A ranch in Arizona suitable for all ages
EACH February, I find myself in the Tucson, Arizona, desert atop a sweaty 450-kilogram horse, his hoofs pounding through the rocky wash at a steady gallop. I lean back, keep the heels of my boots down in the stirrups and try to roll my hips to stay in rhythm with the horse, and thereby in the saddle. The speed of the loping horses, the shimmering sun, the dust in my eyes and the dramatic beauty of Saguaro National Park and the Rincon Mountains give me an exhilarating rush of pure, adrenaline-fired joy.
Occasionally, though, I fall out of sync with my horse or I think about the jack rabbits or rattlesnakes that could dart out of the brush, cause my horse to shy and throw me into the cactuses or under his metal shoes, and I grit my teeth in terror.
Soon, hands shoot up in front of me like prairie dogs – a silent signal from one rider to the next. My horse recognises the cue even before I do. My body lurches forward as he slows to a walk. I am breathless, thrilled . . . and relieved to have stayed astride my horse for another lope.
I’m ready for lunch!
Since 1950, members of my family have convened among the cactuses, cowboys and cowgirls to ride through the desert, learn lasso tricks and trip through Western dance lessons at dude ranches in Tucson. Four generations of Lasers and Shlenskys have found that a ranch in the Arizona desert offers the ideal mix of respite, natural beauty and activities for all ages to make this quick family getaway a tradition we just can’t kick.
The ritual began when my mum, Evely Laser, then 8, tested positive for tuberculosis. At that time, the standard medical treatment was a move to a warm, dry climate. Rather than uproot the whole family from Chicago, my grandparents sent my mum to the Brandes School in Tucson. When her family came to visit the boarding school, they all stayed at the Double U Ranch (RIP).
Lonely at first, my mum soon fell in love with horseback riding and formed an emotional connection to the mountains, dotted with saguaro cactuses, that glowed pink at dusk.
When I was growing up, my family spent every winter break in Tucson at the Double U, now the Canyon Ranch. Some of my sweetest memories were learning to ride there with my brother Lincoln and sister Sheba, and forming a roving pack with other kids who also vacationed there each year. At the Double U, the kids were on loose reins; the same is true for the Tanque Verde Ranch, where my family has been vacationing for the past 30-plus years.
Tanque Verde has changed with the times to offer a broader range of activities. After breakfast, while some of us might take the advanced horseback ride, a few of us might set out on a hilly hike through rock and saguaro formations or take a guided mountain bike ride, while others might hit balls on the tennis courts with longtime tennis pro Daryl, who has been there since my children, now 18 and 20, hit their first ball. Meanwhile, the little ones eagerly trot down to the kids’ programme to do arts and crafts, and learn to ride.
After lunch, the hardcore riders return to the stables to jockey for their favourite horses, while others might take a riding lesson, compete in a mini rodeo, read by the pool or visit the spa.
After a long day of activity and a refreshing shower or dip in the pool and soak in the hot tub, we amble down to the Dog House saloon for a predinner Prickly Pear or Hellfire Margarita.
The basic pattern of a day at the ranch is so predictable and satisfying because the essence of the ranch has not changed. On any night, we could be transported to the same dining-room table back in the ’80s or ’90s and hardly notice a difference.
Like family camp or a cruise, the ranch distributes a schedule of activities each week, which mostly remains consistent. Saturday night is always the Chuckwagon Cookout down at the Cottonwood Grove. We sit around crackling campfires eating barbecue steak, burgers and baked beans while cowboy crooner Tom Chambers sings favourites like Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys and Rawhide. Even the wild desert javelina stand in the shadows of the campfires to hear Tom. (Although, it’s possible they are more interested in discarded hot dogs or half-eaten chicken legs.)
Sure, the cookout is a little kitschy, but it’s also a low-tech reminder of a simpler time, something our children can love every bit as much as we did when we were their ages. When Tom sings Desperado, my sister and I sway together as we drift into our intersecting memories, built over a lifetime of ranch visits.
Each year, my husband, Andrew, and I vow that we are going to leave the ranch for a day and take advantage of the area’s wonders, such as Sabino Canyon and the Seven Falls hiking trail. Most years, we’ve been unable to pry ourselves away. This year, we finally went to the impressive Desert Museum, which is more like a desert zoo, aquarium, aviary and cactus-demonstration garden in one, and stopped for lunch in Old Tucson.
While the drive to the other side of town through the Tucson Mountains was stunning, and it was fun to stroll through a section of downtown teeming with restaurants, shops, bars and the historical Hotel Congress, we couldn’t wait to get back to the ranch in time to hit the Dog House and reunite with the clan. Next year, I think we’ll stay put and surrender to another glorious, long (but always too short) weekend at the Tanque Verde.