouses. No, I didn't want to find out about Australian rock groups or Texas beer parlors. Here's what Wikipedia had to offer by way of information; it's a long and honorable history, by the way.

Dangles

Trees do wonderful things in early spring. This past week I've collected several shots that intrigue me. All involve what you might call dangles of one sort or another. The tree above looks like it belongs in the maple/box elder clan; those are last fall's seeds hanging in clusters even as new leaves burst open.

To my surprise, I learned that the quaking aspen produces an inflorescence, similar to that of the pussy willow, which lengthens into the forms in this picture.

Not sure at all which species these dangles belong to. But they're mighty photogenic.

This cluster reminds me of a delicate but elaborate earring. Again, I'm ignorant as to the brand of tree, but appreciative of the artistry.

It's Spring...Another Neighborhood Walk!

And who better to welcome everyone along for the walk than the frog king! Frogs/toads are standard yard ornaments, along with snails, little heads, cupids, butterflies, even dinosaurs and scorpions. Among the missing: cats, dogs and horses. Don't understand why.

This property recently changed hands; the new owners made sure that these pleasant steps and little rock wall are now visible for passers-by.

On a more untouched street, I found this patch revealed when someone removed a rather large stone. Somebody's home stands naked! Ants? Beetles?

The first iris of the season, poking through a chain link fence. Guess you'd call this "ordinary cultivated iris"; whatever the name, it is well adapted to our climate and spotty rainfall. I've seen happy clumps of iris blooming on properties where the house must have burned down 50 or so years ago. Our native iris grow in seasonal streambeds and lakes at higher elevations.

Hard to photograph: the delicate little lavender mustard flowers that are among the earliest plants to blossom. In a big patch, the scent is almost too heady to bear.

Another spring herald -- one of several locally growing fleabanes, this plant with more of a lavender tinge than most.

Yet another bright harbringer of spring, the ubiquitous dandelion.

It wasn't all Nature on my walk. Here's a somewhat strange version of the "my kid is superior/above average at XYZ school" bumper sticker that almost every parent's car bears in this town (and I suppose most towns these days of self-esteem at all costs.)

Finally... I really do admire this bike for its excellent collection of stickers!

What, Me Afraid of the Dentist?

Driving east on SR 69 into Prescott Valley, it's hard to miss this building. No, it's not a franchise toy store. Would you guess that it's a dentist's office? Oh, yes, he does specialize in children. There's a similar structure over on west Gurley heading toward Gail Gardner Way. Same dentist, they say.

I have questions about this establishment. First, does it entice children -- or scare them? Mikeb took his picture of the Gurley Street version in black and white; he says, The[se places] are just sort of creepy and I wanted to portray just how sinister they feel to me.

Another question: is this idea an original -- or something that is, to use the word properly, a meme in the dentistry trade, promoted in the appropriate specialty press?

Note how the crooked house theme is carried over to the bench, waste can and even the shrubbery (below.)

Caught in the Act?

What do they use these days? Soap? A more up-to-date product that comes in a spray can or a tube? Whatever the media for the scribblings, the motivation completely escapes me. A mean streak, certainly. I think I got the car above one night shortly after the act.

In this case, I was out walking of an afternoon and realized that I was witness to a "soaping". I think. The incident was last summer and my zoom lens wasn't up to the task of Real Photojournalism, i.e., catching the perp in The Act. However, it came close.

But, then, this young lady might have merely been curious, just as I was. She may have known the owner of the victim car. Whatever. Certainly a testament to the fact that in the USA, one's car is one's persona.