Art Rock


Jayni's parents left today which allowed us to have our time back after a week of entertaining and being entertained. Craving something different, we drove up to Deer Valley Rock Art Park north of Phoenix. This park is not to be confused with the Deer Valley Art Rock Park featuring bands like Yes and Pink Floyd. Actually, the latter park is fictitious yet necessary as kids today have no clue about anything related to rock. I am trying to change that with Rhiannon. I can't believe I just wrote, "kids today". I'm 36.

Anyway, the park features ca. 1,500 petroglyphs, symbols and figures that were etched into the Hedgewood Hills, a massive collection of volcanic boulders impossibly piled atop one another. It looks as if the hills will collapse at any moment, smushing photographers and small children with impunity. Nature is amoral and has the potential to destroy both the cute and good looking.

But the native peoples here, most likely the Hohokam, took risks and climbed all over these granite hills, leaving their marks for future generations to ponder. We do not know what many of these symbols mean, only that they were carved by people hundreds of years ago for some unknown purpose.

When we entered the park's museum (Rhiannon, still 5, got in free), she was handed a clipboard with a purple sheet of paper (how did they know she adores purple?) on which were twelve petroglyphs to look for. Out of 1,500. When did the place close for the night? Rhiannon, however, took her charge seriously, and it was out the door and down the trail in search of rocks with pictures on them.

She immediately starts circling things she sees: a spiral, a snake, a bug-like thing which we hope was not carved as actual size as the bugger is three feet long. Never mind that these symbols are not necessarily on the rocks, but are appearing on the signage around the park.

"Dad! There's a spiral!"

"That's on the poster."

"So? It's a spiral and it's on my sheet. I am circling it."

If there are rules, Rhiannon knows how to get around them on technicalities. And she gets made at me when I enforce the rules when playing chess. She hates not being able to work around boundaries, and it is cute, at times, to watch her figure her way out of corners with her agile mind.

We sit on stone benches and contemplate the rocks for an hour. Rhiannon rushing back and forth like a crazed surveyor, looking through the park's telescopes, making notes, drawing smileys, until she is preoccupied with a gecko. The lizard is black and brown and six inches long, tip to tail. She stalks it, and it runs.

"Dad! If I see a gecko close to me, I will stomp on it!"

"Why?"

"So it won't get on me!"

"It won't get on you."

"Why not?"

"Because you are too pretty."

She settles down, thinking that this is an excellent answer. On our way back to the museum, Rhiannon discovers a small stage recessed in the desert foliage. It is normally used by volunteers as they give a pre-walk lecture on rock art in Arizona. Today it is used by Rhiannon to serenade park-goers with her vocal interpretations of Katy Perry songs. Look them up. She does not sing the naughty words.

Rock art. And plain rock. Rhiannon loves them both, and that makes me very, very happy.

Rhiannon. Petrifyingly cute.

Andrew (Papa)