Three Arizona Canyons
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By Mark Rozema
et’s begin on state route 260 as it promises escape from the fast food franchises and mobile homes of Camp Verde, on a July afternoon. Let’s say you are driving through a thunderstorm— the first of the summer monsoons. The sky is charcoal blue with a gathering downpour, and the breeze feels electric, with a hint of ozone. In thirsty anticipation, desert shrubs are opening up, releasing their perfumes. The pungent aroma of the Creosote bush prompts you to roll down the window, even though the wind buffets your
face. The highway is empty and the landscape wide open as a heart. Shimmering curtains of rain weave against a backdrop of ragged lightning and the sudden rip of thunder. The curtains tease the yearning ground. Swirls of wind shave the hills. As you gain elevation, you leave the Creosote behind. Soon, you are winding your way through gently rolling grassland the color of wheat, tinged with a hint of Kelly green, sparsely dotted with gnarled juniper and pinyon pine. Gradually, elevation increases and trees crowd closer together. Isolated Ponderosa pines begin to appear, and soon predominate. Grasslands give way to genuine forest, open, with a carpet of brown needles. The sky darkens and rain begins to fall, fat drops dimpling the dusty shoulder of the highway. Say the forest beckons you off the highway and onto a dusty forest road. You don’t know where you are going, but you will go there. For several miles, the Ponderosa forest seems changeless: Furrowed dark bark, green needles above, brown needles below. It smells good. Lightning strikes frighteningly close to your car. Miles pass. Because you
Image: © Steve Dunleavy (Flickr CC) | www.fotopedia.com/items/flickr-5126762996