Peenix Haboob

Another reason not to live in Peenix (there are several) is the weather.

During monsoon season, our state capital sprawl of MAGA nutters gets haboobs: walls of dust blown by powerful winds. The area south of Phoenix is farmland. Lots of cotton. Brush has been plowed up to make nice, exposed soil that is just waiting for 70 m.p.h. winds to blow north into the Phoenix megalopolis.

A haboob blew into south of Phoenix (Chandler) on Friday afternoon, September 2, just as Shari's flight from Everett made its approach to Phoenix Sky Harbor airport, Terminal 3.

Here is some video local media took of the great wall of dust. It's what Shari could see from the airplane.

Fortunately, by the time we collected luggage and found our way out the very confusing and congested Sky Harbor airport, the haboob had blown over.  Good thing because the visibility in a haboob is so bad the only safe thing to do is drive way off the road and turn off your lights so no other car is tempted to follow your lead and rear-end you.

We have a nice new Ford Explorer and its lights stay on for several minutes after you turn off the engine. It's a convenience that could get someone killed.

Rain Was Not in the Forecast

On Thursday the 10-day forecast was for little chance of rain, a sad forecast because we get three-quarters of our annual rainfall this time of year. Monsoon season.

But Mother Nature had different plans. She dumped some inch and a half of rain within an hour. Some places not that far away got over two inches. Over that one-hour period, the temperature dropped from 103° to 73°.

We had never seen so much rain falling over the edge of the roof.

One Good Wall Deserves Another

There are lots of nice things about cement blocks. They make great retaining walls that greatly slow down inevitable erosion. They are easier to collect than boulders. They have flat surfaces that can adhere to one another and take stucco. They also can replace inclines lined with rocks and free up those rocks and the occasional boulder for use elsewhere in one's landscape design. And, perhaps the greatest incentive, little critters can't tunnel through them and, if tall enough, javelina are reluctant to jump over them.

So after a few years of loose rocks slipping, critters tunneling, and javelina munching on the roots of ornamentals by my main traversing walkway, I counter-attacked. I made several trips with Agamemnon to Lowes and Home Depot to bring back cement blocks, concrete mix, stucco mix, liquid nails, pea gravel, and clay bricks. I removed my precious native Catalina rocks, dug a trench, and did a rough layout of the wall.

The work is exhilarating and satisfying, although when the lizards are scampering around mid-morning, it's time to get out of the heat. After about a week of early morning work, four or five hours at a time, the block wall was stuccoed, painted, and topped with clay bricks.

I would sit in our outdoor living room and admire not only the pleasing order which I had imposed upon the landscape, but the new areas where I had created terraces with the rocks and the occasional boulder I had freed up.

I noticed something missing.  I had constructed individual lengths of concrete block retaining walls interspersed with natural Catalina rock in our gully (Coat Hanger Valley). I had retaining walls along the slopes defining paths and three sets of stairs leading down to the bottom of the gully, but where you first cross the driveway to get to those paths was untidy. It needed some inviting refinement to entice a person to saunter inside. It needed an entrance.

That required a curve, three test roughed-in layouts, welcome advice from my better half, and a lot of additional trench modifications and cement blocks. The curve was made using three columns of landscape retaining wall wedges between columns of concrete blocks, then filled and smoothed with concrete and stucco.

In my opinion, the result is satisfying. I am almost tempted to have something written out on the curve — you know, in metal letters like universities have their names on masonry curves at the corners of their campuses. Instead of "University of Arizona," I could have "Coat Hanger Valley."

Nah.

 

Inspiration

Another morning in the Desert. It's late winter in the Finger Rock wash where I take Nazar the Wonderdog for his early morning saunters.

A hummingbird sits on topmost bare branch of an acacia. A female red cardinal makes its call. I hear javalinas grunting and wait with Nazar to catch a glimpse of the pack. A Gila woodpecker hammers away on a utility pole. A rabbit forages on greens by the side of the road. Doves and a phainopepla sit on electrical lines studying their surroundings. Cactus wrens sit on their adopted saguaros.

I often tell the story of how this city boy, at age forty-seven, moved to the forests of Whidbey Island. For the first time I saw deer, coyotes, rabbits and owls — even the occasional eagle circling in the sky. When we moved to Tucson, I thought living among such wildlife would be a thing of the past. I was mistaken.

I see more varieties of wildlife, and more of them, here in the Desert than I ever saw on our Whidbey Island ten acres. In addition to the variety I saw yesterday morning within the space of twenty minutes, we often see coyotes, wrens, flycatchers, finches, king snakes (we pranam to them), rattlesnakes (we give them wide berth), coachwhip snakes (stunning colors), Gambel's quail, brown and black haired squirrels, ground squirrels, small mice (true masters of tunneling), bobcats, bats, vultures, Harris hawks, owls, jack rabbits, lizards and butterflies of all sizes and shapes, roadrunners, the occasional flight of herons, and during monsoon, toads (unpleasant croaking), tarantulas (scary but harmless), all manner of beetles, and even a desert tortoise. Less common around our house, but frequent in the nearby canyons, are deer, mountain lion, coatamundi, Gila monsters, and bighorn sheep, to name a few.

They inspire me to write.

That same day, my sisters and I took our grand-niece and grand-nephew to the Tucson Festival of Books. The Festival dates back to 2009 and is held on the University of Arizona campus. It started with some 450 authors and presenters, 50,000 visitors, and 800 volunteers. Since then, the visitors have tripled.

We got there before the scheduled opening time. The campus was already crowded. The quad on the campus, several acres of lawn, was covered with hundreds of booths. Our young niece was interested in getting an autograph from one of her favorite children's books authors. We found the classroom in the Education Building and listened to a panel discussion among five authors and illustrators. Nice people. Promoting their books.

They were all nice people. Publishers, hundreds of authors, the volunteers who helped people find their way, and the crowd. It's not easy to become an author accepted by a publisher. You need not only a good book, it has to be in a popular subject matter, you have to find your way through the maze of submittals and agents, and even if you are published, it's still pretty much up to you to promote your book and yourself. Which is why I self publish.

It was a bit daunting to see so much promotion. My morning walks are more inspiring.

Homage to Blue Elves

The funny thing about the blue elf aloe is that it is neither blue (or even a little bit depressed) nor an elf. However, it is an aloe.

The blue elf is a cultivar of the aloe genus which originated in the Old World, Africa and the Near East in particular. Aloes have been grown in the New World for centuries, long enough for one of the five hundred or so aloe species to be named "Mexican" and for the Mexicans to cook the leaves.

No one seems to know who developed the blue elf or how the cultivar got named. They are not blue. If happy (a little shade is always welcome) they are quite green. If over exposed to sunlight or cold, they turn dark, not blue.

They are early bloomers, starting to grow their long stalks and coral colored blooms in winter, even before the aloe vera (the "true aloe") take off. When the regular aloe bloom, it's all at once as if they all had a meeting and unanimously decided upon the opening day. The blue elves tend to be more independent, different plants blooming over weeks and months.

We inherited a couple of clumps of blue elves when we bought the house. I thinned the clumps and planted a few around the gully. I noticed hummingbirds feeding off of the trumpet shaped blue elf flowers. I thinned and planted more clumps.

This winter has been a bumper crop of flowers and the hummingbirds are happy. See for yourself.