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The assignment was to spend fifteen minutes looking around us and taking notes on what we saw and felt. Then, without discussing what we saw, both Dan and I were to write up our experiences, and then trade them the next time we got together. We had chosen for this first attempt Hunt’s Tomb. As we arrived and parked the car, I remember thinking that fifteen minutes did not seem like much time. It was one of those days that reminds you that summer is not far away. The sun was strong, but not yet uncomfortable. It was warm enough that the winter time chill in the air had completely disappeared and the humidity was low. This combined with a gentle breeze to send aloft the warm, dry desert smells that I have come to love so much. We parked the car at the bottom of the hill and headed up towards Governor Hunt’s tomb. It sat atop the hill looking like a large white diamond driven half way into the ground. The tomb is a pyramid that is surrounded by a chain link fence. At the bottom of the hill is a water spigot off to the side of the dirt pathway with one lone cholla cactus next to it. Small, yellow wild flowers are spread in profusion throughout the area. They are one of the results of the recent and plentiful rains that have been the gift of the small Mexican boy known as El Nino. The tomb is located inside the Papago Park picnic area and the red rocks in the area provide a stunning view. To the north of my position I can see a group of large, white, metal power poles in the distance. Their rigid intrusion on the peaceful scene is a reminder that we are still in the middle of a thriving metropolis, even though it is hard to see the city from this vantage point. The path to the top of the hill is dirt and seems to be made of the same red material as the surrounding buttes. In places there are wide, broad steps made of old railroad ties imbedded in the ground. To my left and below me I could see parts of the Phoenix Zoo. There was so little noise that I could actually hear part of the speech given by a tour guide on one of the zoo trains in the distance. Since this hill was so much higher than most of the surrounding area I could see for miles in all directions. The chain link fence surrounding the zoo looked so out of place in that open panorama. Hearing a kind of crunching sound getting gradually louder, I look in the direction of the noise to see a young man riding a bicycle down the hill at a rapidly increasing speed. At the top of the hill to my right is a young blonde woman in shorts and a skimpy green top. Next to her are two young men, also in shorts and no shirts. True to the summer ritual of the young, they are offering up their winter pallor to the sun god in hopes of receiving the tan bodies they feel makes them more desirable. As I climb higher I can see more and more of the surrounding area. Northwest of me I can see a portion of Camelback Mountain with homes part way up the side. This section of Camelback is framed on either side by the closer red buttes and a curving expanse of tree tops in between. Below me I can see some of the picnic areas. Scattered here and there are tiny ponds and narrow streams of algae rich, greenish water. I reach the top of the hill and circle around the tomb to the left and I can see more of the zoo below. There is a giraffe, over there ostriches, and there a camel giving rides to small children. The warm air carries a hint of animal dung; not strong enough to be offensive; but just enough to seem out of place on the desert air. I can see people walking from one exhibit to the next on asphalt sidewalks lined with fences and white chains. From this perspective it is hard to tell whether it is the animals that are enclosed or the people. I walk to a bench and sit down to enjoy the view. It’s dark, blackish gray, concrete surface has been steadily gathering heat from the sun all day. It radiates that heat back to me now as I sit there watching the planes landing at the airport. From this distance they seem to move so slowly that it seems impossible for them to stay aloft. Behind the airport I can see the Estrella Mountain range where it goes through South Mountain Park at the extreme southern edge of the city. I hear a panting sound and look down to see a small, almost toy sized, black dog on a leash. He is straining to get to me with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging from his open mouth. He is much friendlier than his owner who studiously ignores me. Gazing off to the west again I can see the new Bank One Ballpark, which Phoenicians have affectionately dubbed BOB. Around BOB are several skyscrapers. From this distance they seem huddled together for company, looking lost, alone, and totally out of place in the desert vista before me. Off to my right I can see a dirt road with palm trees on both sides that have grown almost together at the tops to form a canopy over the road. I stretch, smile, and sigh as the love of this place sweeps over me once again. I have just time enough to thank God that I live in Phoenix, when Dan smiles and says, “Time.” As we walked back to the car, I laughed to myself as I reviewed the amount of notes I had taken. How long fifteen minutes actually is can be a very relative thing. I took one last deep breath of the warm, dusty air, got back into the car, and smiled all the way home. © 1998 by D. Ron Mack Written 4/22/1998 |
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