Changing Times

Joe went back to work on Tuesday and I didn't; up till then it had just felt like our usual summer break rather than the R word. And I still don't feel retired, since my vision of that was days alone to pursue my creative and domestic projects. I'm not complaining, just acknowledging that, as John Lennon said, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans," like when the wind blows down a tree and the only practical, reasonable thing to do is to cut and stack it for firewood (and a playground for cactus wrens).

A week ago yesterday my mother had what fortunately turned out to be a small stroke-type event, a TIA or transient ischemic attack, but unlike that tree, she got back up and is recovering well. She spent two days in the hospital and has been with us since then, though she'll be going home on Sunday. I'm so glad to be able to be here for her, and she's a wonderful, undemanding "guest." My problem is in my own head: I feel guilty about taking time for myself to write or paint or whatever, though she's perfectly able to entertain herself. In fact, she'll probably be relieved to be free of my anxious hovering.
       One thing we enjoy together is wildlife in the backyard. While I'm watering, she circles the patio with her walker, and we observe things like the Texas ranger blooming in response to recent rains (this picture is from yesterday and already the blossoms are fading and dropping),

the goldfinches at their new feeder full of nyjer seed,

and the doves vacuuming up whatever falls to the ground.

Nyjer seed is pretty expensive, but I finally broke down and bought a sock feeder to see if it would attract the goldfinches that have been absent since our sunflower crop failed this year - usually we have lots of sunflowers and thus lots of these beautiful birds. You can see that the sock feeder worked: here are two female lesser goldfinches and a house finch (top right) on it,

 and here are a female and a male, in his lovely black tuxedo.

 But put the sock feeder up against a good monsoon and the monsoon wins, especially when they come three days in a row. The birds kept coming, but the seed in the middle would have been sprouting or fermenting or something, so we visited Wild Birds Unlimited http://www.wbu.com/, and bought the pretty yellow feeder for about $20 - we talked about making one but I don't think we could have done it for any less - and now not only does less seed fall to the ground but what's in the feeder has some protection from the rain, not necessarily from real hard-pounding rain with tree-whipping wind, but all in all better than the sock. In fact, it just began to rain again as I wrote that last sentence!
     Another change the last couple of days is that finally - finally! - my pepper plants are actually producing something! Here's a jalapeño (can you see the face on it?),

and here's a Cubanelle, a variety I've never planted before but when I saw them at Home Depot I liked the name, so here we are -

this one (and more, I hope!) will get bigger and turn red. Heat- and spice-wise, it's apparently fairly mild; I've read they're sometimes used in place of poblanos.
    I received the seeds I ordered for the fall/winter garden but it's still too hot to plant them, so I must be patient. Any number of garden chores await some cooling weather, which we'll have a taste of next week, according to the most recent forecast, and I look forward to digging and planting and transplanting, mostly various herbs and cacti. Of course when it cools the tomatoes will start setting fruit again - this one must have had its hormones triggered in some recent brief cool interval.

Bigger than a dime and smaller than a nickel, I see it as a sign of hope and faith that summer will soon be giving way to what passes for fall here in the desert southwest. I even changed my hair color in anticipation of the changing season; it's very, very red and I haven't decided whether to call it merlot or chianti, but I know autumn leaves come in this color.

To Everything There Is a Season

Of course, seasons in the southern Arizona/Sonoran desert aren't quite like those in more temperate climes. We've had winter; maybe we're still having it. The garden shows the effects of a week of overnight temperatures in the low 20s the second week in January with quite a bit of die-back on things that will recover, like cassia, purple heart, and some other perennials, and some that won't, such as wild poinsettia (which has, however, probably reseeded itself), sweet potato vine, and nasturtiums.
    The goldfinches went away, but other birds stay year-round, like Mr. Costa, who feeds on the other side of our kitchen window (his real name is Costa's hummingbird; we've gotten quite well acquainted but I still like to address him with respect).

A female black-chinned hummingbird also showed up yesterday and was able to feed without being chased off. Mr. Costa and another male have frequent, swift, noisy battles, sometimes right over our heads, but the female got lucky. Apparently early European explorers believed hummingbirds didn't have feet because they only saw them hovering to feed at flowers, with their feet tucked up against their bellies. This feeder has perches all around and the hummers like to sit on them to drink their nectar - and I've seen their feet close up through the glass. I wouldn't buy a hummingbird feeder that didn't offer them a place to rest - they burn up a lot of calories buzzing around the way they do!

Verdins also like hummingbird feeders; we saw one yesterday morning, the first in more than a year. They are among my very favorite birds, so tiny, fluffy, and colorful with their yellow heads and red epaulets.
     It's hard to know what season it is from one day - sometimes one hour - to the next lately. This morning when we took our walk it was definitely winter. This female phainopepla with her feathers fluffed out for insulation, on bare branches against a gray sky, perfectly captures the feeling. She's there in the same spot every morning, surveying her territory, I guess, and trying to stay warm.

 Up around the corner and about a block away we spied two red birds facing off in the middle of the road - male cardinals. They're very territorial; apparently one was trying to horn in on the other's turf - like the phainopepla in her tree, this fellow owns that half block or so. The green leaves on these mesquite branches aren't new growth, by the way; they just never fell when it got cold.

But spring is coming. New leaf buds are forming at the ends of the fig branches, and new blossom buds on the Meyer lemon, though it took quite a hit from the frost, in spite of being covered. There's bok choy ready to pick in the garden with chard right behind it, and all the herbs except the basil (of course) weathered the cold well. Even though all the nasturtiums in the hanging baskets bit the dust, new ones have popped up, apparently from seeds that hadn't germinated earlier. This interregnum between winter and spring is quite a nice time, really. Winter in the morning and temperatures in the low 70s by mid-afternoon, at least today, and tomorrow, though we'll be back in the low 60s with night temperatures in the high 30s by next weekend. I'm in no hurry for the weather to warm up too much. Someone told me the other day that when people complain about the cold, he just offers three words in response: "June, July, August." Yep.