Visit to the Homestead

Temps in the nineties down in Double Adobe feel pleasant after Tempe's wet 110's for weeks on end, and teaching in my "sustainable" eighty-degree classroom. Brother Bill took us out on my sister's quads and we found paths through the green grasses, gourds, wild flowers and thorny clumps of Mesquite. The mesquite, usually lacy, low and and semitransparent, is woven with vines of what must be an invasive plant with small purple flowers. Woven so tightly that the taller stands are almost unnavigable and we find ourselves backing out of surprise dead-ends over and over again. What is usually all red dust and ferny thorns is damp and jungle-like. We pass over the horse tracks from time to time, but don't see them until we pass by the feeding trough at the fence on our way back. We pass the bones of dead pets and the debris of our family's history. We eye the extent of our domain. The clouds pile on all horizons around the valley, but not above us. The sun moves lower and the breeze feels cool on our foreheads.  After making sure the rusty barbed wire holds the gate at least tentatively, we lead a trail of dust back up the road to the front driveway and head inside.