Cascabel
I have had a distinct lack of motivation over the past week for writing. I find this strange, as I have more than enough time on my hands to actually contribute this week. Perhaps I just have nothing to avoid.
So, on the advice of the Tucson Weekly (some day I will learn how to make that a line - any help out there?). Jana and I travelled a couple of hours east past Benson and onto the dirt roads of the desert Northeast of town to an Arts-and-Crap fair in the small unincorporated villa of Cascabel. The primary goal of the trip was to drive somewhere new, but we gained oh so much more.
Our first stop toward the end of a 14 mile dirt road, was the local ostrich/emu ranch complete with feather dusters, wood crafts, and "We support our troops AND our President" signs. Good old conservative farm folk, with a touch of emu. Little did we know this was to be the most normal thing we saw all afternoon.
Our next stop was the Sun Spot, a "store/restaurant" that serves Cascabel. Walking through the front door we were hit with a wall of smoke coming from the cashier behind the counter. To his left, upon the meat scale, sat a large black cat (10.8 pounds large to be exact). The store (a term I use very loosely) consisted of a 20 by 20 room with shelves on the periphery containing one of each item ranging from laundry detergent to motor oil to fine porcelin china. A cluster of refrigerators contained various meat products sold by the pound, if the cat will get out of the way. Attached to the back of the store was a small restaraunt, which certainly sells more beer than food. The best find of this location was a small outdoor stage, host to the Cascabel Blues Festival, which actually featured Bo Diddley a couple of years ago. I have to wonder what was going through his mind as the tour bus rolled down this forgotten desert road to the "concert" venue.
The final two stops on our tour went far beyond the normal. After taking a left turn off the main dirt road, we were met by a local boy who complimented on the bravery of bringing the Miata down this road, before he handed us an additional map to find our way through the last two sites.
The first was something of a Potter's Commune, complete with a building with walls made of old wine bottles, and "Old Black John" who seemed to be some type of musician, humming and stepping down the road. A huge outdoor kiln and the smell of petchuli in the air made the site a welcome view in any dirty hippie's eye.
The finale of the day was a trail through the woods to an old shack/school bus containing a number of antiques and handmade wreaths and junk. The house to which it abutted was the main attraction. Met by a particularly masculine looking woman out side the house, we were offered the opportunity to tour the property for the pittance of a dollar. The house was filled with huge old paintings and floor to ceiling antiques. It also contained a 94 year old woman who spoke to us of the days to the Great war and when the "cows chopped wood." She was deaf as a doornail and looked as if she sat in the same old foam rubber padded Louis XIIII chair most of the time. There were two Mexican women in the overstuffed kitchen making brownies, and a small dog of some sort. Back outside, we ascended the stairway to the second floor and tower. As we walked through the door we were greeted by a manin his 60s wearing full Scottish regalia discussing intently with a woman next to him the meaning of her blue aura. The conversation went something like this...(woman) You are totally right about how things are going in my life. It is just amazing. I wonder what color I would have been four months ago when times were harder? (Scottish guy) Oh, I see. You have been brooding in the recent past
We walked between them as inconspicuously as possible and admired the collection of artwork and antiques as he interrupted his aura reading to inform us that all of the painting were now 30% off. The tower/turret led to a fantactic view of the surrounding valley and even more confusing artwork, including something that looked much like a painting of a Klingon.
As we walked slowly back to the car, we weren't quite sure what we had experienced, but it was certainly worth the dollar. I recommend Cascabel, for what it is worth. I would like to return for the blues festival someday and perhaps more weirdness. For now, I will finally post this writing as it has sat on my desktop for almost two weeks. Tomorrow I head to Yuma. More adventures to follow.
So, on the advice of the Tucson Weekly (some day I will learn how to make that a line - any help out there?). Jana and I travelled a couple of hours east past Benson and onto the dirt roads of the desert Northeast of town to an Arts-and-Crap fair in the small unincorporated villa of Cascabel. The primary goal of the trip was to drive somewhere new, but we gained oh so much more.
Our first stop toward the end of a 14 mile dirt road, was the local ostrich/emu ranch complete with feather dusters, wood crafts, and "We support our troops AND our President" signs. Good old conservative farm folk, with a touch of emu. Little did we know this was to be the most normal thing we saw all afternoon.
Our next stop was the Sun Spot, a "store/restaurant" that serves Cascabel. Walking through the front door we were hit with a wall of smoke coming from the cashier behind the counter. To his left, upon the meat scale, sat a large black cat (10.8 pounds large to be exact). The store (a term I use very loosely) consisted of a 20 by 20 room with shelves on the periphery containing one of each item ranging from laundry detergent to motor oil to fine porcelin china. A cluster of refrigerators contained various meat products sold by the pound, if the cat will get out of the way. Attached to the back of the store was a small restaraunt, which certainly sells more beer than food. The best find of this location was a small outdoor stage, host to the Cascabel Blues Festival, which actually featured Bo Diddley a couple of years ago. I have to wonder what was going through his mind as the tour bus rolled down this forgotten desert road to the "concert" venue.
The final two stops on our tour went far beyond the normal. After taking a left turn off the main dirt road, we were met by a local boy who complimented on the bravery of bringing the Miata down this road, before he handed us an additional map to find our way through the last two sites.
The first was something of a Potter's Commune, complete with a building with walls made of old wine bottles, and "Old Black John" who seemed to be some type of musician, humming and stepping down the road. A huge outdoor kiln and the smell of petchuli in the air made the site a welcome view in any dirty hippie's eye.
The finale of the day was a trail through the woods to an old shack/school bus containing a number of antiques and handmade wreaths and junk. The house to which it abutted was the main attraction. Met by a particularly masculine looking woman out side the house, we were offered the opportunity to tour the property for the pittance of a dollar. The house was filled with huge old paintings and floor to ceiling antiques. It also contained a 94 year old woman who spoke to us of the days to the Great war and when the "cows chopped wood." She was deaf as a doornail and looked as if she sat in the same old foam rubber padded Louis XIIII chair most of the time. There were two Mexican women in the overstuffed kitchen making brownies, and a small dog of some sort. Back outside, we ascended the stairway to the second floor and tower. As we walked through the door we were greeted by a manin his 60s wearing full Scottish regalia discussing intently with a woman next to him the meaning of her blue aura. The conversation went something like this...(woman) You are totally right about how things are going in my life. It is just amazing. I wonder what color I would have been four months ago when times were harder? (Scottish guy) Oh, I see. You have been brooding in the recent past
We walked between them as inconspicuously as possible and admired the collection of artwork and antiques as he interrupted his aura reading to inform us that all of the painting were now 30% off. The tower/turret led to a fantactic view of the surrounding valley and even more confusing artwork, including something that looked much like a painting of a Klingon.
As we walked slowly back to the car, we weren't quite sure what we had experienced, but it was certainly worth the dollar. I recommend Cascabel, for what it is worth. I would like to return for the blues festival someday and perhaps more weirdness. For now, I will finally post this writing as it has sat on my desktop for almost two weeks. Tomorrow I head to Yuma. More adventures to follow.
posted by rob at 12:04 AM
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