Cameron, AZ
When I was there for the first time it was 1995, the year my mother and Jerry Garcia died. Probably why the trip was so impactful for me and the memory of it so sharp and dear. Ofcourse, I know Cameron from my own memory now, which is different from yours, just as yours is different from those who came before you; and when they change it again, my memory will still want it to remain as it was.
And I suppose in my mind it will remain as I saw it and experienced it...The Navajo Taco on the Indian Fry bread, yes, as big as the one you have in the photo! It was so delicious to me after having been hiking all of those days, eating bagels, trail mix and fruit. I was dusty and dirty and digging in like it was the heartiest entree of a 5 star restaurant, and to my stomach, it was :)
Wandering in the display room of the Trading Post, looking at the cheap Indian crafts from Guatamala; and alternately, the precious unique works of the local artisans. There was reconstruction in the back going on to add something I would never see.
The beautiful new motel room that it could be I was the first one, or one of the first, to sleep in the new bed. Falling asleep on an unused pillow after sweet lovemaking in the sunny afternoon and not waking for 12 hours. I slept well there, too.
But my parents had been there many times in the past. Funny, and so strange is that I have a photo on my desk right now of my tiny little mother in a pink sweatshirt standing by a creosote bush with the red rock of Sedona behind her. I'm looking at it and this is a complete coincidence to the writing of this post.
My dad told me that before they left to go home, (it might have been this trip, the trip in this photo and this might be the picture he took), she asked him to drive her out to the desert one more time so she could stand in it in the light of the morning. I find that so tender when I think about it, that she would ask him that.
Anyhow, they had been to Cameron many times before me, their first memories of it more like yours. My dad has enjoyed it's changes over the years, perhaps because it has increased the activity of his social life with the natives :).
Wandering in the display room of the Trading Post, looking at the cheap Indian crafts from Guatamala; and alternately, the precious unique works of the local artisans. There was reconstruction in the back going on to add something I would never see.
The beautiful new motel room that it could be I was the first one, or one of the first, to sleep in the new bed. Falling asleep on an unused pillow after sweet lovemaking in the sunny afternoon and not waking for 12 hours. I slept well there, too.
But my parents had been there many times in the past. Funny, and so strange is that I have a photo on my desk right now of my tiny little mother in a pink sweatshirt standing by a creosote bush with the red rock of Sedona behind her. I'm looking at it and this is a complete coincidence to the writing of this post.
My dad told me that before they left to go home, (it might have been this trip, the trip in this photo and this might be the picture he took), she asked him to drive her out to the desert one more time so she could stand in it in the light of the morning. I find that so tender when I think about it, that she would ask him that.
Anyhow, they had been to Cameron many times before me, their first memories of it more like yours. My dad has enjoyed it's changes over the years, perhaps because it has increased the activity of his social life with the natives :).
posted by SPOA | 6:37 AM
2 Comments:
I like seeing your rural US life K....so different to mine.
Hi Skoob, this is the desert southwest, about 2000 miles away from me. Long way, like from London to Africa.
You would love the photo ops in the southwest, Arizona and New Mexico...
My part of the US is more like what you're used to, lush, farms, smalltowns.
Good to see you, I was thinking about you yesterday.
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