The Stepford Lives
Thus far, we are enjoying our stay in Sahuarita, Arizona. The weather has improved to the sunny 70s, which is about as good as it gets, in my opinion.
With the temperature change, we've spent more time outside. In fact, we spent the whole day yesterday lounging around or strolling through the compound that is Rancho Sahuarita. It's a "planned community" of closely spaced stuccoed houses in tans and mauves and greens situated around a strikingly large, shockingly blue lake. Also shocking is the fact that this lake exists at all in the middle of the Sonoran Desert--AND that it's seething with trout and panfish which are restocked every fall because they die off in the scorching summer heat.
It didn't, of course, show up there on its own. It was a case of "build it and they will come"--and they have, yuppies and real estate investors, mostly. You see the young homeowners making laps around the lake all day long. Pairs of men run together in the early morning in stocking caps and gloves; young mothers push elaborate strollers with a baby inside and a dog or two leashed to the frame. Around and around they go (the distance around is just over a mile), enjoying their beautiful scenery.
I say "their" because this community is a gated as well as a planned one. You need to know the code to get in, and once the gates swing closed behind you, the streets are eerily quiet and still. A second inner gate runs between the houses nearest it (of which ours is one) and the lake so that you need a key to gain access to it--if you're not game to climb over, which would no doubt be frowned upon.
There are public access points to the long, narrow lake at its two ends, but there is little parking to encourage people to drop on by and use it. Anglers do, and maybe some walkers, but that's about it. Otherwise it belongs to the residents of Sahuarita.
The yards and streets are, for the most part, pristine. I saw a pair of gents cruising around the lake on the sidewalk that skirts it, one driving one of those "Gator" mini utility vehicles and the other standing in front of its passenger seat, using a leaf blower to remove unsightly stones or plant matter from the path. You'll encounter the occasional pile of dog doo (and I noticed a large strawberry that's been in the same spot for two days), but other than that, it's, well, nearly perfect. Scarily perfect, I would say.
All the activity centers on the lake, which I suppose is what one would expect. Until the end of the workday, there is virtually no activity on the streets. It's an odd feeling to one who spends a lot of time mucking about the yard with two little kids. Without front yards to speak of, or even backyards of any considerable size, that's the way it needs to be, I guess. But it's still foreign.
Don't get me wrong. I'll take clear, sunny skies and a one-mile running loop around a lake any day. But I take it with a small dose of righteous indignation over anything that smells of exclusivity.
With the temperature change, we've spent more time outside. In fact, we spent the whole day yesterday lounging around or strolling through the compound that is Rancho Sahuarita. It's a "planned community" of closely spaced stuccoed houses in tans and mauves and greens situated around a strikingly large, shockingly blue lake. Also shocking is the fact that this lake exists at all in the middle of the Sonoran Desert--AND that it's seething with trout and panfish which are restocked every fall because they die off in the scorching summer heat.
It didn't, of course, show up there on its own. It was a case of "build it and they will come"--and they have, yuppies and real estate investors, mostly. You see the young homeowners making laps around the lake all day long. Pairs of men run together in the early morning in stocking caps and gloves; young mothers push elaborate strollers with a baby inside and a dog or two leashed to the frame. Around and around they go (the distance around is just over a mile), enjoying their beautiful scenery.
I say "their" because this community is a gated as well as a planned one. You need to know the code to get in, and once the gates swing closed behind you, the streets are eerily quiet and still. A second inner gate runs between the houses nearest it (of which ours is one) and the lake so that you need a key to gain access to it--if you're not game to climb over, which would no doubt be frowned upon.
There are public access points to the long, narrow lake at its two ends, but there is little parking to encourage people to drop on by and use it. Anglers do, and maybe some walkers, but that's about it. Otherwise it belongs to the residents of Sahuarita.
The yards and streets are, for the most part, pristine. I saw a pair of gents cruising around the lake on the sidewalk that skirts it, one driving one of those "Gator" mini utility vehicles and the other standing in front of its passenger seat, using a leaf blower to remove unsightly stones or plant matter from the path. You'll encounter the occasional pile of dog doo (and I noticed a large strawberry that's been in the same spot for two days), but other than that, it's, well, nearly perfect. Scarily perfect, I would say.
All the activity centers on the lake, which I suppose is what one would expect. Until the end of the workday, there is virtually no activity on the streets. It's an odd feeling to one who spends a lot of time mucking about the yard with two little kids. Without front yards to speak of, or even backyards of any considerable size, that's the way it needs to be, I guess. But it's still foreign.
Don't get me wrong. I'll take clear, sunny skies and a one-mile running loop around a lake any day. But I take it with a small dose of righteous indignation over anything that smells of exclusivity.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 7:41 AM
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