Dec 21, 2025
DESERT SNOW (C) Duane Lawrence and use by permission.
Back in my “radio” days, also known as “when I was a police communications dispatcher” for Arizona Highway Patrol, we faced plenty of widely varied calls. Our training was intense, pretty…
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Nov 17, 2025
Photo by Bob Block
The summer 2015 I moved my sewing shop from my home to Monterey Court on Miracle Mile in Tucson, Arizona. I was also still working at Arizona Department of Public Safety. It was a few months…
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Nov 11, 2025
No one told me. No one at all. No one who had known him for fifty plus years, no one who had known him bothered to speak to me. I guess you could call him a person of note, a…
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Nov 3, 2025
In the late 1980's retired navy test pilot friend of mind told me that he was always taking some kind of class at the college in order to keep sharp. And, he was indeed sharp, so I began doing the…
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Nov 3, 2025
My sleeping children. Two little dreamers who trusted me so deeply they would not stir when I fetch them from the baby sitter. Who, in the morning, wake up in their beds happy and charge out to greet me as…
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Mar 23, 2025
About a week or so ago, we had some good rain here in the desert. What my Navajo friends would call a mostly “female rain,” a nurturing rain. Over the course of two days the rain fell rather gently most…
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Mar 11, 2025
31 July, 2024
Dearest friends and readers,
August is upon us!
Growing up in Ohio, August was the time of the Greene County Fair, a herald of fall. It’s when we started gathering our things together for the coming school…
Mar 11, 2025
November Desert Dispatches
Hello Friends,
Here’s hoping this finds you and yours well and happily preparing for the holiday season.
The weather is co-operating here in the Great Sonoran Desert with night time temps in the 40's and day time…
Mar 11, 2025
The Lincoln
In 2005 my parents bought their first new car ever - A Lincoln Signature Town Car. That fall, when they flew out to visit me, Mom was so excited to tell me all about it. As I recall…
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Mar 11, 2025
Desert Dispatches 28 April, 2024
Hello Friends!
I hope you are well and happy and full of Springtime.
We desert dwellers are enjoying cool weather right now, which “they” tell us is right on target for this time of year…
Mar 11, 2025
Desert Dispatches and Hay
Hello friends,
Welcome to new Desert Dispatches members and I thank you for signing up and cruising through my website!
This summer was particularly rough for number of reasons, heat playing a huge part. But, with…
Mar 11, 2025
Desert Dispatches - It’s About the Music
By the age of fifteen, that would be the year 1974, I had been playing guitar for a couple of years or so. Campfires, a friend’s wedding (I still have the charm necklace…
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Nov 29, 2024
Even though it seems that I am on the journey alone other than Christ, I will proceed. Mostly for my own good and growth, but perhaps someone else may find this and join in the conversation.
This Thanksgiving was especially…
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Oct 21, 2024
There was so much that took place. Good, bad, horrible. Of my own doing and done to me. All along the way, I was aware of Christ's presence, watching me, watching over me. I was always feeling the nudge, and…
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Oct 6, 2024
In the opening chapter of The Forgotten Way, Ted Dekker takes us on a journey back in time to his childhood, and growing up in a missionary family with the missionary life. He talks about some of the darkness he…
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Aug 22, 2024
The World In Chewy's Eye
Inspired by JPS Brown's “The World In Poncho's Eye”
Chewy gave me my first ride on his back one late October morn. He wasn't much to look at, a grade horse whose ears were more…
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Aug 10, 2024
By Moon Or No Moon
For about two years I lived less than a mile east of the base of Table Top Mountain, located in the Table Top National Wilderness. The actual location is as the crow flies, 94 miles…
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Aug 8, 2024
Coming Back
It is a much longer, and harder, road back than anticipated. Honestly, I don’t recall even thinking or wondering how long it would take to get back, or, how long I was gone - though now, it feels…
Jul 19, 2024
Have you ever been sure you were alone, yet had the feeling you were being watched? No, not like "Big Brother" is watching. Like this...
Everything I needed for a weekend of music was packed in my 2011 Hyundai Sonata…
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Jul 19, 2024
The Lincoln
In 2005 my parents bought their first new car ever - A Lincoln Signature Town Car. That fall, when they flew out to visit me, Mom was so excited to tell me all about it. As I recall…
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Jul 9, 2024
Lightning Woman Danced, The Story Behind the Song
“I have always gone to the wilderness,” or some version of that, is a line you will read often in my stories. The wilderness shows up constantly in my songs and poetry…
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Jul 9, 2024
Weekly, someone tells me, “ I have this shirt ( jacket, pants, dress ),” They laugh and shake their head. “ I know it’s ridiculous, but I really love it. It’s frayed at the cuff (full of holes, too small…
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Jun 17, 2024
By the age of fifteen, that would be the year 1974, I had been playing guitar for a couple of years or so. Campfires, a friend’s wedding (I still have the charm necklace that was a gift from the newlyweds…
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Jun 5, 2024
Blog Post Janet and Huffman Prairie
When my sister, Janet, was hospitalized I flew back to Ohio to be with her. My childhood friends, Carla and Victoria, picked me up at the airport and got me to my sister and…
You are visitor number: 522
At the gate, we've shared our hopes and fears
birthed and raised our children
trained our dogs and planned our gardens
laughed and shed some tears
At the gate, we've plotted escapes from wild fires, debt and bad guys
Considered the influence of mustard in deviled eggs, prayed for the president, the war and our husbands.
Yes, we battle the big ones, mince no words, take no prisoners; at the gate there can be no compromise
At the gate, your four year old son courts my granddaughter who's four
We watch quite amused then look at each other with eyebrows raised
Why in a few years that might not be a bad match,
We'll be keeping an eye on that for sure
At the gate we'll meet to swap dry beans for a screwdriver,
discuss an application of scripture, or return stray cattle, dogs or children.
The Lord, He knows all and He knew we each needed a friend
Guess He'll use anything as a primer; Like the gate
Funny, how we never say this gate or that, your gate or mine,
Maybe the gate by the gas line, or the one at the fallow fields
Evening or morning, sometimes too hot or too cold
We just seem to meet up, or see the other coming then give hail and bide the time.
So many memories there
Why, at the gate is where I first met your boy when he was just three
I was headed home with my dog past your place
and here he come, stirrups flappin' at a full blown, tooth shattering trot
Too big hat, and Buckaroo boots a'rattling on his knock-kneed pony
" What's yur dog's name?" Came the yell.
" That's Cowboy ", I said and he looked at me like I was addled
"Noooo... "He drawled,as he thumbed his chest. "I'm cowboy."
At the gate we met one dark frosty morning to share a walk in the field.
We found surveyors flags and water pipes stacked where the old Diamond Bar had been.
Here come the builders with their condos and town homes and parks.
This type of change will surely leave our ranch life a bit short on the yield.
People come and go, live and die, but no matter the consequence of fate
There will be a place of friendship, refuge, laughter, love
So, what ever gate it is; field or alley, pasture, ditch or barn,
or heaven,
I'll keep watch for you and see you there, one day, waving to me at the gate
(C) Nancy Elliott and Sonoran Desert Sage Publishing 2004
You are visitor number: 521
What Are You Thinking?
Angles of light, color, hue and depth. A shadow, thin as spider’s silk, hangs over the orange of mallow petal, barely seen, maybe only perceived, but part of the texture and tapestry before me. Entrancing to distraction.
While on a second date, desert picnic during a long, languishing Sonoran Spring, my companion asked me, “What are you thinking?”
I was not thinking, not at all. My eyes were slowly moving over the desert floor, seeking every shadow, curve, stick, flower, leaf and movement. The “Hot Shots” were packing up after extinguishing a wild land blaze, thankfully less than a few acres. This added even more interesting and arresting shades and smells. And feeling. All of those colors, light, shadow and smells effect my feelings, stopping the usual thinking process and I go to a sensory place I have no name for. Explain all that on a second date. “I am just taking it all in,” was my response. An understatement of huge proportion. I cannot explain this to my self, how would I explain it to someone else? Sometimes, I can answer that question fully if trust has been established. But, sometimes, I am caught without words. Like, one time when dancing to a band playing outdoors in the evening. The establishment was in a rustic setting, the dance floor was behind the band and away from the people and tables, and over my partner's shoulder and through the trees I could see the night sky, the pond and the stars. I could hear the night birds and crickets and my eyes started to search the details of the shadows and light. All of that, when my dance partner asked, "What are you thinking?" I had no words.
And then, there is silence.
The songs of silence are welcome to my ears, to my soul. One can’t hear the songs for all the noise of the world. But, the songs are all around and tell me the world is Okay. From the porch I hear the groan and squeak of the soup pot on the stove. The tin roof pops as the sun heats it, and then rattles a shiver as a stray cloud cools it. The breeze drifts orange and purple blooms and makes mallow and lupine nod gracefully to the rhythm of pop, rattle, shiver and squeak. Cassia floats sweet perfume on the wind while butterflies work diligently.
There is birdsong, too. Laughing, whistling, cat calling, cheering, playful and alive. The local Harris's Hawk family is hunting. Today there are five of them and their conversation is like encrypted surround sound.
I know places where the quiet is so thick, the footfalls of ants seem too loud. Not here, not today. There is silence enough for today. A restful, not alone silence. A peaceful, beauty filled silence after months of busy and hurry.
I am ever thankful to live in this place. From my back porch I can see Pima Butte, The Sierra Estrella Wilderness, South Mountain, Four Peaks, The Superstitions and McDowells. I can see Signal Peak and the Sawtooths, Newman, Picacho, The Catalinas and Lemmon.
The wind speaks to me when the world is quiet. Or, rather, when I am quiet I hear the wind speaking.
I recall the wind in the treehouse in Arkansas. I would climb out and up onto the tin roof to hear the wind in the forest that covered the surrounding hills.
I remember the screaming wind of a California grass fire as I worked my way to safety with a bladder pack and shovel, arriving at the same moment my deaf, mute, Cerebral Palsy afflicted co-worker walked out of the smoke on my left, and ran to embrace me.
The peaceful hush of the wind as I repaired targets on the archery range. The roar of the set-your-watch-by-it 3pm dust devil on the gun range.
And now, I’ve had to fetch a coffee and a blanket, in spite of my fleece pants, thermal shirt and sweater, because I don’t want to go inside and miss any little thing out here on the porch, in the silence and the wind.
You are visitor number: 522
I've been searching through the desert, like there is something I must find.
I know You are out there, I hear You calling all the time.
Your voice as sweet as fillaree, dancing in the desert wind.
Drifting from each rocky slope, sandy wash and bend.
I chose to ride a crooked trail of which You know the scope.
Shameless acts, wasted time, shattered dreams and hopes.
Yet still Your voice is filled with peace, alluring, ever there
Singing to this broken heart a vow of love and care.
I met You once when I was young, then just turned and rode away
To live a life I thought was grand, and promptly went astray
Now, my back trail, it still beckons me and likely always will
But I think if I keep riding on, I'll find you round that next hill
As I dismount to watch the sunset, all the desert has gone still
Not a whisper of the wind, not a click or peep or trill
Then the sun explodes atop the mesa and I dare not even breathe
Light sweeps across the desert floor and pools around my feet.
Saguaros stand like soldiers of God, halos of light through their spines
Swashbucklers of Glory, steadfast, protecting, arms out stretched in mime
Each rock and leaf are set ablaze, the silence pounds in my ears
My soul is drenched in the beauty and wonder that thrives in this world so severe
With the hilltops afire, the canyons in shadow, the day snaps off like a lamp
My blood still rushing, mind overrun, I mount and head back to camp
I hear your voice, I feel you out there, but one thing remains a fact
I've ridden for years cutting for sign of those promises made way back
That gun toting preacher, he told me himself (and preachers never lie),
You'd never leave me, and You'd always love me, and be there to help me get by.
I've had some bad rides, a scrape or two, times with my back to the wall
Yeah, I survived, but couldn't help but ask, just where were you through it all
Reflecting on the wrecks I've been in, and tragedies life has brought
Decisions I made, trails I chose, the glory in life I sought
I'd laid down a pattern of endless mistakes that only compounded my plight
"Poor pitiful me, all the world against me," yet still maintaining, "I'm right"
But, you never left me, you never forsook me. You rode out front the whole time.
That's why I heard Your whispering voice, and now it's ringing like a chime
You came down here and lived among us so we could see that You're for real
And now it's all about learning Your lead, and never about how I feel
All these years I been fighting my own head and doing things my own way
It's a shame I was too dang stubborn to see how things should really play
Now, it's tough to admit, but I just realized I never did ride for Your brand
And in spite of it all, I'm alive and well, 'cause you let me ride in the palm of Your Hand.
(C) 2003 Nancy Elliott and Sonoran Desert Sage Pub ASCAP
You are visitor number: 520
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