Springtime in the desert

Today is one of those perfect days which reminds me of why I love the desert so.  Mornings are cool - a good time to water plants and do the yard work that needs attention.  Palo verde trees are all in bloom this week.  Beautiful bright yellow blossoms against the green of the tree.  The city is blanketed with fallen yellow blossoms which swirl in the breezes.  My gardenia plant is in bloom - scenting the day with its beautiful smell.  Every once in a while as I work on the computer I get a waft of the gardenia. Lovely.  Birds are all singing - particularly the mockingbirds.  My yard is the corner of 2-3 males' territories.  So I benefit from a lot of singing.  White-winged Doves were out this morning, eating seeds from the acacia and cooing.  Finches are working over the hummingbird feeders.  Afternoon is warm.  We're in the mid-nineties which is perfect to me.  But soon it will be hot.  That's when I pull out photos like this one and remind myself that cooler times will return.

Snow in the Grand Canyon is always a beautiful thing.  It was chilly this day - with snow showers blowing through the canyon.  Wind was icy to our faces and we didn't linger anywhere for too long.

But now back to my beautiful day.  Split pea soup in the crockpot - thanks to the Easter ham bone that my brother saved for me.  2 salads as I couldn't choose between them.  Dinner and swimming at my brother's house - it's a wonderful day.

Harris' Hawk kind of Day

Yesterday was just one of those days I savor.  Very nice weather, great sports, good food and a great bird to end things up.

Weather was warm - but not hot, with high clouds sailing through.  Every time I looked up to the sky there was a different formation.  Not puffy clouds,  but big banks of wispy clouds.  Great Blue Herons and anonymous ducks flew over, somewhere nearby there must have been a park with some water.

I spent most of the day at a rugby tournament.  The Wolves played hard, but lost in the end.  An enjoyable game to watch as it wasn't one-sided.  My son is an assistant coach for the team.  He played with this team as a high school student for 3 years and then 1 year with his current school - ASU.  He's loving the coaching side of things as he is a born leader.  Loves to talk and explain things, wants to make the people around him aspire to greater things.  But I regress... rugby is a great sport to watch once you figure out the game.  I stayed on to watch the Mens' game.  My son now plays for that team, though he didn't play yesterday.  Much faster paced.  Much more colorful language.  :)

On my way home I saw what I thought was a BIG grackle drinking from water in the gutter in an neighborhood intersection.  As I got closer I realized it was WAY too big to be a grackle.  Two young boys stood nearby, straddling their bikes with their mouths wide open.  I pulled over as I realized it was a Harris' Hawk.  I was hoping he wasn't injured.  They usually sit way up in trees or on light poles.  You never see them on the ground.

Harris' Hawks are interesting as they hunt in packs.  I once watched a trio wear down a rabbit in the desert.  One would fly after the rabbit which would zig and zag and eventually find shelter under a bush.  When a second hawk would suddenly show up on the other side of the bush, the rabbit would bolt to zig and zag to another bush.  They kept this up until the rabbit tired at which point the third swooped in for the catch.

This guy wasn't hunting and he wasn't injured.  Just thirsty.  Mockingbirds were mobbing him, annoying birds when they take it in their heads that they don't like you. Ask my cat.  The hawk eventually drank his fill and tired of the mockingbird swarm over his back so flew up to a giant mesquite.  Just as an aside, this particular mesquite is one of my favorite trees in the area.  It is enormous and the trunk twists like a piece of candy up to about 15 feet where it branches out into a huge umbrella of green.  It is beautiful.  And, a great hawk perch, which is where this guy flew along with his accompanying swarm of mockingbirds.

He proceeded to preen himself, trying very hard to appear oblivious of the noisy bunch around him.  He gave himself away, not as calm, cool, collected as he would like to seem, when he occasionally flinched as a mockingbird whacked his backside.  They were careful to not get to close to his face.  I like this picture as it shows the mockingbird's patches well.  They use those to frighten bugs into flinching and giving away their hiding places.  Wasn't working on the hawk though.

I eventually left the hawk to his "peace".  A Gila Woodpecker had joined the fray and was being very vocal about hawk's not being wanted in his neighborhood.  It was getting too noisy for me.  Besides, my porch chair and book were calling me.  Dusk is a beautiful time to read.

There is nothing bluer than an Arizona sky in Spring.  Well, perhaps a New Mexico Spring sky... but as I'm 2 miles from the AZ/NM border as I write this the sky overhead belongs to both states.  Blue as can be.  Not a cloud to mar the blueness. Against the pink rock and yellow-green and sage-green lichens the sky is vibrant blue.

A soft breeze wafts over me and hums through the junipers, blowing cottonwood tufts around the campsite.  The creek behind me tumbles over rocks, blurbling and chortling, perfecting my afternoon with its song. 

We were here last year about the same time.  At that time the creek barely held any water, surfacing for a hundred feet before sinking back into the sands.  It was the first time in over 30 years of traveling here that I had seen the creek dry.  A worrisome dry that confirmed my worst fears when a huge wildfire broke out in June.  The Horseshoe 2 fire burned most of the mountain range over a month plus.  This canyon was protected for several reasons: several residences, the Southwestern Research Station, incredible birding, and some great firefighters.  This year you could see the results of the fire... black toothpick trees sticking up out of the snow on the mountain ridges, areas with no debris under the trees with black bases, entire mountain faces that were brown with no green at all.  But you could also see other life.  Some of those mountain faces had canyons that still held the green of junipers and oaks, new growth poking up through the sooty ground, and the mountains themselves, stoic and rejuvenating.  I felt a sadness at seeing the burned areas, especially knowing that the fire was human caused, but I also feel a good vibe as I see the life springing anew.

This small campground is peaceful.  Gangs of Mexican Jays fly through regularly - looking for food and talking constantly.  They come in waves - like the wind - you can hear them swooping through the trees.

A pair of White-Breasted Nuthatches also checks us out - very unintimidated as they jerk up and down the trees right in front of me.  They are probably feeding babies as they grab crumbs and dog kibbles and fly away to the same area across the campground.  Just as quickly they are back - hopping into the dog bowl.

I love this place.  I first discovered it back in 1980 when visited with my grandmother during our glorious roadtrip summer.  I skinny-dipped in a hole in the creek at that time.  The creek was fuller then and fewer people.  Doesn't matter though.  I'm such a cold water wimp that I wouldn't dip again.  Wading is enough. The peace of the canyon is the same though.  It renews the soul.  It reminds me of what is truly important about life.

And so as the breeze increases and cools in the late afternoon, the birds are returning in hopes of new crumbs.  Potential campers cruise through the campground and move on.  I'm about to start a rich Chicken Tortilla Soup for our dinner.  Time to put the journal down, wander the creek edge, and soak up the peace.

I am the epitome of "Happy Camper", enjoying my glass of Dos Cabezas' dry blush wine, and just being...

Desert Garden

Being sick has one advantage.  Lots of books get read without interruption.  I actually made a dent in the piles next to my bed and my Kindle list has temporarily shortened.  But that's the only positive.  I didn't even get to sleep in as I still had to get my daughter off to school.  But the bug has finally run its course and I am back in the Land of Living.  Just in time for a beautiful weekend.  Blue skies and warm temperatures beckoned me into the yard for the first time in a week.

It is THE weekend.  Finally.  I can put together the 6' x 8' raised garden bed that I've been thinking about for a LONG time.  We have officially passed the frost-free date for our area.  No guarantees, I know, but I can't back any longer.  The area in the side yard has been chosen.  It receives enough sunlight to make plants happy but gets afternoon shade so that they don't wilt and cry "Uncle" when our temps get high.  I moved the composter (full of larvae churning the kitchen scraps to nice black soil), cleared the old gravel, assembled the bed using my Christmas gift of bed corners from Gardener's Supply, and then began the arduous work of turning over a foot or so of the concrete - like "soil".  After about 5 shovels full I started to question my sanity.  I'm less than 24 hours from my sick bed  - what the heck am I doing?  Still, orange trees are blooming with their sweet, sweet smell which I could occasionally get whiffs of when my sinuses decided to momentarily clear.  Bees buzzed amongst them.  I guzzled water and reassured the hummingbird that was keeping up a running commentary on my progress.  Eventually I finished the digging and lugged over the 5 huge sacks of soil.... hmmmm... clearly not enough. So another trip to Home Depot and oops... 4 more plants made it onto my cart along with the bags of soil courtesy of my daughter. But how can you NOT buy this one:

This photo is from the Learn2Grow site here:  Learn2Grow

It's called "The Ravers/Pink Sugar" and it's an African Daisy.  Gorgeous desert sunset colors!  Once home, my kids unloaded the soil and turned the bed over.  Saved my back a little distress.  And then we began the fun work... planting!  We did a mixture of plants and seeds.  Tomatoes and marigolds together, herbs up front where I can pinch leaves and smell.  My daughter's sunflowers in the back where we can eventually tie them to the wall so they won't fall over when the summer winds start. Basil seedlings transplanted from the volunteers in my porch pots. Now it's water and wait.  Dream of the chiles and tomatoes that I will enjoy later. And start to scheme up ways to keep the neighborhood quail from devouring my tomatoes at the exact moment that they ripen to perfection.  My quirky daughter is looking forward to the nights when we go out with flashlights and pull of the cutworms and tomato hornworms and squish them with bricks.  Funny the things that kids remember happily from their childhoods!

So now I check the garden on an hourly basis, hoping that my seedlings have popped up.  I'll get bored in a few days and will stop checking.  At that point they will spring up.  In the meantime, I smile.  I love gardens.  I love the hard work up front preparing everything.  I love the gift of plants popping up and gaining strength.  I love cooking and being able to step out the back door to snip some parsley or thyme.  And I love being drawn outdoors where I can watch the mockingbird picking for bugs amongst my pots, listen to him sing his territory boundaries, hear the palm berries drop and bounce as a starling picks them over, and listen to the kestrel scold the world before disappearing into the palm frond nest.  Spring in the Desert.  

Dog eyes...

Sammy didn't like the rambunctious young 'uns.  She held herself aloof that first day.

There are three sets of eyes drilling into me.  My dinner is done, but all three are hoping that there is a tidbit somewhere that I've hidden away.  Sorry dogs.  It's all done and gone.  I ate it all.  I know my father has led you to believe that tidbits exist.  But not tonight.  I was hungry.  And you didn't offer me anything from your dinner.  So I don't feel bad.

But I look into your eyes.  All so different.  Sammy stares at me with an intensity that is hard to ignore. Black eyes in a yellow face, not blinking.  She doesn't move at all. Everything is focused like a laser on my mouth.  Maybe there's a tidbit hidden there.  Meanwhile, drool begins to form a long string from her right jowl.  Uck.  It appears at the least possibility of food.  Paws shift on the couch next to me, a slight intake of breath that isn't regular and my attention is shifted to Jake.  He's horrified that "his food" might go to another canine.  His golden eyes hold a panic, an intense "Oh no!" look.  He's also upset that the newest dog on the block (Buster) keeps stealing borrowing his bobos (toys).  Jake is torn between watching for the potential tidbit and watching to make sure that Buster doesn't make a move towards the nearest bobo.  No drool from him... just a lunge into my lap to make sure that he still the favorite dog.  He conveniently manages to wipe his mouth across my chest and take up the whole couch so that Sammy can't climb up.  Multi-tasker Jake.  Yep.  And finally a huge sigh is heaved from across the table where Buster has concluded that there will be no more food.  His dark brown eyes are almost invisible in his black face.  He smiles at me, with his pink tongue shining out of his face and then flops down to nap.  He's too new to worry about food too much.  Wait until he meets my Dad.  That will change things.

Such different personalities in these dogs.  My worried, needy-of-constant-love dog.  My brother's laid-back, sneaky dog (she can slide out of a room and get in the garbage faster than any dog I know).  Buster, Terry's dog, is the young kid whose biggest concern is getting someone to throw a toy for him.  He can play catch for hours.  The other two older dogs appreciate one or two throws and then need a nap.  And now as this is written, Jake has gone outside to see what the neighbor dogs are up to. He's barking his opinion to the world.  Sammy has taken the spot next to me on the couch and keeps trying to lay her slobbery jowls across my keyboard. She oozes love but I know she just wants as much body contact as possible.  Buster keeps spitting bobos at me, hoping that I'll throw them.  He left when Sammy quietly growled.  The old lady keeps him in his place. He's now laying with his head out the dog door, unsure whether to go out or not. He wants to join Jake, but isn't really happy with the dog door.


I shall leave the dogs to their lives...and go get my daughter from work.

Jake and Buster about a half hour after meeting. This is before Buster started borrowing bobos.  They aren't so close now. :)