Julie takes us to a surprising South Mountain Happy Hour, and Lisa shares a story of a Prescott woman who never outgrew true love.
Mug: Prescott Valley Historical Society
From Only at NAU
Copyright 2016, Northern Arizona University
by Lisa Schnebly Heidinger
At 9 a.m., Jerry Emmett cheerfully confesses she just sat down and put her feet up. Which isn’t surprising – she’s 99 years old.
What is surprising, except to those who know her well is that at this point Jerry’s already walked a mile, cooked at eaten breakfast, read her Bible, and baked a peach pie for you to take home with you.
“But don’t be too impressed,” she says merrily. “By three o’clock I won’t know my own name.”
All this is the morning after she traveled to the Valley to see President Barack Obama speak, and she’s still fresh as a daisy.
Language like “fresh as a daisy” comes naturally around Jerry. If there’s a younger spirit on the planet it’s hard to believe. In fact, Fred DuVal said to her, “Jerry, if I weren’t too old for you, I’d try to win your heart. You’ve won mine.” He was in his 50s.
The Dragons of South Mountain
by Julie Morrison
The Dragons of South Mountain are stealthy, clever friends,
who keep and color Arizona skies from end to end.
They dig during the day—stacking boulders, crushing stone—
looking for veins of turquoise deep within the mountain’s bones,
for when they eat the turquoise, they breathe fire of glowing blue
that spreads above the atmosphere to smile on me and you.
They snack on those blue gemstones, but digging’s thirsty work—
though proximity to pools nearby provides a daily perk—
you wonder why the desert water disappears so fast,
when reservoirs contain supply both deep and vast?
They wait ‘til no one’s looking, then whoosh! And whee! And splash!
The dragons swim and drink their fill, then fly off in a flash.
Most days start and end this way, but dragons have their seasons, too,
and the “Dragons Days” they know are what we call summer monsoons.
Dragons from both north and south swoop to our desert land,
spending May and June to train for all the games they plan.
By July the races start—their wings churning walls of dust—
and the juniors’ wake of flying sprints swirls around in gusts,
then they rumble in their fights, gnashing jaws in great loud cracks—
their fire flaming in lightning with each thundering attack—
they get so worked up that wiser dragons, who know best,
gather rainclouds in, pointing the youth to new contests:
fly fast and hard and free the rain - the most water falling wins!
And the dragons streak off piercing clouds to loose the rain within.
Some are more skilled than others at harvesting rain drops,
so some clouds leak, and some clouds drench, and others seep and sop.
By August, summer’s games are done, and the visitors take flight,
back to Humphrey’s, Baldy, Graham, and other mountain heights.
In fall they dig and snack, but by December feel the churn
of winter storms they herd towards home, so the younger set can learn
about cloud diving, rain harvests and how to fire their flame,
so that they’ll be ready for next year’s dragon games!
Copyright 2025 Julie Morrison All rights reserved
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