On the banks of Cave Creek, where soldiers once made regular stops to quench their thirst and rest their horses on the dusty trail to Fort Whipple in Prescott, Paula Scully examines the seedlings in the large garden behind her home.
Not one for flash or pretense, her cropped blond hair brushes her shoulders as she browses through rows of raised planters sprinkled with squash, strawberries, carrots, lemongrass, cucumbers, zucchini, herbs, flowers and other treats. Grape vines, still dormant for the season, form promising tangles on the wire mesh above; they will provide much-needed shade as the days get longer. Chickens, ducks and goats greet her from their pens, eager to let her know they are hungry.
The natural beauty of the garden and the surrounding five-acre property are a breathtaking find in the North Valley desert, but as Paula has learned, beauty alone means little without someone to share it with. And, like the garden which may, at first glance, appear to have no rhyme...