Cactus in our desert

We're lucky, here in Prescott, to have our own lonesome and reasonably private desert, free from encroaching highways or Phoenicians. Just get on Iron Springs and head west, toward Bagdad. Saturday, the dotter wanted a real Arizona sunshine fix; what could be better than a trip down to the Santa Maria River the day before her return to darkest Alaska. While she hiked, I looked for cacti. What I found:

Excellent, multi-branched saguaros, growing right near the river's edge. These are obviously very tall old trees, with even the limbs growing limbs! Note the evidence of our recent soaking rains -- the white fuzzy tops of the cactus below, preparing to blossom.

There were several types of opuntia within a short walk of the car. Your standard prickly pear above and its cousin, the beaver tail cactus below; the beaver tail has spectacular magenta blossoms. Did you know that the prickly pear is native to at least 45 of the 50 states and most Canadian provinces?

I'm not sure if these (above, below) are the same brand of cholla or near relatives. In any event, you do not want to tangle with one, though their blossoms, like most of our cactus, are beautiful in season. Cholla are also in the opuntia family.

More cholla. Unfortunately, those mean spikes are all that show up in the tangled mass of the little Christmas cactus, characterized by pencil thin branches and small, bright red fruit.

And yet another cholla. If you have heard the term, jumping cactus, meet one. Also known as teddy bear cactus, this is one plant to keep at a distance. Though they don't actually jump, those pretty joints quickly attach to anyone or thing that touches them and break off, the idea being to start a new teddy bear cactus elsewhere. In the southwest, one hears apocrophal tales of men who peed too close to such a cactus with a very painful aftermath.

This particular teddy bear cactus was collapsing, as the main stem died, shedding all those joints to start new plants.

The barrel cactus is a short, stout, unbranched plant. All but one of the barrels I saw yesterday was growing out from beneath a so-called nursery tree or shrub (below), which provides shelter from the hot, drying sun when a seed sprouts and the tiny cactus begins its slow growth.

The prickly pear (above) started in the shade beneath a nursery tree, spread and continues to spread. Seeing the barrels and optuntias 'neath trees and shrubs gave me the idea of inspecting the assorted palo verdes, mesquites and cat claws to see if I could find a young saguaro. I lucked out -- take a look at the adolescent cactus below. It is probably 30+ years old, by the way, which should give you some idea of the age of those saguaros at the beginning of this post.

Then and now

In 2002, Westcliffe Publishers produced a coffee table book to lust for, Arizona Then and Now. Each page in the oversized book shows historic pictures from way back when on the left hand and the modern view on the right. One of the coolest pictures in the entire book is of the Santa Fe bridge over Hell Canyon under construction in 1895 (the same bridge that stands today, BTW). Photographer Allen Dutton focused on change.

Going through my backlog of photographs, I happened across a different pairing of photos, showing, not change, but the changelessness of the outback. Top in April, 2006, and lower picture mid-March, 2008. Admittedly, a short 2-year time span doesn't measure up as a big deal in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, not much appears to have changed -- except that the hood on the big truck has been closed (or, more likely, fell shut). I only wish I had shot this year's picture from the same vantage point. Location, by the way, along the Santa Maria Road. I should make a point of stopping by in another few years to see if those vehicles have gone anywhere or if they're truly a fixture of the landscape, rusting in place.

The desert in bloom

There! I've pulled together the wildflower shots from Sunday's expedition to the desert next the Santa Maria River (elevation, roughly 1800 ft.). A few disappointments: none of the chia pix worked, my assorted field guides (the kind with pretty pictures) didn't help ID in too many cases, there were a lot of bad, throw-away images, and that lovely pale blue delphinium was nowhere in evidence.

Just to prove that this lush landscape is really desert, a scene-setting view that includes a saguaro cactus in the background (the straight-up fellow in the middle.) The poppies were in full bloom, perhaps edging toward the end of their reign. California poppies or Mexican gold poppies? Currently, there's a debate, with the wildflower folk leaning toward a broad category -- all California poppies.

The poppies are varied, some pure gold, many with a center that is more orangish. Over in California, the poppies are a definite orange.

The poppy growth pattern was somewhat spotty along the Santa Maria Road on the east side of the river; however, my experience has been that if you opt for the paved road on the west side of the river, you won't see many wildflowers. Probably a major soil difference -- on the east, the soil is mostly volcanic and on the west, it's more granitic and alluvial. BTW, tho the lower elevation desert is famous for fields of California poppies, they grow quite nicely up here in Prescott, with the added advantage of being perennial.

Here is one of several mystery plants; it might be a member of the waterleaf family. Pretty even without a name.

Another nameless yellow. I was inclined toward the caltrop family (did you ever step on one of those awful bullheads in your bare feet down in the Valley?) But this flower is bigger, maybe 3/4 to 1 inch across, and the center doesn't look right.

A bladderpod for sure. Those little spherical seed pods will pop if you squeeze them.

I guess the desert marigold is a later blooming plant. We only saw a handful. There are great stands of this un-marigold along SR 69 as you head toward Mayer, courtesy of the highway department, so I hunch it might be a plant of slightly higher elevations. I've seen them even at about 5000 ft. on the West Spruce trail.

Tiny yellow flowers adorn the fiddleneck.

If you look carefully at the clear yellow flower to the top right , you'll realize that it is quite different from all those poppies. We saw just one small stand of these yellow evening primroses.

Enough of the yellows. Lupines (the two tallish purple stalks) are a major desert wildflower although we saw many more alongside the highway in road cuts than down at river level. The little lavenders? Mysteries. You tell me!

The third of the big-three of Arizona desert wildflowers -- owl clover. Again, only a few specimens at this location.

The lavender blossom on the right is a phacelia; there are many varieties of phacelia here in Arizona.

Along the Orme Road as it nears I-17, you'll see clouds of this pretty pink flower. It might be a gilia. Again, the field guides didn't help me.

Another pair of smallish lavender mystery blossoms (above and below.) Both covered a swath of ground. The lower guy might be a phacelia.

Nama? Whatever. As you can see, the plant forms a mat, with little pinkish-purple flowers.

We may have a Mojave desert star (above); the lower picture is of tackstem, which tended to grow in the shade of the palo verde trees or any other spot protected from the sun's heat.

The only tree trees blooming were willows in a stand at the rivers edge. We'll have to wait for the mesquite and the palo verde to blossom as well as the cactus. If you are planning a similar trip out the Bagdad Road for the wildflowers, I'd suggest you do it this weekend or perhaps next week. Unless we get a rain. Things are beginning to dry out.

Not All Desert Pictures Look Like Arizona Highways!

The secret to those smashing Arizona Highways pictures is to avoid the midday sun -- like the plague. Get out in the early morning or late afternoon, when there are shadows and the light is that famous reddish color. Else you fry and your pictures are likely to wash out. I didn't have that option the day I had persuaded LindaG and Eeyore of The One Acre Wood to take me down to the Santa Maria for spring wildflower pictures last year. It was my first major photography expedition and I was totally new to the digital camera.

Along the roadside heading down to the river, all was greyed out green. Except that if you squinch your eyes, you can see that there's a touch of pink in the photo above. That's why we stopped the car.

On closer inspection, a pretty fairy duster plant in bloom (above). And a close look at the "duster" itself (below.)

Of course, cacti are a major attraction down at lower elevations. The sahuaro were not yet in bloom (and we didn't have a tall ladder on this expedition.) But there were two types of mammary cactus that were open. FYI, the Santa Maria is at about 1200 ft. elevation at the Bagdad Road. True desert.

Another feature of the Arizona desert is ocotillo which looks like a bunch of tall dead sticks with stickers until it gets water. For a rustic and highly effective desert fence, ocotillo canes are rooted in a row, spaced tightly together; not much gets through -- or bothers to try.

Now here is what my late husband and I consider perhaps the most photogenic of all Arizona wildflowers, the prickly poppy. The slightest breeze catches those big, delicate petals -- LH could scarcely restrain himself from photographing every poppy we saw! BTW, the stems and leaves of the plant really merit the word prickly; they are nasty! Though this plant is classed as a desert dweller, it is common enough at Prescott's elevation (5200-5400 ft.); there used to be a nice stand over on McCormick Street before Freas' place was turned into a parking lot.

Just to prove that there are patches of bright green during a dry desert spring, there's the mesquite tree, like other acacias a member of the legume family.

This pink flower is, I believe, one of the zillion types of buckwheat found in Arizona.

We also found this one lone red penstemon frying in the heat, plus the daisy below. Both were probably leftovers from the cooler, earlier portion of spring.

For the record: these pictures were taken on April 21 of a year with very low winter rainfall. Any year that we have what used to be considered "average" winter rainfall, the time to visit the Santa Maria River area for beautiful, non-cactus wildflowers would be early to late March. There's a graded county road (dirt) on the east side of the river between the Bagdad Road and US93 where you will find a wonderful mix of Sonoran and Mohave desert flowers in a good spring. However, note that the paved road which parallels the river on the west isn't nearly as florific. A final note about wildflowers hereabouts: we've recently had a spot of rain, which seems to be enough to sustain the little patch of wild delphiniums in our neighborhood. I may have pictures soon!

Yesterday's Big Trees

In the city, they have defenders, these huge old cottonwoods do. Perhaps you remember that we had a few days of tree sitting at Willis and McCormick when officials planned to drop these creekside survivors. The tree sitters went away when it was decided to call in the experts for drastic surgery instead.

Problem, said the city, was that a big limb might fall any day, possibly injuring a car or pedestrian. Necessitating law suits, of course. Unfortunately, the patients died.

Out in the countryside life is far more Darwinian. As I walked through the brush from our car to the big picnic cottonwood down at the Santa Maria River crossing last weekend, I came across evidence of yesterday's big trees. Furthest gone was this mouldering ruin.

This fellow was still standing, but you can see fallen companions on either side. I wonder what was the cause: drought, insects, mistletoe (yes, I saw it for the first time on a cottonwood), man, old age. Who knows. But they do look of an age.

Now here's a true survivor. I did see one or two small branches about to leaf out. The huge bole is about four feet high and close to that in diameter.

Note: seeing all this dead wood reminds me that we have just had our first two wildfires in the national forest. That's at least one month to six weeks earlier than the usual start of fire season. One of our local bloggers recounts her experience living in one of the local enclaves in the pines; read it here.