Autumn in Arizona

How Can You Tell?

Photo from an Autumn hike in the nearby Catalina Mountains

Ed and I moved to Arizona three years ago. We were drawn to the turquoise blue skies, the mild winters, beautiful sunsets, and the way you can see a million stars in the clear night sky. But, I’ll have to admit, I miss fall. Don’t get me wrong, we have seasons here in the desert southwest, winters differ greatly from summers, but the changes are subtle. You have to be on the lookout or they will pass you by. Here’s how I do Autumn in Arizona:

Forget about Daylight Savings Time

It doesn’t exist in Arizona. We are one of the two states that don’t observe it. (The other being Hawaii, where they don’t worry about time anyway.) I’s rather nice. There’s no adjustment period when the clock suddenly “falls back” or “springs forward.” The only slight adjustment I make is keeping track of what time my friends and family in Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, and Georgia are on when it comes time to make a phone call.

It is rather nice. Right now, we have almost exactly 12 hours of sunlight each day. Dawn breaks at 6:00 am and dusk arrives at 6:20. Being retired, I have the luxury of waking with the sun each morning, meaning I sleep in longer in the winter. My biological clock is in sync with the seasons. (That’s not to say that I go to bed at 6:30 in the evening, mind you. The artificial daylight created by household lights and electronic devices plays a part… and a good Netflix binge can wreck havoc with your sleep patterns.)

A gateway wreath with silk sunflowers and fake leaves welcomes guests.

Add Some Fall Decor

There are no deciduous trees here unless you go up the mountain, so forget about leaves (nothing to rake, however.) Here in Arizona, you have to make your own autumn ambience. It’s a feeble attempt, I know, but it helps.

fabric pumpkins pile on the hall table
pumpkin spice candle warmer

Close Out the Pool

Just last week I enjoyed my last swim in our small, unheated backyard pool. Though the daytime temps are running in the mid 80s right now, it’s not unusual for it to drop 30 to 40 degrees overnight, making the water too chilly even with the solar cover. 

Bathing suit, shorts, sweatshirt? Who knows what to wear?

Wardrobe Chages

It took me years to figure out how to dress for the seasons in Arizona. A friend of mine who’s been here longer than I have says “It’s all about layering.” I still don’t have it right. The other day I met some friends for coffee. It was 50 degrees when I left home. I put on a long- sleeved tee and a skirt. We sat outside, and by the time our lattes arrived, I was too hot. Back home, I changed into shorts and a short-sleeved tee shirt. That afternoon I had my bathing suit on (for my last-swim-of-the-year.) When I got out of the pool I was freezing; I put on yoga pants and a sweat shirt for the evening. We do a lot of laundry at our house.

Our backyard pomegranate tree

Pomegranate Harvest

In the midwest, we had access apple trees and I would often take my kindergarten class to the local orchard. Now we have a pomeganate tree. It’s a beautiful tree and the crimson fruit is harvested in the fall yelding an abundance of juicy, red seeds. But you can’t make a pomegranate pie…

Seasonal Food

Cool, crisp salads are making way for soups, Ed’s homemade bread, and yes, I’ll admit it:  Pumpkin Spice Latte. My new favorite comes from Trader Joe and I mix it in with my chai tea. Perfect for sipping by the fire pit in the evening while making s’mores.

Yeah, I know, it’s not the same. Those of you who live in other parts of the country will have your beautiful leaves, the first snowfall, White Christmas. I miss it, and in fact, am planning a trip to the Midwest soon for my “fall fix.” But come January, February, and March, you’ll be calling me for reservations. http://seamslikeastory.com/good-company/

Threads of thought icon

Threads of Thought:

Fall is a great time to curl up with a good book. Hmmm, I think I have one around here somewhere…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09JDG55JN

September in the City

West Ridge Nature Park

Chicago, Illinois

I had some time to myself on a recent trip to Chicago. My sister, who was working from home that morning, suggested I take a walk to the West Ridge Nature Park, less than a mile from her home. I’m not an urban dweller. Big cities make me nervous and to make matters worse, I am directionally challenged. 

“The route is simple,” she assured me. “Take your cell phone, but you’ll be fine.”

Curiosity conquered fear. I ventured out from my sister’s neighborhood of quaint 1930s bungalows, cozy yards, and shaded streets and headed east for several blocks.

City Sidewalks

The traffic noise increased as I approached the busy intersection and turned towards the park. Picturesque family homes gave way to commercial buildings interspersed with rickety apartment buildings. The air was hot and sticky. City buses rushed by, spewing diesel fumes my way.

My pace quickened as I continued past sidewalk debris that showed evidence of late-night parties or early morning breakfasts. Cars parked along the street seemed to be forgotten. I checked my pocket to make sure my cell phone was at the ready.

Nature to the Rescue

I was relived to see the park gates. West Ridge Nature Park is a twenty-one acre park that was dedicated in 2015. Once a never-used, neglected section of Rosehill Cemetery, the planners removed invasive plants and filled the space with native vegetation and designed paved pathways that meander through the grounds and around a pond. As I stepped through the gate into the lush forest, the busy urban streetscape disappeared behind me. 

The path was welcoming, and I was delighted to see the storywalk, pages of a children’s book, posted along the trail.

Wildflowers waved their late summer petals as I passed by. Cicada chirps and bird song replaced the city sounds. A church bell rang in the distance.

 A group of birdwatchers approached as I was examining a walnut that had fallen on the path.

“People used to put walnuts in their driveways and run over them with their cars to get the tough outer skin off,,” a lady with binoculars around her neck said.

“My great-grandmother told me she used to do that!” I examined the walnut, avoiding the brown stain oozing from its green, leathery skin.

A flash of crimson caught my eye, heralding the beginning of fall. Was it my imagination, or did the air feel different here? Cooler. Cleaner.

The gaggle of geese I had been observing honked in alarm as I got too close. They ran across the pond before taking flight, leaving a trail of splashes on the surface of the water.

All too soon, the path brought me back to where I’d started. I left the park and began walking back along the busy city sidewalk, the urban oasis safely tucked away behind its sturdy, chain-link fence.

Yet, now and then, nature reaches out to touch the city.

Threads of thought icon

Threads of Thought

Are you an urban dweller? Small town? Rural?

September ushers in the fall season. What signs do you see in your area?

Waiting for Rain

The Desert Enters Monsoon Season

I’ve spent most of my life in the Midwest where rain is plentiful. In the summertime, it’s hard to keep the lush grass mown in between downpours. I now make my home in the desert Southwest where rain is scarce. If we’re lucky, we get enough rain during our two monsoon seasons (July-Sept and Jan.-Feb) to support the desert and our draught-resistant landscapes. I recently spent a month in Indiana where I camped in dense forests, woke to the sound of lawn mowers, and envied my daughter’s bountiful herb garden. When I returned to my desert home I found…

Angry Plants

My garden needs attention. I drag the green rubber hose over to a sad shrub.  Burrowing the nozzle through brittle. branches until I reach its base, the water trickles down to thirsty roots while I turn my attention to a pot of dried flowers. Lantana was so happy before we left a month ago: her dainty yellow and purple blossoms were a welcome burst of color in a beige landscape.  Why were you gone so long? they seem to say as I snip off their dead heads. There’s green growth underneath. With some love, attention, and water they may spring back

.

Pitiful Herbs

I move on to my potted herbs in the corner.  It’s too late for Chives and Thyme. I dump them out and stash their pots in the plant graveyard at the side of our house. Survival of the fittest, my biology-teacher husband says. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the desert. Still, I grieve.  I remember how Jasmine’s spray of fragrant flowers delighted me throughout the spring.  She looks like an old sea hag now; her once luxurious foliage has turned to straw.  I snip her back to the ground and pour on water, hoping there is still some life left in her.  Mint gets the same treatment.

Sturdy Survivors

I applaud the survivors. The two Oreganos look fine, though the more delicately flavored one that my husband doesn’t care for is overachieving just to spite him. Basil is wobbly, but he’s hanging in there. Sage and Rosemary are still vibrant. They taunt their wimpy pot mates.

Please Accept My Apologies

I’m sorry I left you during this critical time in the desert, my Garden. I’ve triaged you back together the best I could. I promise to water you and love you while we  wait for the monsoons.

Hope Sprinkles Down

Thunder rumbles, the sky flashes open. Hope sprinkles down giving new life to my garden and the thirsty desert. Monsoons at last.

Threads of thought icon

Threads of thought:

The Goldilocks Rain Gage:

Too much rain in your area?

Too little rain?

Just right?

How are you adjusting?

Heartfelt

Confessions of a former Kindergarten teacher

I wasn’t going to do it this year. I swear I wasn’t. But old habits die hard. After 37 years in an elementary classroom, the school calendar still runs in my veins. And on February 1st the hearts began to pop up everywhere. First, a trip to the fabric store where I scored some half-price fabric and this shiny (dare I say gaudy) wreath. Then at the dollar I couldn’t resist buying Valentine’s Day cards and a bag (OK, 2 bags) of Valentine Candy. Yes, I know, I don’t have a class. And I don’t want one. After three years of retirement, I’ve become accustomed to living life on my own schedule. What stress I have is of my own making. I’m not sure I could even survive Valentine’s Day in a classroom anymore, But still…