Dalit Berkowitz

Arizona was a recent destination for work and play. The work part included a photography shoot in Yavapai County, Arizona, and the play part involved staying with a dear friend I hadn’t seen in years. (By the way, in case you’re wondering, Prescott’s second syllable rhymes with the latter part of the word biscuit. True story.)

It turned out to be a daylong drive with two stops, one in the ironically named Desert Center (it’s in the center of nothing as opposed to being a center of some sort of activity with, maybe, a gas station? as I had hoped), and the second, in the even more ironically called Blythe, California. None too blithesome as far as I could tell, but then again, it was 111 degrees. I will say that the gentleman earnestly doing Tai Chi inside the Starbucks at Blythe did make me smile. I don’t understand why I don’t see that more often at my local Starbucks in LA. But I digress.

Prescott was green and hilly with wide streets and nostalgic brick buildings including the famous Whisky Row of numerous saloons. My friend and I had six years of life to catch up on and dug right in. When Lori discovered I hadn’t ever been to Sedona or the neighboring town Jerome, a fascinating former mining town with ghostly and artsy trappings, she drove us there the next day. We rambled, ate, talked, and hiked around the famous Bell Rock Vortex.

The photo shoot was the following day and it turned out to be its own mystical adventure, complete with face paint, feathers and sage.

The journey back was easier, though driving west on the 10 freeway toward the painstakingly slow setting sun is not something I would recommend…take note! After all, I am glad to be back in Los Angeles, glad to return home to my husband and life here. And I’m grateful for my safe trip of fellowship, adventure and art-making.