Staff Recommendations

One very effective thing that Borders used to do was to encourage Staff Recommendations. This was back in the day when those recommendations were genuine, rather than thinly disguised hard-sell pitches that resulted from a debacle called Make Titles. For a while, Borders was so desperate to seem relevant to the publishers, they would choose titles to Promote With Extreme Prejudice. This is the way it worked: every customer who walked in the door had to be greeted (Walmart style). After the greeting, you were immediately supposed to offer assistance. In the training videos, the fake customers responded perfectly to that offer, allowing the bookseller to start making the sales pitch for the most current zombie book or “book club” title.

In real life, the customer (reeling from the onslaught of a bookseller who swooped like a predatory bird) firmly said “NO.” Records were kept of how many Make Titles each bookseller managed to sell, and reprimands (along with threats) were handed out when the numbers weren't high enough.

This antagonized everyone but the executives who made it up. Customers were used to REAL recommendations from Borders booksellers; our expertise was our greatest strength. So eventually the Make Titles program went away.

Websites don't really have an equivalent to staff recommendations, but the customer recommendations on Amazon are very helpful to people who are skittish about buying online. Amazon has cultivated those amateur reviewers, even allowing them to have their own page on the site (and yes, I am one of them). Barnes & Noble has lagged behind in cultivating a customer review atmosphere on their website, but they're actively working on it.

So what does this mean for surviving brick & mortar book stores? With so many of the bigbox book stores collapsing under their own weight, small book stores are discovering what it takes to stay in business and win customer loyalty. Not surprisingly, recommendations from a knowledgeable (non-swooping) staff are an important part of that strategy. Now that I'm working at Books And More at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, I can recommend a number of titles. If you live in Phoenix (or if you're passing through) stop by and give them a look – we're at Central and Encanto. Otherwise, visit your local store or your favorite website; these books are worth your time and moolah.

ARCHAEOLOGY/ANTHROPOLOGY

Archaeology Of Ancient Arizona, by Reid and Whittlesey

Arizona's Rock Art, by Robin Scott Biknell

American Indian Ghost Stories, by Antonio R. Garcez

HISTORY

Navajo Weapon, by Sally McClain

Guns, Germs, And Steel, by Jared Diamond

Appetite For America, by Stephen Fried

MYTHOLOGY/FOLKLORE

Sacred Oral Traditions Of The Havasupai, by Tikalsky, Euler, & Nagel

Navajo Taboos, by Ernie Bulow

BIOGRAPHY/AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Lazy B, by Sandra Day O'Connor

Seldom Disappointed, by Tony Hillerman

Talking Mysteries, by Hillerman and Bulow

ARIZONA TRAVEL, WILDLIFE, NATURAL SCIENCE

Sedona, Treasure Of The Southwest, by Kathleen Bryant

Birds Of Arizona, by Stan Tekiela

Roadside Geology Of Arizona, by Halka Chronic

Arizona Journey Guide, by Kramer & Martinez

Roadside History Of Arizona, by Marshall Trimble

Turquoise, by Lowry & Lowry

Frequently Asked Questions About The Saguaro, by Janice Emily Bowers

Forest Cats, by Jerry Kobalenko

Smithsonian Rock & Gem Guide

COOKBOOKS

The Arizona Cook Book, by Al & Mildred Fischer

Southwest Slow Cooker, by Biber & Howell

Tacos, by Mark Miller

Tamales, by Daniel Hoyer

Hope For The Book Store -- Sort Of

By the time Borders went bankrupt, I had pretty much given up on the concept of the brick & mortar book store. After all, look what they're up against: an expensive distribution system, the high costs of leases and utilities, a sluggish economy, and heavy competition from online book stores and/or e-books. When the Borders where I worked was placed on the STORE CLOSING list, my co-workers and I began to search frantically for new day jobs. I ended up briefly at a grocery store, as a cashier. But it was an extremely demanding job, and it paid $3 an hour less than I had previously earned.

Life was looking pretty grim. My husband Ernie had happily settled in a new job with the Phoenix Public Library, and I was very pleased to see him happy again. But I was losing sleep. And then he told me that a lady from the Phoenix Heard Museum book store had left her card at the Borders where he still worked in the evenings. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. “That's my job!” I said.

And it was. Miraculously, even though several skilled people had applied before I did (I was actually the last interview) they hired me. I've worked there ever since, and I love it. But I'm amazed, because it's an old-fashioned book store, and I thought I would never see one of those again.

By old-fashioned, I don't just mean brick & mortar, and I'm not simply referring to the fact that the books are hard copies. I also mean that the store is small, it's managed by someone who is extremely knowledgeable about books, and it's staffed by people who love books. I thought I was never going to see something like that again.

So you may be thinking, Great! There's hope for the brick & mortar book store after all! But it's not that simple. The Heard Museum book store has a lot in common with the book shops you see at National and State Parks. It carries regionally themed books: books about Native American culture, art, jewelry, basket weaving, textiles, pottery, folk art, kachinas, religion, folklore, and history. We also have books about Southwest archaeology, anthropology, geology, biographies, travel, gardening, wildlife, photo-essay, history, cooking, and children's books. The book store used to be a small corner of the main gift shop, so we also carry tourist stuff like dreamcatchers, bead jewelry, postcards, magnets, cards, CDs (from Canyon Records), T-shirts, mugs, and few few items from the main gift shop, including rugs, pots, folk art, and kachinas.

In other words, the books aren't the only thing driving sales in our store (people love those dreamcatchers). And the existence of the museum is what brings people to the store in the first place. They come to see the museum – we're just the frosting on the cake. After looking at the exhibits, they want to learn more about what they've seen. Or they want a souvenir, or they're grandparents looking for gifts for the grandkids. Maybe they saw Jesse Monongye's gorgeous jewelry in the museum, pieces that go for $10,000. They can't afford to buy a necklace, but they can get his beautiful coffee-table book for $50. Or they love the kachinas, and they want a book about how to identify the different types. Or they have a Navajo rug at home, and want to learn more about it.

Like the National and State Park shops, our store gets the customers who came for the OTHER thing, the main thing that got them to get in their car (or hop on a plane). They couldn't do that online, they had to visit the place. And we're IN the place, so they may as well stop by and shop. We can talk to them and use our old-fashioned sales experience to interest them in the books we love. That's the advantage we have over the online sites.

But we get a few old-fashioned book lovers too. And for that reason, I think well-placed small book stores may actually do all right in the near future. Like us, they probably would order a lot of their books from regional publishers. If they're knowledgeable about the books, and they have a good feel for what their local customers want, they could succeed.

So if you live in Phoenix (or you're visiting us), stop by and a take a look at the Heard Museum book store (Books And More). We've even got a coffee cantina. Buy the Navajo Times from us, get a cup of iced coffee, and sit at a table out in our courtyard, next to the fountain. It's a beautiful place, peaceful and good for contemplation.

I love it.

In Evernight

“Are the others waiting?” asked Hawkeye.

“Not exactly,” said Ebony. “The others are not sure.”

Hawkeye stared at him. He didn’t just mean the Neighbors. She peered past him and saw the two groups standing near each other, not exactly forming one group, but at least close enough to talk. Some of the Neighbors gazed in the direction of Evernight, some of the Scavengers looked out at the night-haunted desert.

“Mug acted like he had been down here before,” said Hawkeye. “I would have thought he had a plan.”

“He wants to go into the desert,” said Ebony.

“The desert does not look particularly promising, in my opinion.”

“He says it’s a fracture that will take us directly to Farthest.”

She took a second look at the desert. Its sky wasn’t strictly black, it leaned more toward deepest blue, almost like a poorly-lit ocean. But no stars blazed down on the silver sand. It was beautiful to look at, but Hawkeye didn’t want to go into it.

“The aircraft can take us there quickly enough,” she said, “and to Edge – weren’t we supposed to visit there too?”

“No time,” said Ebony, solemnly. “Hawkeye – the aircraft has gone.”

That felt like a dash of cold water in the face. Hawkeye could only blink for several moments. “You mean it just – left us here?”

“Yes.” He didn’t sound any happier about it than she did. But he didn’t sound surprised, either. Hawkeye wondered why she was, no one had promised the aircraft would be available for the whole trip. At the beginning, she had thought the donkeys would be taking them all the way.

Now Daisy and her pack waited in a forlorn bunch near the trough, their ears twitching.

“Do they want to split up? I’m not sure the donkeys will cooperate with that.”

“We can’t” he said, flatly. “The Northern gods say we go together, or we fail.”

She was surprised to receive such a straight answer after breaking the protocol about questioning. Maybe it was okay because she had asked about the Scavengers instead of the Neighbors.

“We should join them,” he added.

So Hawkeye, Wolfy, Brat, and Ebony walked toward the Neighbor side of the division. This was not lost on the Scavengers, and they scowled.

“I’m the guide on this one,” Mug announced. “That was part of our agreement too, in case you’ve decided to forget. I’m the one with the experience down here, and I haven’t taken us the wrong way yet. This town might look all cosy and warm with the lights and all, but I’ve gone through the Dark Desert every time and never gotten lost. You think I’m lying about that?”

“No,” said Boss. But he didn’t look any happier about the idea.

Silence fell between the two groups. Hawkeye looked at the desert again, didn’t like it any better, then turned to look at the city and got a jolt. She recognized something. From her vantage point at the edge of the Dark Desert, she could see a building that might be residential or might be commercial. All of its doors were closed, save one on the seventh level. That one yawned wide, just like it did in the photo in The Lost Cities. She was looking at the open door from the exact angle from which the photo had been taken.

Levels and levels, and on the seventh the door stands open. Go in and look over your shoulder . . .

This was that door.

“Boss,” she said, quietly.

He glanced at her. She looked meaningfully from him, to the open door, and back again. He followed her gaze, frowning deeply.

“If you boys want to go into the city,” declared Mug, “you’re going by yourselves. That’s my final word on the subject.” He whistled to the donkeys, then barked, “Git over here!”

They took a few lurching steps toward him, but stopped uncertainly when Daisy paused next to Wolfy.

Mug turned and marched into the desert without another look. His men followed him.

Boss stepped onto the sand.

Brat hissed louder than Hawkeye had ever heard him, then actually growled. The Neighbors froze in alarm. He began to pant, his distress obvious. He hissed again.

“Something is– ” Hawkeye began.

Boss and Ebony locked gazes. Hawkeye had one second to look at their hatchet profiles, and then a gigantic light blossomed over the horizon.

Mug and his men froze in the glare, and then it stuttered out again, crackling like an electrical charge.

“What the – ” Second started to say, and then more light knifed over the horizon, and with it came a host of racing shadows, of impossible sounds and colors.

Boss roared above the chaos: “To the city! Make for the open door on the seventh level!”

Hawkeye wheeled and began to limp toward Evernight as fast as she could. Wolfy and Brat moved with her, slinking close to the ground, looking over their shoulders in terror.

“Run!” she screamed. “Don’t wait for me! Get up to the seventh level!” Because she wasn’t going to make it. Whatever was inside that light, whatever was casting the shadows that raced past her into the city, it would overtake her soon, and she had no doubt that it was the same thing that had overtaken the Southerners all those years ago. It howled at her heels, drove men and Neighbors up the stairs, and she was lagging far behind.

But Boss would have none of that – he scooped her up and ran with her. Hawkeye clutched his shirt, trying to be as tidy a burden as she could, watching Wolfy and Brat running just ahead, their muscles stretching and bunching as they practically flew up the stairs. Up one level, then two, up three levels, and as they started on the fourth, the sounds and lights and shadows seemed to be reaching some kind of crescendo. Hawkeye buried her face in Boss’s shoulder, sure they weren’t going to make it, yet still he climbed, and now Hawkeye thought she could make out words in the storm, shouts of alarm, panicked voices screaming, “Run! Lock the door! Where are you!?”

But Boss climbed as if he believed they could outrun doom.

Suddenly he was running on a level surface, and when she looked up she saw the open door, Wolfy and Brat running through the doorway, Ebony and Ivory standing just inside, yelling at them to hurry! Hurry! Almost there . . .

Hawkeye felt something lay a hand on the back of her head.

And then they were through, and the door slammed shut behind them.

-from Spirits Of Glory, by Emily Devenport

Vaughan Williams On Mars -- And The One That Captured My Heart

If you only like quiet, peaceful classical music, look elsewhere, because the Sinfonia Antartica will knock your socks off -- literally. It's based On Vaughan Williams' film score for the movie, SCOTT OF THE ANTARCTIC, and evokes that frozen, other-worldly landscape perfectly. In fact, it's so other-worldly I often find myself envisioning a lost expedition on Mars. Just substitute blowing dust for swirling snow . . .

The Sinfonia Antartica is Vaughan Williams' 7th symphony, and I believe it is one the the greatest ever written. From the first notes of the first movement it begins to ascend, as if climbing a frozen mountain. The views are spectacular and the journey is very dangerous. Danger and Beauty are probably the prevalent themes throughout the work, though there is a charming little side trip in the second movement to a penguin colony.

Scott's expedition ended tragically, and Vaughan Williams' symphony ultimately leads us into that gorgeous desolation, though a note of hope still persists, the very thing that leads explorers into wild places. That's why the overall effect of the Sinfonia Antartica is inspiration.

The Wasps is the second piece on this album, and contrasts marvelously to the 7th Symphony. It was written at an earlier period in RVW's life, and is more conventional in style. But both pieces evoke marvelous images in the listener's imagination. Adrian Boult conducts them beautifully, this is a must-have album for the collector.

When I was a kid, and just beginning to explore music, I loved a lot of the standards of classical music, and still do. But the composer who ultimately captured my heart was Ralph Vaughan Williams, and he did it with the 3rd symphony.

Prior to that time I had heard the emotionally and spiritually powerful THOMAS TALLIS FANTASIA and the delightful third movement of the LONDON SYMPHONY (also on EMI, conducted by John Barbirolli – Mr. Perfect Tempo). I heard these pieces on the radio, and didn't know who the composer was until my brother loaned me some cassette tapes, including the EMI, Adrian Boult recording of the 3rd & 5th symphonies. When I listened to them, I felt like a door in my soul had opened wide.

The 3rd symphony evokes a beautiful, lonely landscape, probably inspired by the French countryside during World War I, in which R.V.W. served as an ambulance driver. Read Ursula Vaughan Williams' biography of R. V. W. for more information about this chapter of the composer's life. When I was writing my 5th book, I listened to the 3rd symphony over and over, trying to capture the tone. This is no easy task – I agree with other reviewers that the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams isn't easy to describe with words.

Symphony 5 was written during World War II, by which time writing symphonies was the best contribution Vaughan Williams could make to the war effort. Both symphonies express a profound appreciation for the beauty of nature, an acknowledgement of the sadness and loss of war, and a belief in hope for the future.

It's funny, but when I'm listening to the music of Vaughan Williams I tend to see the wild and lonely places of Arizona, a landscape as different from England and France as it could possibly be. The 3rd symphony reminds me of Southern Arizona and the 5th always evokes the Grand Canyon. I think this is testimony to Ralph Vaughan Williams' ability to convey his deep understanding of and love for the wild places of the world. My heart is his, forever.

RT Spotlight Review Of THE NIGHT SHIFTERS

My Smashwords title, The Night Shifters, is featured in a Spotlight Review on RT Book Reviews for March 2011. It is very tough to get reviewers to look at e-books these days – partly because a lot of people have a dim view of the infernal e-reader gizmos, and partly because there is still some stigma attached to self-publishing. You have to convince a reviewer that your e-book is worth their time. Somehow I managed to do that.

This has been a tough year for a lot of us – perhaps some day people will look back at the pioneering we did and marvel. Hopefully, we'll be there to marvel with them . . .

A Snippet Of Seaside

Hawkeye shouldered her pack and hobbled around to the other side of the dune. One hundred paces farther South, the Neighbors stood facing Seaside, the donkeys clustered around them – and their own packs on their backs. Apparently, they had learned something from Hawkeye’s loss. Or perhaps they had suffered losses of their own, though if was hard to imagine anyone would dare to offer that sort of insult to a Neighbor.

But not impossible. So here they stood, their packs in tow, and when Hawkeye joined them, did she imagine their faces looked grim? Or at least more serious, if that were possible. Empty Seaside might have been enough to inspire grim expressions, certainly Hawkeye felt that way when she contemplated this city, once full of laughing, working, living people. All scooped off the face of the world in one night.

She felt apprehensive, too, but she saw nothing like that in the Neighbor’s faces – or nothing she could recognize as such.

“Where first, Hawkeye?” asked Boss.

She really had no idea. Before she could say so, Brat trotted forward, his tail high, his ears erect, his nose thrust toward the city. Wolfy and Daisy followed, casting looks over their shoulders as if worried the people might not follow them. But the people did, letting Brat lead the way, and the rest of the donkeys brought up the rear.

Hawkeye wondered which route the Scavengers would take into the city, surely they wouldn’t pass up a chance for strange salvage. But she saw no sign of them – perhaps they weren’t awake yet. Perhaps they had used her pain pills as a recreational drug, and now they were sleeping it off. If that were the case, it might almost be worth it to have lost the pills.

Brat lead them from a branching road onto a much wider one, and Hawkeye marveled at how new the pavement looked, as if it had just been resurfaced. Of course, no vehicles had been over it for centuries, so maybe this was no surprise. But shouldn’t the sun have taken its toll over the years, shouldn’t the wind have blown dirt and scouring sand over it? It practically gleamed in the morning light, the whole city did. As the morning grew older and they got closer to the city, her apprehension began to dim. In its place she felt a growing curiosity, tempered with a happiness that seemed entirely inappropriate. As if she were visiting an amusement park instead of a Forbidden City.

Wind whistled over walls and through empty streets, another thing that should have filled Hawkeye with apprehension, but she loved the sound of the wind, and this city seemed to have been designed to give it many voices. She had thought Lark would have been a lovely place to live, a place she might have been happy to settle in if the Southern gods had not made it a ghost town. But now she knew that Seaside would have been the place for her, despite the fact that its dwellers must have had to drill deep for water. She could imagine sitting on her own little terrace and listening to the wind, contemplating the passage of aeons across the dunes.

Brat led them through a city gate shaped like a giant seashell. When the last donkey had passed under its scalloped edges, time Fractured. Hawkeye could tell by the sound of the wind, which stopped whistling and began to sound like waves under water, as if they walked at the bottom of a brightly lit lagoon. Now the buildings of Seaside looked like a vast coral reef, and she and the others were bits of seaweed that drifted along the ocean floor, teased to and fro by eternal tides, yet still moving forward, following one small cat whose nose still pointed like an arrow. Happy eons seemed to pass as he led them up a wavering boulevard and finally in through double doors flanked by two lions of Seaside, much like the lions of Lark, except that these had bottoms and tails like seahorses, manes of seaweed, and eyes that peered through glimmering depths.

“Another library,” remarked Hawkeye, as everyone climbed the front steps and passed inside – including the donkeys. They seemed unwilling to stay outside, possibly because they were afraid of the Fracture. Inside, time seemed to be running more or less normally. Brat continued like an arrow toward a staircase at the far end of the lobby, and the donkeys looked like they might try to climb those, too.

“Brat,” Hawkeye called, “Stop.”

Brat paused and looked at her over his shoulder.

Hawkeye stroked the spot between Wolfy’s ears. “Will you tell Daisy to wait here with his herd? Will you wait with them?”

“Es,” promised Wolfy. He touched noses with Daisy and sat down, indicating his intention to stay put.

Brat resumed his role as leader, his tail twitching with minor annoyance. Hawkeye and the Neighbors followed him through the vast, shadowy lobby, to the foot of the broad staircase, which spiraled upward like a Nautilus. Brat ascended easily, but he slowed his pace when Ivory called, “Wait for Hawkeye!”

Hawkeye wished Brat would try the elevators instead, but probably they didn’t work. All of the machines had quit after the disappearance. She accepted Boss’s assistance to climb the stairs, grateful for his strength and patience. No one had ever assisted her this way, certainly not Bertie. Somehow she had gained the impression that he felt it would be bad for her to rely too much on others, that she might lose her independence. Later she realized that Bertie never helped her because Bertie only helped himself. And any other would-be gentlemen may have feared she would take offense. Boss did not harbor those assumptions, he merely did what was right.

Brat ran ahead a few steps, paused and waited for them to catch up, then ran up a few more. In this fashion, he led them past several landings, all the way to the top. As Boss helped Hawkeye up the last step, she took a moment to thank the Almighty that time had not fractured during that long climb. That would have been very wretched timing indeed.

The cat waited for them in the middle of a narrow hallway. Emergency lights glowed softly along the bottom of the walls, and Brat’s eyes reflected this light. He sniffed the air, walking cautiously now. Hawkeye wondered if he had lost the trail, until he pointed his nose at the spot where the hall turned a corner, his ears aimed forward. He froze like a statue. She stayed very still, hardly daring to breathe. The Neighbors did the same.

Brat walked stiff-legged and peered around the corner. He remained frozen again for a long time. When he finally moved again, he allowed his hind quarters to join his front, sitting in the fashion of ancient Egyptian cat statues and wrapping his tail tightly around his body. He turned his head to look at Hawkeye and meowed with the same voice he customarily used just before he threw up.

Here, his expression seemed to say. You must come and look.

from Spirits Of Glory, by Emily Devenport

Ralph Vaughan Williams' 9th Symphony

This is an historic recording for those who love music: Vaughan Williams Symphony No. 9 (conducted by Sir Adrian Boult) and Malcolm Arnold Symphony No. 3 (conducted by the composer), on Everest, EVC 9001, produced by Vanguard Classics. I bought mine on amazon.com, from the "new & used" section.

I love Ralph Vaughan Williams' 9th Symphony; to me it is a mixed bag of emotion. It always sparks cinematic images in my imagination, (all of my favorite RVW music does that for me, it's easy to understand why he was invited to write film scores). Perhaps because I'm American, I hear passages in the 9th that remind me of Bernard Herrmann and Aaron Copland. I own the historic Adrian Boult recording. When I played it again, just before writing this review, I imagined a world full of grandeur, danger, mystery, ruined in some places, but full of fascinating corners. There's a theme in the second movement that makes me think of tragic love, and I am particularly fond of the quirky third movement, which reminds me of marching robots. In fact I think RVW's 9th symphony would have made a fine soundtrack for Part 3 of Jackson's LORD OF THE RINGS movie trilogy. So I'm startled when I read that so many people feel its tone is bleak and ultimately hopeless.

I wonder if the answer lies in the fact that the emotions in Vaughan Williams' music are so complex. The first RVW piece I ever heard was the Thomas Tallis Fantasia, which pierced me to the core. I had never heard music that evoked the natural world so perfectly, yet was also deeply spiritual. My favorite piece is "The Lark Ascending," which always reminds me that emotions have two sides. For every moment of joy, there's the knowledge that sorrow exists too.

My favorite movement in the Pastoral Symphony is the 2nd. When I was writing my fifth novel, I listened to it over and over, trying to catch the tone. I mentioned it to my brother the other day, and once again heard the "b" word (bleak). And considering that RVW wrote this symphony when he was serving in France during World War I, this interpretation is justified. But it seems to me he must have seen some beautiful, lonely places during this time. I've lived in Arizona all my life, a state full of beautiful, lonely places that many people might consider bleak. I hear that 2nd movement, and I see beautiful-lonely. I hear RVW's 7th symphony, and I see Scott trekking into Antarctica, but I also see an expedition to Mars. When I hear the 5th symphony, I often see the Grand Canyon, though it couldn't be farther from London during WWII. I hear the 9th and wish I were a fantasy film maker, so I could use it as a score.

Okay, I'm a bit of a kook, and my other musical preferences are eclectic, everything from Rachmaninoff and Prokofiev to Respighi, Grieg, Debussy, Liadov, etc. Much as I love these other composers, no one speaks to me as clearly as Ralph Vaughan Williams. In the last movement of his 9th, I can see things clashing, falling down, coming apart, but the strings and that subtle harp at the end seem to suggest that the stars continue to shine down on us anyway, and maybe the things that fall apart are the things that should.

There's one other important fact about this historic recording: In a brief introduction, Sir Adrian Boult tells us that Ralph Vaughan Williams passed away the night before. This places the recording firmly at a momentous point in history. I suspect that's why the Arnold Symphony is also included here, since the composer is conducting his own work. This recording is a cherished one in my collection.

Weird And Wonderful Arizona

If you've never been to Arizona, you're missing one of the wonders of the world. Plenty of other places are beautiful. Plenty of other places have history, or political power, or cultural significance. But Arizona is a unique collection of oddities and wonders that you won't find anywhere else.

This isn't something you would necessarily believe if you only visited Phoenix. Not if you've never been to the Desert Botanical Garden, or the Heard Museum – not if you feel beauty is only solid green and humid. I admit, it's easier to appreciate Arizona if you like geology, lightning, birds, and giant, columnar cacti. You may think you'll only see desert vistas here if you don't know that our highest peak is around 12,600 feet and that we have snowy, forested mountains as well as deep, dry basins.

But I admit our reputation as a desert state is well-earned. All four of the great deserts of North America dangle their toes into Arizona. To the North is the Great Basin Desert, spilling over our border from Utah and Nevada – it's a rain-shadow desert full of scrubby sage-brush. In the North-West is the Mojave, whose most famous feature is Death Valley, another Wonder of the World – its signature plant is the Joshua Tree. From the South-East, the Chihuahuan Desert spills into Texas, New Mexico, and the South-Eastern basins of Arizona – it harbors shrubs and small, tough cacti. But the biggest desert in Arizona is the Sonoran, in the South and South-West. It's the only place in the world that has two rainy seasons. And the Sonoran is the American desert with the warmest winter. That's why we're the only place in the world where the Saguaro grows.

Stand alone in the open desert among a group of saguaros, and you won't feel alone. They live between 100 and 200 years, and they have a presence. Think of them as the Ents of the desert. They can be a scruffy lot, and they often make faces at people. Some of them look more dead than alive. But some of them top 50 feet, and one famous guy has over 100 arms.

Arizona is Geology Heaven, a place where the rocks aren't “haired over” by vegetation. We have a long, varied volcanic history, starting about 1.7 billion years ago when our chunk of North America plowed into the ancient Canadian Shield. The Grand Canyon is unparalleled in its ability to represent millions of years of sediment laid down by shallow seas and by lakes, rivers, and even sand dunes. But Arizona is one, giant erosion feature – we have many other canyons. Oak Creek Canyon is an enchanted place with deep red sandstone. Walnut Canyon is carved from the same cross-bedded Coconino sandstone and Kaibab limestone found at the top of the Grand Canyon.

Despite decades of plundering by fools and yahoos, the Petrified Forest features the best examples of petrified wood in the world. You can see petroglyphs on Newspaper Rock and near one of the preserved archaeological sites in the park. But my favorite thing about Petrified Forest is its bizarre Chinle layer, which doesn't quite look like any other sedimentary group I've ever seen. It's made up of shale, silt, mudstone, a little sand, and silica from volcanic ash. It's colors range from blue to red, pink, brown, green, yellow, tan – based on whatever trace elements are present.

We have a meteor crater. We have a volcano that last erupted about 1000 years ago. We have more bird species than any other state in the union. We have thunderstorms that sound like atomic explosions. We have snowstorms AND sandstorms. We have the best Mexican food in the southwest (stop squawking, Texas and New Mexico – you know it's true). Navajos and Hopis own most of the North-East part of our state – a place that looks a lot like Mars. The Spaniards never successfully colonized us, thanks to the Apaches and their original Homeland Security. The coldest winter temperature on record for Phoenix was 16 degrees Fahrenheit – the hottest summer temperature was 123 degrees Fahrenheit.

And we're good-looking, too. Though we can be a scruffy lot. And some of us make faces at people.

If you're thinking of visiting, try all of those places I mentioned. You'll be amazed. But you'll barely scratch the surface of what's here. I've lived here over 50 years, and I'm still exploring. Sometimes I dream of visiting other places. Sometimes I even go. But I'm like the saguaro. This is the only place I can live.

Maybe if I live another 50 years, I'll even grow some more arms . . .