Driving into Sedona can be as exhilarating as reaching the Pacific after a cross-country roadtrip, the rivulets of runoff gaining contrast as you get closer to the red rocks, engulfing you with their warmth. Roadside markers point to Horsethief basin, Agua Fria, or Arizona ghost towns like Bumble Bee and Crown King. I half expected The Marlboro Man to come galloping across the valley on horseback, silhouetted against the dense pampas grasses and giant cactuses.
It’s a dreamstate that feels inexorably American—something I rarely still seek over Thanksgiving, but welcomed in the end.
When I was younger, I had three hard mandates in the kitchen: whip up two platters of deviled eggs (heavy on the horseradish), peel and sort at least five pomegranates (a surprisingly back-breaking task), and mix my own eggnog and Southern Comfort (no one ever made it strong enough). The parade would be playing in the background, followed by the football game and some terrible Hallmark romance. I never watched any of them. At the end of it all, I like everyone else would return to my life and tell friends that I gained 10 pounds of love handles but it was worth it.
Being an only child of later divorced parents, holidays have now become more fluid and open to adventure, Thanksgiving in particular. Where we dine or what we eat is a central activity, but by nature of being rooted to a new location, rarely traditional to my childhood. So when my mother proposed visiting a wellness retreat in Arizona this year, I didn’t hesitate.
I do sometimes eschew the more wooy elements like guided meditation, chakra balancing, and heaven forbid any chanting. Things that make practical sense to me are forest, or in this case, canyon bathing, strength or movement classes, LED light therapy, steam rooms and dip pools, and plant-based eating and biodegradable wine. When places lean more toward “wellbeing” in description of their services, I do listen in. The state of being well is as amorphous as it is hard to achieve, but something we all chase in our own way. I was certainly up for the challenge over a holiday.
Enter Mii amo, the spa nestled within the larger Enchantment Resort, surrounded by Boynton Canyon on 70-acre grounds that five different Native American nations have considered sacred. The most singular rock formation Kachina Woman, a representation of a Hopi tribe deity, acts as an entrance guard and constant reaffirmation of good vibes. It’s rumored that a local often climbs to the top to play his flute and drop small clay sculptures in the shape of hearts to passerby listeners. I received no visual confirmation of this charming diddy, but I believe it.