I CAN'T HELP IT

Yesterday the temperature rose to 71 here.  And we're a mile high in the foothills of Arizona. Not in the desert, where it was in the 80's. 

And this is February.  Early February.  As was easy to recognize when I watched the (Lyin' Brian-less) evening news last night which was dominated by video of huge piles of snow in Boston and warnings of another storm heading their way.

There's no snow here.  It's been 70 or above for three days or more now.

I grew up in North Dakota.  I was just having an email conversation with a friend who also grew up in that frigid snow-covered state. He remembered taking his wife "home" to meet his mother some years ago. It was at Christmas. They flew from Boston into Minneapolis, where it was 27 degrees below zero. Then they rented a car and drove to Bismarck. He said the temperature never climbed above 15 below. When they got to his mother's condo she had the thermostat on 80 degrees and a fire blazing in the fireplace. 

He and his wife now live in Southern California.

One of my first winters in Arizona I had my picture taken in a swimming pool, holding a glass of champagne and wearing a Christmas wreath on my head and a big smile. I sent it to my relatives in North Dakota. Like Queen Victoria, they were not amused.

So to you people in colder climes, I'm sorry. I know you're suffering and I know you don't appreciate hearing this type of crap from me, here in sunny and warm Arizona. 

But.  

I can't help it. 

I just can't.

MOTORING IN STYLE

ANCESTORS

It is well known that the area where I live was inhabited a thousand years and more before the present residents arrived here.  Several pit houses have been discovered on the north side of Willow Lake and have been carefully explored, restored as much as can be and are now on display for amateur archaelogists and history buffs.

The remaining pits where the houses stood, beginning in 850 A.D., have been protected with concrete walls and steel ramadas. Sidewalks have been laid to allow visitors to view the sites without causing any damage.

Holes were dug in the ground to support tree limbs which in turn provided support for the roofs.  Only the earth excavations remain. Artifacts including pottery shards were removed and taken to a museum.

The larger pits were used for food storage.

Archaelogists have learned that the pit houses were occupied more or less continuously for about 200 years, from around 900 A.D. to 1100 A.D.  Then the Native Americans slowly abandoned the sites and moved away. The area was not inhabited again until the 16th Century, when the Yavapai Apache moved into the area.  They are still here, on a small reservation, but now with a large resort hotel and two casinos.

The earliest inhabitants had this view toward the nearby Willow Lake.

Of course the many houses on the other side of the lake came hundreds of years later.

It's an interesting site worth visiting to learn about some of our earliest visitors to this land called Arizona.

ON A CLEAR DAY . . .

. . . you can see forever.

Those snow-capped mountains hold the highest point in Arizona. They are the San Francisco Peaks, just north of Flagstaff.  The highest point in the range is Mount Humphreys, 12,633 feet in elevation.  By road, they're around 120 miles from where this picture was taken.  By air, probably 90 to 100 miles.

Zooming in you can get an even better view.

It helps bring them into view when there's snow on the tops.  In the summer the blue of the mountains tends to sort of melt into the sky.

And, of course, it helps when there's a clear, sunny day like today.

Shifting the camera to the left a bit, I can show you Willow Lake.

In spite of a wetter than normal January, the lake is still low.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

You're laughing.  I know you are.  I can't hear you but I know it. Thanks to contributors and theft victims, as always, and keep a smile on your kisser, folks!

THROWBACK THURSDAY

Once upon a time, when I was living in Austin, Texas, I was out west of the city somewhere (Dripping Springs, maybe) and I stopped in the office of a resort along side a river.  The resort looked nice and I wanted to inquire as to the rates, thinking of maybe a weekend visit. As I was talking to the lady I nonchalantly said something like "I'm not from around here."

Her reply?  

"Yep, I could tell you was a Yankee!"

Now how do you suppose she could tell?

THE PLIGHT OF AN INDOOR CAT

We keep our cats inside the house.  The older one may remember how we rescued her years ago from a rain storm.  She has no inclination to go outside.  But the younger one spent more of his life as an outdoor feral cat.  Though he was quite seriously damaged numerous times in fights with some other animal, he still longs for the free air and the adventure of the outer world.  He has managed to escape the house briefly several times but was quickly captured and returned to "his prison."  We nicknamed him "the escape artist." While he seems to have finally adapted to his confinement, I still occasionally find him sitting in a beam of sunlight, staring seemingly morosely at that exciting life outside the glass door.

I have thought of getting one of those cat harnesses and leashes but I suspect Blackwell would react to it like this cat did.

It's not easy, being the companion of an indoor cat.