Camp Lone Coyote

or, Taking It Slow on the Coconino Plateau

Most nomads end up carrying a big, sentimental item out on the road that ends up discarded at some point. Here, the Lone Coyote marks the entrance to Charlie’s private land.

After the second longest packing and stacking load 'em up stretch in Camp Cordray history, we left the low desert frying pan, Quartzsite, Arizona, and headed for higher ground. Leaving later than usual left us packing in the triple digits and regretting not doing some of it during the year and a half we sat still. A year and a half. Two scorching summers, a little bit of camping, and some working as retired people in-between. It's nice to be back out on the road, re-re-tired once again. For now, lol.

In a couple of weeks I will celebrate the ten year mark of living nomadically. I always second guess my thought process in keeping the road-ometer running when there have been chunks of time that I (and then we) have sat still. Blending forces with Dan and Layla (THE biggest packing and stacking adventure ever), recovering from spinal surgery, resting from a bad lupus flare, waiting out Covid, then gas prices, and other times when the wheels did not roll or rolled intermittently. Does that time count?

Yes. All nomadic people move and stop based on their needs and responsibilities, choices, current situation, and who knows what else. We stay, we go, we wait, we flow. And we are grateful to be divinely led and protected, ready to let those Jello plans jiggle and then firm up as they will. When it doesn't go exactly as planned, we adjust our sails and scoot on down the river albeit sometimes floating sideways. The morning after we landed, my canoe went a little sideways.

When I have something to accomplish I am the Energizer Bunny on full-tilt boogie. I like to arrive at camp and settle in right away and then relax, even if relaxing means making a nice meal or gazing at all the fun stuff I brought to work on but not really doing any of it. Just relishing the idea instead. This landing was the same as any other, although there was a bit more "pillowcase overage" where you throw all the last bits in a pillowcase and promise to put it where it belongs when you get there. I woke up first morning ready to tackle that pillowcase overage.

The view from the ramp of our cargo trailer as a prescribed burn takes place at Kendrick Peak.

The calm evening arrival met super windy first morning, so I set aside the side mess and helped Dan implement his shade tarp solution for this breezy camping spot. I don't usually help with this part but I was as ready as he was to have shade and cover for the outdoor kitchen and seating area in place.

Soon the tarps were up I was zipping around placing our comfy chairs and apparently, not fully watching where I was going. I managed to hook a tent staked guy wire with my foot and landed with a hard thud on even harder ground. "UHHHMMPPHHH", I said, as I hit the terra cotta colored sand, creating a cloud of dust.

Dan came racing out and helped me up after checking for obvious bodily damage. I limped off to find my breath and thank my lucky stars, although I knew this was gonna hurt soonly. Pretty much all of my muscles had jumped up to save me and oh how they suffered for their service. I was pulled. Everywhere. And sore. But not broken. A week later I am much improved but hampered by the fact that I am also adjusting to a quick bolt from 900 feet elevation to just under 6000 feet where we are now. We had to. It was hot.

It's here that I will hail the fact that I got my Grandma's cup size and not my Mom's. Grandma wore men's wingtips, dark trousers, and a white t-shirt every day and a bra just didn't seem to go with the outfit, I guess. Maybe by that time she was over bras. She tucked the floppy contents of her she-shelf into her waist band and managed her flock of poultry and her tar paper shack like she didn't even have breasts. She died when I was 9 so I never had the chance to ask her how she felt about them.

My Mom, on the other hand, cried over her padded A cups and swore her five children stole her perfect breasts. I don't tuck them in my pants, nor do I worry about filling my cups. I am grateful to be somewhere in between. Even though they are bruised along with the rest of my draggin' wagon, oh mylanta, thank you Great Spirit for the built-in poofy air-bags that broke my fall. I have proven that I can still bounce, although if I landed on my low profile trunk section I might have added a crack in my backside. I have no padding to rely on in that area, none. 

So a portion of the pillowcase overage awaits, at least the stuff I like to take care of. In the meantime, Dan has attended to my every need, feeding all of us, walking dogs, checking on me now and then, and letting me nap.

This was my view much of the time I was resting and recovering. The man is simply the best, not two ways about it. The even better part is that taking care of me is not a rare occurrence for him. It is a big part of who he is and what he does on a daily basis. What a good man!

Two-a-day naps or all day rests are not uncommon for the invisibly disabled and those who fling themselves in an impromptu manner across rough desert terrain. Naps are self care at its best but are only possible if one can release the troubles of the day while the day is still happening. I know people who never nap, and others who cannot function without taking one daily. It's not easy to lay still knowing that you haven't planned dinner or when there are tasks to be completed. You can't get everything done first. I know, I have tried. I would rather release the cares of the world and drift in the world of pillows and blankets, headphones and eye shades, and let this body heal and repair itself in peace.

Some of my naps are spontaneous with no advance notice. I often fall asleep with legs up the wall doing a deep stretch (which I do several times a day) or in meditation. Sometimes I wake up with glasses on and my arm wedged in a book wondering what time of day it is and what I just read. I do my best to not resist naps. The body knows what it needs and will tell you if you will listen. I rely heavy on the naps. As I type, my three roommates are basking in the joy of laying flat and snoring. Some days, laying flat is where it's at.

I will say that the bugs, blooms, and butterflies are calling me so I plan to balance rest with relaxation. I figured out the hard way I am not quite up to rock hounding just yet, but there are some beauts out there shining up at me, waiting. I have secured some Coconino jasper out here on the Coconino Plateau, but I will leave that for a rockhounding post. Camped 30 minutes from the Grand Canyon means there will be roooccckks.

I have kept my promise of rolling out a newsletter once we got settled. We are mostly settled and have nowhere we need to be and nothing we need to do right now. What a blessing!

I have part of a pile of photographs loaded up for a post about our first night back on the road, camped at Ghost Town BLM area and in the parking lot of the Pioneer Cemetary in Congress, Arizona. Signal is hit or miss out here so it's taking me awhile to complete that one since it's mostly pictures and they need signal to load. I have also taken this time to chase a mystery and find out more about someone famous who is buried at this cemetery. How cool! I look forward to sharing the bits and pieces I chased to learn more about this gentleman and also the others who are buried there as well.

Now that you have read this, know that I am on the other side of my slip and fall episode, and albeit still a bit sore, I am taking heed of the lesson to slow down and enjoy the pace of this section of my life. I am not racing around here like the Energizer Bunny and I don’t care if things are a mess for a bit longer. I am taking the time to enjoy some new art supplies and of course, working on this newsletter, wallowing in the joys of camp life, and being patient with myself. The wind is howling and a bit of rain is falling, but all is well and cozy here at the mobile Camp Cordray. Thanks for riding shotgun, friends!

Best windy-weather wishes,

Brenda Cordray

“The Desert Rose"

Buy Me a Coffee!