In and Around Prescott

Celebrating two weeks in Prescott, AZ.  Every day has been a gift.  They always are, but these more than usual.  Each day, I've seen new things, and learned something new about the area and its people.  Some interesting blogs will follow as I find the time.

As I write this, a wet snow is falling here in the mountains.  A storm is approaching.  On the mountainside at 5400 feet, we are on the edge of where the rain might turn to snow during the day, but it will certainly freeze at night.  The steeply sloped roads may allow a careful traveler to escape down the mountain, but might not allow them to come back up.  We will see, and err on the side of caution.

I continue to enjoy the spectacular sunrises and sunsets.  Sunrise on Saturday painted the entire sky.


God's paintbrush.  This was part of the sunset on Friday night, looking southwest toward Thumb Butte.


Prescott's huge natural landmark is Thumb Butte Mountain.  A view down Gurley St. is historic.  Prescott's Square is equally notable, with its equestrian cowboy scuptures and one of the bordering sides known as Whiskey Row.  Gin joints side to side, and you can almost hear some poor hombre on the losing side of an argument crashing through a plate glass window.


Part of Whiskey Row.  There are enough bars to play Whiskey Tic-Tac-Toe.


Clearly, I do not have power over the sun and sky, but look at how the blue sky mirrors the shape of Thumb Butte Mountain.




 The block is filled in with boutique shops and galleries.  That's where I spotted Van Gogh's Ear.  Those of you who know me may have noticed I have an unusual fascination with Van Gogh, the insane genius, and his ear, which he lopped off after an argument with another artist, then carefully wrapped it in cloth and a box, and presented it to one of the working girls at a bordello.  She screamed, then fainted, upon opening it.  Van Gogh went home to sleep, and nearly bled to death.  It was one of the most personal gifts in history.  I truly love impromptu picnics, visits and romantic liaisons, but a serendipitous gift-giving occasion with a prostitute is truly special.  In any event, I love the sign.


My favorite sign of all time!


In the square is a tribute to the cowboy ranchers who were trampled by their own horses.


The horse's right leg has crushed this rancher, and the brave fella ain't even lettin' on that he's in pain.


Prescott's municipal building has a statue of a cowboy breaking a bucking bronco.  It's appropriate for most city government's.  Harry Truman said, "The buck stops here."  Municipal leaders today say, "Oh, no, it doesn't!"




After leaving the city building, I walked back toward the library where my car was parked.  Three young girls about 12-13 walked toward me on the sidewalk, one riding piggyback.  She was the one who acknowledged me, saying, "Hi, Grandpa!" and all three giggled.  I roared in laughter all the way back to the car, where I immediately checked my appearance in a mirror, worried that maybe the continual sun (or too many trips around it) was making the gray hairs more plentiful.  I concluded that the unmannered girl's mother was a child bride, and that her youthful grandfather was strong and handsome, and easily confused with me.  
 

Chaparral Biome
I found the term "Chaparral Biome," which refers to the dry climate and vegetation of the region.  If you love green grass, then stay up north.  Here in Arizona, water is expensive and heat is plentiful.  I am told that golf courses here use gray water or recycled water.  This time of year, green grass is hard to find.  But Prescott has several lakes, and Cousin Lois took me to Lynx Lake, a small one with restrictions preventing gas-powered crafts.  It's pristine and beautiful.  Nearby, there is a nature center, with an amazing sculpture.  It features a globe playfully surrounded by a manzanita tree, and each compass point is adorned with a critter representing Earth, wind, water and fire:  The badger, the raven, the horned lizard and the endangered chub, a fish.  How ironic.  One kind of chub is endangered by the proliferating chubs who can't stop eating the damn things.


A  Frog Angel imposter, perhaps?


A very cool statue at the Highland Nature Center.  In the background, Cousin Lois exits the Nature Calling Center.




Frog Angel, who now has its own Facebook fan page, has been my trusty companion in most of my adventures. He has yukked it up with a variety of animals, including horses and various wild, ferocious beasts, including the fang-toothed, Western Schnauzer puppies. I interviewed Frog Angel after his encounter at the horse barn down the road.



KG:  So, FA, you had your first encounter with a horse!
FA:  Yep.  Uh-huh.
KG:  And how was that?
FA:  She told you if you wanted a two-fer that you'd have to pay extra.
KG:  I said HORSE.
FA:  And I said, "cheapskate!"
KG:  Stop it!  Tell me what you thought of the ponies.
FA:  Oh, Them. They were nice.  Except the one must've thought I was a green apple.  He tried to eat me.
KG:  He did not.
FA:  Did too!  I felt the warm, barley-scented death breath on my head, and moist nose hairs brushing up against my wings.
KG:  If he had eaten you, it probably would have hurt him more than it hurt you.
FA:  Ya got that straight.



Careful how you say it — a horse's affection.


Schnauzer puppy slips FA the tongue.




Next:  FA avoids poachers at Cabella's.  And does size really matter?


"Hey, man!  Where's my book?  I had a book in my hand a minute ago.  Darn it all!"