Arizona Highways, December 1987

              I
ARIZON~
HIGHWAYS
DECEMBER 1987 Vol. 63, No. 12
WHEN IT COMES to the holiday season, the song title "Growing
Older but Not Up" seems especially appropriate. December
is a time to watch Jimmy Stewart in "It's a Wonderful Life"
and Natalie Wood in "Miracle on 34th Street." A time to reflect on
past holidays and to anticipate future ones; to think the best of
people and situations. A time to let the child within each of us
surface.
This holiday season, the Arizona Highways staff offers
you a gift package wrapped in the therrie "Home for the
Holidays."
We open the package with a child's vision of a snow­covered
desert on Christmas morning, rendered in pastels by
artist Bill Ahrendt.
Inside, you'll discover how our contributing writers, photographers,
and artists have combined their talents to illustrate some of the scenic and
cultural diversity of the Arizona we call home.
Our annual holiday greeting concludes with a Christmas fable written
and illustrated by Bob Boze Bell: a bedtime story for your children, grand­children,
or any of us who continue to grow older, but not up, with each
passing year.
Happy homecoming!
- Gary Bennett
Issue Editor
Our issue editor at the age of seven (left)
pauses f or a holiday snapshot with his
brother Bill and Grandmother Wentworth.
A Ranch Christmas
by Joan Baeza
p.4
We'd hitch up the work team and
go off into the forest and see who
could push each other off into the
snow. BILL AHRENDT
The Way Home
by Phil Sekaquaptewa
p.8
The people, the customs, the rituals
and ceremony remain as constant
as the timeless mesas.
PHIL SEKAQUAPTEWA
Home for the Holidays:
An Arizona Album
by Sam Lowe
p.14
Arizona's four distinctive seasons
bring memorable holidays through­out
the year. DON B. STEVENSON
(FRONf COVER) Snow in the Tucson Mountains of
southern Arizona sets the stage for our special holiday
issue, devoted to a nostalgic theme: going home.
IBOMAS IVES
Arizona Highways® (ISSN 0004-1521) is published monthly by the Arizona Department of
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Feliz Navidad
by Susan Hazen-Hammond
p.32
On the way to the church, bearers
carry symbolic f aroles, or lanterns,
suspended from bamboo poles.
EDUARDO FUSS
Gifts of the Desert
by Richard G. Stahl
p.36
This land is indeed the garden of
Allah ... as you know if you have
once experienced the p eace of the
deep desert. SUZI MOORE
Santa's First
Wild West Ride
by Bob Boze Bell
p.42
For Santa to find the children, he'd
need a special guide, one who knew
the territory. BOB BOZE BELL
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Chain-fruit choUa wears a frosty white
suit after a rare southern Arizona snowstorm.
MICHAEL M. FAfALI
Second class postage paid at Phoenix, Arizona. Postmaster: Send address changes to Arizona
Highways, 2039 West Lewis, Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. CCopyright 1987 by the Arizona Department
of Transportation. Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is prohibited. The magazine is
not responsible for unsolicited materials provided for editorial consideration.
Arizona Highways/I
An
Rudt ariltma• BY J 0 AN BAEZ A • ART BY BILL AHRENDT
hristmas morning on this
northern Arizona ranch dawns , ,,~~ ..
quiet and cold. A thin pad of snow '"" _:.; %4·;~
covers the plains, and frost stuccos the build- · - · ·.,,...
ings and steel storage tank. The world is white and clean.
The air hangs still between late fall storms and early
spring gales; the wind has quieted down like a fresh horse
after a good workout.
The old windmill with the missing blades greets first
light with a toothless grin, its rotor tied off. No need to
pump water now. The tanks are full. A pair · of wild
mallards is wintering with the ranch ducks on the cattle
pond. Their paddlings keep a circle of water open.
The saddle horses nicker softly as they come in for a
drink of water and a flake of hay. Frost clings to their
shaggy bodies, and steam puffs from their nostrils.
This morning begins like any other-with chores. A fire
is built in the wood cookstove, the pitchy breath of pif'ion
warming the kitchen to life.
Cold nips at you like a playful pup as you grab work
gloves and step out into the Holy Day. At first you think:
Christmas is like every other day on a ranch. Then you
think: it is the other way around. Every day is like Christ­mas
on a ranch-full of timeless wonder and new life.
You break the layer of ice formed during the night and
clear the drinking troughs so the horses can water. Above
the sharp crack of the axe comes the warbling of coyotes .
A mother and two pups with high-pitched voices sound
like a whole legion.
You start the cold engine of the four-wheel-drive pick­up
and go inside for a cup of coffee while it warms up.
The ice must be broken on all the dirt tanks so cattle
can drink. Snow tires break fresh patterns on the trail.
Coming up over a ridge, you confront the coyotes. Mama
looks you in the eye before trotting off. A pif'ion jay
screams and flies away. Perched on a fence post, a red­tailed
hawk searches with sharp eyes. He is humped up
against the cold, waiting for the sun to warm his flight.
Frost fades and dark patches appear under the junipers.
The day is changing color. The white rumps of pronghorn
antelope shift against the pale yellow grass of a swale. The
herd turns, then runs on some unspoken cue. You stop to
open a gate and wish you had a dollar for every time
you've opened it. Small round bobcat tracks overlay rabbit
prints along the fence.
A few head of cattle are drifting in to the tank, melting a
4/ Arizona Highways
path through the snow. As
,.-:: you get out of the truck, snow­birds
rise from the fence line like a
spray of buckshot\ then settle back down to
watch you work. The sound of the axe echoes back and
forth through the draw.
In a season of quiet, Christmas is a day quieter than the
rest. The sun, round and bright, climbs steadily higher.
You pause, look around, inhale deeply. By noon you will
be home. Company's coming to spend Christmas at the
ranch. You can't tell them, but the real Christmas, for you,
has already come and gone.
Christmas on an Arizona ranch in 1987 may contain
more material blessings than it once did, but the spirit is
the same. Ask Ione "Babe" Whipple of Show Low. She
grew up on a Linden ranch; it was in the time of the Great
Depression, but she never knew the difference. For ranch
kids, hard times were a way of life.
In the early 1930s her widowed mother - also named
Ione- was left with nine children and a tiny monthly
insurance check. Myrna, the oldest, was married. The
other girls helped their mother with the housekeeping
and took care of their baby brother, Joy. Lowell "Rog"
Pearce, 16, took over the ranch and cattle. Ione worked
the farm, getting up before daylight in the spring to plow
before she went off to teach school.
In spite of endless work, Ione Pearce provided more
than food and shelter for her children. She took the time
to read to them, pray with them, and teach them how to
work. Her own labor was occasionally lightened by tran­sients,
who would stop at the ranch and work until they
had money to go on. "Mama was a cheerful person," said
Babe. "She was thankful she had a teaching degree, when
a lot of people didn't have a job."
Even in those harsh days, Christmas was a time of
wonderment for the Pearce children. In the close family
circle, gifts were not very important. "We drew names,"
said Babe. "Most of the time, we ordered from a catalog.
We'd sit and study these 'wish books' for days. Mama
would usually help us pick out our gifts. We had a limit on
what we could spend. The present I liked best was a pair
of white snow boots with fur trim. I prayed for snow so I
could wear them."
The big job on Christmas Eve was preparing chickens
or turkeys for the holiday meal. Then Ione would heat
6/Arizona Highways
water on the wood stove, and the children would bathe in
a galvanized tub beside the warm stove to get ready for
the big day.
"We alway~ had a pifion tree with candles. We made our
own decorations with construction paper and popcorn.
Christmas dinner consisted of roast fowl, homemade egg
noodles, mashed potatoes and gravy, and home-canned
vegetables. Mother made a delicious suet pudding she
called 'Brown Dog,' with a vinegar sauce."
Fruit was a special treat, saved for the Christmas stock­ings.
" Grandpa would come up from the Salt River Valley
and bring grapes, oranges, and grapefruit. Mama would let
us eat the grapes; but she'd ration the citrus fruit."
In addition to fruit, there was homemade candy: fon­dant,
fudge , and taffy. And there were balloons. Ione saw
to it that each child had one. "We played with them until
they all burst. Then we would sit on the floor and play
Rook or other card games."
If there were visiting aunts and uncles, the Pearce
children would go for a sleigh ride. "We'd hitch up the
work team and go off into the forest and see who could
push each other off into the snow." Today, Babe
and her sisters still get together during the
holidays to recount old times. "Sometimes
we even play Rook , again."
Times were hard, too, for the Sid
Earl family, living on an isolated
ranch in the White Mountains; but
Sid's wife, Viola, made the magic
of Christmas seem real to their
children.
Sid was a cowboy and wild
horse breaker. In 1921 he
took a job as Stockman for
the White Mountain Apaches
and moved his wife and chil­dren
from Vernon to Chino
Springs on the Fort Apache
reservation.
Another Arizona ranch family that rode out the Depres­sion
was the Reeds, who bought the Rocking Chair Ranch
west of Snowflake in the '20s. Tom, his wife, Olive, and
four daughters lived in a three-room adobe house with­out
indoor plumbing, running water, or electricity. Paper
stuffed between ceiling beams served as insulation.
For lack of brothers, the girls had to be cowboys as well
as mother's helpers. Dorothy (Dody), Tamme, Carol, and
Peg learned to ride, brand, fix fence, and milk cows.
"Our Christmases weren't much different from other
days ," said Dody. "I don't remember having a tree, but we
had stockings filled with apples, oranges, and nuts. We
usually got one Christmas present each ."
She was only two years old when she got the present
she will always remember - a baby sister. On Christmas
Eve, several families from the little settlement of Zeniff
came to the Reed ranch to celebrate. They brought food
and musical instruments and danced late into the eve­ning.
"Peg was born after everyone went home, about five
o'clock on Christmas morning."
When the girls were old enough, they rode double on
horseback to the one-room
schoolhouse in Zeniff. If the
weather was stormy, they
stayed all night in the settle­ment
with friends.
The family had little mon­ey,
"but we weren't the only
ones," she said. "We had
., plenty to eat, even a car;
- t. so we were lucky. Mom
went to town once a
month and had to
make everything last
in between.
"One Christmas,
Peg and I got our
presents- a doll
and a toy dog - early
because we needed
"We moved in a wagon with
all our belongings," recalled
Nola Poer of Pinetop. "There were ... to get ready for the big day.
them for a pageant at the
school. We made costumes out of
crepe paper. I had to hold the doll and
recite a piece I learned . Peg held the toy dog
and recited a poem, 'Little Boy Blue .' When she got
through , there wasn't a dry eye in the place."
six of us kids -Nelma , Mervin, Randall,
Eula Jean, Charles, and me. My dad had a good
job for those days, but it was still hard to make ends
meet."
The Earls lived in a little white ranch house with a
screen porch. The first year, Sid planted an orchard, and
his wife put in a garden. The ranch kids had two years of
blissful freedom before they had to move into Whiteriver
to go to school.
"Mom was a Christmas person," said Nola. "We had a
big tree with candJes and popcorn strings. I still re­member
the thrill of it all. Mom would tell us about Santa
Claus, and I didn't see any problem with hi s getting
around to take toys to all the children in the world. The
reservation was the whole world to me."
That first Christmas morning at Chino Springs, Nola ran
outdoors at daylight to see if Santa Claus had been there .
To her delight, she found "reindeer"' tracks in the fresh
snow. (Years later she realized they were simply deer
tracks.) Nothing has ever been able to erase the magic of
that Christmas for Nola-the Christmas that proved Santa
Claus came to ranch kids , too.
For Dody, every day was a new learning experience. "I
just wish I'd asked more questions, " she said. "Those
were tough old times, but I'm grateful for them. We
learned how to work and how to utilize what we had ."
Tough o ld times. But, in many ways, good old times.
And actually not so different from life today on Arizona's
remote ranches. Christmas still begins and ends with the
chores , like every other day. The work reminds you that
you are relied upon . That you are part of the season and
part of the earth, part of the endless cycle of life. That you
count.
And, of course, that's the message of Christmas, too. ~
Joan Baeza, a staff writer for White Mountain Publishing, also
teaches creative writing at Northland Pioneer Co llege. Sh e has liv ed
and ranched in Navajo County for 36 years and has recounted her
experiences in Ranch Wife, written under the namejojeffers.
Arizona Highways/7
~
1111
BY PHIL SEKAQUAPTEWA
Niman kaJsina
(or kachina)
doll carved by
B. Dawahoya,
given to Hopi
children at a
Home Dance, the
last dance of the Hopi
ceremonial cycle. It
is the time when the
spirits return to their
dwelling on the San Francisco Peaks. RICK ODELL
(BELOW, RIGHT) Com p!,ays a key role
in the ceremonial life of the Hopis.
(OPPOSITE PAGE) First Mesa, Hopi Indian
Reservation. BOTI-1 BY AL ABRAMS
head north out of Flagstaff and swing right on the Winona
road, drive eight miles, and turn left at a familiar sign: " Leupp
Station-43 mi. "
The year is 1973, and this is the way home.
As I pass through the stands of ponderosa pine, then the
scrub cedars and sleeping cinder cones, my mind wanders.
How did my Hopi ancestors survive when they inhabited
nearby W'upatki and Walnut Canyon more than a thousand
years ago? I wonder if they visited the same shrines that
today 's Hopis do, those places where the katsinas dwell on
the northern slopes of the San Francisco Peaks-Nuvatuk­wiovi
-whose silhouette rises directly behind me. As always,
the stark contrast between Hopi place -names and their Span ­ish
or Anglo counterparts is a reminder of passing time and
imposed change.
8/Arizona Highways
I glance at the assorted belongings piled around me in the
car, an accumulation of four and a half years at Northern
Arizona University, and wonder why I'm going home at all.
My diploma is supposed to entitle me to a chance at fame
and fortune in the white world. A college education: the
great qualifier. Why am I returning to the Hopi reservation?
I ponder the question as I drive. And finally I decide that
the very meaning of going home implies an attempt to
secure something in my life that to some degree has been
lacking . Perhaps an awakening of the spirit, a revitalization of
the soul will be possible once I've reached the ancient
mesas. This seems to happen to many people who spend
time in our villages.
Now the wooded slopes change dramatically to austere
high desert as I pass the turn -off to Grand Falls, the muddy
seasonal Niagara of the Little Colorado River. Grand Falls,
too, has a Hopi name: Yaa-nuk-pu.
Navajo hogans dot the plain as I approach Leupp, a small
Navajo community some 40 miles south of the Hopi mesas.
In the future - by 1987 - pavement will smooth these
miles to Kykotsmovi , one of the Third Mesa villages. But
now, in 1973 , the road is a washboard of gravel and sand.
The terrain ahead changes again. A series of rising pla­teaus
climbs toward the mesas. The first is marked by the
mystical Katsina Rocks, by tradition a stopping place for the
katsinas as they re-turn
to the San Fran ­cisco
Peaks after every
Niman or Home
Dance, held on the
mesas each year in
late July. Here ero­sion
of the red sand­stone
monoliths has
formed huge abstract
figures that resemble
supernatural beings.
T H E WAY H 0 M E
JO/Arizona Highways Arizona Highways/ 11
~
1111
(ABOVE) Ancient Hopi dan signs pecked into the desert
varnish of a rock slab, along the tribe 's old salt trail in the
depths of the Grand Canyon. JERRY JACKA
(LEFf) Cloud display above First Mesa, Hopi Indian
Reservation. JERRY JACKA
(BELOW, RIGHT) Phil Sekaquaptewa, a member of the Eagle
and Snake clans, in his jewelry workshop at the Hopi
Cultural Center on Second Mesa . HANK GANS
Driving past Katsina Rocks brings vivid memories of sto ­ries
told to me by relatives and by my clan fathers and uncles.
Nostalgia streams with the sun through cracks in the great
sandstone sculptures . The shafts of sunlight are given sub­stance
by dust thrown up by a passing pick-up truck.
Ceremonialism plays a major role in Hopi life . People
asking about Hopi "religion" need to understand that o ur
ceremonies are not rare special events superimposed on the
routines of daily living. Our beliefs and traditions are the
Hopi life. As I pass these stone figures reminiscent of ritual
dancers, the memories of participation and feelings of in­volvement
resurface. The way home seems shorter now.
The road dips and climbs past the reservation line, and the
first cornfields and herds of Hopi livestock are visible ­more
reminders of this people's sense of tradition and
purpose. Again the doubts filter through my mind: how will I
fit in; how will I adjust? Everything around me here is so
enduring. Can I be?
At last Shungopavi , the main village on Second Mesa,
appears on the horizon. The hogans have given way to
occasional windmills and corrals . Just a few miles to go.
Clouds . There always seem to be clouds towering above
or near the mesas . Our brothers watching over us . It is a
central theme in most of our rituals: clouds , moisture, rain,
beneficial elements sent to earth .
As the road winds on through rolling plains , I glimpse at
the edge of Old Oraibi on Third Mesa the spire of the long­abandoned
lightning-struck Mennonite church. The crippled
spire is a beacon for the last leg of th~ trip.
The burned-out ruin of the church and the century-o ld
conflict between Hopi culture and attempts at re ligious
dom.inatio n fr o m o utside remind me o f the strong wi ll of th e
Hopi p e ople. The willingness to bend w ith in reaso n. Th e
determination to say n o to things that were not m eant to be
on these mesas.
For more than 700 years, th e Ho pis live d here in conte nt­ment
without the aid o f the white man o r h is ways. Th e ne ed
to change and " improve " these people of p eace has been fe lt
by many outsiders, but not by the peopl e the mse lves. Again I
wonder if my acquired educati on and An g lo-oriented life­style
will put m e in conflict with th e ir b asic n ature.
The drive home to these mesas has taken me only two
hours , but I have traveled back m ore than e ight centu ries.
The dusty, sleepy villages , stone upon stone packe d cl ose­ly
together, remind me of the community li fe th at has
ensured these people's survival all these years. As I wander
thr?ugh Hotevilla, my home village o n th e western edge of
Third Mesa , everyone reac ts as if I h ad neve r left . Wi th no
tone of surprise, they call out greetings and ask what I've
been doing.
The village is buz zing , for tomorrow the katsi nas w ill
come to dance, renewing praye rs fo r the well -being of the
people, plants, and animal s: the call fo r unity between the
forces of nature and those who s trugg le wi thin its boun­daries.
Suddenly I am involved again ; my p eopl e are reac hing out
to incl~de me in their preparati on s for the dance. Un packing
can wait.
The pervasive feelings of excitem e nt and expectation have
caught me up . The atmosphere in th e vill age has swall owed
me, absorbe d me. Coming h om e was ju st a forma li ty. I had
never really le ft .
A nd now it is 1987. The things that are importan t have
changed little since that h o mecomin g 14 years ago.
Looking back, I realize th at most of my appreh e nsio n
was unnecessary. Being accepted w as far easier than I ex -
pec ted.
A paved road has indeed replaced t he d usty o ld Le upp
route. Electricity and water are ava il able in most of the
villages now, and even the kivas have power for ligh ts.
I have started a family. I have la un ch ed a profession and a
business. I have imm e rs e d mys elf in th e ar ts of the people.
And I am still trying t o unde rstand th e full meaning of living
here.
But the peopl e, the cu stoms, th e rituals and ceremony
haven't change d. They remain as con stan t as th e di stant
mesas I looked for when first returning 14 years ago.
The riches of the Hopi s are n ot to b e fo und in b anks
or stores ; they ar e in
the people, their land ,
their traditi on s. Co m­ing
home, I fo und,
provided a r ich re ­ward
all in itse lf. ~
Ph il Sek aquaptewa, an
awa rd-w inning j eweler,
holds a bachelor's degree
inf in e ar ts f rom North­ern
Arizona University.
H e is a f requent part ici­p
ant in Hopi ceremonials.
Arizona Highways/ 13
Horne for the Holidays
AN ARIZONA ALBUM
As the year moves through its cycle of seasons, each brings its own holidays.
At such times, home takes on special meaning ...
•~ ome and Christmas are bound by traditions that move from generation
to generation as surely as family names and curly hair. But home isn't just
a house and neighbors and having certain people around. It's being
comfortable in your surroundings. Those surroundings sometimes
change-and the first Christmas away from what is familiar can be a
traumatic experience.
For me that experience came in 1969. I had observed 36 Christmases on the plains of
the Midwest when we moved to Phoenix. The prospect of Christmas without
snow was so foreign that when the season arrived, we felt cheated. Certainly
nobody prepared us for festive tree lights on a saguaro. Then a man came to
the door and asked if he might mow our lawn. Not shovel snow; mow the
lawn! It was as if we had been transported to some bizarre land where our
accustomed realities and traditions were scorned.
But we made the best of it with a real pine tree and a frozen turkey. The
next year, we discovered luminarias and posadas; we knew more close
friends, and the transition was made. We were home. Home for Christmas.
Remnant gold of aspens lingers in late fall in the White Mountains. lARRY uuucH
(ABOVE) Seasonal snapshots stir memories: Winter exploring on the Arizona Strip. GARY !ADD
Springtime near Picacho Peak. P. K WEIS Summer fun in the White Mountains. AL ABRAMS
Autumn in Oak Creek Canyon. DON B. STEVENSON
•
indy Bormanis's move to the Salt River Valley covered much less
distance. She has lived in the Phoenix area for 11 years, but if
home is where the heart is, she still resides in Prescott, in the
north-central Arizona mountains. Fortunately, it ' s close enough
that she can go there frequently with her husband and small
daughter. The ease of getting there is especially important at Christmas time.
"It's not the snow; some years there's no snow there at all. It's the close­ness
of our family and of the community. Prescott is growing, but it's still a
small town. I was raised on a farm, and the big city has been hard to get used
to, even now. So we like to go back home.
"We just relax and visit, while the kids play; we talk about the things we
remember from childhood and discuss everyday things that might seem
unimportant to others, but they're important to us because we're family.
We're together in a place we all enjoy."
•
cross Mingus Mountain and the Verde Valley at Sedona, the
writer-photographer team of Sue and Bob Clemenz also enjoy
the friendly atmosphere of a small town. They don't have
relatives here, but they have found substitutes.
"Christmas in Sedona means luminarias and caroling at the
Tlaquepaque shops. We've been going there for years, and we've met a lot
of people who don't have family close by. We become friends, and friends
become family. So we come together at Christmas. We rotate among various
friends for the holiday dinner. We feel very much at home, no matter whose
house we're in; it's the warmth of friendship that makes it Christmas.
"Another thing: The stars seem very close here, especially in December
when the air is crisp. It seems so appropriate at Christmas time that che
stars be clear and bright."
Text continued on page 19
(LEFf) Yavapai County Courthouse and bandstand
on Prescott's Plaza glow with the lights of Christmas.
MAGGIE MACIAREN
(BELOW) The flickering candles of hundreds of
luminarias cast a holiday mood over Tlaquepaque
in Sedona. DICK CANBY
(TOP) An artificial snowman is the only kind to be found in the
community of Santa Claus in northwestern Arizona. INGE MARTIN
(ABOVE) With few evergreens to decorate in the Phoenix area,
creative residents dress up saguaro cacti as the three wise men.
DON B. STEVENSON
Text continued from page 17
•
ruce Aiken lives within the Grand Canyon at a place called Roaring Springs, where he operates a pumping station
and portrays the world around him in oil paintings. It's not a life for everybody, but Aiken says it's ideal
for his family: his wife, Mary, and their three children, Mercy, 15, Shirley, 13, and Silas, 10.
Mary conducts the children's schooling at home.
"We live nine miles from Phantom Ranch in one of
the most beautiful spots on earth. We're at 4,500 feet elevation,
and there's a 300-foot waterfall plunging down a canyon
wall; it sends about 10,000 gallons a minute over the
brink. It's surrounded by willows and box elders, and it
flows right into our front yard.
"The holiday season here is beautiful. Very quiet, very
peaceful. We usually have snow. It's difficult to have
visitors because we're so isolated, and the only way to get
here is on foot. But we like tradition; so we focus on the
meaning of Christmas with our children, and we celebrate
New Year's. It's especially interesting to think about a new
year and the passage of time when you're immersed in this
timeless setting.
"I can't think of another place I'd rather live. But, though
our life-style in many ways is unique, we hold on to our
traditions." Text continued on page 22
(ABOVE) Snowstorm settles over Havasu Falls on the Havasupai
Indian Reservation, Grand Canyon. IARRY ULRICH
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Winter storm clears Hopi Point, South Rim.
IARRY ULRICH
(RIGHT) Mule train ascends an icy Bright Angel Trail. DICK CANBY
(FOUOWING PANEL, PAGES 20 AND 21) A light snow powders Mather
Point on the Grand Canyon's South Rim. DICK DIETR1CH
Text continued from page 19
•
fter studying and teaching art abroad and then joining
the Glendale Community College faculty for 11 years,
Bill Ahrendt decided it was time to practice what he'd
been preaching. So he has spent the last eight years in
Pine Creek Canyon below the Mogollon Rim, creating
with oil paints and other media ranging from tempera to pastels.
Arizona's Rim country enjoys four distinct seasons, and Ahrendt
and his wife, Renate, find spring a vibrant, exciting time. "This place
is spiritually compatible with the symbology we carry in our hearts
at Easter time - the sense of renewal of all creation, which I find
particularly complimentary to my work.
"My life revolves around creativity, and by making our home here,
I find that my Christian faith is enhanced because we live in an
especially beautiful environment.
Text continued on page 27
(TOP) Mogollon Rim escarpment drops abruptly from
Promontory Point. PETER KRESAN
(RIGHT) Fishing methods vary on White Mountain lakes.
LES MANEVITZ/DON B. STEVENSON
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Wildflowers raise their brightly colored heads
toward the sun in a pasture bordering Big Lake. JERRY SIEVE
(FOLLOWING PANEL, E6,.GES 24 AND 25) Thousands of spider webs, ftl drenched with morning dew, reflect dawn's light in a White
Mountain meadow BOB CLEMENZ
______________ A_r_iz_o_n_a_ 22 Albu
Text continued from page 22
~"'Vf.~tlill~i:"!., he Rim is a part of the backbone that runs across
Arizona. East of us it traverses the White Mountains,
one of the state's loveliest regions, and we enjoy
exploring its highland meadows and forests, especially
in the summertime.
"We live in a box canyon, and the sandstone and limestone forma­tions
r ise straight up on either side of us. They're part of the most
picturesque and spiritually pleasing compositions that any art ist
could spend his day with. Once we came here, we never considered
any other place for building our home.
"The escarpment that rises to the left and right of my studio is a
tapestry of greeting cards. This is home; and being here - no matter
how hard I am working - is a holiday. All the time."
Text continued on page 30
The White Mountains of eastern Arizona are the
ancestral home of the White Mountain Apaches.
Today their reservation encompasses much of this
high-country paradise.
(LEFT) Daisies, hollyhocks, sunflowers, and Indian paint­brush
carpet the highland meadows. BOB CLEMENZ
(ABOVE) The US Forest Service, another landlord in
the White Mountains, manages more than 2.5 million
acres in the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest.
DAIE SCHICKEThNZ
(RIGHT) The Apache Indians celebrate the coming of
age of their young women with song dance, and the
wearing of colorful costumes. P. K WEIS
(FOLLOWING PANEL, PAGES 28 AND 29) Cathedral Rock and
Red Rock Crossing, Oak Creek. TOM ALGIRE
Text continued from page 2 7
•
he most spectacular season in Sedona and Oak Creek
Canyon is autumn. The multihued foliage of decidu ­ous
trees draws visitors from afar, and some years
- when nature's timing is right-the display lasts
long enough to provide a bonus for those coming
home for Thanksgiving.
Laura Purtymun McBride has enjoyed every one of her 77
Thanksgivings immensely.
"Spending the holiday here is very important to me," she
says. "This has always been my home. I was born at Red
Rock, about three miles from Sedona.
"Thanksgiving has always been a time for a reunion of
our family. Of course, I'm getting too old to do some of
the things I used to, but it 's still a big event. The grand­children
come to my place , and we always have a big
turkey and lots of other good things. I don't do much
of the cooking; I have plenty of help from the kids.
"I spent two years in California, going to school. It's the only
time I've ever been away from Sedona. My mother was born here,
too. Both of our generations drank the water right out of Oak Creek
I don't ever want to leave. "
Every season is beautiful
in Oak Creek Canyon,
but autumn is most color­fu4
igniting the wooded
glades with warm reds,
golds, and browns.
(CLOCKWISE, FROM LEFT)
IARRY ULRICH, DICK CANBY,
P. K. WEIS, TOM DANIELSEN
Sam Lowe isa
daily columnist for
The Phoenix Gazette.
BY SUSAN HAZEN-HAMMOND • PHOTOGRAPHS BY EDUARDO FUSS
he mild night breeze blows softly among the
desert hills of the town of Belen, flowing across
the face of a gent le carpenter named Jose . Wapped
in a blue cape, his young wife, Maria, rides s lowly
along on a burro, lulled by the clip-clop rhythm of
the animal's feet. But Jose doesn't feel the touch of
the breeze or hear the soft music of the burro's hooves.
His pregnant wife will soon give birth, and he worries
about finding posada, lodging for the night. With growing
concern, Jose leads the burro from door to door. He
knocks here, he knocks there . But at each door the reply is
an evasive, long-winded no.
In desperation, Jose pleads, "But it's for la Reina del
Cielo," the Queen of Heaven .
Comes the taunting rejection, "Well , if it's for a queen,
then what's she doing out wandering around here in the
dark of night?"
Finally Jose gives up. He turns in at a stable, and there
on the straw among the animals the Santo Nino is born.
Jose and Maria, of course·, are the biblical Joseph and
Mary, and their search for posada in Belen is the request
for shelter in the inn at Beth-lehem
on the night of the
Christ Child's birth. It's a
turies ago, Spanish friars introduced it to the Aztecs of
Mexico to help lure them away from their winter worship
of the war god Huitzilopochtli.
Today the pageant survives throughout the Spanish ­speaking
Southwest as a family, neighborhood, or parish
celebration that typically lasts for nine nights , often be­ginning
on December 15. Each evening neighbors and
friends gather to walk - or drive - in procession from
house to house . Outside the first house, one group sings
the petition in Spanish , "Who will give these pilgrims
lodging? " From inside comes the same long list of refusals
and excuses heard in folk tradition by the first Jose .
At last, from behind the closed door of the family
honored to be chosen as tonight's "accepting home,"
comes the song of recognition. "Oh, is that you, Jose?
You say your w ife is Maria? I didn ' t recognize you . Come
right in."
All join together to sing: "Enter, Holy Pilgrims, come
into this humble home. Take this corner here - not in my
simple house, but in my heart."
December 23 is usually the final night of las Posadas. In
Tucson's Santa Cruz parish,
in a quiet neighborhood that
story repeated so often that
its meaning sometimes
fades. But when it is expe ­rienced
through the customs
of another culture and the
words of another language , it
can come alive again.
The late Ted DeGrazia's Chapel of Our Lady of Guada­lupe
(OPPOSITE !¥.GE) in Tucson, outlin ed with the festive
luminarias distinctive of the Southwest.
joins Tucson to South Tuc­son
, neighbors and friends
walk through the mild winter
evening toward the house of
Dona Refugio Robles, 86. In ­side
, Dona Refugio sits rem-
In Arizona each Decem­ber,
many of the state 's half a
million Hispanics, most of
them of Mexican -American
heritage, maintain centuries­o
ld Christmas cu stoms, in ­cluding
pageants such as Las
Posadas, traditions like Na­cimientos
(Nativity scenes),
special rites on Christmas
Eve, and the singing of old
Spanish carols. Details vary
from one neighborhood to
the next, from one home to
another, but ai l evoke the
spirit of Christmas and of
cent uries past.
las Posadas is an ancient
pageant dating back to the
mystery plays of medieval
Spain. More than four cen-
(BELOW) A lantern lights the way for participants in Las
Posadas in the community of Sahuarita, south of
Tucson.
iniscing. About last night,
when Jose and Maria found
their lodging in her home,
and the processioners over­flowed
her living room and
crowded into her small yard
outside . And about Posadas
long past, when she walked
as a child through humble
neighborhoods lit by can ­dles
.
"Almost nothing has
changed," she smiles. "We
sang the same songs and said
the same prayers then as we
do now. "
Tonight the crowd of
adults, teenagers, and chil ­dren
·set out from her home
toward Santa Cruz Church ,
chanting a ritual responsor­ial
prayer in Spanish as they
move through the dark First
Ariz ona Highways/33
come two lantern bearers carrying picturesque symbolic
j aroles, or lanterns, made of colored ribbons mounted on
bamboo poles. Four angels - las angeles- follow, beau­tiful
dark-haired young women from the parish, who carry
the portable shrine on which ride the images of Maria and
Jose . Behind them, solemnly, walk a couple dressed as
Jose and Maria, with Maria in a cape of traditional blue.
One final time, they will search for posada. One final
time, they will be denied, before carrying the images of
Maria and Jose to their resting place in the church.
Inside the courtyard at the church, luminarias glow,
lighting the way for the pilgrims. Any special holiday or
celebration around the year - from public Easter festivi ­ties
to private birthday parties-may feature luminarias,
also called luminarios or f arolitos. But many people
associate luminarias particularly with Christmas. In folk
tradition, these simple lights, usually constructed of noth­ing
more elaborate than candles placed in sand-laden
paper bags, light the way for the Santo Nino. Originally,
las Posadas ended on Christmas Eve rather than December
23, and in many parts of Mexico and the Spanish-speaking
Southwest, children spent the day making luminarias so
the Santo Nifio could find His way to their house.
o one knows for sure where the first luminarias
originated, but as the night fills with the gentle
glow of the softly muted candlelight and the
sweet voices of the pilgrims sing, "Viva, viva,
viva, la Reina del Cielo," it's easy to believe the
history that legend assigns to these romantic
lights. It is said, they came to Mexico centuries ago on
Spanish galleons at the height._of the vast Spanish empire,
when Spain's sailing ships plied the Pacific between the
Philippines and Mexico. Among the silks, spices, and
other cargo came Chinese paper lanterns. Villagers in New
34/Arizona Highways
Spain - a region that included Mexico and what is now
the American Southwest- adopted the lanterns for use
along with holiday candles and bonfires.
Today at Christmas time, luminarias blossom through­out
the region and beyond, as winter travelers who spend
the season in Arizona carry back to Iowa, Idaho, Illinois,
or Vermont these poetic folk lights they've grown to love.
In Phoenix, more than 6,000 luminarias light the way
for visitors at the Desert Botanical Garden for two nights
early in December; on one night near Christmas, they
brighten the path for hikers on Squaw Peak. But above all,
at homes of the faithful, luminarias still light the way for
the Christ Child.
Tonight, in the courtyard at Santa Cruz Church, a child
bends down to peer at a candle in a paper bag, and the
glow mirrored on his face seems to reflect centuries of
children who have waited expectantly in the gleam of
candles for the holy birth.
The boy looks up and smiles. It's little Luis, all set to
plunge into the magic of la Noche Buena, Christmas Eve.
All day on December 24, Luis's Mama makes tamales,
while Papa cooks menudo (tripe stew) outside on a barrel
stove, the savory steam rising toward the blue winter sky
each time he lifts the lid. Just before dark on la Noche
Buena, Luis goes with Mama and Papa and his older
brothers and sisters to the cemetery to place a bright red
Christmas Eve flower (as poinsettias are called) on his
baby sister's grave. Then they return home and light their
luminarias, up and down the driveway.
Soon the doorbell starts ringing, and the house fills
with relatives: tias, tios, primos, abuelitos- aunts, uncles,
cousins, grandparents - all coming to share this sacred
night. On the coffee table sits the special Nacimiento, the
Nativity scene that Mama makes each year with little clay
figures from Mexico. To one side of the Nacimiento,
a brown-skinned Maria and a sombrero-topped Jose
plod through the night in search of a dwelling place. In
the center, another Jose and Maria appear, this time
bending over an empty manger. On la Noche Buena,
before going to the midnight Mass, Mama hands little Luis
the Santo Nifio, and very carefully Luis lays Him in the
manger. The Santo Nino has been born. Christmas, la
Navidad, is here.
The relatives sing the tradi-tional
lullaby for the Santo Nino:
Luis's grandfather talks of Christmases past, when Las
Posadas still ended on Christmas Eve, and they led the
young woman who played Maria into the church on a live
burro. When presents came on January 6, brought by the
Three Kings. When many parishes still reenacted an old
pastoral play, Los Pastores, a lively fo lk version of the
biblical story of the shepherds watching their sheep. The
Devil tempts the shepherds, turning son against father,
husband against wife, fr iend
against fri end, until suddenly
all are saved by the appearance
"A la Rurru, Nino." Then they
all don their jackets and drive
off to the midnight misa de
gallo, the Rooster's Mass, named
for the roosters that in folk tra­dition
crowed to announce the
birth of Christ.
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Luminarias line the trail to
the top of Squaw Peak in Phoenix. FRANK ZUilD
(ABOVE) A p ortable Nativity scene is carried
door-to·door, accompanied by mus icians.
(BELOW) In the dim candlelight, a youngster
watches as the Posadas p ageant unf olds.
of the Archangel Gabriel, who
announces th e birth of the
Santo Nino.
Remembering all this, and
much more, the old man will
smile, as old people smile when
they talk of their customs and
reminisce of days gone by. As
the memories fade, the melo­dious
sounds of the ancient
song linger: "Who will give
these pilgrims lodging?" And
along with the mus ic, the
words of the universal Christ­mas
blessing echo through the
years: "Paz en la tierra." Peace
on earth. ~
The priest reads the scripture
in Spanish: "Fear not: for be­hold,
I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all
people." Luis and the other
children go forward to bring
gifts for the poor and receive
a blessing. The congregation
joins in singing villancicos, the
traditional Christmas carols
such as "Vamos , Pasto res,
Vamos," summoning the shep­herds
to hasten to Belen to
worship the Santo Nino.
At home afterwards, while
they eat the Christmas feast,
Susan Hazen·Hammond and
Eduardo Fuss are a writer­photographer
team specializ ing in
topics of the Hispanic Southwest.
Arizona Highways/35
• 42/Arizona Highways
t was many moons ago, as legend has it, on
Christmas Eve that Santa Claus made his first
historic venture into the great Arizona Territory.
Now keep in mind that Santa, up to this particular
Christmas season, had never set foot, nor sleigh, on
desert soil.
The belief in Santa Claus hadn't reached the Arizona
Territory. The children's thoughts of holidays were of
Kachinas, Yei Bicheis, and Crown Dancers. But this
particular holiday season, Santa was receiving faint
vibrations from the vast territory.
alt!" shouted General Crook. "Nobody goes
south of here tonight without a guide!"
"But it's Christmas," a not so jolly St. Nick exclaimed.
"I must get these toys to the good little boys and girls of
Arizona!"
The grizzled soldier stood his ground.
"No guide-no go."
It seems that all of the regular guides had gone back
east for Christmas. Santa really looked worried.
Somewhere children were thinking of good ol' St.
Nick. This must have been the first Christmas for a few
pioneer families. And Santa couldn't overlook them.
Now the vibrations were very faint, the Arizona
Territory was vast and the terrain hostile to the inexpe­rienced.
In order for Santa to find these children, he
would need a guide. Not just any guide, but one who
knew the territory and could help him locate the
children. How Santa found his guide and their
subsequent journey is our story.
A CHRISTMAS FABLE BY BOB BOZE BELL
FEATURING "JAKE THE JUMBO JACKALOPE"
"What about a jackalope?" Santa said with a hopeful
twist of his hairy chin. "I've heard there is a jackalope
that lives in a canyon near here, and he knows where all
the children are."
"Ha!" bellowed the cavalry officer with a scornful
frown. "There's no such thing as a jackalope."
Santa sank down in the snow. He just about started to
cry. "Maybe he's right," he thought, "maybe there isn 't
any such thing as a jackal ope that loves children."
Text continued on page 44, column 2
Arizona Highways/ 43 •
•
M any, many years ago, somebody introduced an
oversized jackrabbit to an undersized antelope. It might
have just been fate, bad lighting, bad eyesight; we just
don't know. Most wildlife biologists still find it hard to
believe that they had anything in common, but evidently
the ol' saying is true- opposites do attract.
Out of this union came a hybrid animal unique to the
American West. It was too big to call a jackrabbit and too
odd-looking to call an antelope, even though it did have
antlers, so scientists
settled on the logical
moniker - jackal ope.
Now the biggest
jackalope that ever
\ lived wa:; born in
) Canyon de Chelly, and · , ~\~~\r· he grew to be over
J \I seven feet high, from
) ~ l Jr'- cott~n tail to the tip .f ),\ I of his antlers. The
;. ~ Indians called him
~~·:'-\"" · 1
• ,;,._r ~ ,.. r "Bunny Who Sleeps
Where He Wants." The
Spanish called him
"Muy Mega Muchacho." The Anglos called him 'Jake the
Jumbo Jackalope."
Now Jake kept to himself, not really fitting into any
crowd comfortably. But when you were lucky enough
to catch sight of Jake, he was a sight to see. And when­ever
there is a sight to see, Anglos are going to figure
out a way to make money off it. After several unsuccess­ful
attempts, Jake was finally tracked down and captured.
He was sold to a circus and toured all over the Southwest.
But he was more trouble than he was worth, constantly
trying to escape. later, a cattle rancher thought Jake
would be an ideal vehicle for rounding up strays. He
hired the best jackaroo in
the business, but that yahoo
didn't last two seconds on
the back of ol' Jake. Nosiree,
he was not to be tamed.
Jake finally made his escape
and from that time on
avoided any contact with
humans, with the exception
of children. Every so often,
Jake would appear to a child
who had been wondering ~·
about him and needed a
friend. But he would never
trust an adult again. That is,
until Santa.
Bob Boze Bell is a radio
personality in Scottsdale
and a satirical cartoonist
for Phoenix's New Times .
44/Arizona Highways
. I .... .-.. ..
ust then, a little Indian boy,
who ad been listening from a nearby
cactus patch, came riding up on a
painted pony.
"Follow me, mister, I know where
your guide is."
The little Indian boy led Santa far
across the snow-blanketed desert to a
high-walled canyon. Deep in the canyon
there was an ancient cliff dwelling.
"Your guide is right up there," the boy
said proudly, pointing up at a ledge far
above them.
Santa peered up into the darkness, and
at first he didn't see anything. But then
the little boy began to whistle, and lo
and behold, there he was, antlers and
all - Jake the Jumbo Jackalope!
"I see him!" Santa exclaimed.
The little boy looked at the old white­haired
man with a mixture of surprise
and mistrust. No grown-up had seen Jake
for many years.
"How do we get him down here?"
Santa asked, suddenly realizing the
predicament.
The boy looked at the white-haired
old man with a steady gaze, "If you're
really Santa Claus, you'll figure out a
way."
Santa laughed.
He liked games like
this. He reached in
his side pocket and
pulled out a bag of
arctic dust and
sprinkled it on his
boots. And then
with a "Ho! Ho!
Ho!" he walked
right up that cliff
wall and said
"Howdy do!" to the
world's biggest
jackal ope.
The little Indian
boy looked up in
wonder as Santa
gained Jake's trust
and friendship. And
then, with a few
more pinches of
arctic dust sprin­kled
onJake's ample
ears, off they flew
in a flash.
A5 Santa headed
south, the little boy
yelled, "Watch out
for the chili!"
Santa laughed.
Why, he was from
the North Pole. He
knew all about
chilly weather.
With the help of Jake's ultrasensitive
ears and antenna-like antlers, Santa
delivered the toys right on schedule.
And, of course, Santa ran into a certain
midnite snack down on the Mexican
border that opened up his sinuses and
made him realize the true meaning of
the term "chili con carnage."
Santa was so impressed with Jake that
he left the jackalope an unlimited supply
of arctic dust and the responsibility of
keeping track of each and every child
who moves to the great Arizona Territory.
So, if you and your family are out on
the desert, and you see some spinning
dust way off in the distance, it's probably
Jake keeping an eye out for you.
Arizona Highways/ 45
A Note of Thanks . ..
This, our traditio nal holiday issue,
was printed by the W A. Krueger
Company on 60 -pound Sonoma Web
Gloss , manufacture d by the James
River Corporation at its West Linn
Mill. The cover was printed on 100 -
pound Warrenflo, manufac tured by
the S. D. Warren Company, a division
of Scott Paper Company. Headlines
and text were set by ProType of
Phoenix. The four-co lo r separations
for every photograph reproduced in
this issue were manufactured in the
Phoenix plant of th e American Color
Corporation. To o ne and all, the
editors extend their gratitude.
ARIZON~
H I G HWA VS®
DECEMBER 1987 VOL. 63, NO. 12
Publisher-Hugh Harelso n
Editor-M errill Windsor
Managing Editor-Ric hard G. Stah l
Art Director-Gary Benn ett
Picture Editor-Peter En se nberg er
Associate Editor-Robert J. Farrell
Senior Conbibuting Editors-
George Collins. Esther Henderson, Ray Manley,
Josef Muench, Earl Petroff , Clara Lee Tanne r
Conbibuting Editors-
Bill Ahrendt, John Annerino, Jo Baeza, Joe
Beeler, Bob Bradshaw, Duane Bryers, D on
Campbell, Willard Clay, Ed Cooper, Paul Dean,
Don Dedera, Di ck Diet rich, Jack Dykinga, Carlos
Elm er, Bernard L. Fontana, Jeff Gnass, Barry
Goldwater, Pam Hait, Jerry Jacka. Chr istine
Keith, Gill Kenny, Peter Kresan, Gary Ladd , Alan
Manley, Herb and Dorothy Mc l a ughl in, J. Peter
Mortimer, David Mu ench, C harles Niehuis,
Marguerite Noble, Willi s Pete rson , Lawrence
Clark Powell, A llen C . Reed, Budge Ruffner, J erry
Sieve, Joe Stocker, Jim Tallon, Larry Toschik,
Ma rshall Trimble, Larry Ulr ich, Maggie Wilson
Business Director-Jim Delzell
Circulation and Marketing Director­Sharon
Vogelsang
Managing Editor, Related Producls­Wesley
Holden
Production Manager- Diana Pollock
Fulfillment Manager- Bethany Braley
Data Processing Manager-Richard Sim pson
Governor of Arizona-Evan Mecham
Director,
Department of Transportation­Charles
L. Miller
Arizona Transportation Board
Chairman: Andrew M. Federhar, Tu cson;
Members: Arthur C. Atonna , Douglas; Harold
Gietz , Saff ord ; James Patterson, Chandler,
Guy Reid, Prescott ; Verne D. Seidel, Jr.,
Flagstaff; Ted Valdez, Sr., Ph oenix
Arizona Highways/47