American Rivers: Whispers of Water Called Gila – A Returning and Exploration

I’d been to the Gila before, many times before, but not like this. Never like this. Santiago’s head cocked sideways, his little body limp, held up only by car-seat straps across each shoulder. Instead of mule panniers, food, and horse-tack in the bed of the truck, there are Legos on the floorboard, crumbles of colorful Play-doh, an empty Big-League-Chew bubble gum packet. Water bottles instead of whiskey.