Now I know.

Tuesday I had the chance to visit Cibola ,Arizona. This is where my Grandpa Arnett had a farm with his brothers. Growing up I knew some vague details about it. I remember when ever my dad talked about the farm, it was about how hard they worked and mainly the HEAT. The average summer temperature was 115. I also remember when ever it was brought up it was talked about with sadness and yet reverence.
I knew that my grandpa's two brothers Marvin and Fred Arnett were killed in a plane crash as they were leaving the farm. This accident had devastating consequences. apx 18 children were left fatherless. My grandpa lost his best friends and partners. ( he witnessed the accident and had to pull them from the burning wreckage.) They also lost the farm.
In my mind I always assumed it was a 40 acre field of some sort. It was not.

I did not know the magnitude of the farm (some 2500 acres) and the effort it took to make it the verdant valley it is today, out of the salt cedar covered desert it was. I can only imagine the years, day after day it took to pull every last stump from the ground to make it farmable. I can only imagine my grandpa waking up his two older sons 10 and 12 at dawn, crossing a rudimentary ferry on 50 gallon drums to the farm and starting another day of tedious clearing. Coming home beat by the sun and the heat. I was not prepared to see the seven mile canal he dug by himself from the mighty Colorado River to the farm. How does one put in a head gate at the life blood river of the west. As the 4 boys aged to teens they planted, weeded and harvested the cotton and alfalfa and running cattle on the other half of the ranch in the searing 115 degree heat. They had no air conditioning. There was no respite from the heat. Despite these hardships knowing someday this was all going to be worth it. You were going to be king of this valley. I was not prepared for the majesty of the farm and the kinship I felt for the place I had never seen. I was not prepared for the beauty and peace the green fields brought and yet the sorrow I felt for my Grandpa, my father and his brother's loss. I was not prepared for the crash site and the hushed and still raw wounds the place brought. I did not know the mountains surrounding the valley would be strangely endearing. Now I know.



Growing up I used to wonder why my dad did some of the "unusual" things he did. Once he planted our entire back yard in corn . Another time it was colored pima cotton. We always had some calves we were raising. Most of the places we lived were on the outskirts of town surrounded by fields. I used to hate that. We were always so far from town ( friends ).

Now I know.

It was what he knew. The fields that surrounded us reminded him of home. The back yard planted in corn meant hope. The cattle gave him a link to his promised past.

Now I find myself chasing wheat fields, photographing green alfalfa , toying with the idea of planting my acre in flowers and loving being surrounded by farm fields that are fast disappearing.

Now I know.
Bridge where the ferry was.

Former field reclaimed by thick salt cedar.






(green Fields above) Arnett Brothers fields now part of Cibola National Wildlife refuge. Still farmed by the goverment for the refuge (meaning deer)
the 7 mile Canal
road along the canal . 7 miles feel really long when you look at it this way.You cant even see 7 miles

The river.

Crash site . This was a plane runway.

Cold water well at the neighbors . The LC Bishop Ranch
Below is the story tellers.