Hank and Jerome — Unruly Skoolie

From The Grand Canyon we make the broad yet easy- going trek down to the more mysterious parts of Arizona. I'm miffed to be heading south, but Flagstaff is on Skeets' shortlist for new homes for us to scout so I humor him even though I know in my heart that Arizona can’t be our new home (FU, SB 1070). However, I am intrigued... We're behind our nonexistent schedule but I've heard about Sedona… I’ve heard of the energy vortexes and I’m always open to a little magic. Plus, my old friend Hank lives in the ghost town of Jerome, a storied old mining town carved in the side of a mountain. So south we go…

Flagstaff is cool, really cool actually, but my sights are set elsewhere and within a day and some change we find ourselves descending into the sacred Verde Valley where after a gorgeous plunge downward through extraterrestrial red rock canyons and old towering pines we land our craft finally in Sedona, that other worldly oasis… unexpected… welcomed...

Like Austin, like many places I'm sure, I find myself thinking that Sedona would have been irresistible twenty years ago, back before the bougies moved in. It’s posh, for sure, but even so, the draw remains grounded. We give up on finding a place to bootleg, so we rent a motel room for the night and set out to explore the vortexes for ourselves in the morning. And no, we won’t be having our auras photographed for $45, thank you very much.

I hate to admit this, but we don’t really feel the surge of energy coming from the two vortexes we visit. Maybe it’s because Phoenix is being an ungrateful toddler today and distracting us with his incessant whining so much that we can’t feel the powerful forces rising beneath our very feet. I wanted to feel it, but this is our reality today and the hike and the view and being together on this ridiculous journey is magic enough for me. By the second vortex we are happy to find water, blessed perhaps, and spend a few hours in the sacred valley in what might be described as a supernatural euphoria. Fine. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but looking back now, a few days later, it was kind of ethereal…

Jerome is a different beast all together.

Jerome is a ghost town, enjoying a revival thanks to its legend, its quirk, and probably the well traveled route from Sedona to Prescott. But it’s more than that, thanks to people like Hank and his friend Jan, who we were lucky to spend a few days with up on the mountain side.

Hank and I used to be closer, back when our days were more carefree and all we had to do all day was swim and party and enjoy Austin. We were always hustling, but we were rich in time. Since I’ve seen him last I’ve married, had a child and been through the violent deaths of my dad and sister, whom he both knew and loved. Since he saw me last he had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer, had surgery and treatment, went broke, lost his step-dad and moved two states away. You know… life happened. I feel ashamed for not having kept up with him during that time in his life. When I moved away from Austin and was grieving I was a bad friend to many people I love, Charlotte, Sarah Megan, Hank. I could barely breath in and out under the weight of the grief…

I tell him these things and he brushes it off. His weight, too, was immense and he’s not holding a grudge. He plays us a song inspired by my dad and I die a little bit inside with the crushing pain and grace of being human, of healing, of friendships…

If you’ve never heard the music of my friend Hank Erwin, please stop reading and YouTube him. “Elizabeth” is maybe my favorite but I’ve always found his music to be straight from the gut. Not too cerebral, not too sentimental… they’re love songs, many of them, but they hurt and feel good at the same time. It’s like I wrote them myself, if I could ever write something beautiful. Anyhow, it’s comforting to be far from home and back in his company, listening to his dark and familiar voice. To spend spend these day with him and his lovely accomplice, Jan has made Jerome feel like it could be home. We are quite taken with the eccentricities and mystery and view and days go by and we can’t seem to leave.

Time stops in Jerome. Proof here at the haunted Grand Hotel.

But, of course, the time to leave arrives and it’s bitter sweet to leave such a lovely situation. We know the drive to Vegas is long and we’re not quite looking forward to it, but as soon as we’re on the road and Jerome is out of sight, we’re looking onward to whatever is next.

May we always find friends and that sweet taste of home.