Urban Birding: I stepped onto the patio the other day to watch a hot air balloon descending into a nearby field when this kestrel landed on the power line in the alley. It is normally the roost for the backyard doves, often as many as twenty birds at once, as the effusive streaks of droppings attest. When the kestrel lit, there was a minor explosion of doves, flying off in panic in all directions. Feathers were ruffled, and a few were lost in their haste, but no doves were taken.
Fig.
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Grapefruit blossom, at Sahauro Ranch, Glendale, Arizona.
Grapefruit blossom, at Sahauro Ranch, Glendale, Arizona.
I went for a sunset walk at Sahuaro Ranch this evening, to visit with the peacocks, and immerse myself in the scent of orange blossoms. I walked among old citrus trees, vestiges of the groves planted on the ranch in the 1880s.
As sometimes happens with distinctive fragrances, the scent of oranges in bloom vividly evokes for me the memory of a night driving across the desert in the early 1970s. I was on my way to California, and for a reason I can’t recall left the interstate highway in New Mexico, and drove into Arizona on old two-lane roads, US70 from Lordsburg to Globe, and then US60 from Globe into Phoenix.
I saw my first saguaros that night, just giant black silhouettes with raised arms against a background of starry sky. And somewhere east of Mesa
I smelled
for the first time the sweet scent of orange blossoms perfuming the midnight desert air.
Most of those groves are long gone – subdivided, developed, and paved-over victims of real estate boom times – though remnants remain, and many homes are landscaped with orange or lemon or grapefruit trees. I have a productive grapefruit growing just outside my window in Tempe, in flower now, even as last year’s fruit are reaching their peak ripeness.
I think that sometime during that first trip across the desert a seed was planted in my mind. It took a long time reaching fruition, but I think my memory of that night was so potent, it drew me in, and drew me back, and keeps me here now.
I went for a sunset walk at Sahuaro Ranch this evening, to visit with the peacocks, and immerse myself in the scent of orange blossoms. I walked among old citrus trees, vestiges of the groves planted on the ranch in the 1880s.
As sometimes happens with distinctive fragrances, the scent of oranges in bloom vividly evokes for me the memory of a night driving across the desert in the early 1970s. I was on my way to California, and for a reason I can’t recall left the interstate highway in New Mexico, and drove into Arizona on old two-lane roads, US70 from Lordsburg to Globe, and then US60 from Globe into Phoenix.
I saw my first saguaros that night, just giant black silhouettes with raised arms against a background of starry sky. And somewhere east of Mesa
I smelled
for the first time the sweet scent of orange blossoms perfuming the midnight desert air.
Most of those groves are long gone – subdivided, developed, and paved-over victims of real estate boom times – though remnants remain, and many homes are landscaped with orange or lemon or grapefruit trees. I have a productive grapefruit growing just outside my window in Tempe, in flower now, even as last year’s fruit are reaching their peak ripeness.
I think that sometime during that first trip across the desert a seed was planted in my mind. It took a long time reaching fruition, but I think my memory of that night was so potent, it drew me in, and drew me back, and keeps me here now.
Citrus season.
At Sahuaro Ranch, Glendale, Arizona.
Dithyramb 