Returning to Northern Arizona
Three Trips. Three Decades. One Landscape Woven into Our Family Story.
There are some places we visit once and remember fondly.
Then there are the places we return to, again and again, each visit becoming part of our story.
For me, northern Arizona is one of those places.
This past January, Tim and I traded an Ontario winter where we were buried under snow for a week of sunshine in Phoenix.
Early morning as we left for the airport. The snow banks were even bigger when we returned.
We planned the trip around sunshine, saguaros, and the Sonoran Desert, but before long we found ourselves driving north toward Sedona and the Grand Canyon—not simply to revisit beautiful places, but to revisit earlier chapters of our lives.
The Beginning
The first time I visited Sedona, I was expecting our daughter, Tessa.
My parents had recently retired and were spending an extended stretch exploring the American Southwest. They invited me to join them while Tim stayed home for work and to paint the nursery.
Tessa ultimately arrived six weeks early, so that Arizona trip turned out to be just a month before she was born. It's a good thing Tim had that uninterrupted time to finish getting everything ready for her arrival.
Because I was in the final weeks of pregnancy, we stayed around Sedona rather than venturing up to the Grand Canyon. I remember wandering through Tlaquepaque Arts & Shopping Village, with its shaded courtyards, fountains, archways, and towering sycamore trees.
Here I am, about 30 weeks pregnant, with my mother at Tlaquepaque.
I fell in love with the red rock landscape and hoped that someday I would return with Tim.
At the time, I couldn't have imagined what a special part of our family's story northern Arizona would become. With each return came a different season of our lives—and another layer of memories.
Family Memories
Four years later, I returned with Tim, Tessa, and baby Willem.
This time we stayed in the Sedona timeshare my parents had purchased after that first visit. They shared it with my aunt, and it became the setting for one of those special family vacations that stay with you forever.
Tessa, who had adored pigs since she was barely a year old, was enchanted by the painted javelina statues scattered throughout Tlaquepaque. She knew perfectly well they weren't pigs—we had read Don't Call Me Pig so many times that she could have explained the difference to anyone who asked—but to her they were close enough to inspire hours of delighted searching and countless photographs.
Looking back now, I realize that what I remember most isn't the shopping village itself.
It was watching Tessa discover it.
When Tim and I returned this January, the memories came flooding back.
We took a walk through the grounds of the timeshare where we had stayed, and my parents’ unit looked exactly as we remembered it. Within moments we were laughing about the neighbours downstairs who had asked to be moved because of the mysterious clunking overhead. The culprit had been one-year-old Willem, happily commando-crawling across the floor with a toy car in his hand.
At Tlaquepaque, the javelinas were gone.
For a moment I mourned that happy little chapter of Tessa's childhood.
Then a shopkeeper smiled when I mentioned them.
He remembered the fundraiser that had brought the statues to the village all those years ago. Businesses had sponsored artists to decorate them before they were auctioned off. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "There's still one over by Pink Jeep Tours."
We drove over immediately.
There it was.
A bright pink mother javelina with her bright pink baby.
We laughed, took a picture, and immediately sent it to Tessa, who remembered both the statues and Don't Call Me Pig as vividly as we did.
That sculpture was enough to bring an entire childhood rushing back.
Before leaving Sedona, we took a short walk on the Airport Mesa Loop Trail. It was the perfect way to soak in the red rock scenery before continuing north.
Returning to the Canyon
On my first Arizona trip, pregnancy had kept us from visiting the Grand Canyon.
The second time, we made it there together as a family.
This January, Tim and I returned again, just the two of us.
As we approached the South Rim, we found ourselves trying to remember exactly where we'd stood twenty years earlier with my parents, Tessa, and Willem. Eventually we found ourselves standing at what we think was the same overlook.
Some places seem almost unchanged.
Others change just enough to remind us that time has passed.
Either way, the memories remain.
Bright Angel Lodge and the Rim Trail
Like many travellers, we're usually careful with our travel budget. My parents were too. But they also believed that every so often, a place was worth stretching for—not because it was luxurious, but because staying there was part of truly experiencing it.
That's why we looked into staying at Bright Angel Lodge.
To our surprise, an off-season visit made it affordable, and suddenly we found ourselves spending the night right on the edge of one of the world's greatest natural wonders.
Arriving at the lodge
The Rim Trail immediately behind the lodge
The impressive fire place in the reception area
After dinner, as it was beginning to get dark, we stepped right out the back door of the lodge onto the Rim Trail where the lights of El Tovar, further up the Rim Trail, glowed invitingly.
El Tovar, perched on the edge of the canyon, at dusk
We wandered over to look around and made a reservation for lunch the following day—another lesson borrowed from my parents. They had discovered long ago that lunch in a grand historic dining room offered much the same experience as dinner, often at a much friendlier price. They happily made exceptions for truly special occasions, though, which is exactly why Willem celebrated his first birthday there twenty years earlier.
All lit up as darkness falls
By the time we headed back to Bright Angel Lodge, night had fallen and we were alone on the trail.
I was intensely aware that an immense space lay just beyond the darkness, yet I couldn't really see it. Tim walked confidently toward the stone wall to peer over the edge. I stayed well back, content to feel the vastness in the dark.
The next morning, we woke before sunrise and enjoyed a hearty breakfast before setting off on a hike as the first light began to spill across the canyon walls.
Our window from the booth in the lodge dining room looked out toward the rim.
One of my strongest memories from that first family visit is actually from the Bright Angel Trail.
My mom stayed behind with Tessa and Willem while my dad, Tim, and I walked partway into the canyon together.
Even now I can picture his jaunty black beret disappearing down the trail ahead of us, and I can hear the excitement in his voice as we descended into one of the world's great landscapes.
Another memory from that time at the canyon has become part of the family lore.
At one lookout, my father wandered just a little beyond the marked path for a better view. Tessa, who was almost four and took rules very seriously, was deeply concerned because of the posted warning signs to stay on the trail.
She summed my dad up perfectly with loving exasperation.
"Grandpa is just like Curious George."
She wasn't criticizing him.
She was explaining him.
Curious enough to wander.
Loved enough that everyone wanted to keep him safe.
El Tovar
One of the highlights of that family trip was celebrating Willem's first birthday at El Tovar.
Of course my dad wanted a first birthday to be celebrated somewhere memorable.
It was a wonderful evening—and a very real one.
Willem, who, along with Tessa, had been diagnosed with an ear infection earlier that day, did remarkably well through dinner before finally growing tired and swatting at his sore ear. Tessa worked hard to entertain him with his new boardbook and toy vehicle. My parents were delighted to be celebrating with the four of us.
Twenty years later, Tim and I returned for lunch.
The same dining room felt completely different.
The meal was quiet, unhurried, and wonderfully relaxing.
Not better than the birthday dinner.
Just a different season of life.
Looking Ahead
After lunch we wandered over to visit the mule paddock.
I stood there, watching the mules and imagining what it would be like to ride down into the canyon and stay overnight at Phantom Ranch, just as the Brady Bunch had done in one of their most memorable episodes.
Before one trip was even over, I was already dreaming about the next.
This time, I wasn't imagining another trip for myself.
I was imagining returning with Tessa and Willem.
Some habits are learned so naturally that we don't even notice them becoming part of us.
My father always seemed to be thinking about the next adventure before the current one had ended. My mother still laughs that I'm exactly the same.
Standing beside those mules, already picturing another journey with the people I love most, I had to admit she was right.
That’s one of the greatest gifts he passed on to me.
Not simply a love of travel.
A way of travelling.
Stories Along the Way
Long before I ever visited the Grand Canyon, I loved Marguerite Henry's Misty books. Discovering Brighty of the Grand Canyon in the gift shop felt like finding a forgotten piece of my childhood. We bought a copy and then listened to the audiobook on the drive back to Phoenix, letting the story extend our time at the canyon.
Tim's curiosity took a different direction. After we returned home, he picked up Kevin Fedarko's A Walk in the Park, the remarkable story of hikers who traversed the entire length of the Grand Canyon. Before long, we were talking about the canyon all over again—and imagining future adventures of our own.
My childhood copy of Misty next to my new copy of Brighty.
