This time of year, I’m obsessed with daffodils. Maybe it goes back to my Midwestern roots. I spent most of my life in southern Indiana where winters are cold, drizzly, and gray. During winter, the glorious deciduous trees of autumn are bare and stark, the luxurious green lawns of summer are brown and muddy, and cabin fever rages.
It was the worst time of year for those of us in the teaching profession. The period between winter break and spring break seemed to go on forever. Indoor recess had lost it’s charm, students were restless, and teachers were weary.
When my husband and I moved our family to a house in the woods, the kids and I planted daffodil bulbs on the hillside behind the house. Each dormant bulb held the promise that spring would come. We couldn’t wait to see the first green shoots springing up form under the leaf mulch in the woods. When the hillside burst into bloom, we knew winter days would soon be gone. Each year, I would gather a large boquet and bring it inside.
Daffodils remind me of my grandmother. They were her favorite flower though she called them jonquils. I like to call them that too, though purists say they are both in the Narcissus family, however there are slight differences.
But what’s in a name? My grandmother’s name was Josephine Marie. She preferred to go by Marie, but allowed Grandpa to call her Josie . “..a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Currently, I live in the Southwest. There is an abundance of wildflowers blooming in the desert this spring, but sadly, no daffodils grow here. I was thrilled when a friend brought me a bundle of of spindly little stems in pre-bloom stage she’d purchased at Trader Joe”s. As per her directions, I snipped off a half inch from each stem and put them into some water.
Now, my kitchen counter is glowing with yellow blooms! I know they are short-lived, but for now I am enjoying the burst of spring, the reminders of Grandma, my Indiana home, and the end of winter.
But I think it’s deeper than that. Perhaps , for me, these bright yellow blooms bursting from dormant bulbs and spindly stalks give me hope and courage. Their blooms are fleeting. Their message lingers.
Threads of Thought
To those of you still in the throes of winter, hang in there! Spring is coming! Watch for it!
It’s officially autumn in the northern hemisphere. Judging by social media posts, many of you are wearing sweaters, welcoming fall colors, and drinking all things pumpkin spice. So why am I sitting by the pool in shorts and a tee shirt and drinking iced tea? Because it’s not autumn in my part of Arizona yet. Here’s why:
Six Seasons?
Though some say there are officially 5 seasons here in the Sonoran Desert, others divide our year into six distinct seasons. On a recent trip to the Sabino Canyon visitors’ center near Tucson, I saw an informative display that made perfect sense to me. I used to think that this part of the country was barren, hot and dry all year. Maybe you have that image in mind as well. But having lived her for over a decade, I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of each season in the desert. Here’s the breakdown of a “typical” year.
Winter
Winter hiking
December to January: Winter is typically sunny and mild, daytime temps in the 60s, nights may occasionally drop below freezing. The jagged peaks of nearby Mt. Lemmon are often snow covered and, once, I woke to a dusting of snow on our patio. I scooped up a handful and made a little snowman. He was gone by noon. After Christmas, Snowbirds (people who winter here) flock to enjoy sunny days and mild temps. Crisp air and blue sky make for perfect hiking weather.
Spring
Palo Verde trees burst into bloom
February to April: Expect mild temperatures, occasional light rain. This is the main flowering season for winter annuals. Hikers and birdwatchers flock to the trails to observe wildflowers and migrating birds. Palo Verdes (the state tree) sprout golden blossoms from green branches. Bees buzz around crimson blossoms on my pomegranate tree and neighbors share bountiful citrus harvests.
Foresummer Draught/ Dry Summer
Saguaro Cactus Blooms
May-June : Here it comes–the high temperatures, often pushing into triple digits, and extremely low humidity. Most desert life is in survival mode during this time. Iconic saguaro cacti have adapted to store large amounts of water in their spongy stems that expand and contract like an accordion. They crown themselves with waxy white blossoms during this season, show-offs in the otherwise prickly environment. This is the off-season for tourist attractions in the area. It’s best to stay indoors as much as possible during the day. Hats, sunscreen, and water are the survival tools for those who venture out. Even so, hiking can be dangerous.
Wet Summer/Monsoon
Rain falls in the thirsty desert
July to mid-September: Just when you think you can’t stand the heat anymore, here comes the Monsoon. This season is celebrated! In a good year, more than half the annual rainfall may fall during these months. Temperatures drop, the wind picks up, and billowy dark clouds fill the sky followed by dramatic lighting shows and rumbles of thunder. When storms subside, people rush to see water flowing in the usually dry streams, “rivers”, and washes. This is a major growing season for most plants.
Late Summer
Late Summer sunset
September to mid -October: some include this short season between monsoons and autumn. Don’t put away your shorts and bathing suits just yet. This period can be hot and dry. I pretend it’s autumn by putting up a fall wreath, and going out for a pumpkin spice latte (iced) while waiting for the “real fall” to arrive. On the plus side, the days are getting shorter and the sun is gentler this time of year making sunsets even more spectacular.
Autumn
Late October-November: Autumn finally arrives. Cool, crisp salads make way for soups, stews, and spicy chili. After dinner, you can gather around the tire table or stoke up your mesquite fire pit and make s’mores. My pomegranate tree is heavy with fruit waiting to be harvested and it will soon drop its leaves. Halloween decorations pop up all over the neighborhood and trick-or-treaters will soon be here. You might even need to throw on a light sweater or jacket. Then you will know autumn has finally arrived in Arizona.
Yeah, I know. The desert environment is not for everyone. Those of you who live in other parts of the country will have beautiful leaves, the first snowfall, White Christmas. I miss it sometimes. But come January, February, and March, when Midwestern friends and family members begin to tire of cold, gray, slushy days, my guest room fills up.
Threads of Thought
What is autumn like where you live?
Do you have a favorite season?
Fall into a good book! Out of the Crayon Box: Thoughts on Teaching, Retirement, and Life and Until Italy: A Traveler’s Memoir are available in paperback, eBook, and Kindle Unlimited
It was autumn of 1999 when I first met Eagle Bay. My father walked out on the deck and looked at the brilliant Indiana foliage surrounding the water.”You can look all you want, but this is the place,” he said to my mother. Soon after, my parents purchased the small condo overlooking Lake Monroe. It was to be their retirement/vacation home.
After Dad died and Mom could no longer care for the property, she deeded it to my siblings and I. Throughout the years, it has been a gathering place for my parent’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Each season brings its own unique personality. Memories are made.
When autumn foliage fades and drops, stark white sycamore trees reflect on icy water. Ed and I arrive from Arizona. I get the tabletop Christmas tree out of the closet and set it up in the corner of the dining room to celebrate the holidays here with our children and grandchildren. We take steaming mugs of coffee and hot chocolate out on the deck hoping to glimpse the eagle family nesting across the bay. We fill the birdfeeder and watch cardinals, bluejays, chickadees, and nuthatches feast. The new year comes and we toast with champagne before heading back to our respective homes.
In spring, gentle rains come and trees explode with baby green leaves. Deer saunter around the community, thinking the carpet of lush grass is a banquet set out just for them. The weather is fickle this time of year. Suddenly the sky darkens and fierce winds whip whitecaps on the water. Tornado sirens wail, the lights flicker, then the power goes out, but we’re safe.
Memorial Day weekend signals summer on the lake and pontoon boats fill the bay. Music blares as partygoers drop anchor and settle in for an afternoon of swimming and sunbathing. The leaves on the trees are so thick they almost block the bay from view. I take a glass of iced tea out and settle on the porch swing. We’ll fire up the grill for brats and burgers and later pour a glass of wine to watch the sunset. At dusk, the trees sparkle with fireflies, and on a clear night, a full moon sends a ripple of light across the bay.
Season after season, twenty-five years pass by. Children grow up, move away, start families of their own. Priorities shift, maintenance issues arise, cross-country travel becomes more difficult, and visits to Eagle Bay become fewer.
It’s time. We were blessed with this gift from my parents for a long time, now we release it with gratitude.
I walk out on the deck for one last picture only to find the bay has hidden itself behind a thick curtain of morning fog. I smile at its closing act. Like the fade-out scene of a really good movie, I’m left with warm feelings. I realize now, it’s not about the rooms, the porch, the water. Those were the backdrop, the setting for the love we shared and the memories we made here.
This, this is what I pack up, all of it. I lock the door then, taking Eagle Bay with me.
Threads of Thought
Leaving a home, can be difficult. I’ll be honest, I’m still struggling a bit with this one. But, I’m choosing to focus on the future and what’s best for all. Who knows what new possibilities await for me, my family, and Eagle Bay?
What have you experienced when leaving a place you’ve called home? What advice would you give to others facing this?
“Moments bloom into words”
As a writer, I use words to help me process feelings and situations I find myself in. In OUT OF THE CRAYON BOX, I explore the emotions I experienced when leaving the teaching profession after a long career in education. UNTIL ITALY will take you along with me on a humourous, introspective trip to Italy!
Palo Verde trees line the street in my neighborhood.
In Arizona’s version of the Cherry Blossom explosion in Washington, DC, palo verde trees make a spectacular display along roadways, neighborhoods, and desert trails each spring. In my quest for joy one recent morning, I had only to go for a walk around my neighborhood. The golden glow was a boost to my spirit and after my morning cup of tea and contemplations, here’s what I learned:
Stand Proud
Arizona designated the palo verde as its State tree in 1954. At the time, the legislature did not distinguish between the different species of palo verde, but some sources claim the blue palo verde to be the official tree.
Bloom Where You Are Planted
LIfe in the desert is tough. Palo verde trees have evolved to survive in this harsh environment. They derive their name from the Spanish “geen stick” because they have green bark. This unique adaptation allows them to continue photosynthesis even when they shed their leaves after the rainy season to conserve water during extensive dry spells. They produce vibrant yellow flowers in clusters, followed by bean-like seed pods.
Provide Support
Palo verde trees often serve as nurse plants for young saguaro cacti, providing shade and protection. Saguaros can live to be over 100 years old and will eventually outlive their nurse, but they have a better chance of surviving with this support during their early years.
Beautiful individuals, Powerful together
I held a tiny blossom in my hand. It was perfectly formed and uniquely designed for it’s role in the life of the tree. Amazing in it’s own right. But joining with the thousands of blossoms on one tree, then millions of blossoms on the trees along the street, and then a desert full of palo verde blossoms, they form a breathtaking, beautiful, powerful impact.
Threads of Thought
Where are you finding joy these days? Seek it out, then tell about it. Together, we make a powerful impact.
I love to find stories and share them with you! Click here to find my books, OUT OF THE CRAYON BOX: Thoughts on Teaching, Retirement, and Life, and UNTIL ITLAY : a Traveler’s Memoir.
Here they come–resolutions to be better, start fresh, wipe the slate clean. Who doesn’t want to lose a few pounds…eat healthier…finish writing that book (I say this as I’ve turned into a total couch sloth this week and I’m determined to finish the remains of the cookies and candies my family left behind when they left after Christmas)
I get it. As a former teacher, I’m goal oriented. In fact, in the later years of my profession, administrators expected us to post daily leaning goals for students and evaluated us on this. I usually engage in the New Year’s practice of setting personal resolutions, and goals for my writing life as well. But before I dove in this year, a dear friend posted a quote from Donna Ashworth that caused me to pause and rethink. It reads in part:
“I don’t see the need for you to resolve to become a whole new you, when you are already so very much indeed.”
This prompted me to look to a favorite resource where I found this from Jon Kabat-Zinn:
“Maybe the fear is that we are less than we think we are, when the actuality of it is that we are much much more.
Now I’m confused. Should I refrain from making resolutions or goals this year joining many who say “My New Year’s Resolution is to make no resolutions.” I sat with these words swirling around in my brain for several days, and I think I figured it out. For me.
What if I see the new year not as an end of my old self, or a beginning of my new self, but a continuation? Can I look back at all I have experienced, the people who have loved and influenced me, the wisdom I’ve gained, the person I’ve become to get me here, to this day in January 2024, and build on that? Can continue to grow and learn, and embrace this new year, wherever it takes me, knowing that right now, I’m enough–much more than I even realize? Yes! I’m resolved.
Hello 2024, it’s me Deb. Let’s do this!
2024:A new year dawns.
Threads of Thought
What is something you are proud of yourself for right now?
