Thursday, July 15, 2010

Travel Article: Cherry Creek Lodge

[Warning: This is a long one! And actually, I cut out a lot of the weekend - there is a lot more to do at this place! If anyone wants more info, just let me know.]




Cherry Creek Lodge: Young, Arizona



It would be quite hard for certain people to believe they were in Arizona if you dropped them off here. We are driving through pine forests with deep canyons and valleys appearing here and there on either side of our road. Most people think all of Arizona is a vast, dry desert. Some even think we still ride horses around and stop for tumbleweeds to blow across the dirt road while we adjust our cowboy hats and stirrups. This scenery would be quite a surprise. I roll my window down and am surprised by the cool air that comes rushing into the car. My sister and I smile at each other, welcoming the break from the exhausting heat of the city. The dirt road we’re on is anything but well groomed. It’s surprisingly fun bumping along with the windows down, scanning the trees for wildlife and laughing with my family. It’s been awhile since the four of us did something like this together.

The bumpy dirt road seems to go on for a long time and just as I’m starting to think we made a wrong turn too many miles ago, it turns paved again. “Welcome to Young!” my dad laughs as we start passing buildings. I suppose you could call them houses. Some of the buildings are halfway fallen over, with a new one build right beside it. Cars and odd assortments of appliances are in front yards, couches on the porches. There are quite a few people sitting out, enjoying a glass of iced tea or a smoke. This is an interesting place. “This is where The Antlers used to be!” my mom exclaims. All I see is a dirt lot, charred and most empty except for a few pieces of caution tape. “Yeah, I heard at the trap club that it burned down” my dad replies as we slow down to get a better look. My dad explains that the “Antlers” was the hot spot in town. It was the local bar, the karaoke club, the nice restaurant, the hang-out… It sounds like it had a lot of character. Now the only restaurant in town is called “Alice’s”, and I’m told it’s not the sort of place you would recommend to a guest.

It takes all of five minutes to drive from one end of “town” to the other. In lieu of a grocery store is a gas station with one pump and a small convenience store that closes at 7pm. The nearest grocery is two hours away. I’m thankful that wherever we’re staying this weekend includes meals.

We hit another dirt road. This one is much rougher than the first; this is turning into a long trip. And making notes about a strange little town in the middle of nowhere is making me a bit carsick. Hopefully we’re almost there.

Twenty minutes later – now it really feels like the middle of nowhere – we finally pass a sign that says “Trap Club” with an arrow to the right, and “Cherry Creek Ranch” with an arrow to the left. We fork left and head into a canyon of juniper trees, a few pines here and there, and dry creek beds under our tires every so often. We’ve gone a few hundred yards when I spot something out of the corner of my eye. “Dad! Stop! Um, there’s… a deer! No, wait…” as I’m half shouting and half mumbling I know it’s much too big to be a deer. My dad spins around in his seat and peers through the trees. It’s an elk! That seems much more exciting than a deer, although this large graceful creature with long eyelashes isn’t much excitement at the moment. She stares at us as we stare at her. It’s kind of a funny exchange. Suddenly, as if to prove my thought process wrong, a deer comes bounding out of the trees and crosses the road right in front of our car. Everyone jumps a little and stares after him, trying to count the newly growing antlers on his head. My eyes focus further down the road and I see two more deer jumping across in front of us! Now four more, six… they keep coming until we’ve seen about a dozen little deer hop from one side of the trees to the other until they’re out of sight. We’re all a little more awake now!

We start our journey again; this time everyone’s eyes are on the trees, hoping for more wildlife, when we find that we’re at the entrance to the ranch. There are two signs nailed to a tree. They read “Do Not Enter” and “Cherry Creek Lodge” with an arrow pointing into the gate. We laugh at the placement of these contradicting statements, and hope we’re entering the right gate. Just inside is a strategically tipped wheelbarrow, spilling over with flowers, and a big sign that says “Welcome to Cherry Creek Lodge at Titlin’ H Ranch”. It looks like we’ve arrived.

Everyone “oos” and “ahs” as we pull up to a beautiful wooden lodge at the top of the small hill we climb. I didn’t know what to expect, but this is much more beautiful and well, high class than I imagined. There’s a small lake across from the lodge, reflecting the colors of the beginnings of the sunset. A line of horses follow each other around the edge of the water, heading home for the night. We start piling out of the car and grabbing our bags when a fluffy medium-sized dog, whose tail is missing, appears out of nowhere, licking our hands, stepping on our feet, and giving us a very friendly welcome. As we’re laughing and wiping the dirty paw prints from our pants, a stocky man in tight Wrangler jeans and an authentic cowboy hat rounds the corner with another fluffy tailless dog in tow. “Hey folks! You must be the Sawreys!” With a big warm grin he stretches out his hand and asks each of our names. He picks up a few of our bags and heads up the big stairs that lead to the wraparound porch overlooking the lake.

As we head in the double doors, my eyes sweep around at the beautiful birch wood covering the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. There are luxurious leather couches and armchairs paired with rich wood tables, all strategically surrounding a large stone fireplace. Most of the walls are glass doors overlooking the lake and the woods beyond it. As I’m trying to take in the magic of this place, Mike – the man who met us at the car – stops in the middle of the room, turns slowly back to face us, and says, “Welcome… to Cherry Creek Lodge.” My sister and I catch each other’s eyes and stifled a giggle. It is a very nice place, but that was a bit cheesy coming from a man wearing Wranglers and a cowboy hat.

The rooms are nicer than in a classy hotel. The décor is beautiful yet rustic, everything is neat and clean, and there is a cowboy hat filled with goodies on each of our pillows. A metal water canteen attached to a carabineer, a small LED light with a compass on the strap, and a bag of trail mix stamped with the Cherry Creek logo is ready and waiting for us to use for the weekend.

After we put our bags away, Mike shows us around the kitchen and the bar, noting the countless African animal heads and skins on the walls, and leaves us to enjoy the evening. We head out to the porch and settle into the big lounge chairs to watch the stars peep out at us as it gets darker. We enjoy the stillness in the air, the absence of traffic noise or city lights. Bullfrogs from across the lake bellow out at each other and we laugh at the surprise of the abrupt and incredibly loud echo of their voices. Eventually we each get tired enough to head inside and crawl into the comfortable beds that have been turned down for us.

In the morning I wake up to bright sunshine streaming through our open windows. I stumble out to the kitchen and the smell of bacon reaches me as I come through the doorway. No one else is around, so I put together a plate of eggs and bacon and pour myself a large glass of orange juice. It looks fresh squeezed. I head outside and join my mom and sister at a table in the bright sun. My dad has already headed to the Trap Shooting Club to compete with Young’s finest shooters. I wonder what kind of crowd that will draw. As we finish up our breakfast, a young man comes stomping up the stairs, his shoes making a sharp click on the wood as he strides toward us. His dark hair flips out from under a brown suede cowboy hat, a feather tucked into the leather band wrapped around it; his scruffy facial hair makes it hard to tell his age, but the brightness in his deep brown eyes give me the impression that he is younger than he looks.

“Hi there, I’m J.R.!” he says brightly as he shakes each of our hands. “I hear you’re interested in riding some horses today? Well as soon as you’re done, meet me down by the barn and we’ll get you saddled up.” He grins and heads back toward the stairs, the click of his boots following after him. My sister and I exchange a glance with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, not sure what to make of him. We take our plates inside and get ready to head out. Our mom walks down to the barn with us to see the horses, even though she won’t be riding today. When we get there, a little brown dog comes shyly out of the barn to greet us; he’s much calmer than that shaggy one from yesterday. We learn that his name is Cowboy, and he’ll be coming along with us today, too.

After we get acquainted with our horses, we climb on up while J.R. and a young boy whose name we haven’t learned tighten straps and fiddle with the horses bridals, adjusting things I know nothing about. Eventually they swing up onto their horses and let us know that we’re waiting for Mike to join us. When everyone is ready, we head toward the woods.

We lazily walk along a trail, J.R. and Mike pointing things out along the way, turning backward in their saddles to tell us stories. In the 1880’s there was a bloody feud between two families right here in this canyon. They call it the Pleasant Valley Wars because so many people were killed. There are many different versions to the story; even J.R. and Mike have slightly different adaptations. The basis of the story is that the Tewksburys and the Grahams both lived in the valley as cattle ranchers. They were friends, and they were also both cattle thieves. One of the ranchers they both stole from came to the Grahams and made them an offer. If they stopped stealing cattle, they could be hired to watch over them instead and be pardoned for their previous crimes so long as they turned in other known cattle thieves. They accepted this offer, and the Tewksburys were turned in. This began the war, and the rest of the story is a bit subjective, although it is a known fact that many people were killed, and that right here on our trail was a grave of two victims to the wars. We had no idea there was so much history here.

The rest of our ride is very leisurely, listening to J.R. tell Mike about the cattle he’s been herding, the mountain lion tracks he’s found, bears he’s seen in the area. As we get to talking we find out that J.R. is 21 years old. He lives right there on the ranch and takes care of Mike’s cows and land. We ride along without talking much, and he starts to sing some old Johnny Cash songs to himself between tobacco spits. This man is a real cowboy.

We learn more about the land, which pieces are owned by Mike and his wife, what other wild animals live here, more “war stories”. Every once in awhile, Cowboy takes off running after a deer and howls like he’s the most lonesome creature in the woods. J.R. mutters “damn dog” under his breath, and says “Usually I have to shoot into the air to get him to come back, once he’s found a deer. Of course when I need him to help me find the cows is when he always runs off.” He laughs a hearty laugh and we go on without Cowboy. I guess he’ll find his way home.

When we get back to the lodge hours later I’m surprised that I can walk. We’re sore and dirty and scraped up from the trees, not to mention hot and sunburned. We slowly make our way up the stairs and slump into chairs on the porch. Lunch is sandwiches and iced tea, and we spend the rest of the afternoon reading and lounging, waiting for my dad to get back. Once he does, we find out that he did pretty well in the tournament; he even won nine dollars! We laugh, because it costs more than that to even enter the competition.

The four of us go for a walk around the lake, searching for bullfrogs. We don’t find any, but we do see lots of fish, and a duck. My dad points out depressions in the shallow water with fish hovering over them. These are where the fish lay their eggs and watch over them until they hatch. My dad’s the kind of person who seems to know everything.

The sun is making its way down the sky already by the time we drag our tired feet back inside to wash up. Burgers and hot dogs are sizzling on the grill and we discover that there’s a whole back patio here, with tall tables and a fire pit. My cute mom put together a bag of s’mores ingredients and stuck it in the car at the last minute, so she’s excited to see that we can have a fire. It’s cooled down enough to want one; it feels wonderful to pull on a hoodie sweatshirt and snuggle up next to my sister after dinner. All of the staff leave the lodge for the night; it’s just the four of us with our marshmallow roasting sticks and a full moon. What a wonderful end to a surprisingly great weekend. As much as I don’t want to leave so soon, I’m excited to get back to Phoenix and share this hidden gem. This is the kind of place that shouldn’t be kept secret.

"Secret Spot" Vignette

I love getting off work in time to slip across town and pretend I live somewhere else. I really only discovered Luci’s rather recently, but it has become my little oasis in this ridiculous summer heat where I am surrounded by asphalt and buildings and noisy cars. I used to drive past it often and wanted to stop in, but never really had the time. I’m glad I eventually found the time.
I pull into a parking space on the corner and put up my window shades. Fumbling around in my car I pull a book from under my seat and reach in the back for my laptop. Once I dash into the air conditioning I scan the room for a booth seat. Two old ladies in the corner are just gathering their things and saying goodbye, so I casually stand nearby until they leave. I scoot into the corner and fill the table with my things. I flip open my wallet to help me decide what to order. Still unsure, I get up and head to the counter to stare at the menu for a minute like I always do. Distracted by the black and white film playing on the TV hung on the wall, I stare in a daydream wondering what movie it is and what’s going on. I love old movies like this. Luci must love them, too.
Luci is here today, I saw her down an aisle of the miniature grocery store paired with the coffee shop in the corner. She’s stocking shelves, chatting sweetly with customers, probably about the new baby she’ll have at the end of the summer. Every time I see her I wish I were her friend. That’s probably part of why I like it here so much.
I snap my attention back to the menu and am surprised that I’m drawn to a special of the day. I thought I was set on coffee, but it looks like I’m giving in the to description of a Kiwi Strawberry Lemonade; I see a few people around the room have made the same choice and just the visual is refreshing, so my choice is made. While I’m waiting for my drink I wander around the store. Something about this place lets me pretend I live somewhere else for an afternoon, somewhere with big green trees and mountain bikers and people who eat organic granola. This is of course because I’m in Luci’s Healthy Marketplace, it’s an organic grocery store.
The wooden shelves, old coke crates, and mason jars filled with coffee beans on the tables make me feel like I’m in a simpler time, a small town, where you run into your neighbors and people know who you are. For some backward reason, that seems to be part of why I don’t tell anyone about Luci’s; I want this secret window to a different place kept to myself.

Town Common Vignette

It’s hard to believe my family has lived in this community for fourteen years and we never knew we had access to the resort pools. I mean, that’s what you do in Phoenix in the summer – or any time of year, really - you go to the pool. We walk up to the counter where an overly smiley teenager asks for our last name and room number. I explain that I’m a resident, and his plastered smile diminishes a bit as he reaches for wristbands and towels. I guess you don’t get the royal treatment at the Hilton if you’re not actually a “guest”. We start searching for Travis and Tara, and find them tucked under an umbrella by the waterslide. It’s way too hot to be in the sun, even when you’re lying by the pool.


We pick some lawn chairs and pull out the sunscreen, books and iPods. The lotion that Chad’s rubbing into my shoulders smells so much like a Pina Colada that I can almost taste it. Tara must have had the same idea, because she leans over to Travis and a few seconds later he says “Hey Chad, wanna go get some drinks for us and the girls?” They’re back a few minutes later, blended $9 drinks in hand.


I settle back into my chair. This place is a melting pot of fascinating people. At this time of day there are mostly small kids splashing each other, fighting to be first down the water slide, running up to their parents with dripping hair, asking for a smoothie or some ice cream. I love seeing families spend time together; it’s kind of a rarity in a big city. You have to get to the watering holes to find normal life. We finish off our refreshing ice cold drinks and decide we need another method of cooling down. We head for the lazy river.


Everyone in Phoenix must be in this sliver of shallow water filled with bumping tubes and slippery skin. On the opposite spectrum of cute adventurous kids are the people all around me. Most of the girls I see are wearing swimsuits that are two sizes too small, and aren’t the least bit shy about it. I try to keep a hold on Chad’s tube so that the cluster of overly tanned guys with their shorts a bit too low don’t think I’m open for comments. These are all the other twenty-somethings who live around the corner. These are Phoenicians.


We manage to squeeze out of the crowd and paddle our way ahead so we can relax as we float along. The tennis courts are pretty empty which is not surprising when it’s over one hundred degrees. The driving range at the golf course, on the other hand, is packed. This is also not surprising; one of the main reasons people come to Phoenix is for the resort/golf course combination. I guess that’s why there are so many people here all of the time. I’m just here to relax. I lay on my back, slide my sunglasses back on, and shut my eyes. Places like this are the only way for a local to survive a Phoenix summer.

Work Vignette

It’s going to be a long day, I think as I rush to get into my office. I always seem to be a few minutes late; no matter how determined I am to get up right when my alarm goes off. It’s already hot outside, so I’m thankful that it’s dark and cool inside. Not surprised that I’m the only one here, I start flipping on lights and unlocking doors. As much as I don’t like to be here alone, I don’t mind having some time in the morning to wake up a little bit and get settled into my routine before I start talking to people.

I can’t seem to help myself from looking at the clock every five minutes. Knowing that other people are doing carefree things like sitting at coffee shops or waiting in line to buy popcorn at the movie theater makes it hard to concentrate on boring routine. I think maybe today I should take a long lunch to get some rejuvenation before the afternoon. I text my friend Kali, and lucky for me, she’s free for lunch. I get my things together and thankfully head out the door, ready for a break.

I have a hard time finding the hole-in-the-wall Mexican place that Kali suggests, but eventually I slip through the door and find Kali sitting at a small table in the back. I feel rather out of place; everyone in the room has their eyes glued to the World Cup game on the TV in the corner, and not one other person is white. I glance at the score – South Africa is not going to win this – and shuffle my way to Kali’s table. She’s ordered a delicious fruit drink for us to share; and between that and good conversation with a dear friend, I feel ready to head back to work by the time we get our check.

As soon as I get back the meetings begin; I sit down with my boss and go over this week, what I can do better, what I need from him; we do this every week. As soon as we’re done, I speed-walk down the hallway to my office. We’re in the process of getting a new phone system, and I have no idea what this meeting entails, but I think it’s important, so I patiently sit staring at the phone when Thomas comes in. I asked him to be part of the meeting, since he’s the only one in the office who can answer technical questions.

We spend most of the meeting making faces at each other and snickering over the man on the other end of the phone verbally processing to himself. This meeting could have taken 15 minutes, but instead it took 45. At least it was lighthearted. Since this meeting has run late, I try to slip into the last one of the day quietly. I successfully stay awake for the next hour, and am relieved when everyone finally stands, signally the end of the meeting, and the day. As I shake hands, I’m thinking about the book I will curl up with when I get home.

Breakfast Vignette

“I really thought I saw a sign for it,” my sister mumbles on the other side of the phone. Neither of us can seem to find the Einstein’s Bagel Bros we planned to meet at for breakfast this morning. “Oh! There it is! Keep driving toward Seventh Street and go around the Verizon Store and – I see you!” She waves across the parking lot as I still squint to see where the Einstein’s is. I pull into a parking space and realize it’s right in front of me.

Somehow by the time I get inside Brittany already has her bagel and is perched on a chair by the door, waiting for me to walk in. I took much longer to decide on what I wanted; I always do. I settle for some sort of wrap and go to the register to pay. The man tells me I can grab a banana from the bin, and I look back at him with a very confused look on my face. I thought he was kidding, but by the look on his face, I decided that he wasn’t, and grabbed a banana before heading out the door. I don’t even really like bananas.

Our next stop is Starbucks, which is somewhere in this same parking lot. We climb back in our separate cars and drive in a few circles before parking and heading inside. As soon as we walk in the door, a blast of air conditioning hit us both in the face. It feels wonderful, considering it is already somewhere close to 100 degrees at ten in the morning. Brittany quickly jumps at the recently open cushy chairs in the corner of the room and I order an iced coffee. As I’m waiting for it to be ready, I think about how easily I can justify spending almost $5.00 on a single drink. Today, it’s because I have a long day of meetings ahead of me at work, and I’m very tired.

I settle into the chair opposite my sister and we start talking about nothing in particular, just the everyday things of life. Brittany quotes a movie, I finish her sentence, and we’re both immediately lost in giggles. We laugh together a lot. We give each other permission to be playful. I’m rather thankful for that. We laugh until its time for me to go to work. She pulls out her computer and starts working on her book. She’ll probably be here for a while longer. With her eyebrows already furrowed in thought, she mutters, “love you”, without looking up from the screen. “Love you, too”, I chuckle back and head out the door, realizing I never even took a bite of my breakfast.

Travel Writing: Who Knew!

At Biola, I wound up majoring in Journalism with an emphasis in Public Relations - because I thought I would enjoy PR.  Turns out, I don't really enjoy PR or journalism.  So that made for a disappointing education.  It still disappoints me, because I thought I loved writing, and I thought maybe I wasn't too bad at it.  But hard news journalism is a whole different animal.  It's an ugly one, and it's scary and mean!  And I don't like it.  So I've stopped writing at all really.  Well, until now.

This summer I ended up taking an online journalism course called "travel writing".  I really had no idea what that entailed, but it sounded like something I might actually enjoy, so I went for it.  And it was wonderful!!  Here's what I wrote to my professor at the end of the course:

"I actually wanted to write you before this class closed and thank you. I have been exhausted by journalism courses for a long time, and was really disappointed that I ended up with that as my major because I don't seem to enjoy it... until I took this class! It was such a breath of fresh air and reminded me that I really do love writing, and even in a journalistic setting: just not "news" journalism. I feel inspired to start writing again and maybe even pursuing magazines or something similar. Thank you for making this class fun, and so interactive (more interactive than some of my in-person classes), and for encouraging me so much in my writing."

So I thought I would post some of my assignments here and open it up to critique.  They're all vignettes - short stories in first person talking about a place or experience... something you'd see in a travel magazine as a review of a bed & breakfast, or a little cafe somewhere, etc.  So really, critique away.  I want to get better at this!  Because I've just remembered that I really enjoy it! :)

Thursday, April 8, 2010

One Day Without Shoes

My feet hurt already and I've only been barefoot for a few hours.  I can't imagine doing every single day of life without shoes.  That's what literally millions of people do every day.  Here are some facts from TOMS Shoes:

In some developing nations, children must walk for miles to school, clean water and to seek medical help. 

Cuts and sores on feet can lead to serious infection. 

Often, children cannot attend school barefoot. 

In Ethiopia, approximately one million people are suffering from Podoconiosis, a debilitating and disfiguring disease caused by walking barefoot in volcanic soil. 

Podoconiosis is 100% preventable with basic foot hygiene and wearing shoes.

Not to 'stereotype', but I think a lot of times us Americans, in general, are pretty oblivious to the little things we have that others don't.  We know that we have big houses, nice cars, supermarkets, a free government, rights, jobs, etc.  But how often do we stop to think about the fact that we have things like, well, shoes. And clean water, band-aids, tylenol, snacks in the cupboard, the luxury of things like bathing suits - because we have time, money, or resources to go swimming in pools, at hotels, or even use the hose in our backyard to wash the car.  There are so many daily things that we have and use, and take for granted.  People around the world DON'T have these things.  Some people couldn't imagine what an entire grocery store full of food would even look like.  Or a closet FULL of shoes to CHOOSE from. 

So maybe today we'll think about it, just a little more than usual.  I know I am, and I'm thankful. Thankful to be reminded of what I have, and thankful that I actually have the power to do something to help others.  Do something for someone else today.  Here are some practical & affordable ways you can help people who are in desperate need:
  • Buy a pair of TOMS shoes so that a child somewhere gets a pair too
  • Buy a goat, a vegetable garden, a water purifier, etc. for a family through Oxfam International
  • Start a child sponsorship through World Vision or Compassion International (all it takes is the money you probably spend on Starbucks each month - or maybe even half of that much)
  • Play free games online like sudoku and solitaire to raise money through Mercy Corps
There are so many ways we can easily help, we just have to keep our eyes & ears open!  Spread the word today with your own ideas or actions.  And take off your shoes.  Walk a mile in their soles today :).