More storm aftermath

A crane looked out over Park Avenue this afternoon. A downed tree, my neighbor told me, urging friend Patty and me to cut the Scrabble game short and hie out to the car to go take a look. Which we did. The view from the alley showed 1) a lop-sided Arizona cypress that appeared to have lost most of its limbs on the left side and 2) another cypress whose upper trunk may have been broken off.

Here's the scene on the Park Avenue side of the historic mansion. As best we could tell, a huge trunk was squashing a car that's hiding behind the crane. If you peer past the crane (below), you might get a better view of the tree that lost the top of its trunk -- a side show to the main action.

This is the downed tree trunk -- and, below, the remaining stump.

Piles of slash all over the place -- and firewood for the taking (below). When did the tree topple? No idea, but I'm sure that the high winds earlier this week played a major role.

Those winds did a job on a shed at our cottage down in Wilhoit, as well. The roof blew into the lot next door, the former walls were all over the place...

And file cabinets that haven't been opened since the LH and I moved to Arizona were left standing, lonely, in the cold. Thanks to Chris for the photos.

A tale of 12 apricots

My mother came of age in southern California. Little wonder, then, that fruit was a major part of my diet growing up. I recall that when we traveled from Phoenix to Riverside to visit grandparents, come Beaumont and Banning, we would stop at a roadside stand to buy a lug or two of fresh-picked fruit. In more recent times, I've had to depend upon the supermarkets. Peaches and nectarines they serve up reasonably well (though I truly prefer scrawny Georgia or Michigan peaches to the over-bred California product.) However, I don't believe I have ever purchased a supermarket apricot (one of my absolute favorites) that had any flavor to speak of. Frustrating. Disappointing. But: good news ahead.

Examine this picture carefully. You will find six fruit hanging from the branches. Apricots. Which is most remarkable. When we moved into this house over 20 years ago, I planted the seeds from every apricot that I ate; today, there are five or six trees that range in size from a 2-foot runtlet to a tall 20-foot specimen. All are approximately the same age. Over the years, I have enjoyed all of three (3) apricots. Oh, yes, the trees bloom profusely in spring and the leaves provide a lovely golden glow in the autumn. But a crop? Almost always, zilch. Nada. While Prescott's climate is great for stone fruit, we are prone to late frosts. Or, as happened this year, we suffered high winds that battered the trees shortly after they flowered.

And yet there I am unexpectedly with a total of 12 fruit on one of the smaller of my trees. Perhaps because this particular tree is sheltered behind a much larger fellow; perhaps because it may have received more watering than usual. Whatever. Now to make sure that I can enjoy my apricots. And so I spent less than a dollar over at the WalMart to buy netting to protect my potential harvest from the birds.

Today I wrapped the individual fruit in little bundles of netting. BTW, nobody ever told me that apricot trees had thorns -- big, nasty thorns (above). To give you an idea of the small size of the bearing tree, that stick to the right is its trunk.

From a distance, the netting looks like the work of tent caterpillars. I don't care; I can hardly wait for my 12 apricots to ripen.

Life's a Bowl of Cherries After All

The day certainly declined in quality as time passed!

First, there was this very frustrating insect. Such pretty wings, I had get a picture. Above, the best of a bad lot. And then I loaded my backpack with goodies for Mom, including a small container of rhubarb sauce, and set forth on foot for the Sharlot Hall grounds for the annual Folk Arts Fair -- my most favorite of all the local events. On the way, took a handful of shots about one block from the house (all downhill.)

There was this lovely botanic contrast which sums up our world -- prickly pear cactus in bloom, seen through the needles of what is obviously a young volunteer Ponderosa pine. High desert, yes, but not quite!

Final shot -- wheel covers that literally shout "speed". With one of yesterday's cast-offs lying forlornely on the curb. At which point the camera pouted, thumbed its figurative nose at me and quit. Had I packed spare batteries along with the rhubarb sauce? No way. So I climb uphill home, catch my breath, change my plans and the batteries, and figure my readers will just have to settle for last year's Folk Arts Festival.

Instead, the afternoon was a good visit with Mom and her friends, one of whom prefers veggies to fruit (if you can imagine!) She turned my day completely around with an unexpected bag of cherries picked from local trees. I don't think I've ever bought Royal Anns at the supermarket -- always rare and too pricey. My, they're yummy, as are the Bings. And I'm absolutely flabbergasted that such beautiful fruit survived this year's heavy mid-spring winds and sudden frosts. The rule that I've heard for Prescott is that it is a wonderful climate for stone fruit trees, but expect a crop maybe one year in three or five.

Trees in Bloom

It is close to the end of the blooming season for our deciduous trees; in fact, the lilacs are about to open big time. Therefore, I'm getting my blossoming tree pictures out in public while the season is still on.

I'm not really sure which brand of tree this is; common enough that it might be an ash. Hoping that a reader may be able to help me out. Since this is a tree matter, I suspect it should be a male reader. Funny. It's been my experience that IDing flowers is a girl thing, while expertise in trees tends to be a guy thing.

Of course, being a civilized little city, Prescott is peopled with folks who have planted many, many ornamental fruit trees with beautiful spring blossoms and no intentions of producing fruit. The flowers above are an exception; I caught these up the hill at the Shrine of St. Joseph. Possibly a peach volunteer from a visitor's lunch. I have a little peach tree that came up from a seed I tossed; it has rewarded me with one peach.

OK, I'm not quite sure just which of the ornamentals this cluster of buds represents. Anyone out there more expert with a suggestion? Mighty pretty in any event.

Once the red-purple leaves have popped, the flowering plum is especially spectacular.

This tree was a huge white presence along Park Avenue. Possibly a flowering pear, very popular in Prescott.

Seeds of the Siberian elm appear early in spring, lending a lovely green to the local scenery. Looking at all those seeds (below), you can understand why this import has turned into an unwelcome guest tree in much of the country. My neighbor has been fighting a losing battle against the Siberian elm.


These small, unpretentious flowers were on a heavily blooming, fragrant squaw bush (three-leaf sumac for the politically correct; lemonade bush for the old-fashioned.) A flock of early butterflies was sipping nectar as I took pictures, but none would hold still long enough for a portrait.

Don't know anything about this red beauty. Tain't local -- something from the nursery.

As is this popular ornamental bush.

And in conclusion, more Siberian elms, because they are simply very photogenic. And green.

A Late Afternoon Neighborhood Walk

And the first stop is right beside my house, where the biggest of several grown-from-seed apricot trees is covered in blossoms. Unfortunately, I might as well give up all thought of fruit and welcome these early blooming trees as strictly ornamentals. Prescott has a bad habit of late, killing frosts.

Next, a quick stop at my potted garden before venturing forth. Daffodils are one of the few bulb plants guaranteed to survive hungry javelinas; the critters won't touch the poisonous tubers. After two or three frustrating years with wild tulips and hyacinths, I decided to put all my spring bulb money into daffodils!

But time to get on my way. Over at the United Methodist Church, there's spring-type construction activity at the pretty little meditation garden which I usually view from one level up.

Here's one sight in the neighborhood that I'm sure most people miss completely -- a little summer house up among the granites. It sits behind a house that, from the front, looks like any small Prescott cottage on a standard long and narrow city lot.

This afternoon I also discovered that not only do our sycamores very occasionally produce their pompoms in sets of two -- but here in threesies and foursies. This particular tree is quite young, which might explain such productivity.

I found one other fruit (or ornamental) in bloom. And it was abuzz with bees. Very good news. A couple of years ago, as I recall, our bees died from a virus. That was the year that even our scruffy little apple trees were barren.

A difficult picture to get: small tree trunks sawed into short lengths to create an attractive ground cover.

Ending my walk on a sad note: the butterfly is broken! But it might get repaired; the wing is down below sitting in a decorative cane chair.