My husband and I have a secret place. It’s east of Tucson, Ariz. That’s all I can say.

I may already have said too much.

I’d love to tell you about it — its scenic heights and its riverbed lows, its bevies of birds and stretches of stars, and the particular feature that could give it away, so I can only assure you that it’s heavenly.

My need for secrecy walks a tightrope between keeping the place well-known enough to remain a going concern, yet not so popular that we can’t get a reservation.

As it is, when we were taking our leave from this year’s visit, we had to book into 2017.

This, in a place that has no phones, no Wi-Fi, no cell service, no TV — and you have to bring your own food for your stay. All of this is what makes it so appealing to a certain sort of visitor.

I simply cannot take the chance that you’re that sort of visitor. I wouldn’t want you to nab my space.

Now reassured that business is good, my husband and I realize that part of the lure is that it has become our secret place. It’s a private joke, a shared glance, a fount of memories that only the two of us remember.

We’ve come close to spilling the beans, of course, feeling a little selfish about keeping this destination all to ourselves. But in the realm of this particular, off-the-beaten-path vacation destination, selfish works for us.

Besides, it’s good to know that you’re married to someone who can keep your secrets.

 

Travel editor Kerri Westenberg is away at her own secret getaway. Send your questions and tips to her at travel@startribune.com. Follow her on Twitter @kerriwestenberg.