South of Tucson. Full time RVers are often asked whether they have found 'that perfect place' where they will settle down. It might be meant as a yes or no question, but it usually evokes a long-winded answer.

I don't know how others answer this question but I maintain a diversified portfolio of perfect places--why must there be only one? In fact on the mountain bike ride today we got a glimpse of land that brought a lump to my throat. It's not many people's idea of the perfect postcard, but I like it so much that I visit every year.



Elephant Head, in the background, is one of my fiducial points--an important reference point that measures the year. It's the grasslands that attract me the most, I suppose.

After all my teasing about flowers, mountains and lakes being over-rated, the reader is certainly entitled to razz me about my sappy sentimentalism over glorious spacious curves of gramineae.

But speaking of sap...


...what was going on with this mesquite tree? I've never noticed this thorny tree going through a "maple sugar time in Vermont" experience. Why weren't hummingbirds poking at these golden saccharine orbs?


Spring is certainly noticable in Arizona, but it's a mild experience compared to what people go through north and east of here. There is a real drama to the agonies and ecstasies they experience when the first crocuses poke up through muddy snow, and then the worst snowstorm of the winter hits.

Thinking back on all that, from a safe distance, I can even convince myself that I miss it.