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IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN EASY to say no to Martha Stewart. Certainly not back in 2000, when she towered as the pinnacle of domestic perfection. But Mary Garland, a wickedly funny Arizona innkeeper, did just that.
It was nothing personal, really, just democracy in action. It happened among the ponderosa pines and red-rock swirls of Oak Creek Canyon, 7 miles upstream from Sedona.
A location scout phoned Garland’s Lodge, eager to film a Martha commercial at Garland’s Oak Creek crossing, the narrow, private drive on which guests ford the stream. The proposed date was a Monday, when the lodge is closed, so Mary said “Why not?”
The scout then asked if the staff would like to provide breakfast for Ms. Stewart.
On their morning off? When there were trails to be hiked and art classes in Sedona to attend? The vote was a swift “no thanks.”
Well, the heavens did not rumble in retribution. The wrath of perfection fell lightly on the pinnacled earth. Playing hard-to-get works sometimes. Three generations of Garlands ended up in a subsequent holiday issue of Martha Stewart Entertaining.
Such forthright honesty is a hallmark of this cluster of 16 log cabins, nestled at 5,000 feet in the fir-studded canyon that climbs from Sedona to Flagstaff. I first forded their stream in 1981, falling irrevocably in love with Cabin 11. I returned to that log hideaway for 15 Halloweens.
That is the way Garland’s works: Guests have first choice at reserving the same cabin for the same time, next year. The majority of guests are repeaters.
Now, Amanda Stine, the soft-spoken chef for 25 years, and Mary Garland have published Sharing the Table at Garland’s Lodge, a bountifully photographed volume of canyon history, lodge lore and 300 favorite recipes, many based on the goodness of their own orchards and gardens. Also on chocolate. And salsas. And home-baked bread.
Stine rules the kitchen with disciplined calm; tall, rugged Gary Garland—Mary’s husband—steps in to cook Sunday breakfasts: trout with corn fritters, roasted green chile–and–sour cream omelets. Whether Gary is the owner or a roustabout is impossible to guess. It turns out he is both, and more.
Part of the joy of Garland’s is the quiet routine. Breakfast is from 7 to 9 a.m. The ranch-style bell rings at 7 p.m. for Amanda’s four-course dinners.
Over the years, not much has changed. The glorious creek never stops babbling. The top drawer in the hand-hewn dresser in Cabin 11 sticks a bit if you don’t grip it with two hands. The wall heater still clicks on with a rap-rap-RAAP that is as familiar and welcoming as the fat tabby cat who curls on the rocking chair on the deck—and comes inside if given a chance. (She might be the offspring of an earlier cat, but she has the same proprietary gaze.)
EACH MORNING during my few precious days, I awaken to stare downcanyon as the sun strikes a high ridge of sculpted stone, a menagerie of erosions where a sharp-eyed red sandstone fox appears to tilt his head in my direction. I clamber down a bank of tangled periwinkle to sit on a creekside boulder, wondering who last used the swaying footbridge.
As a coast-dwelling San Diegan, I seek out Sedona for the pleasures of seasons. Spring brings explosions of white apple blossoms, from orchards dating to early 1900s homestead days. Summer means youngsters will be sluicing and squealing over the smooth, wet bowls of Slide Rock State Park.
My own favorite time is autumn, when sumacs bristle a crusty crimson and the foot-wide leaves of Arizona sycamores turn to gold and then amber, tumbling into Oak Creek to drift downstream like ancient papyrus rafts. Enormous pumpkins are carved into masks that leer beside the rope-latched doors at Garland’s. The air is musky sweet from the pressing of apple cider.
The lodge is closed from Thanksgiving until the snow melt of spring. But the Garlands and Amanda and Morgan Stine live there year round, traveling to exotic climes—or at least Scottsdale—when the drifts get deep. Come March, they scurry to get ready for the next season, checking the flues of cabin hearths, splitting and stacking wood, scrubbing windows and knotty-pine beams.
In the midst of this happy vortex is Mary Garland, trim and naturally beautiful, the sun glinting on her silver- and-turquoise earrings, worn with old dungarees or with velvet. Describing herself as “Miss Fill-In-Whatever,” she grins as she recalls the star power of Martha Stewart’s day in the canyon:
“She even had a stand-in who waded into Oak Creek for her.”
If You Go
Garland’s Oak Creek Lodge (928-282-3343) is “American plan,” with breakfast, tea and four-course dinner included. It is open from late March to late November. Cabin rates start at $210 per night. For more info, go to garlandslodge.com. For lodging, restaurants and activities in nearby Sedona, go to visitSedona.com.
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