Verde Valley Cruising

EXPLORE

Prehistoric Indian ruins and

THE

a small state park are gateways

VERDE

to this rural central Arizona area

VALLEY

Text by Lisa Schnebly Heidinger Photographs by Bob and Suzanne Clemenz We're driving to Cottonwood my father and me. His father was superintendent of several tiny schools around there. Daddy hasn't driven State Route 89A, the Sedona-to-Cottonwood road, in 20 years but is pointing out landmarks he recalls: a narrow deserted bridge, the rise where his 1951 Buick broke down. We're going to visit Dead Horse Ranch State Park then Tuzigoot National Monument.

EXPLORE THE VERDE VALLEY

Dead Horse Park is tucked away like a handkerchief in the pocket of Cottonwood. Follow the main road all the way through town into Old Town Cottonwood; signs take you down a dirt road, past quaint porched and railinged houses. We drive my father's red convertible across the Verde River, the entrance to Dead Horse. Down a dirt road, washboarded with ruts. I wonder how I will explain washboard roads to my children, who may never see a real washboard.

"A dirt road, a water crossing — this is Arizona!" he says. "All it needs now is a cattle guard." On cue, right then, we rattle across the rusty bars in the road. That tickles us both.

This isn't what out-of-staters think of as Arizona: lush, verdant meadowlands, humid and humming with birds and bugs. But to some of the state's oldest families, this is the definition of home: the rural Verde Valley, seemingly protected in its pouch of land from resorts to the north and metropolises to the south.

Dead Horse is 28 acres of riparian habitat, a tangle of lush cottonwoods and tall grass around the meandering Verde River.

Park ranger John Clow tells us Calvin "Cap" Ireys' children named the area back in the '50s, when their father brought them on a scouting trip for land he wanted to buy. Another old-timer had told Clow he'd come across a draft horse of the previous owners' trapped in the marsh on the verge of dying and put it out of its misery. Presumably, that skeleton anchored the name. Cap then sold the land to the state at a charitable rate.

We want to see the five-acre lagoon which Game and Fish stocks with trout. But first we go down to the picnic area by the river, ignoring a cluster of recreational vehicles bunched at a campground.

The people saw birth, built almost on top of one another, and were comfortable living literally on top of their dead.

Surrounded by cottonwoods, we're cool. The breeze carries a damp fertile smell. The trees spread authoritative shade; Daddy points out a "two-man-arm-around-tree." Must be a localism.

The cottonwoods are molting; "cotton" is parachuting down, evacuating the huge green motherland, falling like spiders to Earth. Some of it lands on damp ground by the river and looks like mold spores; other tufts drift too far away and shrivel on dusty silt. All this was once Verde River, Daddy narrates. Rivers do all their work when they're young, carving a channel and moving fast. Like people, he realizes out loud, they settle down as they get older.

On up to the lagoon. A white bird comes paddling across the pond, looking like a swan but with a red wattled turkey's head. A white osprey? we wonder. We also ponder yellow lichen growing on tree bark. It's mostly on the north side of the trees, we sleuth. Yellow moss?

Then we drive back to the cottonwoods on an informal path.

The cottonwood farm is a cooperative result of federal funds and environmental studies that shows these trees aren't regenerating around the park. Whether it is because the river doesn't crest high enough to provide the right flood conditions or something else, we see only a few middle-aged cottonwoods, with clusters of foliage around the tops making them look like Dr. Seuss creatures.

The federal money comes with the stipulation that it be used for projects advancing environmental stability. What could better live up to that than these fledgling treelets, which grow up to be planted along the Verde riverbank and in other wide and welcoming riparian laps?

Clow told us there also are some Sinaguan ruins on the property, cultural resources, he calls them, but with Tuzigoot just up the hill, we decide on it. We take the back road linking the two parks. inaguans who built the rockrim rooms didn't say, "I'm going home to Tuzigoot"; the name's an Apache word meaning "crooked water," the meandering Verde.

Sinagua is Spanish for "without water." We don't know what the few hundred people called themselves when they came here in the 1100s. Up on this citadel of green land with views rolling away in every direction, it's quiet enough to listen for centuriesgone laughter, dogs barking, the whisk and clang of chores being performed, tools being made.

Tuzigoot was a link on the chain of trade running from Mexico and the Pacific Ocean; in the visitors center, we look at copper bells and shells that traders brought. Turquoise, strung as fine and smooth as any of my mother's jewelry, is on display. In another case, palettes for makeup are arranged. I gape at the reconstructed storage pots; one is bigger than a St. Bernard. These were buried in the cool floor, we're told. Apparently in a different area than children were buried. Macabre but intriguing; we read that anyone under the age of six who died was buried in the ground under the parents' home. The people saw birth, built almost on top of one another, and were comfortable living literally on top of their dead. We marvel at that, walking out to the ruins.

Who were these Sinaguans? There's no clean genealogy. Some came from the north, from the Wupatki National Monument area. But this construction of river rock in mortar is much looser and less decorated than the ruins at Wupatki. Also, why would they not have built a ball court or kiva? And when they left, around A.D. 1425, where did they go?

I see a sad and very quiet exit; it had to be hard to leave. Most of the rooms have worn down to low walls, but a shelf here, a fire guard there to keep away wind from the entrance, make it easy to fill in the rest. The stone is slate: gray, toffee, and malt; two stories of rooms in some places, with ancient condominiums just down the hill that must have sprung up once the premium places were filled.

Looking across the valley, we visualize the legendary peddler Kokopelli coming across the plain to trade with his pack and his parrot.

There's a courtyard, an open area for community work. Maybe this is where the women wove that incredible cloth that's survived in fragments, absolute tapestries in intricate patterns of beige, blue, and brown. Thick, heavy patches show their artistry.

Standing here I passionately wish for a telescope to the past, to be in this same place and watch the sturdy graceful people working, women brushing back their hair to see the corn they ground in the polished-smooth metates we saw.

We're on an island in the sky, standing here, Daddy says.

Verde Valley people tell you that almost all these hills had Sinaguan homes, arrowheads, potsherds. Societies want to live in the same places; we build in layers atop one another's homes. It's fortunate Tuzigoot was excavated instead of leveled.

One room has been restored right up to the ceiling. I inhale a scent like rusted iron. "Sweat?" Daddy speculates. "Smoke . . . food . . . ruins everywhere have this same musty smell."

So from A.D. 1125 to A.D. 1425, some 400 people were at home here. Some may have joined tribes that became the Pimas, Maricopas, Hopis. I don't know why I expect a clean lineage when I am Czech, German, Swiss, and Austrian.

But blood isn't the only line of heritage. We are bonded to women we have suffered with, men we've gone to war with, people who have shared experiences. I feel connected to anyone who has stood here and looked out; surely sharing the feeling of supreme contentment seeing Nature keeping her valley green.

That feeling translates to any lineage because it needs no language. It is bone deep. Tuzigoot residents, like me, came from somewhere else and later moved on. They left hints and questions, enigmatic clues of bark and polished bone. I puzzle at these the way they might have the moon's eclipse or heat lightning: not with frustration, but with awe.

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WHEN YOU GO TO THE VERDE VALLEY Verde Valley— Rich in Sights to See and Places to Go

The Verde Valley is a treasure trove of history.

To reach Dead Horse Ranch State Park and Tuzigoot National Monument from Phoenix, take Interstate 17 north to the State 260 exit. Follow the sign in Cottonwood to Dead Horse; reach Tuzigoot via the marked dirt road directly from Dead Horse (a hardpacked dirt road) or return to State 260. From Flagstaff or Sedona, take State 89A south through Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona straight into Cottonwood.

Two important sights in addition to Tuzigoot are Montezuma Castle National Monument and Montezuma Well. The castle is a Sinaguan Indian ruin. The well, once used by these Indians for irrigation, is about 470 feet wide and 55 feet deep. Water still flows out of the ground at 1,100 gallons a minute. Take 1-17 to Exit 289 and follow the signs two miles to the Visitors Center. Open daily 8 A.M. to 5 P.M. in winter, closing an hour later in summer. Telephone (602) 567-3322.

Next to the national monument is the Yavapai-Apache Visitor Activity Center, offering exhibits of the culture and crafts of Native Americans.

Follow I-17 south of Montezuma Castle National Monument to Camp Verde and Fort Verde State Park, a museum. Parts of the old cavalry post of the 1870s are relics of the Indian wars. Fully accessible.

One way to see the wild side of the Verde Valley is on the Verde River Canyon Excursion Train (run by the Arizona Central Railroad), which winds through the Sycamore Canyon Wilderness. The four-hour round-trip by rail can be spent Jerome's mines closed 40 years ago. Tour the Douglas Mansion, a museum in Jerome State Historic Park. For information, telephone (602) 634-5381. From anywhere in Jerome's stacked streets, you're a few strides away from panoramic views of the Verde Valley, Oak Creek Canyon, and the distant San Francisco Peaks. The House of Joy, a former brothel, enjoys a national reputation for continental cuisine. Telephone (602) 634-5339. For more information about the community, telephone the chamber of commerce at (602) 634-2900.

Camp Verde has a lodge, and smaller traditional hotels are downtown. Cottonwood also offers lodging. For information, telephone the Verde Valley Chamber of Commerce, (602) 634-7593. Write the chamber at 1010 N. Main St., Cottonwood, AZ 86326.

Twenty-five minutes north of Camp Verde is Sedona, where luxury resorts offer lavish amenities. Accommodations in Oak Creek range from cabins on the water's edge to family-owned motels. For information, Sedona Chamber of Commerce, telephone (602) 282-7722. For overnight camping, telephone Dead Horse in Cottonwood, (602) 634-5283. Write Arizona State Parks, Cottonwood, AZ 86326. Telephone the Sedona Ranger Station at (602) 282-4119.For visitors with mobility difficulties, Dead Horse Ranch State Park has a fully accessible day-use area. But the visitors center and hik-ing trails are not accessible. Tuzigoot National Monument has accessible parking, visitors center, and picnic area. The one-quarter-mile trail to the ruin is not accessible. For more in-formation, contact Dead Horse Ranch State Park, Box 144, Cottonwood, AZ 86326; (602) 634-5283. Tuzigoot National Monu-nment, P.O. Box 219, Camp Verde, AZ 86322. Lisa Schnebly Heidinger outside on pano-ramic deck cars or inside, riding in a comfortable coach. To reach the station, follow State 89A through Cottonwood to Clarkdale and watch for signs. Telephone (602) 639-0010. Or for a Room, Ride, and Meal Deal, call the Railroad Inn in Sedona, 23 miles north of the depot, and add dinner and a night's lodging to the trip. Telephone toll-free 1 (800) 858-7245.

The quaint former mining town of Jerome is 15 minutes west of Cottonwood on State 89A, nestled in crannies on Cleopatra Hill.