The trail to the top ascends an eclectic canyon of walnut, sycamore, wild grape, Virginia creeper, columbine, and prickly-pear. As we walk through the ruins, my son is bored, peering into tiny rooms with smoke-smudged ceilings and the smell of decay. His sister has just started to babysit. She stands on a ledge that leads from one room to the next. We hike the Middle Fork of the Gila River.
Sunlight bounces up from the rippling water.
In the rocks above our heads, a dipper skims into its nest. My son gives a shout. He has found another dwelling, a single room at the bottom of these cliffs. Its entrance is a small black hole in a crumbling wall of chinked stone. Suddenly my son is also connected.