Briefly is a weekly newsletter where I share original poems, short stories, essays, and tales of our Airstream camping adventures. I’d love to have you join my community! This is #9 of the Airstream series. If your email gets cut off, you can click either button below to find this story and others in this series and/or visit my website to see everything else.
Welcome back to our first big trip in Joy back in 2020/2021. (Last Friday I shared a story about our current trip.) After our mid-January golf and wild horse experiences in the Scottsdale area, we headed south toward Tucson, stopping over for a couple nights at Picacho Peak, which was on the way.
This small, sudden mountain rising up out of the flat cacti covered landscape has served as a natural landmark to guide travelers since people have traveled this part of the world. It was a stagecoach stop and the western-most Civil War battle happened here. Who knows what other momentous moments occurred at this spot? For us, it was simply about soaking in all the beauty. But if you’ve been reading my other posts you know that I love to understand the history of a place and imagine the other people who came before me. I like to wonder about who they were, who they loved, what they worried about and hoped for.
There are a few different ways to hike Picacho. We hiked a bit of the Sunset Vista trail, which is less steep than others, but still chose not to make the ascent to the peak itself. Still, it was absolutely gorgeous. I’d never seen a cacti forest before. I’m including a video from the AZ State Parks so you can see what I mean. I tried to imagine being there in a stagecoach or fightng a battle, and could only imagine I would have been petrified of rattle snack bites and very hot. Considering how often I have to pee in general, how did those ladies back then deal with that issue in the heat, with all those skirts and petticoats, not to mention a very bumpy rocky ride? Perhaps they just didn’t drink very much water and that’s probably one of the reasons why their average age was like 45 years old back then. Here I am rolling around in an air conditioned truck with a camper. We’ve come a long way baby.
The campsites offered 30amp and no water or sewer, but the location and extra space between sites more than made up for that. Notice that we are wearing shorts in the photo above. When we got to Tucson, We spent a few days at a very nice KOA just outside of Tucson. It was the end of January and the weather changed dramatically.
We did manage to play some golf in Tucson before the snow hit, but then we sequestered inside to watch the Super Bowl and Joe Biden’s inauguration (seems like a million years ago) and enjoy an easy taco dinner. Workouts had to be done inside (tricky).
One night, as the snow turned to slush, we ventured out and managed to find an incredible molé place. I am so sorry that I forget the name of the restaurant! If anyone out there is from Tucson and you happen to recognize the bar wall in the background below left, please tell me where this is!
So much has happened in our lives and this country since that January five and a half years ago. Regardless of who you voted for back then or more recently, I encourage you to listen to Amanda Gorman’s recitation of her beautiful poem, The Hill We Climb, (video below) at Biden’s inauguration. I remember feeling so hopeful and inspired by her words. I believe her message captures the heart of what it means to be an American. I’ll also include the text of her poem at the bottom of this post. I hope you all had a good and safe 4th of July if you are here in the US. Please be sure to get out and VOTE!
The Hill We Climb
by Amanda Gorman
When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry, a sea we must wade.
We’ve braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace.
In the norms and notions of what just is isn’t always justice.
And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow, we do it.
Somehow, we’ve weathered
and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken,
but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time
where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president,
only to find herself reciting for one.
And yes, we are far from polished.
Far from pristine.
But that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose,
to compose a country committed to all cultures,
colors, characters and conditions of man.
And so, we lift our gazes not to what stands between us,
but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know,
to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped;
that even as we tired, we tried;
that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat,
but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree,
and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time,
then victory won’t lie in the blade,
but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade,
the hill we climb if only we dare it.
Because being American is more than a pride we inherit;
it’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a forest that would shatter our nation
rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed,
it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth,
in this faith we trust.
For while we have our eyes on the future,
history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared it at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour,
but within it, we found the power
to author a new chapter.
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
Wo, while once we asked,
“How could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?”
Now we assert, “
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?”
We will not march back to what was,
but move to what shall be:
a country that is bruised, but whole;
benevolent, but bold; fierce and free.
We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation,
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain,
if we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy,
and change our children’s birthright.
So, let us leave behind a country
better than one we were left.
With every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the gold-limned hills of the West.
We will rise from the wind-swept Northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked South.
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
in every known nook of our nation,
in every corner called our country
our people diverse and beautiful
will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade
aflame and unafraid.
The new dawn blooms as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.🇺🇸
Ashley, nice to meet you. Thank you for taking me on such a wonderful journey!! And you remind me that every place has invisible stories that cannot be seen. I'm looking forward to hearing about your next journey too. 😇