Like I told the Twitter, I just don't get monolithic cities. I can't understand the mentality that one enormous, sprawling land mass encompassing the territory that was once divided into a half-dozen cities is a superior concept. Maybe it works for NYC but I don't get it in this context.
That being said there is a sort of twisted, masochistic beauty to the constantly intermingling, arching, curving levels of highways that converge in some areas of the city. The infrastructure here is both technically impressive and possessed of a certain austere loveliness. Everything is very terra cotta, uniform in its tans and browns and greys but there's also a subtle aesthetic value to the constant barrage of over- and under-passes and sound walls. There is also quite a number of active agricultural sections of land here, interspersed with all the concrete and desert. I'm sure it can't be easy or cheap to produce things that are actually green in this environment (besides cactus), but seeing a large patch of produce lying in the midst of a university campus or adjacent to a highway next to an industrial site is almost reminiscent of home. I can get why Saskatchewanians flock here; its like home in reverse, a climate that is at times inhospitable but they persevere in spite of it.
There's a lot more duality in the state than I remember. I was talking to Dad about it and a spin through the evening news illustrated it: the northern "high country" is basically the Banff to the southern region's Vancouver. There were areas in the north that saw up to 3 FEET of snow in a 24 hour period a day or two ago. The pictures on the newscast were incredible. It was like the blizzard up in Saskatoon a year or two ago except it started melting quicker. But there's a distinct line where the elevation plummets and all those southern regions like Phoenix get rain instead of snow. Quite a bit of rain actually, the first rain in 90 days, but still just rain. That's likely why things are looking so green right now, my old man says. I don't really remember a lot of green aside from the less-friendly shades of aloe and cactus plants.
I'm split on the location of Mom and Dad's new dwelling. It lies a full hour's drive south-east of Phoenix, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Florence reminds me of the fictional Agrestic, from that Weeds program. Its a community apart from the greater society, an oasis of well-to-do development in the midst of inhospitable lands and mountains. It is highly suburban. Everything, down to the sidewalks and the waterpark and the goddamn pickleball courts (?) is brand new. The homes are tightly-packed with no walls or fences to divide the yards. The fuse boxes for each house are placed on the outside walls, recessed into the outer wall of the home, unsecured. Any hoodlum that can hitch a ride out here could disable the power and alarm systems (which most probably don't even have) with barely a thought. But I guess that's the point of a place like this, that the lowest common denominator is nowhere to be found.
Its a very lovely place though and stone-quiet so far removed from any city. Standing outside on the back porch barbecuing tonight the silence was prevalent. Not even the neighbours made a sound. Apparently the closest thing they get to a disturbance in these parts is the howling of coyotes at night and the occasional tuft of feathers that are left behind in the cold light of morning to signify something has been killed and eaten during the night. It makes sense for those prairie kids from Canada who made their fortunes (or as close as they're able) to seek out a place like this, one that sits comfort within that sense of pastoral serenity we see in Saskatchewan's countryside.
The drive out illustrates the difference between locales. The horizon, both far and near, is dotted with Arizona's "mountains." They are a treacherous-looking yin to the Rockies' gently fir-covered yang. Not only are they covered with dozens, sometimes hundreds of cacti but each formation seems to be the result of a surfeit of jagged, loose rocks that seem to have been dumped on top of each other from high above. They look as though a raindrop in the wrong spot would result in the whole precarious Jenga pile crashing down. They lie for miles incalculable in the distance, painting a vaguely menacing yet familiarly-beautiful backdrop into the state's canvas, a darker counterpart to its disarmingly beautiful (and very familiar) blue sky. If not for the ranges in the distance you really feel like you'd be in the Canadian prairies (except for Phoenix itself, which -- I'm sorry to belabour the point -- has like 15 Costco's).
The constant cacti is different though. We have nothing as distinctive and evocative as the cactus. I tried to get photos of some during the drive (thanks for nothing, automated shutter speed) but I'm hoping to carve out some time during the golden hour this week to shoot some more of them. The ones along the highway, which lies mostly on Native American reserve land, are astounding. Most have more than the stereotypically-familiar three-pronged body with arms, their gnarly fingers developed at a snail's pace, sometimes over as much as several hundred years. Some have more than a dozen arms stretching in each direction, branching off in a way that defies logic or consistency. Each has its own character. Some look to be at least 15 to 20 feet tall. Its truly incredible, especially amongst the rest of the sparse vegetation, which seems to be little more than more-evolved tumbleweed at first glance. The only indication of their potential danger comes when a loose plastic bag or other piece of trash that has been carelessly dumped by the roadside (and there was a lot of it; this area of the state lacks recycling facilities of any kind) gets pierced and trapped by their needles.
My Dad's cousin Gerald, who lives a few blocks over from my folks, was along for the ride with my old man. The three of us couldn't decide why there was a fence lining the inter-state and regional highways. It likely has something to do with the reserve status of the surrounding land, as there was no livestock to be seen. The only cattle in the southern part of the state seems to be at dairy farms where there isn't a lot of room to roam. Perhaps it serves to protect some less-aware travellers from running themselves into a cactus and getting jabbed.
So there's a stark contrast between the unyielding and untouched natural surroundings and the incredibly engineered farmlands and the suburb I find myself writing this from. For instance, local farmers go to great lengths to capture what little precipitation falls here just to irrigate their crops; we passed some green fields bordered by culverts that are constructed slightly above the level of the produce so the producers can run tubes down to the fields, allowing gravity to flood the field in controlled sections. They have to work very hard to get as much natural moisture as possible to their crops. Meanwhile, a five-minute drive away in the odd little community my folks live in outside Florence visitors are greeted by a large brick sign complete with a massive, cascading waterfall spilling out of it. In fact its one of several inside the "town," although the apparent laissez-faire attitude towards what is usually considered a valued commodity in desert climates is not localized there by any stretch of the imagination. Phoenix boasts numerous questionable uses of what should be considered a pretty precious resource in a year-round desert climate (including a professional football stadium with a real grass playing field that literally rolls out of the side of the building and needs to be constantly watered). My parents' little community also boasts a full-sized waterpark for residents, numerous indoor and outdoor pools, and an 18-hole golf course. This is, I assume, only feasible because homeowners are required to xeriscape their yards and are outfitted with brand new, Energy Star compliant appliances.
The largesse of the development isn't necessarily a bad thing, I suppose. This isn't a real town, its a collection of homes with a basic service or two located nearby. The closest thing it has to local flavour or culture seems to be a Chinese restaurant. Its kind of a nebulous thing; homeowners answer to the developer, while I suppose in theory the developer answers to the county. But the company made sure to get all the infrastructure in place ahead of time and provide for every possible want or need their customers might have. Its the exact sort of thing people like my parents want and deserve. They have little to no stress and after 35 years and four kids who too often took them and their hard work and sacrifice for granted it is exactly what they should have. A life of absolute leisure for as long as they can afford to sustain it. It may not be an ideal situation as far as my liberal guilt is concerned but it could probably be worse. At least they aren't driving all over the hemisphere in a huge RV, constantly on the move and clogging highways and rest stops, blowing out CO2 and making people angry. The sustainability of what they've chosen could be better but it could also be worse.
And they're so happy. Maybe they're just happy to see me but it seems like there's far less pointless bickering and far more togetherness and getting along. My impression of retired life is that it has absolutely everything to do with planning for dinner, night in and night out. They plan meals with Gerry and Sherri and other folks in the neighbourhood days in advance, sometimes a week or more. They share a freezer with G&S and they plan their dinners out in advance for each night. They seem to be eating less, reducing their carbs, and getting more exercise. They ride their bikes everywhere, every day almost. I can't even remember the last time I saw them on bikes. They're also golfing more here than they have back home the last couple years combined. The development's "activity center" or whatever they call it also has a satellite campus for the University of Arizona so my mom is taking a genealogy class there. Yeah, my mother is now a student at America's #1 party school. Maybe not the highest reaches of academia, but she's advancing her education! How cool is that?
Conversely, however, I've also rarely seen so much liquor in one private residence before (that includes their Regina home, which has always been hugely stocked). That's probably because they still shop at the Costco, which in America carries every kind of booze imaginable at prices roughly a third of what they are at home. They sell so much liquor the company has their own brand of wine, vodka, and other products. Dad insists they drink less than they do at home, despite the volume present in their pantry. He insisted they have a one-bottle limit for each colour of wine at dinner. I think he was joking.
I think me being here right now might actually be more for them than for me. Obviously I do need this right now, of course, maybe more than I will any other time in the short to medium term. But while they have had visitors in the time they've been here I know they're missing the kids a lot. Its pretty evident I need to do a much better job of staying in touch once they return after Christmas. But I think having one of us kids come down and see what they've done with the place, how proud they are of it, really means a lot to them.
I guess on some level I'd hoped this trip might help me restore my faith in relationships. I don't know if that's happening though. I love mom and dad and they're obviously my most immediate touchpoint for long, successful unions but it may not be what I need in a more immediate context. There's still a huge part of me that's feeling lonely and desperate, like I might never get to that point or even the point I thought I was at before it all ended. Regardless of the past or what the various women in my life I still have functional relationships with tell me I've never had a ton of success in tracking down eligible ladies and figuring out when they're interested. I'm still trying to figure out how to completely shut this all out of my mind, at least until I have a sex drive or even a desire for human connection and interaction again. There will be plenty of worrying about that once I get home.
I sat for the better part of 16 hours today. My knee is totally pissed at me and I need some sleep. Vacation, do your thing.
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