GREEN VALLEY, Ariz. — The knock at the door came just three days after Kathy Babcock moved in to her new home.
Standing on her porch in the heart of Green Valley were two young men who'd just walked out of the desert. They asked for food and water; she said yes.
That was more than seven years ago.
Today, Babcock doesn't wait for immigrants to come to her door. She goes out and finds them, and she's not alone. Every week, the Green Valley-Sahuarita Samaritans sends out at least three crews — more in winter — to seek out immigrants who are losing their battle with the Arizona desert. The group, launched in 2005, also drops water along migrant trails, picks up trash in the desert and goes over the border to discourage immigrants from attempting the dangerous crossing.
It's early on a Monday morning and the sun is creeping over the Santa Ritas. Babcock is sitting in the passenger seat of an SUV tough enough to tackle some of Southern Arizona's most rugged terrain.
Terry Voss is in the driver's seat; Donald Weston, his partner in life and teammate in this mission to save lives, sits in the back.
They pull out on to the road, and their conversation is easy. The three are familiar and comfortable with each other, trading thoughts on books they've read or speakers they've heard, but all the while their eyes are combing the desert for people on the brink.
"Most of the people we find have been with a group and have been left behind," Voss says.
"These people have no idea where they are and the geography of the area," Weston adds. "We had one guy ask us to drive him to North Carolina."
They head south on the Interstate 19 Frontage Road toward Amado and turn west at Arivaca Road, the start of a loop that will take them through beautiful yet unforgiving country.
The magnetic sign on the vehicle identifies them as Samaritans, and they wave to agents as they pass the Border Patrol checkpoint west of Sopori School.
The reaction varies among the agents. Some - often the younger agents, Babcock says — figure they're in the same business of saving lives. Others aren't as friendly, knowing that the Samaritans will only call them if an immigrant is at the end of the line, ready to give up. Those who just need water and food before continuing north won't be reported to the Border Patrol, and that doesn't always sit well.
The Samaritans have rules about heading into the desert. Every crew must have at least three people, preferably one conversant in Spanish. They also have somebody who knows basic first aid, and they carry food and water. They don't transport immigrants — it's illegal — unless it's an emergency and they've contacted or made efforts to contact the Border Patrol. Cell phone service is spotty so they carry a GPS and another device that can send signals to a home base or to first-responders using satellite. They carry no weapons.
"I have never experienced any fear out here," says Voss, who started desert runs with Weston a few months before Babcock in 2005.
"We've never run into any situation that felt threatening," Babcock adds, echoing the experience of a lot of Samaritans. She says that when they come across migrants who need help, "for the most part they have had it — they're beat."
They want to be picked up and deported.
Coyotes — paid people smugglers — are notorious liars. They'll tell a group that Tucson is a two-day walk from the border; Chicago is just five days on foot. If anybody is injured or falls behind, they're on their own. The group waits for nobody.
The summer heat is but one predator. Sometimes women are raped or an entire group is held up by bandits. Even if they make it to a big city, they often are taken advantage of, held for ransom by coyotes or face uncertain job prospects.
The Samaritans have seen fewer migrants in recent years. Babcock attributes that to a growing Border Patrol presence that pushes desert-crossers into more remote areas, as well as an improved economy in Mexico — and a bad one here. Voss, Weston and Babcock have aided three or four immigrants in the past six months or so; in 2008, they said they found somebody on nearly every trip.
Their journey today takes them down 22 miles of gently curving Arivaca Road. Just outside of Arivaca they come across a truck from Humane Borders and exchange greetings. The Humane Borders workers are putting 55-gallon barrels of water in the desert with the permission of the government.
About a mile west of Arivaca, Voss pulls to the side of the road. Weston stays with the vehicle as the group heads about 100 yards off the road to look at a reminder of why they're out there.
Down a slope and up against a barbed wire fence sits a small pile of rocks. It marks the spot where a group of Samaritans — including Voss —found the body of Alfonso Salas Villagran. The immigrant from Chicoloapan, just outside Mexico City, died of heart disease and heat exhaustion under a mesquite bush on Aug. 22, 2006.
Folded up and placed inside a small plastic bag is a printout of a Tucson Citizen newspaper story that describes how the Samaritans found the body and includes an interview with Salas Villagran's son.
"One of the tragedies was how close he was to the road," Voss says. The Samaritans still hold an annual memorial for him.
The Samaritans agree, but they don't hide their frustration at annual numbers that indicate dozens of bodies are still found in the desert — 171 last year in sSouthern Arizona — and scores of others that are never recovered.
Driving Ruby Road east out of Arivaca is a lesson in how deceptive this part of the state can be.
After a short distance, the smooth, paved road gives way to a gravel washboard that could jar the teeth out of you. It stretches for miles up and down hills, through gorgeous canyons, and right past the ghost town of Ruby, covered in yellow wildflowers. It's not unusual to find a cow in the road or deer behind nearby trees. The desert is alive.
Several Border Patrol agents give a friendly nod but don't say much when the group asks how their day is going. They're guarded, probably a response to the Samaritan logo on the side of the SUV.
Weston points out a spot where they once found an immigrant sitting on the side of the road. The group turns off into Sycamore Canyon and a blanket of grasshoppers and tiny frogs.
The group scans the mountainside and gets back into the vehicle. Rio Rico isn't far off, and they coast back to I-19 where they head north.
This day yields no immigrants, and it's hard to tell whether they're disappointed or relieved. It either means there's nobody in trouble or they weren't there at the right time.
Voss grins when asked if this is the way he expected to spend his retirement. The former Methodist minister who ran a 10-bed AIDS hospice in Portland, Ore., says he always knew his life would be spent reaching out to others.
Looking at the other two Samaritans in the vehicle, he says, "Working with people in need is part of who we are."
Information from: Green Valley News, http://www.gvnews.com