We are enjoying a pleasant evening in a desert campground on the west shore of Lake Mojave, a reservoir on the Colorado River south of Las Vegas. We drove here from Yuma on this beautiful spring day. After a week of temperatures in the 90s and 100s, a little cold wave has brought back enough cool air to balance the southwestern sunshine. It is now about 70 degrees and we'll have the comforter ready tonight.

Before dawn we will drive west into California and the Mojave Desert National Preserve where we'll look for thrashers and the juniper titmouse. We'll definintely find "the largest Joshua Tree forest in the world" and lots of interesting volcanic geology.

Late Sunday afternoon in Ajo. The temperature is 86 degrees, down from 90. We awoke to the alarm at 5:00 a.m. and made our traditional sausage and eggs Sunday breakfast in the dark. Then with a bit of daylight showing on the eastern horizon we drove south to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. On this our second visit we planned to walk trails near and through the campground, to drive the Ajo Mountains Road, and to hike the “high elevation” Bulls pasture trail.

We passed the border patrol checkpoint at dawn and arrived at the campground as the sun appeared. Still 50 degrees we left our jackets on. The trail passed through desert flatland and a bushy wash. The vegetation and land here, as everywhere in western Arizona is dry. Winter rains did not come this year. The spring bloom is a bust. Birds are few and far between. Another couple reports that two years ago in March they saw this desert wet and in bloom. The park literature unobtrusively suggests that a spring bloom happens only every second or third year.

It is mid afternoon and 80 degrees. The sun is bright, but the blue sky is half interspersed with high thin white clouds. We are waiting for dusk to walk along this long low ridge and look for owls below on the desert prairie. This will be our second and last night alone in the back country. With hunting season over we seem to be the only campers here. That could be great, and a quieter night than last we have never experienced, but being only twelve miles from the border and seeing all the signs of illegal border crossings, we are a bit uncomfortable here. It is telling when most of the cars you see have a green stripe on them.

The Chiricahua Mountains are stark and a bit foreboding, but also a forest oasis in the high desert lands of southeastern Arizona. This is the land of basin and plain, where a continental collision pushed the land up and broke it, tipping sections to create lines of ridges. Erosion sculpted the ridges and made level plains of their debris between them.

The Chiricahuas are a bit different in that volcanic activity and a huge explosion covered the top of its ridge with thousands of feet of hot ash that cooled to form glassy rocks. Water has since eroded out much of the softer material leaving bizarre columns and balanced rocks towering above deep canyons.

Arrived early this afternoon after a modest drive up the Rio Grande from El Paso. Foolish us, driving north this chilly week. At least here we can splash about the Rio Grande without worrying about border issues. Bright sunshine illuminated shower clouds and rain in the valley and snow fields on the surrounding mountains. We parked, registered, and then walked around the campground. Only three other motor homes are in place. The wind was chilly but the sun was warm. A small flow of the Rio Grande (Rio Norte/Rio Bravo) passed over a wall and spillway into the rocky channel downstream.

After a lovely evening and morning walk at Balmorrhea State Park we completed our drive to El Paso on Wednesday. On our last day of driving, I-20 we reached an elevation of 4,400 feet and passed well below the surrounding mountain ranges. West Texas is a place of big land as well as big sky where a landmark may become visible ten or more miles away. Tree yuccas are appearing among the sagebrush. Beautiful, cool weather.

Our bird walk this morning yielded birds behaving tamely around the spring and its precious water. A sharp shinned hawk discouraged the song birds but belted king fishers chattered, a snowy egret fished, and scaup ducks and pied billed grebes remained within the spring pool giving us superb close up views. Both eastern and Say’s phoebes chased flies and (Audubon’s) yellow-rumped warblers fluttered after gnats.

On the road again. Arrived late this afternoon. Swam in the spring pool before dinner. We left Sylva on Sunday and drove through a snow storm in northern Georgia. Altanta was quiet on Superbowl Sunday and we slept in back of a Cracker Barrel near Meridian, Mississippi. Dawn revealed a world of frost.

On Monday we chatted to Mom and Dad Woods while crossing the Mississippi River and saw a crop duster fly underneath powerlines while spraying a rice field in Lousiana. We paused at a rest stop and made and enjoyed dinner before passing Dallas/Ft. Worth during the early evening hours. Today, we watched oil pumps turning across the Permian Basin and warmed in the Texas sun.

Christmas Morning in the Cove

We slept in late, till 7:30, and the sky was bright though rain announced its presence through percussion on the modern but traditional tin roof. The bedroom was cool because we chose not to light the wood stove last evening after our hike. Instead we watched a rented Under the Tuscan Sun in the basement.

This morning the fire was lit. The Cove was soggy. The dogs were anxious for their breakfast and then wanted a walk down to the stable. I thought about that, but looking at the pools in the pasture and hearing the sound of pouring rain elected instead to drive there.

Sunday evening in Western Carolina. We relax at home and will probably check to see if Fox or NC Public TV (the only channels we get) have anything worth watching later. If not, we will read. Now, in the early evening, we digest our dinner engaged in light chores with some gracious bluegrass music on the radio.

The house is cool, the day was spring-like, and no fire was started. This afternoon Chuck emptied the stove of ash and built a fire of news print, seasoned oak twigs, split poplar and one or two pieces of oak. We’ll see how many days we can delay lighting this fire. This warmth in the East will be bad for oil futures. We’re glad we have been able to heat with home grown fuel this fall.

We are running out of time. We all know of noteworthy local places that we have not visited. Tourists go there, but residents don’t. Being here for only six months, and here being a spectacular region, we are working hard to see all such places. We won’t quite succeed, but we are having fun trying.

This weekend we visited the arts district of Asheville, the Kituhwa mound of the Cherokee, and the “Road to Nowhere” out of Bryson City. The entrance to the road is adorned by a rusted sign that states “Road to Nowhere – Broken Promise - 1943 to ?” The road did go somewhere before the Fontana Dam was closed and made a lake that ended the road.