Home is where the Javelinas are

We left Tucson for seven weeks this year--leaving like cowards when the weather became too hot. I forgive us though, after hearing about temps that stayed above 100* for over a month! (hopefully we are beyond that possibility now) In Portland we stayed in an RV park for five weeks, enjoying cooler temps and trips to the river where Buddha could swim. I have to  admit that when we left Tucson in June I thought seriously about moving back to Portland. Mostly this was due to feeling isolated here and Jim's asthma, the causes of which we still aren't clear about. It was only two weeks before the traffic, noise and bustle of the city began to grate on my nerves. I love having wonderful grocery stores and gourmet restaurants around every corner, but my inner peace had been shattered. We left Portland on July 24th, visiting family as we headed down the California coast. And as we traveled I realized why we moved here. The traffic was clogged everywhere we went--accidents, smog, and angry drivers in a hurry.

Our first week home was a delight, with cool temps, gray skies and the threat of rain. We haven't had much of a monsoon season this year from what I've heard. I hope there's still a chance for a good storm. Although we haven't seen them, the javelinas have been coming to the compost pile every night. Around dusk two nights ago I heard Buddha barking and barking up on the hill behind the house and when I called him and went to investigate, a javelina streaked across the state land on the other side of our road. Luckily the guy didn't want to tangle with Buddha.

Costas

The hummingbirds are fighting over the two feeders. I've seen several different varieties. The Costa's:

and the Broad tailed featured below, as well as Annas and another as yet unidentified one. The trouble is the females and males can look very different as well as being different sizes! Right now there seems to be a feeding frenzy going on.

The fruit bats who came last year to partake of the sugar water have been strangely absent. I miss their nightly forays, the dark shapes flying out from under the porch roof when I turned on the lights...also the smaller insect eating bats haven't been around. 

I have yet to hear the coyotes but I remember this from last year--I assume that they are raising their young and will take them out hunting when they're old enough. It makes me smile to hear their high-pitched yips when they run with the pack the first few times. 

Once again the peace of this place has entered my heart. I'm glad to be home.

weather whine or whether wine to take my mind off weather...

I'm beginning to understand the rush to leave the desert during the summer. I've been pretty good with it all, getting up at 5:30 to walk the dogs, coming back and doing my chores outside--filling feeders, throwing scratch on the ground for the quail and doves, a little bit of gardening in the front yard where we have shade until 11:00 or so. But the last three days have threatened rain--clouds building over the Catalina mountains, thunder rumbling enticingly in the distance, a tantalizing flash of lightning here and there...and then...nothing. The temps don't drop, we have no rain and soon the clouds have moved off to the west without a by-your-leave.

For some reason this teasing weather pattern has me cursing, a fist held up toward the over-bright orb shining down from the very blue sky. I hear distant laughter, as though the sun mocks me. I hole up in the house, unable to plant my vegetable garden or walk the property. Even hanging out clothes on the line has me covered in sweat. 'We need an umbrella!' I shout to my husband. My Fresno born mate is nonplussed.

And so I work on my writing, trying not to think about the tire that has appeared around my waist. The heat keeps me hard at work, I rationalize. I have a book to edit, I tell myself, what better time to do it?

But on a more positive note, we've now got a six foot Sagauro. He stands straight with a groundedness that I find astounding considering his short root system. Every morning I say hello, glad to have his peaceful company. He's like a sentinel, guarding and watching over our house.

And the front garden now contains several kinds of agave, a large one as a centerpiece. A three foot tall, deep green Mexican Fencepost has been planted against the pale wall of the house. Our next project will be the enclosed backyard that I'm afraid will have to wait until we have the money to hire a crew of professionals.

My disdain of the snow-birds has been replaced with plans to go to Portland next year for at least a month, if not more. I hate to miss the monsoons, however. They have been spectacular, dropping the temps and whipping through with the vengeance of an angry goddess. From what I've heard, this year has been a good one for rainfall. The grass and flowers flourish on the hill behind the house.

It is now the beginning of September and the average temps will be dropping. By early October it will be cool enough to hike during the day. I look forward to the coming months when the snakes hibernate and I can let the dogs run free again. I'm glad of our decision to remain through the summer, but I've experienced it now. Next summer will find us in cooler climes, at least for a portion of it!