There were too many days in August when 90 degrees actually felt cool. Usually I like the monsoons, but there haven’t been enough air-clearing storms and the heat and humidity have been stultifying. When it gets over 100, I sometimes wonder if my lungs will work. Like so many weather events in the world, August’s heat seemed extreme. The wildlife slept in, the plants and trees in my garden were stressed. Normally I enjoy watering my garden in the cool of the early morning, but just getting it done before the sun started scorching everything felt like a mad dash.
A big rain in the mountains brought a flood down Harshaw Creek. It hardly rained in town, but the higher elevations got five inches of rain and the ensuing flood of water cut under roads, carved out banks, threw trees and debris every which way. No doubt there have been worse weather events and intense periods of heat in previous years, but last month gave me first hand experience with a sun that can really shrivel up the world, and with flash floods that can easily take a life away.
One afternoon two men came up from the wash and sat in the shade of our workshop. They were so stealthy that even the dog missed them. They asked for “agua” which we gladly got for them. They asked “How far to Tucson?” The answer was obviously much further than they hoped for. They thanked us and left, two phantoms hoping for some luck in this harsh season.
There were three ash trees on this property when we bought it. We’ve watered them and watched them grow. Trees are so precious here. Then one morning I saw that one of them had dropped every leaf and the one next to it was on its way to doing the same. The third tree is following suit as I write this. Reference material provided by Cliff Hirsh tells me that these trees have Texas root rot, a fungus that lives in soils around here. It takes about four years before you know if you’ve got this fungus. Then your trees die. End of story.
Now the bees are here. Obviously they’ve been around all summer, but now they are really here—trying to find sustenance at our hummingbird feeders. The hummers keep their distance. Bee expert Abbie Zeltzer tells me that there is no nectar in the landscape right now and the bees are trying to survive. This doesn’t seem quite fair. Those birds have been counting on us for sugar since spring, and suddenly there’s no free lunch for them, just pain if they’re not careful. How do they cope? Life in this high desert is precarious.
Out on the porch, the bees who can’t find a seat at the sugar bar fly around, acting a bit annoyed. Summer Luten says they don’t like you to breath on them. I hold my breath as I hang up the laundry. And I’m holding my breath waiting for yellow eye and rabbit bush to bloom on the hillsides. Then, Abbie says, the bees will go back to their natural life and the hummingbirds will line up at the feeders and entertain us with aeronautical dueling matches and autumn will be just around the corner.