As I blogged elsewhere, I have a collection of five Hopi-made traditional style kachinas. I bought all of them over a period of 3 or 4 years in the early 2000s. Over time, due to aggressive dusting by a cleaning lady and multiple moves between my old AZ home and my new WA home, they were slightly damaged. Since I planned a trip to Winslow, which is about 60 miles from where I bought them, I shipped them to AZ for repairs. I picked them up today. 

I bought them at a shop called Tsakurshovi (and no, I can’t pronounce that) on Second Mesa, 1-1/2 miles east of the Hopi Cultural Center. I had a nice visit with Joseph & Janice Day, the owners, who opened the shop just for me before leaving on a trip to New Mexico. While I was there, I bought another kachina for my collection (and almost bought another one!), which I neglected to photograph before Joseph packed it up for me. I did, however, remember to take some photos of the shop’s interior. The place is tiny and jam packed with kachinas and other works of art. 

I can’t recommend this place enough. If you go, tell them Maria the Helicopter pilot sent you. 

For the past four or five years, I’ve been wanting to spend New Year’s at La Posada, a historic Route 66 Fred Harvey Company Hotel designed by one of the southwest’s greatest architects, Mary Colter. Every year, I book a room for two nights and every year I cancel my reservation. I was on track to make it last winter when truck trouble delayed me up north. But this year I was determined to come. I even turned down two other New Years Eve invitations for spending the evening with friends.

What’s the attraction? A few things draw me here again and again. First, the history of the place and its ties to the railroad and southwest tourism. Next, the ability to see an active restoration — heck, the first time I came here in the early 2000s, only the restaurant and a handful of rooms and public spaces were open! Now this work in progress is nearly done and I’ve gotten a chance to watch its progress with my occasional visits throughout the years. Then there’s the restaurant, the Turquoise Room; I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s one of my top 10 favorite restaurants in the U.S. and finally, there’s the artwork, not only by resident artist Tina Mion but by others, as well. The gift shop is full of work by local artists and much of it decorates the walls throughout the hotel.

Anyway, I was up early this morning (as usual) and took the opportunity to snap a few images of the public spaces. I’ll add more in another post. 

If you’re ever in the area, I urge you to stop in.

I happened to be driving from Prescott to Wickenburg around sunset when Mother Nature put on a good show. I stopped at the little rest area/lookout point on the downhill side of Yarnell Hill for a better look and a photo. 

I first stopped at Yarnell Hill around sunset way back in 1995. That was the year I’d decided I was sick of the New York Metro Area’s harsh winters and spent three months in Arizona. I lived in a tiny apartment in Yarnell that season and the road between Congress and Yarnell was one I’d take regularly on a trip to Wickenburg or Phoenix. 

Much later, after I moved to Wickenburg with my future wasband, the road and its viewpoint were on a regular route between Wickenburg and Prescott and points beyond. As I stopped for this shot, I had a crystal clear memory of stopping in the parking area on a summer day after a motorcycle ride to Prescott. We’d douse ourselves with whatever water was left in our water bottles, relying on evaporative cooling for the last 20 miles in temperatures that were often above 100 degrees. Soaking wet in the parking area 1500 feet above the Sonoran desert, we’d be bone dry before we got home. 

It was cold and windy when I stopped for this shot. I watched the fading colors from the comfort of my truck. But I remember how the spot was on all my previous stops, with the sound of the wind or of cows in the dairy farm far below. Quiet desert solitude and a view that goes on for miles and miles, all at the side of the road.