A Dream or Two Ago

June is so full of celebrating the act of not working, i.e., Leave Work Early Day, Take a Hike Day, or Please Take My Kids to Work Day, the urge to enjoy might be too much to resist. So why not revisit or begin journaling? Or write an article, an essay or a trailer for your next bestseller? You could also sharpen your writing skills with any of the many great resources offered by the Insecure Writers Support Group, founded by Alex Cavanaugh, right here and right now on this first Wednesday of the month, when IWSG members convene through blogging, Facebook, and Twitter to talk about whatever is on our writing minds and agendas. See what we’re all talking about here.

A dream or two ago I had one in which I desperately searched, sometimes found and chased - my own creativity. Distracted by the ring of a telephone, I stepped into a phone booth and answered a busy signal. “All circuits are busy now,” a recorded voice droned as I awoke with a hammering heart and added one more line to my eleven page To Do list: Try Again Later.  Yeah, life is like that sometimes. No worries.

Funny, the things you think of while climbing shelves in a grocery store… Benjamin Franklin evidently had the same problem reaching books in 1786 and proceeded to invent what he called the Long Arm: a long wooden pole with a grasping claw at the end. I could have used that invention that day at the store. Or, the tall woman who asked me to get my cart out of the middle of the aisle could have just reached what I was climbing for. If there is a “Be Kind to Short People Day” I’d sure like to know about it.  Have you ever had a Long Arm moment?

They said it couldn’t happen; that one could not survive. But here, my friends is proof that while not the fittest, my Jacaranda is alive! Wish I could say the same for my house plants. 

Over time, the ritual of hanging our flag as soon as we arrive at the cabin has become the self-appointed responsibility of our grandson. He even retrieves my little solar-powered Honey Bear from the closet and sets it on the porch rail. My heart swelled as I watched him go about these tasks (oblivious to the nearby gaping car doors with bags and boxes still inside), for as soon as he’d placed the flag just right he proceeded with a hand over his heart, to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  Had I even had a camera, tears might have bungled the shot, but the memory shall always remain etched in my heart. What’s your ‘etching’ moment?

The Cup Cafe'

Two years and 4 days ago, I wrote about a debonair outlaw named John Dillinger and his infamous misadventure at the landmark Hotel Congress. I was woefully remiss not to have mentioned the legendary Tap Room bar and its devoted bartender, Tiger. Having taken the job back in 1959, I can only imagine the captivating conversations he must have had over the years with iconic leaders and western legends alike. Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top fame still calls the place his favorite bar.  Thomas “Tiger” Ziegler turned 84 last month and still works at the Tap Room!  Next time I’m having a cup with friends at the iconic penny-floored Cup Café, I think I’ll sneak across the hall and see who Tiger might be talking to these days ;-)

In The Shadow of Weaver's Needle

High above the sixth most populated city in the US is a mountainous region where the silence is such that the sound of a soaring hawk is no less surprising than that of a gurgling stream; several miles below, in a breathtaking vista of majesty both real and unrealized. The Apaches call this place the Devil’s Playground; for the unexplained events and experiences seem to defy all logic ever defined by man. 

From unearthly lights, to dimensional shifts in space and time, the impenetrable aura of mystery swirls around visitors in a feather-soft breeze and dares them to believe in the legends of the Superstition Mountains. 

One such legend is that of the Lost Dutchmen, a prospector named Jacob Waltz who reportedly had and successfully hid a fortune in gold somewhere in the shadow of Weaver’s Needle. Whether or not he mined the treasure in the shadow of Weaver’s Needle or obtained it elsewhere, as I mentioned here, remains a subject of much deliberation.  And while some believe it is protected by the (Apache) curse of the Black Legion; deep within one of the harshest environments imaginable, an untold number of fortune hunters have nonetheless dared to brave the elements; many of whom died trying, but the treasure has never been found.  

In response to the ever-expanding Southwest territory, camels were sent to Arizona in 1857 for the purpose of assisting the poor old ragged mules charged with carrying US mail and military supplies across the desert plains. By the time the railroad stretched across the mesas the camels had either died of exhaustion of been released to survive as they might, which is about the time the Red Ghost stories began to circulate. 

The first of several unsettling tales was of a woman found trampled outside her camp with only tufts of reddish fur and hoof prints as clues. Another was of a timid soldier being hog-tied and strapped to a great red camel’s back in order to cure his fear of the animal. But the perturbed beast of burden took off in a huff and wasn’t seen again until stories surfaced of the eerie image of a ghostly red camel with a headless rider bouncing on its back.  An unassuming prospector named Jake (depending on which legend you choose to believe, this could be the same Jacob) was followed by a lawless lout named Paul Adams who sought to discover where Jake hid a cache of gold – or better yet – the location of the vein. When Adams was sure Jake had led him to the right spot, he quickly murdered Jake and planned on reaping the spoils - until Jake’s camel attacked him. Naturally, Adams killed the camel too. But days later as sand blasted his eyes and face on a moonless summer night, the ghost of Jake returned on the back of his beloved dead camel, causing a terrified Adams to hightail it to the nearest sheriff’s post where he turned himself in and promptly confessed.

Have you ever panned for gold? Which has more allure, hidden treasure or legendary mystique?

Cabin Remains

On a sultry afternoon, the panoramic vistas are but breathtaking overtures to the reticent visages of unquiet souls that wander forlorn where graves lie thick, by the light of a shadowy moon. 

About a mile east of the San Pedro River, eight miles southwest of Tombstone (eleven years later), and mere yards from Charleston Highway, a German mining engineer named Frederick Brunckow, established the San Pedro Silver mine and built himself a nearby home atop a rock-strewn knoll, that would become known as the “Bloodiest cabin in Arizona history”. 

Frederick Brunckow was one of the first of at least twenty-one, who met an untimely demise in over two decades of uninterrupted violence; attributed alternately to Apache raids, Mexican workers, and unbridled greed.  

Brunckow’s cabin lolls in ruins today, and though many a marker has been placed in remembrance of the identifiable few, only a solitary cross remains. 

While several attempts have been made to document reports of ghostly sightings in and around the ruins, none have as yet been successful.  One account is of a paranormal team photographer; having seen two men dressed in full mining gear, approaching the ruins in the moonlight. She placed her glasses on a ledge to check her equipment, only to find both lenses removed from the frame when she reached for them again.  Her teammate returned, complaining that the batteries in his brand new flashlight had suddenly failed.  The two men were not seen again that night, but both team members attest to hearing the sounds of an active mining operation going on in the long abandoned shaft.

The San Pedro River Valley; literally peppered with old mining towns and campsites, remains a favorite among areas I enjoy exploring and digging for old bottles and such.  However, unmarked graves would not be on my list of cool discoveries. How about you?

Of all the stories I’ve heard and read about Brunckow’s cabin, it seems the phantoms are quite unconcerned, if not unaware, of the living. Which leads me to believe they’d rather be left alone; in contrast to most ‘hauntings’.  Do you believe it’s possible?

Each year I try one new Halloween craft. Last year my attempt at ‘spooky eyes in the bushes’ failed miserably when none of the glow sticks worked right! (Dang dollar store, anyway!) And, on the off-chance I get more than one trick-or-treater this year, I’ve tried something else…

Cousin It and the The Chocolate Puddles!

Happy Halloween!

Notice how excited my girls are?