Cascabel on the San Pedro

The fair site in the mesquite bosque that is Cascabel.

Cascabel isn't a place as much as a concept. It's an area on the San Pedro River about five miles north of where the paved road from Benson ends. The dirt road continues down the San Pedro (it flows to the north) another 25 miles or so until San Manuel, which puts you back on asphalt again near Oracle. That 30 miles of dirt would take you past another concept in geography, Redington, all the time keeping the Santa Catalina Mountains on your left. But we didn't go past the pottery kiln just south of the old hamlet of Cascabel.

Shari noticed an article in our local Tucson newspaper, the Arizona Daily Star, about a ghost town coming alive annually for a fair, the Cascabel Community Fair -- in this case, the 32nd annual. We donned our boots, packed the two furry kids in back of Smokey Ganesha (our Explorer), and headed for the San Pedro.

Cliffs by the San Pedro that look like castle walls.

The drive was well worth it.  Not the I-10 freeway to Benson, or the paved road past the Mormon church spire, but the San Pedro itself. It's a narrow band of mesquite bosque (forest) by the river bed bounded by the Rincon and Santa Catalina Mountains on the left and the Little Dragoon and Galiuro Mountains on the right.

The San Pedro saw Hohokam settlements and Pueblo people migrations. Unlike the Phoenix (Gila and Salt Rivers) and Tucson (Santa Cruz) basins, the San Pedro hasn't seen much modern development. It's downright remote. So its archeological sites are much better preserved and accessible. Its remoteness has protected it, which makes the San Pedro feel particularly special.

One of two quilt booths

They claim over a thousand people come to the two-day Cascabel Community Fair. They probably had more this year, given the newspaper article. There was a regular stream of cars on that dirt N. Cascabel Road, and there were scores and scores parked under mesquite trees.

According to one Fair organizer, there are about a couple of hundred people living within a ten-mile radius, a very diverse community. They create the event, and we met some of the nicest people. The nucleus of the Fair is a homestead where a pottery kiln had been constructed. Pottery, alpacas, local honey, quilts (yes Cini, quilts), jewelry, paintings, cards, and even Christmas bric-a-brac were for sale. The food booth, the largest of the booths, had banks of crock-pots loaded with chile (bland, but hearty) and whatever it is that makes a sloppy joe.

And the band plays on.

Locals had bumper stickers against freeway and high voltage electric lines in the valley.  Apparently, the powers that be had an idea of constructing a freeway bypass of Tucson that would have run the length of the valley, and another idea to lace the valley with high tension towers. Among the two dozen or so booths were tables devoted to the local environment.

Three guys were playing music, mostly country (some Hank Williams) and vintage pop, and all good. The amplifier, mercifully and tastefully befitting the bosque setting, was turned to a setting where you could hear the music without wanting to shield your ears and run.

The artist community castle.

It struck me that most of the attendees were older people.  The hippie generation is grey-haired. More SUV's and BMW's than pickups and funky vans. But there were lots of pickups. A teenage gothic couple, all in black with that metal-pierced look, seemed awkwardly dressed for the occasion, but they were enjoying the event.  Another awkwardly young (probably local high school) couple seemed to be on their first date.

A short walk away was a sort of a funky forest castle. A Tasmanian guide (been here for thirty years but still had a thick accent) offered admission for a dollar.  He said it was built by Mexican construction workers using their own techniques and materials and had served as an artist community. We spent a buck and Shari toured the upstairs loft where she found an altar with pictures of Ramakrishna and Anandamayi Ma. Nice.

So I think we will give the Cascabel Community Fair very high marks indeed. I'd like to go again next year and drive a few extra miles to see the hamlet that's supposed to be the ghost town. I'd take the big camera with a telephoto lens and get a better shot, early in the morning, of the cliff that looks like castle walls. And maybe I will spend a dollar and go inside the artists' castle while Shari holds the two furry kids outside.

May Google not sue me for infringement.