Living in the desert southwest, summer solstice comes during days of intense heat. Soon, cicadas will emerge, their shrill buzzing a soundscape of desert summer. The air is hot and dry, usually until the first week of July. Then winds shift and the summer monsoon kicks in. A few months of intense dust and thunderstorms are ahead. We are grateful for any chance of much needed rain.
This journal entry chronicles moments captured along a spur-of-the-moment spring road trip. Four days away, unplanned and enjoyed. I had hoped to venture out during the winter months, but life has been full and the time did not quite present. I love music in my life. Last fall I discovered Marlon Funaki. I deeply enjoy his sound. I looked at his tour schedule and saw a show in Tucson. What called me out was his concert. I bought a ticket, a road trip in the making.
The trip was to be taken in “the Element.” Eight years ago, my son Ethan converted a Honda Element to a home on wheels with ingenuity, love and care. After years of good use, his transportation needs changed, and we were glad to keep it in the family. This way, he’s free to take it out on the road when the urge calls and I’m free to head out with the camera. A great situation for us both.
Readying for the trip, I discovered the battery to power the wall plug, USB, and interior strip lights disconnected some time ago and was completely dead. I decided to go anyway, knitting loose plans together as I drove south. Halfway to Tucson, I realized I’d left without the Element’s window shades for tucking away comfortably and privacy in the night. The battery, strip lights, and window shades crescendo to comfort and warmth — making the Element such a cozy place when all is in sync. Too far to turn back, I decided to just find a place to stay in Tucson this time.
I looked forward to taking time to slow. For me, being on the road with the camera is a state of flow. A time of inner connection, discovery, and awe of the infinite beauty that surrounds. When I pick up the camera the stresses and worries of life fall away. I enter a state of deep peace, as if an inexplicable magic overcomes my being. These trips often open space for a reset of the soul.
191 Toole holds five hundred souls — an atmosphere relaxed and ideal for the Marlon Funaki experience. The rhythms of the music pulsed my veins. For a taste, listen to when sunday comes around.
Saguaro blooms and hummingbirds — very much a part of this trip. The above is a section of Tucson’s tallest mural by the talented Joe Pagac.
A 7th annual Haiku Hike was on display in downtown Tucson. Twenty Haikus were selected from nearly 2000 submissions from around the globe. To translate the above: I am this desert, fallen marigolds, waiting.
Tucson has a vibrant arts scene with many creative inhabitants. I loved seeing displays of colorful art around town. The night blooming cactus has one of the most beautiful and fragrant flowers of any cactus. Their large white blossoms bloom for only one night, filling the air with sweet fragrance even we humans can smell from a great distance. Interesting fact: they often bloom simultaneously in one area on the same night. Oh, the interconnections of life.
Tucson is the home of Ben’s Bells. It has always been such a moving story for me. Ben’s Bells was founded by Jeanette Maré in 2003, after losing her three year old son, Ben, to a sudden illness. An outpouring of love and care from family, friends, and strangers helped transform grief into beautiful handcrafted ceramic bells in her backyard. On the first anniversary of his death, hundreds of bells were hung all over Tucson in honor of Ben. Each bell was accompanied by a note saying to take a bell and pass along kindness. A most beautiful gift born from a deep loss. Over time, thousands have joined the effort. Now a non-profit, expanding kindness education programs and distributing bells worldwide.
Sunflowers were thriving in a space outside the studio… hopeful greens.
Jeanette alchemized tragedy into healing and hope. Through Ben’s Bells, she has brought light to the universal need for kindness. Two simple words: be kind.
I spent a day out hiking among blooming saguaros.
Dancing saguaros too.
Sometimes it feels like they’re looking back at you.
The following day, I made the trip from Tucson to Patagonia. Everything was green and alive. A lovely place to be.
Years ago, I read about the Paton Center for Hummingbirds. A love story of Marion and Wally Paton, and the many species of hummingbirds that found their feeders. Patagonia is a major stop along the migratory route of many species of birds. The Patons opened their place to birders in the seventies. People came from all over the world to see the many species. They established a “sugar fund” that still exists today to help feed the hummers. After Wally and Marion passed, there was an international effort to preserve the property. It is now run by the Tucson Bird Alliance. So sweet a story.
It was a place of flourishing life. I sat on one of the benches to feel the spring breeze, to listen to the exuberant song of birds and appreciate all that Marion and Wally nurtured for so many. A white butterfly fluttered around me much of the time. I felt deep connection and presence of someone close in my life, since passed. It was all so beautiful.
“Butterflies… flowers that fly and all but sing.” - Robert Frost
Oh, the hummingbirds! There were species I don’t see back in Phoenix. I’m fairly certain this was a female broad-billed hummingbird. All of the species like little jewels in the sunlight. I feed many hummers and enjoy their company at home. Reading more about them, I found that they’re quite solitary and migrate and forage alone. “Like torches in the desert,” the ocotillo blooms guide their migrations. Their rapidly beating wings average about 70 times per second, so their need for food is near constant. When hummers are seen together, they’re known as a charm, a chattering, a glimmer, a shimmer, a tune, or a hovering. I love these terms.
I stopped at a visitor center inside an old Southern Pacific Railroad car to ask a few questions. There I met Christine, who was quite wonderful to talk with. Kindred spirits, we instantly connected. She encouraged me to visit the Patagonia Community Gardens, a place flourishing with life. I was curious how long she’d been in Patagonia. She explained that she’d been caregiver to her mother, with whom she was very close. As her mother’s days wound down, Christine expressed how much she’d miss being together with her. What would she do? Her mother offered without hesitation, “follow the birds… you love birds…you’ll be happy.” Christine landed in Patagonia and put down roots, she is home. Exuding a beautiful warmth, it was a pleasure to cross paths with her.
The Patagonia Community Gardens were lush and clearly tenderly cared for. One could feel the love and sense of community among a plethora of vibrant blooms. Many places to just be. Again, I saw a white butterfly.
I left the gardens and crossed the central park to get a feel for the whole of Patagonia’s downtown. I could hear children’s animated voices coming from inside an art studio. What a wonderful place to be a child. I noticed the unlocked bikes outside, surfacing delightful summer memories of carefree days of my own childhood in rural Vermont.
I drove back to Tucson through the Sonoita Grasslands. Patagonia is considered one of three sister communities — Patagonia, Elgin, and Sonoita — all surrounded by mountains known as The Sky Islands. Rugged mountain ranges rise high above the desert floor, islands of forest surrounded by a sea of desert. Each island harbors an abundant biological and geographical diversity. During months of summer monsoon, some become almost tropical with growth and life. There are lakes, preserves, and conservation areas, habitats for more than 300 species of migratory birds. The grasslands between are wildlife corridors, passageways of mountain lions, ocelots, and jaguars between islands.
Moments of beauty sustain us. It is good to step away, to nourish the inner landscapes of the soul through the outer landscapes of our world.
As I round out this journal entry, brittle palo verde and mesquite pods drop. The sound of a single pod releasing, among the stillness of our longest evenings of fading light, marvels me as the summer season unfolds. A desert world in wait. Winds shifting, bringing hope of life-giving monsoon rains.