It was a long drive from Santa Fe, New Mexico, nearly eight hours in total. The road felt endless as it snaked through the dry, arid landscape, with only the odd dust devil in the distance to occupy our minds for a few brief moments.

By the time we reached Tucson and our home for the next five days within Saguaro National Park, I was convinced I never wanted to do another road trip again. This, of course, was short-lived, but I still never want to attempt that amount of travel in the confines of a car after such a long journey again.

Our starting point had been Vancouver Island, before we flew to Bozeman, Montana, picked up the Ford Tacoma, and embarked on the road trip. We had been through Yellowstone and Grand Teton NP in Wyoming, then on to Utah and Canyonlands NP, crossed into Colorado, and eventually made our way down to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Tucson marked the last leg of a journey. As the miles passed, reality began to settle in; we only had a few days left, and the holiday blues quietly sank in.

This was going to be our downtime, time to recharge and finally relax. The Airbnb looked stunning in the pictures, and as we drove up to the property, greeted by saguaros lining the way, it began to feel like home. Hidden away on the back roads of West Saguaro, it was the perfect little escape. Surrounded by those mighty cactuses and the rescue horses our host, Peggy, had dedicated her life to, it was exactly what we needed.

Peace and tranquillity settled over us like a soft, warm blanket as we stepped out of the truck into evening sun. The air smelt of warm, earthy tones, and everything suddenly felt silent.

In the days that followed, the sun and heat were relentless, hitting 48 degrees most afternoons. It was tough to do much or spend any real time outside. We did, however, explore Saguaro National Park and walk among the giants. We also spent long stretches wandering through Peggy’s desert garden, simply looking out across the landscape.

Cactus wrens perched on top of the giant cactuses as though keeping watch over us. Cottontail rabbits darted in and out of their burrows, while northern red cardinals shot like darts through the low trees. For somewhere so hot, there is an abundance of nature if you stop for a moment and look. Jays busied themselves pecking at cactus fruit most evenings; white-winged doves gathered beneath the trees in search of food. The occasional roadrunner would appear, darting through the undergrowth as if late for something. At night, the nightjars came, sweeping around the trees like bats and leaving their feathers behind as the only evidence they’d been there. One night on the way home, we even found one resting in the middle of the road. It looked startled as the headlights lit it up. Worried it might be injured, we stopped the truck, and I got out to take a look. Off it flew, back into the darkness. Relief. 

One evening, the rains finally came. Within minutes the clouds grew thick and heavy in the distance; the sky shifted to deep, vibrant reds, purples, and greys, and the desert fell into an eerie silence, right until the rumbles and claps of thunder split the air. Slender silver forks of lightning followed, striking down as if drilling holes into the land. Then a brief burst of rain hit the dry, powdery soil, a fleeting moment of relief for the desert ecosystem.

These images are from our last few days in Tucson, the trip down to Bisbee, and the time we spent at Peggy’s retreat, a sanctuary not only for horses but for people too, it seems.