Our Arizona fiftieth

 

You know how it goes--you come back to a place you remember fondly from years ago--in our case, fifty years--and when you see the places you visited, they somehow feel smaller than you believed them to be.

Not Arizona. Not a bit.

We were in Sedona way back when, but I don't remember Bell Rock, so there are no memories of its size or beauty; but what was perfectly evident to me was that it simply could not be any bit more impressive. Have a look. It's immense, and beautiful. The bell is a jewel. The red rocks around Sedona won't let you look aside. They are fully as monumental as their Monument Valley cousins a hundred miles away.

With today's phones, great shots jump into memories. Creation's peculiar Arizona glory is so immense that the only impediment to getting a good shot is that you find yourself simply awe-struck by the beauty all around. (Those are our grandkids heading up a trail.)

Size?--just immense. Distance?--you really can see forever. The place has understandably become a haven for New Agers. The grandeur is as rich as it is inescapable.

What was an actual ghost town fifty years ago has far fewer desertions than it had when we visited back then, but Jerome is still the little town it was when its streets were almost empty a half century ago. From the top tier of the village, the front of the Jerome Grand Hotel, the horizon's reach is almost infinite. 

Fifty years ago, we'd been married about six weeks. We pulled a U-haul behind an orange VW Squareback--no air, moved from Iowa to Arizona. Seemed big and high back then, especially when second gear was the only means to ascend the grades. 

It was a good month or so beyond the honeymoon, but when I think about now--as I should this fiftieth year of our marriage--the whole thing, the trip, the country, and the barely registering hope--was monumental, bigger than I could have imagined back then or even today, Arizona big. 

What a blessing--seriously.

And then, back to the place where it started, here's what's come of it.