Picture of the Week – Page 27 – On the road with Jim

Rock Frog Picture of the Week

Our adopted town of Congress is a small retirement community, although it wasn’t always that way. Like most of the old mine towns around here, plenty of people lived here as long as they could yank gold out of the dirt; at times, there were even more people here than living in the little farming village called Phoenix. After all the money was gone, there wasn’t any reason to hang around here. The soil’s too rocky to farm, and there’s little to see here.

However, We have one attraction that puts us on the map, and I like to think it came from boredom. I imagined one summer’s day in 1928, and young Sarah Perkins–a homesteader’s wife—was in the shade of their front porch seeking relief from the oppressive heat. As she rocked in her chair, sweat soaked her gingham dress. The glass of refreshing lemonade that she held to her brow felt good as she stared at the pile of rocks across the highway near the railroad tracks. She turned to her husband sitting in the chair beside her and said, “Lester,” (I couldn’t find his name, so I picked one from my head) “The next time you’re in town, I want you to pick me up some green paint.”

Lester was a wise man who knew better than to ask, “What for?” A couple of weeks later, when he returned from town in the Model A pickup, two cans of Sarah’s paint and three large brushes were buried within the other provisions. The very next day, in the cool of the morning, she led her sons across the road to the pile of rocks, and they began to paint.

Frog Rock – The pile of boulders painted to look like a frog has been a Congress landmark since 1928.

If that’s not how it happened, it’s how it should have been when Sarah created our green rock frog. I agree, it’s tacky kitsch, but it’s our giant ball of twine, our world’s largest ketchup bottle, or our Lucy the Elephant. It’s a point of pride in our town, and when the paint fades, a self-appointed committee repaints it. I think that the Highway Department has given up on removing it, because, like the elephant on Yarnell Hill, it always returns. This last time, they added spots to the frog’s back.

I wanted to show more than just a frog when I shot the frog. I wanted to show how the 50-ton boulder looked unpainted, so I included some granite boulders in the foreground in a supporting role. I call this week’s image Rock Frog partly because I had a B-52 song stuck in my ear.

~~You can see a larger version of Rock Frog on its Web Page by clicking here~~. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll show another featured image from Congress.

Until next time — jw

Mobil Antlers Picture of the Week

A long time before we moved here, I remember driving through our little hamlet and noticing the old buildings in town. Queen Anne and I were traveling to visit my folks in Kingman, and after leaving Wickenburg, traffic stopped. Thinking it must be a result of an accident, I said to Anne, “We can detour around it by going to Congress.” It was ten miles out-of-the-way, but at least we’d be moving. It was when we reached the village that I saw the structures and said to her, “That’s so cool. I don’t remember this being a ghost town. I’ll have to come back and photograph it, someday.” (As an aside, my detour didn’t work because the accident was further north on US 93. We finally drove over to the river and took US 95, which put us several hours behind.)

There’s a reason why I didn’t remember those old buildings even though I had gone that way several times before. They weren’t there. After moving to Congress, that someday that I had set aside to photograph Congress’s historic district finally came. When I did, it disappointed me to learn that they’re a fake, like a back-lot movie set. The buildings are empty shells apparently used to display someone’s antique sign collection, but I don’t know why. It’s like someone threw up some structures as a tourist attraction and then quit before finishing.

The area of town at the AZ 89 and AZ 71 junction isn’t the historic part of Congress. It used to be called Congress Junction or Congress Depot. The historical part of town was up Ghost Town Road near the mine. In this Wikipedia article, there’s a 1914 photograph that shows how it was. When the mine closed in the 1930s, the town moved to today’s location—lock, stock, and barrel. All of the buildings in the photo are gone. The land was scraped clean, including the mine structures. The only thing remaining is the old cemetery and a shed for Stephan—the mine’s caretaker.

Wouldn’t it be nice if someone bought and moved these buildings along the railroad tracks from old town? I don’t know, because there’s nothing to explain their existence. The only remaining business there is someone selling landscape rocks. Maybe you know the story and can share it with us, or perhaps, when I get a ’round-to-it,’ I’ll investigate and post an update.

I’ve pretty much ignored this part of town for the past three years, but since we’re featuring Congress during March, I wanted to show you what always catches my eye as I drive by them. It’s the Mobil Oil red flying horse sign. I’d like to have something like it to hang on the gable over my garage door—perhaps a Ferrari, Porsche, or one from Sunoco. To be accurate, however, my sign would be for beat-up Chevy station wagons.

In this week’s featured picture that I call Mobil Antlers, a set of antlers upstage the flying horse, so I concocted a fantastic story about it. It represents a tale about a red horse that soars high in the sky. He spots his prey in the meadow below—a handsome buck. The horse swoops in for the kill, and there’s a mighty struggle with the deer attempting to gore the soft underbelly of its attacker. Red-horse prevails and devours Bambi except for the antlers because they’re indigestible. Then I thought, nah—I’m not going to say that—it’s just too bizarre, and people will think I’m weird.

You can see a larger version of Mobil Antlers on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s image and come back next week when we’ll talk more about Congress.

Until next time — jw

Weaver Snow Picture of the Week

The weather here in Congress has been variable. I remember writing last year about the lack of rain, and we haven’t had that this year. It seemed like a new front moved through each week with more precipitation. The winter’s highlight, however, was last week’s snowstorm. There was enough of the white stuff covering our yard that we could measure it with a ruler (inch and a half). We’ve woken to frost and snow before, but this time it came down in the afternoon with temperatures well above freezing. Snow covered the surrounding mountains for days, and it looked more like Colorado than the desert.

During this time, I was trying to find a place for this month’s images, and I decided to stay at home this month and feature Congress. It’s been a while since we’ve done that, and besides, I need to cut down on my gas bill anyway.

This week’s featured image helped me decide to stay local. I wanted to show you how pretty the snow was on Weaver Peak, so for days, I waited for the sky to settle so I could shoot the scene without slogging through mud. Three days passed before those conditions were met and I was able to capture this image. I waited for the last rays of the sun, so that gives it that red glow. I call this image Weaver Snow, and I hope you enjoy it. For me, it shows one of the reasons that Queen Anne and I moved to the sticks.

You can see a larger version of Weaver Snow on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and next week; we’ll show another featured image from Congress.

Until next time — jw

Joshua Saplings Picture of the Week

I didn’t have to travel far for this month’s featured subject; in fact, there’s one growing in our park’s entrance. I’m talking about Joshua Trees—which are not trees, but lilies on steroids. They only grow in the southern deserts of Arizona and neighboring states. The Mormons were the ones that named them because the trees looked like the prophet waving them on to their promised land. Whoa, don’t Bogart that joint, Ebenezer. According to this Arizona Highway’s article, Territorial Governor John C. Fremont called them the most repulsive tree in the vegetable kingdom.

Although most people associate Joshua Trees with the national park in California and the band U2’s first album, Arizona’s grove covers a large area either side of U.S. Highway 93 from the State Route 71 junction 22 miles north to the Santa Maria River. If you’ve driven to Vegas, it’s the long downhill run in between the Tres Alamos Wilderness and the Date Creek Range. ADOT put up designation signs for that section, and then they added more signs that read “Joshua Trees” if you couldn’t spot them. Queen Anne’s the only person I know that hasn’t seen the roadside trees because she’s asleep the moment the car door closes.

Joshua trees have been in the news lately—not here, but at the national park in California. During the recent government shutdown, vandals took advantage of the lack of staff and damaged gates, signs, and fences. They also knocked down and ran over a good number of the trees with off-road vehicles. How senseless and selfish. Joshua Trees are very slow-growing, so it will take centuries for them to recover.

I found this week’s featured image while driving along the dirt road under power lines. There the trees were dense, so it was like trying to pick only one Victoria Secret Angel to photograph. The specimen that I selected had several new shoots growing under the parent plant. The way the young plants clustered around the adult reminded me of how aspen saplings cover a forest floor, so I called this image Joshua Saplings.

As usual, you can see a larger version of Joshua Saplings on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and next week; we’ll show another featured image from Joshua Tree Parkway.

Until next time — jw

Winter Castle Picture of the Week

The KofA Wildlife Refuge takes up a good chunk of land. It covers a megabyte—or 1040 square miles if you’re not a computer nerd and don’t get the joke—nearly the size of Rhode Island. The topography is Basin and Range, which is standard for western Arizona, Nevada, and California’s Mohave Desert. Finally—one last bit of trivia before I move on from statistics—the wildlife range spans three mountain ranges (that’s three more than in Rhode Island).

The reason for so much space is to support herds of desert bighorn and antelope. Fifty years ago, both of these large animals were almost gone. Like bison, the sheep were plentiful in western Arizona, but a century of overhunting took its toll. It’s actually the sheep’s fault. They walk to the edge of a precipice then strike a magnificent pose saying, “Go on and shoot. I won’t move, and I’ll bet you’ll miss.” It was a living shooting gallery. By the time Arizona was a state, they were effectively wiped out.

Things started to change in 1933 when the Boy Scouts worked to get a game range established. Although the idea seems convoluted, you can’t hunt big horn without having sheep—the very logic that started the conservation movement. The game management people augmented the herds with transplants from other areas—including Mexico, but there was too much inbreeding. To successfully reintroduce them, they needed a broader gene base with multiple herds. Wildlife scientists established a crowd in the KofA and a southern pack in the Castle Domes and another in the New Water range to the north. To make this system work young males need to migrate across the open desert between ranges and breed with a different stock. Sheep can’t move freely across an Interstate Highway. Now you know why the KofA management area is so large. We like sheep, however rattlesnakes are a different thing.

When I set up to photograph this week’s featured image, none of what I told you was in my head. I thought it was pretty. That’s all I need to take a picture. I made it late in the day while driving away from Palm Canyon looking south. On the far side of King Valley, the Castle Dome Mountains are back-lit from the low winter sun. The atmospherics show off the range’s depth, as the peaks progressively get lighter in the distance, with Castle Dome Peak rising to 3788 feet. As I processed this image, I began to understand its story. I called it Winter Castle, and I hope you like it.

As usual, you can see a larger version of Winter Castle on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and return next week when we’ll show another featured image from the KofA Wildlife Refuge.

Until next time — jw

Pair of Threes

I’m all alone this week because Queen Anne has gone home to her sister’s because they made Christmas cookies this week, and Anne goes where the sugar is. For me, it’s good news and bad news. The good news is that the bleeding from my ears has stopped since the yelling ceased. The bad news is that I don’t have a copy editor this week, so this will be a short post. I don’t know how to spell all the big words she uses. She’s coming home on Thursday so things will be back to normal then. Pray for me.

Meanwhile back at the mines—or more specifically, San Domingo Wash where Anderson Mill is.

Back in the days when everybody used film—that’s the cellulose stuff you put in cameras to capture images before we used electrons—I was a stingy shooter. Because each frame cost a buck (sheet film was five-times that), I wouldn’t waste my money on something I wasn’t sure was good. Now that electrons are cheap (and the prices keep falling), I’ll snap just about anything that catches my eye. Often that shot turns out to be junk, but one out of a thousand deserves a second look. That’s how this week’s featured image happened.

Pair of Threes -Three saguaro along the ridge overlooking the San Domingo Wash where the Anderson Mill is. The three wispy clouds make up the pair.

If you’re the kind of person that lingers on every word that I write, you’ll recall that in my previous posts that the Anderson Mill structure is several stories tall and that the brothers welded it together as needed. In the short time that Fred and I were there, I wanted to poke around the different levels. Now, there are steel-treed stairs, but most of them didn’t have handrails. So I walked the truck paths that snaked up the hillside. It was at one of the switchbacks that I looked up and saw three saguaros along the ridge. Without thinking, I snapped the camera shutter and then dismissed it. When I saw that image on the computer, I knew I could use it because the clouds made the photo. I call this image Pair of Threes.

You can see a larger version of Pair of Threes on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll show another featured image from San Domingo Wash.

Until next time — jw

BTW: Anne’s flight comes in after 11 pm. If you were a good friend, you’d pick her up … and keep her.

Retaining Wall

There are hundreds—if not thousands—of abandoned towns and mines in Arizona. Most of them don’t have much to offer, because all of the things of interest have been taken away. As I pointed out in last week’s post about Anderson Mill, the good stuff has already been salvaged. In Arizona, there are about ten ghost towns, like Jerome, Bisbee, and Oatman where the residents were able to transform their community into a tourist destination, but the majority of them have returned to nature, and you’re lucky to find a concrete slab.

Last week’s adventure to Anderson Mills is an example of my point. I would have been delighted if the sheds, trucks and other equipment remained on site. Alas, that’s not the case. At least the main-processing structure was still standing, probably because it was welded together and pirates couldn’t easily strip them. From what was left, I even got an idea of how the Anderson brothers cobbled together the plant with scrounged parts and probably no plans. My dad worked like that. He figured it out in his head and would slap things together. I should ask Fred—who’s a certified nuclear welding inspector—what he thought of the fabrication.

As I was shooting, I looked for strong elements of design; colors, patterns,lines—that sort of thing. As we were ready to make the trip home, I didn’t havemuch time to spend behind the camera. The most color that caught my eye rightaway was a retaining wall, built out of Army landing pads. The mica processingplant is gravity feed and sits maybe 50 feet above the bed of the wash. To makea level base up there, the Andersonsbuilt a reinforced embankment wall out of panels and then back-filled it withrubble.

When I took this picture of the week, I focused on the panels that had alternating yellow color values. I like that against the rusty steel corner plates. However, I didn’t notice the narrow gauge mine-car tracks holding the bottom together. It seems like an expensive piece of scrap metal compared with the other building materials used. I like the abstract feeling of this image, and I call it Retaining Wall.

You can see a larger version of Retaining Wall on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing this week’s post and come back next week when we’ll show another featured image from San Domingo Wash.

Until next time — jw