If you have ever driven the stark, beautiful, and sometimes unforgiving stretch of Interstate 17 between Phoenix and Flagstaff, you know that the Arizona desert has a way of playing tricks on your eyes. The shimmering heat waves, the jagged red rocks of Sedona in the distance, and the endless sea of dusty green brush can lull you into a sort of highway hypnosis.
But right around Milepost 254, nestled in the median, sits a solitary juniper tree that breaks the spell entirely. Every year, as November gives way to December, this ordinary desert shrub undergoes a breathtaking transformation. Overnight, without a soul ever catching the culprits in the act, it becomes fully decorated with shimmering tinsel, bright ornaments, and festive bows. It is known to locals and weary travelers simply as “Scrubby,” the mystery Christmas tree of I-17.
For four years, while driving an airport shuttle van up and down that very mountain pass, I had a front-row seat to the magic of Scrubby. When you spend hours behind the wheel of a fifteen-passenger van, the highway stops being just a strip of asphalt; it becomes a theater, and the roadside landmarks become your old friends. Scrubby was a particularly beloved friend. In the harsh landscape of the high desert, where winters can bring sudden, blinding whiteouts and summer heat can warp the horizon, this little tree stood as a stubborn, joyful reminder of shared humanity.
The true beauty of the I-17 Christmas tree isn’t just the mystery of who decorates it—though local folklore is filled with theories ranging from covert midnight road crews to festive backcountry hikers. The real magic lies in what it does to the people inside the vehicle. I watched it happen dozens of times. A passenger would be staring gloomily out the window, perhaps stressed about a delayed flight at Phoenix Sky Harbor, anxious about a family reunion, or just exhausted from travel. Suddenly, we would round the bend near Sunset Point, and there it was: a burst of vibrant holiday color in the middle of a barren highway median.
Instantly, the mood in the shuttle would shift. Someone would gasp, pointing it out to a stranger in the next row. A quiet murmur of wonder would ripple through the seats. In that fleeting moment, a van full of isolated individuals, each locked in their own private worlds, became a small, connected community. We were all sharing the exact same smile, united by a random, anonymous act of kindness left on the side of the road.
As a shuttle driver, Scrubby taught me a vital lesson about storytelling and human nature. We don’t always need to know the identity of the person behind a good deed to feel its impact. In fact, the anonymity is part of the gift. Whoever braves the traffic and the dark to dress that little juniper tree every year does it without any expectation of praise, a thank-you note, or viral internet fame. They do it simply to sprinkle a little bit of wonder into the lives of strangers hurtling past at seventy-five miles per hour.
In a world that often feels increasingly fragmented and hurried, the mystery tree of I-17 is a beautiful, living proof that humanity’s baseline is kindness. Such stories and folklore remind us that we are all just travelers on the same road, looking for a little light to guide us through the desert. So, the next time you find yourself driving the I-17 during the holidays, look closely, keep your heart open, and let Scrubby remind you of the quiet magic waiting around the next bend. And if you want to learn more about this mystery and want to experience it in a first-hand account, read A Journal of Journeys.
This book will take you on an amazing travel voyage, through snow-blinded mountain passes at midnight, share quiet moments with Hopi elders and wildfire “hotshots,” and discover why a scrubby juniper bush on Interstate 17 becomes a mysteriously decorated Christmas tree each December. Pat’s van became a rolling confessional, classroom, and sanctuary where strangers revealed their souls between rest stops, significantly adding value to the author’s life with each encounter.
While hobbies or interests included camping, float fishing Ozark streams such as the Huzzah, Courtois, Meramec and Piney, trout fishing in Wyoming and Montana’s Upper Missouri River, hunting, clay target shooting, music, cooking, and old friends, this memoir of his will keep you glued to your seats.
Get your copy from Amazon to learn more: https://a.co/d/0hzoAIhb
