POTTER: Surviving life without trees (a love story to southeast Idaho)

I recently moved to Arizona.

Yes, I am no longer a resident of southeast Idaho. And while it’s true I did not think I was totally in love with the southeast Idaho area … it turns out I am. I do love Arizona (I’m a half-hour south of Phoenix, by the way), but there are more differences than I expected, and some of them border on heartbreaking.

There were a lot of things people told me about Arizona that turned out to be true (cacti are scary and hurt a lot, the subject of several columns to come), and things that have yet to show their faces (scorpions, rattlesnakes, heat). But there is one thing nobody told me and even if they did, I wouldn’t have believed it.

Example: trees. Specifically the lack of them.

I don’t even know what to do with myself without trees. I’ve been on a couple of hikes so far, and just figured if I climbed high enough or got more into the heart of the wilderness, that I would find trees. I just found more cacti. So many cacti! And at every turn I found more missing from my hiking experience due to the lack of trees, such as:

• I had nowhere to practice with my new throwing knives. And before you wonder if I could have practiced on the 50-foot tall massive cacti, I have been told by every single person I’ve met here that if I so much as breathe on a cactus, black helicopters will swoop and swarm while body-armored FBI/local law enforcement joint task forces force me to the ground (avoiding any cactus, of course), cuff me and send me to some hot Arizona prison for the rest of my life. Seriously, touching a cactus is apparently the most illegal thing you can do here. When I joke about it, it is not funny.



• I couldn’t find a walking stick.
• I could see for miles in every direction and felt very exposed.
• There was no wood for a fire (although I don’t know if you can just build a fire here. I should find that out).
• Without the deep, expansive root structure of trees to hold it in place, every step I took up a hill created a landslide.
• And finally, I missed just the beauty and variety and grandeur of trees.

So what’s the point here? Well, part of it is just plain complaining. However, the more important part is a plea for advice from anyone who knows the Arizona outdoor life. I don’t even care if you’ve been here/have any experience here. Tell me what you think. Make stuff up for me to try. Tell me what I’m missing. Tell me what to do in the great, desert-y, Phoenix-area outdoors.

Please. In the meantime, I’ll mount this picture my wife took in the Teton Mountains on my wall, to sustain me until I again find myself in the place I’m still calling home.