I look out the window on one side of the Motor Home and I am transported to a place where the white crowned sparrows; the house finches; the Verdins; the Doves; the Quail; and even the Gila Woodpeckers flit around – chase each other off – ward off intruders and then totally abandon the whole area for a time and then come back. It is mating time and even the Doves get involved protecting their territory. I never think of Doves as being aggressive but this fellow defies that myth as he wards off four other males!
Some of them talk to each other, but not many. Mostly they mingle around the water bowls, eat the feed we put out for them and peck at the grapefruit and oranges mounted on the shrubs but when they take off – they all take off together.
Oh, look, there are three Gila Woodpeckers trying to eat the grapefruit – come on, guys, there’s only room for one!
The new visitors are the Mockingbirds and the Cardinals.
We’ve seen the Cardinals before but not in the numbers we’ve seen this year. We have never seen the Mockingbirds here before.
The Gila Woodpeckers have taken over the hummingbird feeder but the hummingbirds seem to have abandoned us but that’s okay, they probably have far more important things to do.
Behind the shrubs and bushes that act as sanctuaries of protection for the birds, there is what they call down here, a wash. Now to me it looks like a wide dry river bed that once may have carried a flood of fast moving water. Now it is all but forsaken and taken over by smaller versions of the vegetation that lines the banks.
Wandering and exploring the wash is a favourite past-time for most folks who spend much time here. There always seem to be something you may have missed last time or are seeing for the very first time.
Just out in the wash from us here, is an old dilapidated bicycle that is considered an abandoned Mexican bicycle (meaning it would be a bicycle used by a Mexican to jump the border – we are very close to Mexico – and then just left there). Heaven know if that is the truth but it’s a good story anyway.
Further down the wash is a Crown of Thorns plant that we have looked for and not seen since the first year we were here.
Now, if you go to the other side of the Motor Home, you are immediately struck by a panorama of the desert. Not what you usually think of as desert, but a vast array of vegetation that stops only when it meet the mountains of the Sonora Desert.
This time of year, the plants start to shed their lifeless grey hue as a green tinge creeps over the landscape. Here and there Saguaros Cactus pop up from the sandy green mat: a few of the Saguaros look like single poles reaching for the sky but others have an array of arms stretching out, then up, then down . . . you never know what direction they will go.
Just behind the Motor Home is that perfect cactus that must pose for every picture we see of a desert cactus. Surrounded by the creosote bushes that protected and nursed it as it grew, it now towers high above its protectorates and has become the home for those who nest within.
Four perfect arms encircle the solid green trunk. Right now the cactus are heavy with moisture and the bristle-laden veins that extend the length of its height and surround the stock in wide pleats.
Half a dozen round, scarred holes are scattered down the top section. Gila Woodpeckers come and go often visiting one hole after another but as yet, there is no sign of any baby birds.
The sun is warm, but not hot. We sit out on our desert patio surveying our kingdom, reading or just talking and greet hikers or walkers who pass by. Many of the passers-by are Canadian. Being Canadian, we engage in the most Canadian thing to do . . . we talk about the weather back home . . . as if we need an excuse . . . but it seems to rationalize why we are down here.
Everyone has a story . . . especially about where they have been and the different things they have done or seen while spending time in the desert. You are never sure if the stories are even true or when it all happened, but it doesn’t matter . . . it is their story. Often, I can’t remember the people, but I remember their stories.
This weekend we will leave this spot. We will be back again next year – God willing and the creek don’t rise!
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