A Summertime Drive

One summer, back when the kids were little, we planned a fun summertime week with my sister Linda, and her five kids. She was living in Tucson at the time, while her husband went to medical school.

I had just taken a class in Arizona history at ASU, which had wet my appetite for exploring historic sights. Two fascinating places I'd learned about were the San Xavier del Bac Mission, right in Tucson, and the old Tumacacori Mission south of it.

We loaded all our kids into Linda's big, white, new suburban and left early one morning to go exploring, with the cabin as our final destination.

First we stopped at San Xavier del Bac. It was fascinating to see it perched on the dry earth, a beautiful, old, startlingly white mission rising out of the parched desert.

Although San Xavier is a practicing Catholic Church, it is also open for public tours. We gathered all the kids and tried to help them walk through the mission reverently. It was quite interesting inside, but the kids favorite part was a little alcove off to one side filled with burning candles. Not being Catholic, we weren't quite sure what this was for, but we walked quietly around the room, looking at carvings and pictures, and noticing small pieces of paper tucked under many candles.

“I wonder if those are prayers for sick people?” Linnea whispered to me. She knew just about as much as I did about Catholicism, and her guess sounded reasonable to me.

“Maybe they light a candle for someone who needs their prayers,” Holly suggested, overhearing our conversation.

“If they do,” my sister Linda told us, coming up from behind, “there are going to be some really sick people around here. Look what Alyssa and Allyson are doing.”

Turning around, I saw the two girls quietly holding hands, softly blowing out candles as they walked past.

I got them out of there as quickly as I could.

Our next stop was about an hour south of Tucson, at Tumacacori. Unlike like San Xavier, Tumacacori was not an operating church, but a ruin, turned into a State Historical Park. It was fascinating. Whereas San Xavier stood alone on the burning desert, Tumacacori was built closer to water, and had big old trees to add to the cool, quiet shade. It was peaceful there, and a spirit of humble worshipers seemed to linger in the old building. I was very impressed.

We didn't stay long at the mission because we still had a long day ahead of us. Our plan was to drive up the north side of the state, along the scenic Coronado Trail, up to the White Mountains, over to Snowflake where Linda's in-laws lived, and then down the rim to our cabin on Haigler Creek. It was an ambitious, long drive, but we were looking forward to spending the rest of the week playing at the cabin, and we figured the kids would entertain each other and have a good time on the way.

What we didn't count on were the hairpin curves. The Coronado Trail is one winding, twisting road. Beautiful, but stomach churning. We were about half way up to the top when both Stephen and his cousin, John Daniel, began to look white and pasty.

“I don't feel good,” John Daniel whined on one side of the car.

“Me either,” Stephen joined in.

“We're about to Hannigan's Meadow,” Linda assured them comfortingly. “We'll stop there so you can get out and walk around.”

“Roll your windows down,” I added, thinking the fresh out might help settle their stomachs. “And make sure you're looking ahead.”

Just then, John Daniel made a sick sound in his throat and leaned his head out of his side window.

“Ewwww! Gross!” his sister, Jenika, complained as she watched John throw up out of his window.

“Watch out,” Linnea yelled from the other side of the car. “Stephens going to be sick, too.”

“Roll the window down,” I yelled, twisting in my seat so I could see what was going on in back. Linnea rolled the window down at double speed, just in time for Stephen to stick his head out and be sick on that side of the car.

Once they'd thrown up, both boy's stomachs settled, and we reached Hannigan's meadow in a few more minutes.

“Everyone out,” Linda called, pulling the car into a parking lot on the side of the road. “I'll get some wet wipes for you boys out of the back.”

“Wet wipes aren't going to help much, now,” Linnea told her, pointing to the right side of the suburban. Stephen had left sick splattered all along the car, from his window all the way to the back.

“Yuck,” the girls complained, “look at the mess you made!”

But Stephen didn't need to take all the blame. Once we'd walked around the car to the other side, we found a matching splatter of sick on John Daniel's side, as well.

“Oh, disgusting!” everyone agreed. “That's never going to come off.” They were about right, too. It took a lot of spraying and scrubbing when we got to Snowflake to get the throw-up off. But at least the boys felt better.