skip to main |
skip to sidebar
St. Rita's Roses: the Santa Rita Mountains of AZ
Sunrise over the Santa Rita Mountains.. a still, cool morning in the desert country just south of Tucson and north of Nogales, Mexico. I drank my coffee contentedly, watching the day creep in and wondering who St. Rita had been. As I learned, she was an Italian girl who married at age 12 to an abusive Paolo Mancini. The story is that Rita would sneak food from her house to give to the poor, to her husband's displeasure. At the risk of harsh punishments, she did this repeatedly. One day, as she was carrying food out under her cloak, her husband suspected that Rita was disobeying him yet again. In a rage he ordered her to disclose what she was hiding from him. She did so, trembling with fear. But in her hands was not food. Instead a bouquet of roses appeared from under the cloak. For this reason, the symbol most often associated with her is the rose. Her husband, whose temper was not confined to his family, finally antagonized the wrong person, who took Paolo's life and left Rita with two sons who later contracted diseases and died. Rita continued to care for the poor until her death in 1457. On her deathbed, Rita asked a friend to bring her a rose from the garden of her old home. That rose, blooming in winter, was thought to have been a sign of God's love for her. And as you gaze at the splendor of the mountain range that bears her name, it seems right to ask for St. Rita's blessing upon us all... believers and non-believers alike. Like St. Jude, she is often appealed to by those in dire need.. ie, lost causes. On my way back to I-10 and Tucson, I left I-19 and pulled over in the San Xavier Indian Reservation. There, by the side of the road, were more of the beautiful bouquets that had first caught my attention entering the city. In the late afternoon light, they had appeared to be white. In a stronger morning light I could see that they are soft green cactuses. I stopped to photograph them, pulling off on the shoulder to do so. When I got back into the van, I saw a sign prohibiting anyone to leave the paved roads on the reservation... under tribal and Federal laws. Quite a few people, all Native American in appearance, had driven past me while I was photographing on their land. I smiled, they smiled. Thank you, St. Rita!
Sunrise over the Santa Rita Mountains.. a still, cool morning in the desert country just south of Tucson and north of Nogales, Mexico. I drank my coffee contentedly, watching the day creep in and wondering who St. Rita had been. As I learned, she was an Italian girl who married at age 12 to an abusive Paolo Mancini. The story is that Rita would sneak food from her house to give to the poor, to her husband's displeasure. At the risk of harsh punishments, she did this repeatedly. One day, as she was carrying food out under her cloak, her husband suspected that Rita was disobeying him yet again. In a rage he ordered her to disclose what she was hiding from him. She did so, trembling with fear. But in her hands was not food. Instead a bouquet of roses appeared from under the cloak. For this reason, the symbol most often associated with her is the rose. Her husband, whose temper was not confined to his family, finally antagonized the wrong person, who took Paolo's life and left Rita with two sons who later contracted diseases and died. Rita continued to care for the poor until her death in 1457. On her deathbed, Rita asked a friend to bring her a rose from the garden of her old home. That rose, blooming in winter, was thought to have been a sign of God's love for her. And as you gaze at the splendor of the mountain range that bears her name, it seems right to ask for St. Rita's blessing upon us all... believers and non-believers alike. Like St. Jude, she is often appealed to by those in dire need.. ie, lost causes. On my way back to I-10 and Tucson, I left I-19 and pulled over in the San Xavier Indian Reservation. There, by the side of the road, were more of the beautiful bouquets that had first caught my attention entering the city. In the late afternoon light, they had appeared to be white. In a stronger morning light I could see that they are soft green cactuses. I stopped to photograph them, pulling off on the shoulder to do so. When I got back into the van, I saw a sign prohibiting anyone to leave the paved roads on the reservation... under tribal and Federal laws. Quite a few people, all Native American in appearance, had driven past me while I was photographing on their land. I smiled, they smiled. Thank you, St. Rita!
No comments:
Post a Comment