I was still tired but felt a little better after a rough night’s sleep. As usual, Jeff woke before anyone else and ate breakfast on his own in a recon mission for F.S. and me. As hotel breakfasts go, it was just fine, and F.S. and I got our fill. For some reason, I always go nuts on the apple juice while on vacation, though I rarely drink it at home. Go figure.

F.S. was disappointed that we wouldn’t let him take a morning swim in 40 degree weather and was a little sulky as we said goodbye to Hotel We Love and made our way south. The first stop was San Xavier del Bac Mission outside Tucson. Jeff in particular likes to take pictures of cathedrals and old churches, and the history behind this mission was interesting in the timeline of Arizona. Construction on the church began in 1783, and the mission stood from its beginnings as part of New Spain, then Mexico, and finally, after the Gadsden Purchase, as part of the United States. It has always served the community of Native people since its inception, and today is part of a complex that includes a Franciscan parochial school. The interior shows what Spanish colonials could do so far from the Old World and includes original statuary and murals from the late 18th century. The parish still holds regular masses there, often with standing room only, as many people make a pilgrimage there.

We didn’t stay very long at the mission, but pressed on toward one of the most remote parts of the National Parks system in the lower 48, Chiricahua National Monument. To get there, we passed through some of the most barren landscapes I’ve ever seen, followed by open range for hardy desert cattle, and nothing, nothing, and more nothing. We were at a higher elevation, so the iconic cacti gave way to winter-dried brush and dirt as far as we could see. F.S. was only barely occupied with his tablet, and I began to worry for Jeff’s driving fatigue as I struggled to stay awake myself. Yet in the distance, the Chiricahua Mountains drew imperceptibly closer until suddenly we were in them, surrounded by Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly we could move from one biome to another in a matter of minutes.

Since we had been driving so long, we hurried through the visitor center gift shop and bought our day pass, then went straight to a picnic area we passed on the way in for a late lunch. There were people at the lone pavilion, and being a solitary type, I asked Jeff to park as near a table under a massive pine tree instead. Bad move. There were so many Mexican Jays in the branches overhead, F.S., unafraid of socializing, wanted to move to the pavilion, and I agreed lest we feel the effects of sitting beneath so many birds. But as we carried all our supplies to the new spot, the birds followed us, almost like they were tame. It felt a little more like a scene from The Birds than Cinderella. The other people left as we approached, so we had the park seemingly to ourselves, watching the show as F.S. threw bits of bread for the birds to swoop en masse to claim. I asked him not to feed them too much, as I suspect visitor feeding is what made them so eager to be around people, but I do declare he would purposely drop his Doritos on the ground so he could throw them out as unfit for human consumption. I hope the birds liked nacho cheese.

When we finished eating, we made a very short hike to Faraway Ranch, so named by the rancher’s daughter in the 50’s because it was so far away from everything. Surrounding the house were other historic buildings, including a CCC bunkhouse from the 30’s. F.S. and Jeff explored the grounds and looked in the windows while I lagged behind and watched them.

Because the buildings were so old, F.S. had a fantasy that the place was haunted, so we headed back to the car to drive the scenic loop. What was so nice about this being a remote national park entity was that there were so few people on the road and at the pullouts. The landscape was incredible, with balanced rocks and rhyolite pinnacles forming otherworldly structures.

Every turn of the road brought new wonders until we reached the top of the mountain, where apparently all the visitors had also come for hiking and stargazing. We were finally able to find a parking place, and since most of the other cars’ owners were somewhere out on trails, it almost felt like we had the place to ourselves. F.S. quickly got bored, and I think maybe Jeff did, too. But I was tired, and this place was so beautiful and such an ideal plan for sunset, so I put my food down and sat waiting for golden hour. Jeff made the most of it by exploring a little, and after a few minutes of pouting, F.S. joined him.

The sunset really was spectacular over the rock formations, and I was so caught up in trying to get just the right shot, I didn’t notice how beautiful the rest of the sky was until Jeff told me to turn around. I suppose there’s a lesson in that. Sometimes we miss the beauty of the periphery because we’re too focused on something else — like John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

When most of the light was gone and the nighttime desert chill was setting in, we began the long trek back to civilization, in this case, my aunt Angelia’s house in Pearce. We stopped at a little dive called Dusty’s Chuckwagon Grill a few minutes from our destination for supper. We think a woman and her daughter ran the place, as they took turns carrying a baby on their hip as they filled orders and cleared tables. They were so nice and gave such big portions of food. We could tell this was probably a local favorite. I was reminded of Holling’s bar on Northern Exposure, except in the desert instead of Alaska — a place of and for the whole community.

We finally pulled into Angelia’s driveway around 8:30. It’d been too long since I’d seen her, and she was so welcoming. Her little dog Buttercup, on the other hand, wanted to eat up all us intruders. I always get a kick out of little dogs thinking they are mastiffs. I guess it reminds me of our old Macy, a sassy miniature dachshund who knew no fear when defending her pack from mail carriers, pizza delivery drivers, and anyone who tried to move her from the foot of Mama’s bed.

Angelia had gotten F.S. a couple of Christmas gifts when she found out we were bringing him with us, and with a TV in his room, F.S. was in YouTube addict heaven. She even gave Jeff and me her bedroom while she took a futon in a guest room. Unfortunately, I had pushed myself too hard again, and had the shakes and inability to get warm that comes with a hard crash. Someday, I hope I can find the balance of not being a bump on a log, yet not also feeling sick when I fall into bed.