Timing is everything

It’s all about the timing.  In our case, we seem to have it down pat: wherever we venture, extreme weather is sure to occur.  The most recent instance of that was our January journey to Texas, intended to allow warmth-basking, but that was in reality a cold wet windy ordeal.  Now into March, we decided to explore the countryside around Yuma, situated to the south nicely on the Colorado River.  It seemed like a logical plan; however, the nearly 100-degree temperatures forecast during our week there took a little wind out of my sails.

Not to be deterred, we are well on our way as I type, hieing ourselves past the $4.99 gasoline at Congress Junction and hurtling down the two-lane road (hmm. . . the señor is driving, so “hurtling” does not portray the actuality, but we are moving along at a steady pace anyway).  

The desert is about as sere as I’ve ever seen it - saguaros back up on the infamous Yarnell Hill with scattered brittle bushes beginning their yellow blossoming - creosote bushes out here on the flats, and no grass cover on the hardpack earth, with a random bedraggled palm tree or two.

And then the magic of irrigation: lush green hay fields and row-cropped squares perfectly scored by furrows.

Memories upon memories scramble through my mind as we traverse this region for the umpteenth time.  There’s that familiar cotton gin, well-tended nut groves, long-abandoned structures that served multiple purposes through the years for these scattered farming settlements, clusters of snowbird RV enclaves, laser-leveled acreages being ceded to nature as water is withheld, a one-room stone building now roofless with gaping openings where window glass once kept wind at bay, an out-of-place VFW bingo hall, turkey vultures tipping back and forth in their characteristic way as they scour the land below, a foot traveler with backpack but oddly carrying a white plastic bag, crossing wide dry Centennial Wash where a flood ripped through years past due to tamarisk obstruction and drownings occurred inexplicably.

Bird migrations are in full swing; I filled the back yard feeders but expect that ten days hence when I return, they will be swinging in the breeze emptied.  I saw my first turkey vulture in Prescott yesterday, so they have returned there also for the season.  It will be interesting  to see what avian life is braving the heat down south.  Mourning dove and house finch are the unexciting additions to the bird list for this sojourn.