We moved to Southern Arizona a little over four years ago.  When we first arrived we were all gung-ho to go exploring the region’s attractions.  Every weekend we’d set out for an afternoon adventure, off to discover the treasures of the desert.

There were caves.  And national parks full of giant saguaro cacti.  There was a museum full of desert animals.  Botanical gardens and an outdoor hiking/recreation area.  Miniature golf.  A cowboy themed town and restaurant.  The zoo.  An itty bitty mountain town whose claim to fame is a working ski-lift (in spite of a lack of snow).

It’s safe to say that we’ve successfully explored all of the above and have proceeded to promptly cross them off of our list of fun stuff to do around town.

Apparently we’re hard to please.

So recently, we’ve begun to branch out a bit, in hopes that we might find a destination that holds our attention.

A couple of weekends ago we visited a local Farmers Market.

That was, of course, after the memorable apple pickin’ excursion.

Having come from the central coast of California, I was surely spoiled by the local Farmers Market.  Held twice a week, they easily stretched three city blocks.  Growers and artisans showcased table after table of fresh fruits, vegetables, baked goods, and homemade wares. 

Here in southern Arizona the Farmer’s Market consisted of, eh, ten tables, give or take.  There wasn’t much in the way of selection.  And the aisles were narrow and potholed, making accessibility with a stroller next to impossible. 

It was disappointing for a lover of fresh produce like myself.

This weekend we ventured further from home, to a little artist colony less than an hour away.  I had high hopes seeing as how I’d heard good things.

I’ve really got to knock off that high hopes thing.

Turns out that there were few shops there.  And the shops that were there displayed a slight variation of the same thing: overpriced decorative metal suns and assorted southwestern yard art.

Refusing to let the trip be a total wash we decided to stop in at what looked like a promising cantina where the outdoor sign tempted us with ice-cold house margaritas. 

The margaritas, my friends, were enjoyable.  Indeed they were.  Especially considering that the high temperature that day topped ninety degrees. 

Yes.  In November.

So there we sat, for upwards of an hour.  My mom and I enjoyed a house margarita while Jeff sipped on an ice cold Mexican beer and the kids partook (that really is a word believe it or not) in a Pepsi.

Those beverages were the highlight of our trip.

Like I said, we have high standards.

So we’ve successfully crossed another of the most recommended tourist spots off of our list.

A list, which, btw, is really dwindling.

Clearly we’re snobs.

Only I’m not sure what exactly has spoiled us: whether it be the annual trip to Walt Disney World or having come from a California real estate hotspot.

All I know is that Southern Arizona isn’t exactly overflowing with family friendly destinations.

We’re sort of stuck though.  So I’m choosing to look at the bright side.

We do have good shopping.  And plenty of really, really good restaurants.  A great school district and a secure, well-paying, A+ job.  Our home is really more than we could afford elsewhere.  And you can’t beat the ability to wear a halter top to church on the first Sunday in November.

Now if only all of my friends would quit moving away!