I’ve heard the stories of Sedona for years and years. The vortices, the red rocks, the spirituality of the place have been a sort of beacon to us. I had no idea just how beautiful and mesmerizing this place is. Put aside the idea that there are certain circular areas where you can tap into the energy of the universe, a vortex as they’re called. As a forest ranger said to me, “This whole area is a vortex.” I think that is the truer truth to the matter.
This is a land of contrasts.
- Red rocks against the bluest blue sky.
- High Desert scrub with streams of life coursing through on ribbons of water.
- Ranch homes priced in the millions with tumble down subsistence living within a few miles.
- Modern-ness to the extreme in the form of talking electronics framed by pictograph talking rocks over 800 years old.
- Irrigated farms and ranches on the outskirts of town that bely the ancient rock-scrawled planting instructions left by Sinaguans on the cliff faces.
- Altitudes and ecosystems that climb from desert creosote bush to juniper and pinon tree to alpine meadows and forests.
- Gourmet restaurants featuring food obtained from across the globe, regardless of the day or month... contrasted with the essentially macrobiotic native feast of seasonally grown, gathered, and arrowed game and edible plants.
- Local merchants and service givers attending to the wants and sometimes needs of the modern day tourists and gypsies ( ourselves included ).
As opposed to a national or state park, where most of the natural beauty is encased in a boundary bound purely natural area, this place, Sedona, is a city nestled squarely into the stunning landscape. National forest lands along with hundreds of miles of trails are woven into the very fabric of the city. That, in itself, is totally unique.
This winter has graciously been a very wet and snowy one for the West. Recent years have been drought-plagued and the resultant wildfires attest to that fact. What was needed this winter was snow and precipitation. It came. Oak Creek, the famous trickle of a waterway that runs through the city, cascades with abandon gushes of tumultuous runoff from high above the Mogollon Rim. Beaver and Dry Beaver creeks are running such that we saw expert Kayak enthusiasts making their way between the boulders as they sped down river. All this water adds so much movement and excitement, not to mention gratitude, as we move from path to path, from lookout point to lookout point. I often wonder as we travel the West, whose natural makeup requires every drop of water to be accounted for, how the population will get enough water to sustain itself in the coming years. I am amazed that even now there is enough water for everyone. For now, the system has recharged itself. Praise the Lord and please pass the water bottle!
One evening here, Diane suggested we return to the high desert on the outskirts of town, still within good eyesight of the Red Rocks. We had driven this particular road, 525C earlier and it was really quiet and peaceful. The horizons were bold and colorful while the atmosphere was quiet and reflective. Working our way across the Verde Valley in Quicksilver with Dash and Heidi in tow we arrived just in time to settle in and take in sunset. The low sun cast long shadows and alpine-glow everywhere we turned. It was a slow-motion movie as we watched the colors and shadows appear and fade from every rock face in the distance and every hill and valley in the foreground. We watched quietly, rotating now and then to catch another fleeting moment of inspiration. I felt it. Diane felt it, too.
The ranger was right. This whole area is a vortex.