Greetings, Earthlings

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As of today, this site is my website.  I have transferred a few things over from Google, as you can see below.  I harbor no secrets, even if the truth redounds to my embarrassment.  I find it better, in the long run, especially on social media, where secrecy gives birth to rumour.

Besides, most of you know me well enough to know that I mean no harm.

Henceforth, I will be on here most every day, letting my faithful friends and family in on the goings on in beautiful Prescott, or in whatever spot I happen to find myself.  The works of the Red Cross, Slow Food USA, the American Legion, the public schools of Prescott and Chino Valley, and, most importantly, the Baha’i Faith, will be prominent on the pages of the beloved home front.  Southern California, Colorado,  Wyoming, the northern Plains, the Upper Great Lakes, Chicagoland, Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico- and of course, other areas of Arizona will somehow squeeze my time during the month of July.  It’s all good, and all here.  Stay tuned. 🙂

My Achilles Heal

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  • First off, I apologize to my faithful friends on Xanga, Facebook and WordPress, as what I wrote in my last post was the result of serious misconstruances and misperceptions on my part.  I will not be in the sort of relationship I had thought, with the exciting, creative and highly intelligent woman I last mentioned.  She is very well attended, in that department, and that is all I will say.

    I met the gentleman in her life, some years ago.  I did not connect the two of them until tonight, but they are very much together, albeit laid-back and comfortable with one another’s independent leisure pursuits.  She did not come on to me, or in any way act unfaithfully to him, during our recent introduction.  The lady is just that awesome and just that full of so many wonderful qualities, including being gentle, vivacious and affirming of others, that I found myself totally smitten.  Thankfully, I never let her know just how much so.

    Women, and before them, girls, have always been my Achilles tendon.  This is just a wake-up call for me to be in touch with my own longing and vulnerability.  The upsides are that I am fine, that there is no heartbreak involved, no hurt feelings and no victim.  I still have a friend, in fact probably two.  He’s a nice guy with excellent taste.  I am around, to love another day.  You just won’t see me braying about being in love again, quite so quickly, no matter how awesome the woman is.  That’s a promise, and I fulfill my promises.

    Life goes on, and tomorrow, a very bright sun will shine.  I am still full-on, and all in- with life itself.happy

Full-On, and All-In

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I left home on Monday evening, fully intending to visit friends in Oklahoma and Texas, over the next few weeks.  Late Monday night,   I got as far as Pie Town, NM, before fatigue ran its course, and I slept under the stars at Jackson Park- a community camping area.

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Pie Town actually does have a restaurant, which opens around 9 AM.

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It also honors its Native American neighbours- the Navajo and Zuni.

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I ended up having breakfast in Datil, several miles further east, at Eagle Guest Ranch Cafe,  Penny and I had had dinner there, on our last cross-country journey together      SAM_5014               SAM_5015

Tuesday was spent driving across New Mexico. I stopped for several minutes in Magdalena, a town suffering from TOTAL lapse in its  water supply.  There, I said several prayers.

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I next took several photos of Socorro’s historic district, and spent time in the library of new Mexico Mining and Technological Institute, before moving along through the middle of LOE.  The library is named for the late Congressman, Joseph Skeen, who worked hard to advance Socorro’s educational resources.

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Here is San Miguel Catholic Church, at the north end of Socorro’s downtown.

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The plaza and several adobe buildings add a  pleasant air to the place.

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I  later passed a closed Fort Sumner National Historic Site,  drove up through Texas’ Feedlot Alley and across to Palo Duro Canyon, where I put up my tent. Just before making camp, though, I got a call from Prescott Red Cross.  A fire had broken out and a shelter was being opened.  I told the team of my whereabouts and promised to keep close watch, via the Internet.  

At 3:45 AM, I awoke to the tent crumbling down around me.  The rest of the slumber fest was spent in my car, and I organized the mess in the light of day.  Nothing is broken or ripped, so it will be just put up more sturdily, next time.  The skies over Palo Duro looked a bit threatening, so I focused on checking the Web for news of the fire.  Needless to say, I did not hike to the Lighthouse yesterday.

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In my head, I could hear the slightly annoyed voice of a treasured new friend from one of the organizations with which I volunteer:  “It’s YOUR community that’s in trouble!  Are you sure you want to keep on your merry way?”  I knew the answer to that- even without her prompting:  I was determined to head back, and after breakfast at Blue Corner Cafe, my standard stop in Amarillo, I did just that.  After driving for eleven hours, I was back in my house.  Today, I went in and helped at the Red Cross shelter, and will later go and visit some other friends in Chino Valley, which is the area most affected by the smoke.

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I am just ready, for whatever and whoever, comes into my life, full-on and all-in.

Journeys

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This the second of three posts extracted from my Google website, in hopes others can view and comment, if they wish.

As I mentioned earlier, wander lust has been in my heart, since I learned to walk, and maybe before.  I probably went to every part of my little town of Saugus, by the time I was ten.  Going to nearby Lynn, either on foot via the abandoned rail bed (even before Rails to Trails) or by bus, was also a fairly frequent occurrence.  Some of my paternal cousins lived there, there was a cinema that showed horror movies and I would occasionally do a bus run to “downtown” (central Lynn) to pick up hairdressing supplies for my hairdresser mother.

Dad and I went up Mt. Chocorua, NH a few times, and he took me to the Freedom Trail, in Boston, when I finished eighth grade.  He didn’t especially share my love of history, but he did enjoy nature, and we were always doing things, as a family, outside.
Our journeys in summer were fairly regular: A week or so in one part, or another, of the White Mountain region of New Hampshire; a weekend in Mashpee, on Cape Cod, where an uncle and aunt had a lovely cabin, on Johns Pond; and a lakeside gathering of various relatives and neighbours, at different state parks in northeast Massachusetts or southern New Hampshire.  My mind went on a few journeys of its own, when one of the families (which shall remain nameless here) showed up with three beautiful daughters.
I only gradually branched beyond the comfort zone. I remember one time I helped Dad on a paperhanging job in Bristol, RI and another time we visited relatives in Stamford, CT, but those were the only forays outside Massachusetts and New Hampshire, until I was 18.
My first airplane ride brought me to Columbia, SC, via Newark, for Army Basic Training.  That whole growing-up experience introduced me to discipline, lively communities that were mostly Black folks ( sections of Washington,DC,Columbia and Atlanta), a huge strand beach (Myrtle Beach)streets run by pimps (Midtown Manhattan), the Indianapolis Speedway, the public monuments and buildings of our nation’s capital, the glitz of Tokyo, the chaos and struggles of Saigon (today’s Ho Chi Minh City) and Manila, and the mix of relaxedness and formality that was Sydney, AU in 1971. I was sojourning on two planes, and made it through on both levels, more or less intact.
In summer, 1972, I shucked it all, for about three weeks, loaded a back pack and sleeping bag (but no tent) and headed to Montreal, by bus, then across to Edmonton and the Rockies, by thumb.  It was a beautiful blitz, but I often wonder what I gained from the time, with the return trip, except for three days in Baltimore with my Army buddy and his family, being a waste.
A spiritual journey began just outside Baltimore, though, as I was introduced to the Baha’i Faith by a gentle old man in a pick-up truck.  That journey of baby-step investigation took nine years, ending when I met Penny and began to pick up the pace.  The spiritual quest since then has had the power of Divine Assistance, and I will treasure this spiritual path, for all eternity.
I’ve been to a lot of places since then, by all manner of transport, and sense there is a lot more to come. Whether I go alone, or with a friend or three, I know my angel is on my shoulder and my maternal grandfather, whom I never met, physically, is always looking out for his wandering grandson.

Love

0

This is one of several posts I wrote for my Google website, on which Google refuses to allow others to post comments.  I am therefore bringing the posts to Xanga, WordPress and Facebook, so that my friends CAN read and comment, if THEY wish.

There are basically four elements that have defined my life, up to now:  Curiosity, Intuition, Introspection and Love.  As Jesus the Christ and Baha’u’llah have each said:  “The strongest of these is love.”

There are basically for kinds of love- ‘Abdu’l-Baha explains that these are the Love of God for man, the love of man for God; the Love of God for Self (reflected in Creation) and the love of man for man.  This last kind of love, ideally, reflects the others.
The more time I spend on this plane, the more I reflect back that the only things of consequence I have ever done have been those stemming from love.  Anything done from avarice, hurt, ignorance or anger has ended in naught.
In childhood, I wanted to protect my mother from anyone that might have hurt or upset her, especially when Dad was at work.  It didn’t matter how big the person was, I was not going to let her suffer.  It was the same with my siblings, but meekness on my part didn’t really bring that out so much, once we were in school.  I saw the best in even the roughest character, among my school mates.  Yet, as I recall, my sister and brothers did not get picked on very much.
Junior High was what it was- little good, for anyone, but most of us made it out okay, except for a kid named George who burned down a few schools, when we were in eighth grade.  He went into treatment.  For my part, I started to really make the connection between love and pleasure, as soon as I hit Grade 7.  Girls were no longer just cute;  they were nothing short of amazing.  I was just shy of twelve, when that connection was made.
In high school,and through early adulthood, love showed several forms.  I started to pray more fervently.  I saw my female classmates as complete human beings.  I felt loyalty to my neighborhood.  I saw my parents more as allies than as overseers.  Alcohol clouded things, alot, from ages 15-26, but more on that another time.  In my thoughtful moments, I had concerns for my youngest brother, for my sister in a time of pain and for those around me- especially for my fellow veterans, after we came back from the war in the jungle.
I never did, in all that time,find one who was close enough to me that the name soul mate applied.  The girls I dated were nice enough people, but the chemistry needed to bring out the love that had started to bury itself, only came when Penny entered my life.  I knew something was up when, a few weeks before we met, I had this thought that I was ready for a relationship.  The person with whom I was talking at the time was not the one of whom I was thinking.
She appeared in the middle of a stormy night, at the Shalako (a house-blessing ceremony) of Zuni, New Mexico.  I was there as part of an anthropology course; she, out of personal curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.  That last quality, and a gentle concern for the well-being of children, defined the love of my life.  We were together for thirty years, three months- twenty-nine of those as husband and wife; twenty-three, as parents; all of them as best friends.
Penny taught me unconditional love- not a day went by that we didn’t affirm it at least twice.  Not a night came that we hadn’t resolved any differences in the name of love, before going to bed.
The love of man for woman- an outgrowth, among many, of Mankind’s love for his fellow humans- kept me at her side through all the aches and pains, and declines, of her last eight years on this plane.  There is something more, though- the love of spirit for spirit.  She has been with me constantly, since March, 2011.  Whether appearing in dreams, wafting a light current of air or gentle feeling on my skin, or giving me a sense of where to go or how to go about a given task- the love remains, constant and unconditional.
Recently, I have met many new friends. I take each person as he or she needs to be taken.  Penny has seen to it that I don’t follow any sort of false lust, or give in to momentary urges.  Those have nothing to do with love, anyway.
I have felt another tug at my heartstrings, over the past few weeks.  I don’t know for sure who this is about, but my angel tells me it’s okay and that she and I will have plenty of time for each other in the Great Beyond, and that whoever this new woman is will be well-cared for also.  See, Penny knows who I am moving towards.  She will only say it’s someone I don’t know very well yet.
I will stay tuned-in.

Heirlooms, Presidia and The Oneness of Us All

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Some of my finest adventures happen “close to home”.  This past watershed weekend was a prime example.  One of the organizations that has drawn me into itself is Slow Food Prescott.  This is part of a larger organization, founded in Italy in 1989, which seeks to revitalize the interplay between nutrition and socialization- a counterpoint to the phenomenon of eating in one’s car, or otherwise taking a meal “on the fly”.

This past weekend, several things happened.  Friday night, I attended a gathering at the American Legion Post, in Prescott, enjoying a well-prepared meal in a relaxed atmosphere, which we do several times each month at the Post.  This set the stage for the weekend of food that was to come.

Bright and early Saturday morning, I headed to Prescott Farmers Market, purchasing enough food to get me through the coming week, before heading out on my two-weeker, either to Colorado or Oklahoma/Texas, or both.  Prescott’s Farmers Market is balanced between produce and freshly-prepared foods, such as baked goods and artisan tamales.

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After getting the food home and into the fridge, it was time to head to Bill’s Grill for the lunch which launched the 2013 meeting of Slow Food USA’s Southwest Region (Arizona and New Mexico).  Bill’s features organic beef, much of it from locally-raised cattle.

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The Slow-Food group was well-nourished, and ready for an afternoon of agricultural tourism, by 12;30.

We first headed to Whipstone Farm, in the hamlet of Paulden, about 20 miles north of Prescott. This establishment raises a variety of vegetables, fruit and livestock,  from arugula and asparagus to raspberries and tomatoes,using organic methods.

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There are many theories as to how we ought approach the task of feeding our numbers.  Genetic modification of crops is advanced, by industry, as the most efficient way to do this.    The organic methods, which I witnessed here at Whipstone, represent another, less-intrusive method.  Certainly, it’s more work to farm organically.  I have to say, though, that there seem to be fewer health issues arising from organic farming, than from other methods.  It’s noteworthy that the group with whom I spent much of the weekend look, almost to a one, about ten-twenty years younger than their chronological age-mates in the generality of society.

I don’t partake of alcoholic beverages, but I tagged along to Granite Creek Vineyards, on the north side of Chino Valley.  Here, several of the group members enjoyed six varieties of fruit of the vine, attended by a well- versed sommelier.   Afterwards, we retired to the lawn, enjoying live music and the company of a peacock.

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Now, it was time for the main event.  We bundled into various cars, around 3:30, and headed to the hosts’ residence, just east of the vineyard.

This is another of the homes which have been carefully, lovingly refurbished and made resplendent by astonishingly handy owners, across the country.                  SAM_4989  SAM_4990

So here, we enjoyed an Ark of Taste dinner. Arc of Taste alludes to Noah’s efforts at animal husbandry, and directly speaks to the effort to preserve and foster many local ingredients, which would otherwise risk being squeezed out, for the sake of monoculture.  Thus, we have the term Presidia, Italian for “fortress”.  A Presidia item, such as the Churro sheep being raised in the Four Corners region, on the Navajo Nation,   is one of the major focal points of Slow Food International.  Variety in our diet improves digestion, diet and overall health.  Many might differ, but may I say their sentiments are along the lines of “Been down so long, it looks like up to me.”

We thoroughly enjoyed a well-balanced and varied bill of fare, both on Saturday night and at the buffet-style breakfast, the next morning.  All was prepared from scratch.

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On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we were honoured by a traditional Navajo blessing. I have missed this, for some time.

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Richard McCarthy, the new director of Slow Food USA, is an accomplished gastronome, from New Orleans.  His efforts are creating sure order out of chaos and he has built a highly-functioning team at the New York headquarters.  Richard was honoured by our Dine (Navajo) friend.

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Sunday, June 9, was Race Unity Day, so this blessing was particularly auspicious.  The Baha’i Faith has the Oneness of Mankind as its basic tenet.  Several of us gathered in mid-day, at Goldwater Lake.  I briefly took leave of my fellows at the Slow Food gathering, for this equally worthy event.  Spirit and body must surely work as one.

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It was here that I learned a steadfast friend of 32 years had passed on, two days earlier.  This was a saddening, yet also comforting backdrop to the events of the weekend.  We now have one more angel pulling for us in the Divine Light.  Meanwhile, here in the Earthly frame, I can take comfort in have made several more friends:  Richard and his assistant, Aimee; the spirited Slow Food team of Santa Fe; and engaging, creative members of the Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff  Slow Food groups.

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I look forward to so much that is good in life and to working through the challenges that lie ahead of us all.

Pine Mountain’s Mini- “Rain Forest”

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It doesn’t rain any more intensely on Pine Mountain than it does anywhere else in Arizona.  I did find, though, that the trail to Nelson Place Spring and onward along Beehouse Canyon Trail is intensely green.

It attracts the same intense wildlife as the Mazatzal Range, some forty miles to the southeast- including mountain lions, bobcats and bears.

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So, here are a few scenes near Nelson Place Spring, where there are but remnants of some stone walls to show the vibrant life that people had here, 100 years ago.

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Not far along Beehouse Canyon Trail, I got a fine view of Beehouse Mesa.

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Going in and out of the forest, I got fine views of Pine Mountain itself, which will be the focus of another hike, sometime in the next year or two.

 

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On the way out of the Wilderness, I enjoyed views of Sycamore Creek Gorge, not to be confused with Sycamore Canyon, which follows the same body of water, but lies several miles north of here.

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So went my mini-adventure, on what would have been our 31st wedding anniversary, June 6, 2013.

 

 

The Road to Pine Mountain

6

Yesterday would have been our thirty-first wedding anniversary.  June 6 will always be one of those days when something out of the ordinary calls to me, to be done.

I chose to have lunch with the arcology students at Arcosanti, the avant-garde community-in-progress that was started by the late Paolo Soleri, in the early 1970’s.  I was not disappointed; the buffet fare was well-balanced and freshly made. Besides, having to wait thirty minutes, in the small outdoor garden, gave me a chance to contemplate creatures like a red-tailed hawk, hummingbirds and a chuckawalla.

After this fine meal, I headed northeast, to Pine Mountain Wilderness, a rarely visited area, between Cordes Junction and Payson.  At its highest point, PMW affords magnificent views of the Verde River, with steep canyon walls in between.  As it was late in the day for any blowout hike, I chose to spend an hour or so in Beehouse Canyon, a connector trail on the north side of PMW.

Of course, as with any remote wilderness, the route to the trailhead is itself a worthy experience.  I met few humans along the narrow dirt road, but did slow down or stop for a robust juvenile coyote, a long bull snake and a spirited mule deer.

Here are a few scenes of the features presented by Forest Road 68.  First, I encountered Estier Peak.

This short mountain is east of I-17, off Dugas Road.

This short mountain is east of I-17, off Dugas Road.

Just east of Estier is five-mile long Horner Gulch.

This long sub-canyon stretches for five miles along Forest Road 68, below Yellow Jacket Mesa, visible at the top.

This long sub-canyon stretches for five miles along Forest Road 68, below Yellow Jacket Mesa, visible at the top.

Here is a longer view of Yellow Jacket Mesa.

This ridge runs northeastward, from Horner Gulch.

This ridge runs northeastward, from Horner Gulch.

The area has several ranches, which are still fully operational.  It also has the old mining town of Dugas, now a place of refuge for those needing to be “out-of-towners”.

This is the remnant of yet another old mining town.  Now, those who want to be left alone hang out here.  They were nice enough to let me take two photos.

This is the remnant of yet another old mining town. Now, those who want to be left alone hang out here. They were nice enough to let me take two photos.

This property is mostly abandoned.  The owner supposedly just shows up once in a blue moon.

This property is mostly abandoned. The owner supposedly just shows up once in a blue moon.

This is the north ridge of Tule Canyon, which runs east of Dugas.

This is the north ridge of Tule Canyon, which runs east of Dugas.

This is Mount Thomas. From here on, the landscape becomes more lush, with Sycamore Creek and the Verde River exerting greater influence.

This igneous rock outcropping rises just southeast of Dugas, and about three miles southwest of Pine Mountain Wilderness

This igneous rock outcropping rises just southeast of Dugas, and about three miles southwest of Pine Mountain Wilderness

In the next post, I will showcase the canyon rising from Sycamore Creek, the northern first mile of Pine Mountain Trail,  and the lushness of Beehouse Canyon.

Prescott Folk Arts Fair and Street Concert, 2013

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This past weekend began a three-weekends-in-a-row series of downtown festivals in our fair city.  The emphasis on June 1-2 was on Folk Arts of the Mountain Southwest, with various scenes like these at Sharlot Hall Historical Museum.  A few thousand visitors came for chance to learn crafts from the 19th Century, like shearing, quiltmaking and woodcarving.

                                                

A goat is being shorn,and not altogether willingly.

                                                

A few blocks east, in Courthouse Square, a Block Party music fest was taking place.  The Centennial Tree, planted on February 14, 2012, is tall enough to co-host the festivities.

When I was there, the Pistoleros were doing some 80’s hits.

They were followed by Zero Zero, serving up tunes of the ’90’s.

Events like these get me out of my shell, during a rare time of emotional stress, and are prime examples of what makes Prescott a special place in which to live.

Old Bill’s Favourite Mountain

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Bill Williams was a mountain man, in the mid- 19th Century, trading with the Havasupai, Hualapai, Yavapai, Navajo and Hopi, in the north central region of Arizona.  He is remembered by having the City of Williams, Bill Williams River, and this mountain named for him.

Bill Williams Mountain is the furthest west of a series of uplifts that rise majestically out of the semi-arid Colorado Plateau.  The higher mountains in this loosely-constructed “range” are known collectively as the San Francisco Peaks, or Kachina Peaks.  All are sacred to the five nations that call the area home.  They are also used by the ski industry, at Mt. Agassiz, near Flagstaff and on one of the slopes of Bill Williams Mountain.  The two interest groups are not 100% in agreement, as to how the Peaks should be treated.  So far, though, the mountains remain in majesty.  The indigenous people, particularly the Hopi, regard the Peaks as the realm of their sacred spirits, known to the Hopi as Kachinas.

I took time yesterday to hike to the top of Bill Williams Mountain, something that I’ve had in mind for thirty years or so.  Here are some views of this western sentinel of the Peaks.

There is a map of the area, at the trail head

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Then, we are off,up a mild set of switchbacks.

                    

The trail is used by many creatures.  This one looks familiar.  Absalom?

The trail is three miles, one way, variously flat and inclined.

                      

It offers nice views of Bixler Peak, the western sub-peak of Bill Williams.

There are also hints of the summit, still well ahead.

Along the way, a progress report is offered.

There are limestone boulders, on which to rest, plus plenty of aspen, ponderosa pine and fir trees (White and Douglas) for shade.

                                           

I offer here a small homage to @Buddy 71, and his friends.

Now, back to “work”.

                      

There are numerous views, in all directions, en route to the top.

           

By this time, I came upon a father and two sons, who had made the trip to Mile Post 2.5,  about twenty minutes before me.  We went the rest of the way as a unit.

As you can see, the US Forest Service maintains elaborate communications and fire watch equipment, atop Bill Williams Mountain.

I moseyed on over to the west overlook, and smiled for the birdie, as a souvenir of this hike.

Now, it’s back to Prescott, and a weekend of Folk Arts Festival! happy