Drive around Prescott, Arizona, and you'll see a small city similar to any other in America. They've got a mall, a Wal-Mart and a new Lowe's Home Improvement Warehouse.

All these modern conveniences belie the fact that not long ago Prescott was the wild, wild West. Ranchers, Native Americans and prospectors once roamed the high desert plains and pine-studded mountains now occupied by tract homes, drive-thrus and California's retiree refugees.

Thankfully, that history of the West is still tangible, especially in downtown Prescott at the Sharlot Hall Museum, a collection of historic buildings and exhibits. That's where my daughter Laurel and I began our exploration of Prescott's rich history. The museum is named after an early area settler who was later appointed territorial historian.

Sharlot arrived in 1870 with her family at the age of 11, just seven years after Abraham Lincoln formed the Arizona territory. She went on to lead the area's initial preservation efforts and eventually took up residence in the old territorial governor's mansion, which was nothing more than a large dirt-floored log cabin, but is now the centerpiece of the museum.

While I'm fascinated by Western history, I'm afraid it doesn't hold the interest of a 5 year old. But Laurel was just happy to be out for the afternoon while her brother and sister napped.
Astute kindergartner that she is, she quickly realized the one-room schoolhouse was a bit different than her own educational setting. "Is this the school in the old times?" she asked while sitting on one of the plank benches that probably would have been her seat if she was a 19th-century pupil. (Students were seated from youngest to oldest, with the youngest in front).

"Yes," I said.

"But they can't write," she replied.

"You mean they have no desks?" I said.

"Yes. So how could they write?" Turns out the students used individual slates, and likely held them in their laps.

We moved on to the transportation building. Laurel ignored the stagecoach and the bicycle with a 60-inch rim in favor of a hands-on exhibit that shows kids the difficulties of packing a covered wagon for the arduous migration endured by early settlers. Variously-sized wooden blocks are labeled as food, candy, medicine, tools, furniture and other items pioneers would have packed in their own wagons, or been forced to leave behind.

Laurel packed, unpacked and repacked the miniature wagon, stopping only to ask what the blocks were labeled. "What's this?" she asked, holding up the one marked "candy."
"Well definitely I'm going to bring candy," she said. After more rearranging, she pronounced the job complete. "Daddy, I filled up my wagon."

Indeed she had. The candy was placed on top within easy reach, along with a music organ, sofa, bathtub, and games. Who says pioneering can't be comfortable and entertaining?

Prescott certainly is these days. The town has an abundance of shopping, restaurants and lodging, much of it centered around the Yavapai County Courthouse square.

Having covered the museum, Laurel and I wandered back up Gurley Street and around the corner to Whiskey Row, just across the street from the courthouse. At one time, the street boasted 26 saloons. Many of them are still there, including the Palace Restaurant and Saloon, which claims to have served Arizona's toughest customers since 1887.

Whiskey Row's rowdiest days are relegated to history, however. It's now home to the St. Michael Caffe, a hole-in-the-wall coffee bar staffed by a friendly and talented barrista.

We took our latte, chocolate milk and cinnamon roll across the street and found a bench on the courthouse lawn. The afternoon was made for lingering, and we did just that, enjoying our late afternoon snack before wandering up the steps of the imposing white granite courthouse. We continued our stroll along the broad sidewalks surrounding the square to peer in shop windows (Laurel) and read the historic plaques affixed to many of the buildings (me).

The afternoon ended with Laurel announcing her need to find a restroom. We returned to our well-appointed cabin in the hills outside of town and skipped the opportunity for a history lesson on plumbing in the Old West.