A few weeks ago A. and I decided we needed a breath of fresh air. Literally. Figuratively. And a few other -lys that we just don’t need to discuss today.
So we saddled up our sturdy sedan and abandoned the Valley of the Sun for a day trip into Arizona’s mountains: specifically, we were headed for the Prescott Farmer’s Market.
At the risk of sounding like a massive science nerd, the vast extremes in Arizona’s climate, topography and ecosystem life never cease to amaze me. When you grow up in and around New England, where it’s possible to drive through multiple states in a few short hours and, visually, not even realize that you’ve made the transition, this new environment feels nothing short of Martian.
I just can’t get past it. And if you’ve ever made the drive from Phoenix up into the northern mountains, you know what I mean.
Climbing from an elevation of approximately 1,100 feet to one of approximately 5,400 feet.
Watching the thermostat drop from 99° to 75°.
Passing armies of saguaro cacti that are slowly subsumed by hoards of pines.
It’s pretty fascinating even if you don’t have a destination that you’re excited about.
But we did! Or at least I did! Because farmer’s markets are kind of my jam. Especially in the fall, when they (ironically) remind me of being back home.