As April comes to an end, so does the lingering luster of winter’s rain. Wildflowers born of this year’s meager cold season inexorably succumb to the desiccating anvil of the sun, as well as relentless drying winds. Spring’s transition into our dry summer can be a painful and austere, yet rewarding metamorphosis to witness. Gone are the bright yellows of Mexican Poppies and Desert Dandelions. Soon forgotten, too, are lively lupines and fabulous phacelias. In their stead stand dry stalks of these and other spring ephemeral wildflowers of dozens of species. The promise of monsoonal life to come rings hollow—a good two months or more away. Left is a gap in life that stands in stark contrast to our two seasons of abundance.
Nature, however, abhors a vacuum. May furnishes just enough new life to help string us along until monsoon season (finally) hits us. Look carefully and you’ll see some spectacular species coming to the fore in this time of dust devils, fire watches, spent streams, and animal estivation.
Bridging the transition between April and May are a variety of flowering cacti. Many species of cactus have evolved to bring forth blossoms during our dry summer. Perhaps their “strategy” is to offer their nectar and pollen at a time when there is little competition in that realm—akin to running a candy shop with limited stock, but with a corner on the market. Santa Rita and other prickly pears, various hedgehog cacti, and more will have multipetaled flowers with numerous stamens, luring in a variety of pollinators—among them many native bees.
Sticking to the succulents, May is the start of our summer stalk season. Some Palmer’s Agaves begin to show the promise of decades of stored sugars. Swelling like a pregnant belly, they’ll soon proffer giant, asparagus-like flowering stalks that grow so fast as to lend credence to the Jack and the Beanstalk fairy tale! The flowers themselves will wait a while (generally June-September) to lure in passing hummingbirds, nectar-feeding bats, or ioles, and many others for a free meal. Joining the agaves are sotols, yuccas, and beargrasses—all in the same asparagus family. Unlike agaves, they cast their pollination lot to the winds and/or to invertebrates available in May and June.
Bare patches of ground on rocky hillside start to show odd, hairy leaves emerging. Here come the “bad women!” Mala Mujer translates to exactly that, only in the singular. A member of the ever-intriguing spurge family, they are eye-fetching yet dangerous botanical wonders. Look, but don’t touch! I, the curious type, will purposely sting myself in the fingers once or twice a year just to recall the sensation and report an eye witness accounting to my natural history and survival students.
Populating the balmy air of May are emerging tarantula hawk wasps, imposing as they buzz by on orange wings. Fear not these ungodly large and dangerous Hymenopterans, as they ignore all, save their would-be tarantula zombie victims. Leafcutter bees start to make swiss cheese of various native plant foliage in an effort to create nest chambers. Peak bird migration is upon us, and May provides a perfect stage for a myriad of resident, wintering, and transitory species. If you missed the return of some bird species in April, May could be your best hope of seeing them. Meanwhile, many small mammals give the increasingly oppressive heat of May a miss by estivating underground and awaiting the surfeit of summer.
My advice to you? Consider many of the following strategies to survive and thrive in May: visit flowers, rest during the heat of the day, and migrate to a local mountain’s coolness. Just avoid the zombie-making business!