May casts a quiet spell of desert sensibility.
Brief morning showers spawn feline revelry.
Lonely pomegranates hang ready to ripen.
Roses, hibiscus, and bougainvillea vie nearby.
Shiny lizards adorn loveseats and walkways.
Still waters wait for summer waves to come.
The longer, hotter summer of 2023 in the Valley of the Sun claimed countless trees and plants–not to mention hundreds of human lives.
Now that November has settled in, we are reminded that cooler mornings and evenings–with warm, sunny afternoons sandwiched in between–actually exist in central Arizona from October through May. This is why we live here.
Unlike most of the United States, fall is a time of renewal in the Sonoran Desert. It is more like spring with an autumnal twist–minus the crunch of rotting leaves underfoot.
We desert rats can now focus on revitalizing our gardens and spirits. Perhaps a Barbara Karst or Torch Glow bougainvillea here–or a crested cactus there–to dress up the back patio in time for Thanksgiving.
Whatever your potting preference, it is growing season despite the advancing darkness. While old plants and trees lick their wounds, new ones pose with the promise of buds to endure winter–a foreign concept for most of the Northern Hemisphere reconciled to the shiver of ice and cold.
It’s July. It’s hot. It’s dry. It’s the Sonoran Desert. No surprises there.
But one-hundred-eleven? One-hundred-eleven again? One-hundred-thirteen? One-hundred-fifteen? One-hundred-seventeen?
These are the forecast high temperatures for Scottsdale, Arizona for Wednesday through Sunday of this week.
I’m not sharing this information to inspire pity or compassion. After all, I chose to live here.
Plus I won’t ever have to worry again about snow removal. Or icy sidewalks. Or digging decaying leaves out of gutters.
Or shoveling two-to-three feet of drifting snow. Or the cilia in my nostrils freezing solid in winter. Or driving down the street to discover that the snowplows have come through and blocked our driveway.
These are Chicago memories. November. December. January. February. March. April can be cold too. So can May.
Anyway, back to July in Arizona. It will rain again in the Valley of the Sun … some day.
Probably a vengeful monsoon or two in late July and August. The washes will fill up. And when they do, the thermometer will dip below 100. Sweater weather?
The local weather forecasters will have another monsoon story to tell. How to prepare for the next storm.
They’ll send their TV news crews out on the roads. To show us that actual rain is falling.
That the pavement on streets is wet. That windshield wipers are swooshing back and forth across glass. Only in Arizona will these ever be considered newsworthy.
Tom and I have figured out ways to manage in the Arizona heat. Early morning walks or swims or masked trips to the store. Reading and writing and yoga in the middle of the day in the AC of our condo.
Lighter meals. Fruit smoothies for lunch. Complements of the new Ninja we bought.
Scrabble. Game shows. Reruns of old sitcoms. That Girl and The Brady Bunch are our latest fixations.
Quiet dinners at home. Late evening strolls to the canal after the sun is down and the temperature is closer to 100 again.
This is the life of a desert rat. Living under the radar. Thinner. Tanner. Dryer. More tolerant of our advanced degrees.
Mark Johnson Stories 