I am lying on my back in a swimming pool. Steam curls all around me like little ghosts; I look up at the stars, still visible in the city, and then my eyes scan little hotel room windows, where a man is watching a woman on television sing.

Being underwater has always jolted me into the present moment. It muffles all the outside sounds except the steady sssssss of the jets, allowing me to notice, to be grateful, to shut off the radio in my head, if only for a moment.

Just now a Hispanic couple step out of their balcony to smoke, and, noticing me and Mikey, call to their children, “Niños! llegado mira esto!” The two kids slide open the balcony door, and take seats next to their parents.  Soon we have an audience of four, staring in wonder as the two gringos swim leisurely in the dark in one of the coldest nights in Phoenix.

Mom and Grandma had arrived a few days earlier_, with little Sophie in tow. It was so lovely to have them; there were many hilarious moments (one of which was trying to get out of our tiny two-door truck’s backseat, nobody could do it with much grace, let alone almost causing serious injury), along with the usual fight-to-the-death arguments of who gets to buy what, etc.

The first day we headed back down to Gilbert Ray in Tucson, where Gram helped us with our budding interest in birding. We would walk in the morning and at dusk, the best times to view them, and Gram would narrow down a hunch, and with a flip of her wrist seemed to magically find the exact bird in her book within seconds. “It’s a Great-Tailed Grackle!” She would shout, as if she had just won a thousand dollars.

We hiked slowly. Mom donned new hiking poles for her broken leg, and we stopped every so often to rest and watch the birds. It was lovely.

At night, since they didn’t allow campfires, we would burn a sterno log on the grill and listen to the coyotes. Twice on our walks people have told us, “They’ll eat your dog, you know,” with that fatherly, all-knowing look. While that might be true, I can’t help but hear the desperation in their call, like a family of orphaned, lonely puppies.

On day three it was decided that we would return to Patagonia Lake. We camped a few feet from the water in a little grove of short, scraggily trees. Coot ducks swam in the bay, and we hiked the nearby birding trail each day. It seems that the swath of birds we heard on our first trip were merely passing through. The trail was mostly quiet. As we were approaching home, however, Mikey spotted something big swoop down and settle in a nearby tree. It was a Great Horned Owl. Stoic and proud, he stared at us like peasants in his mighty kingdom. We sat in silence. Once we came to our senses we scooped up Soph, who probably looked like a plump, delicious bunny rabbit.

The next day we went to a bird sanctuary in Patagonia, where we got to see dozens of birds, none of which I’ll try to rename so as not to embarrass Gram. One beaut, though, was the Lazuli Bunting, a pretty blue sweetie on the right in this photo:

Lost Dutchman campground sits behind the appropriately named Superstition Mountains, which reach upward like a giant crown in the otherwise flat desert. We’re told its the most famous lost gold mine in history. According to many versions of the tale, the mine is either cursed, or protected by enigmatic guardians who wish to keep the mine’s location a secret.

We camped here for the remainder of their trip:

See our neighbor? Baby Scamp:

The next day we drove on towards Canyon Lake. It’s always a shock to see a large expanse of water in the desert; riverboats churning slowly along the sheer-cliff shores. We drove on, surprised to find the road deteriorating—deep rivets carved out of the dirt and large sections completely washed out—just as the scenery was coming to life. The area reminded us of a smaller version of Zion. So beautiful. We switchbacked down, hanging on as we slammed over rocks; hugging the curves. “Good girl”, we cooed, patting the dash of our truck.

On the way home we stopped for beers and nachos in a little tavern in Tortilla Flats. The entire restaurant was wallpapered in signed dollar bills, and one could literally saddle up to the bar; the chairs were made up of western saddles. I squeezed lime and salt in mine; a custom I picked up whenever we’d go to Mexico.

We spent the next few days hiking, eating out at our new favorite Mexican hole-in-the-wall joint (Los Favoritos—they have the best carne asada burrito I’ve ever tasted), shopping and sitting around the fire at night. “Did the bus go by?” We’d say when we felt it was time for a toddy (an inside joke, kind of like is it five o’clock yet?) We would then ask Gram all kinds of stories from her childhood; when she was caught licking a pound of butter under the kitchen sink, when she was stung by wasps forty seven times in her face at age two, how great grandma and grandpa parented, etc.

The glow of the fire with a little snort of rum make the best combination.

—

In the mornings we would have our coffee together on the couch, exactly like the grandparents in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

 

It was so nice having gram, the visit ended too quickly. We miss you gram (:

Up next—get ready for Dad and Jojo to visit for christmas.