There’s a line Dorothy says in “The Wizard of Oz” movie: “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard.” Those words felt especially true this week as we entertained our good friends, Glen and Carol, who were escaping the cold, wet April in Minnesota.
It was a trip planned more than a year ago, then canceled when the virus began spreading. I’ll admit we were still nervous about having folks staying in our home after trying so hard to follow social-distancing guidelines. But with both of us vaccinated now, we figured we could stick to outdoor activities and restaurant patios, and try our hardest to take a step back into normal life.
I worried we might run out of fun things to do with them. As it turned out, we didn’t have nearly enough time to get all the things in we hoped to explore.
On the first day, we packed up a cooler of snacks and water and drove the side-by-side over bumpy gravel roads and pools of fresh spring runoff around the Crown King loop, taking breaks to breathe in the warm pine-needle air and stretch our legs.
We drove past the scorched acres from last year’s Horse Fire and discovered some burned metal Shasta Root Beer cans from back when you needed a can opener to puncture the lid. We admired the green shoots of plants poking out from the ash, surviving the devastation to grow again. We stood on craggy rocks, looking out over the Bradshaw Mountains, drinking from cold water bottles, thirsty from our minimal amounts of hiking, and wondered aloud about how brave and determined our country’s ancestors were to set out with horses and wagons, breaking trails and roads through scratchy brush and endless hills to build their new lives out here.
We spent another day exploring acres of antique shops in Cottonwood, and reminisced about items from our childhoods now designated as collectibles. We wound our way past Clarkdale and drove slowly through the crush of tourists in Jerome, stopping to take photos and admire the rickety skeletons of old homes and hotels.
Next, it was the Gold King Mine Ghost Town and the ever-growing collection of old trucks, giant rusty tools, and recreated town buildings. (I’m grateful for our modern appliances after looking at old cook stoves and hand-cranked washing machines with wringers attached.)
Our guests really wanted to explore the Granite Dells and see the rocks up close, so we hiked the Flume Trail, scrambling over rocks and loose gravel to make our way to the cool, grassy creek below the Watson Lake dam. After making it back to the car, we thought we might sneak through scratchy, overgrown bushes to show them an abandoned outdoor church in the rocks, but decided to heed the “No Trespassing” signs and have lunch at a local barbecue place instead.
We tried target shooting in Doce Pit, hauling in a motley assortment of old pie pans, cans, plastic bottles, and boards to set up an impromptu shooting range. After a few rounds, Carol and I walked down the dirt road to get away from the noise and hiked up a path to look at the rocks being quarried nearby.
And while we thought about capping things off with a tour of Whiskey Row on their final evening, we ended up just sitting on our deck, listening to the wind blowing through the ponderosa pines and watching the hummingbirds that have discovered our feeders again.
We laughed and shared favorite stories from our many years of friendship. As the sun set behind the hills, we put on jackets and just kept talking. And I thought about how grateful I am to be living in this time and place, with so much to do and admire, right here, in our own backyard.
There really is no place like home.