2-12-2002 The Sonoran desert charms and surprises us, perhaps moreso than any desert on Earth. Foremost among its special offerings, and certainly one of its primary attractions, is the abundant nearly omnipresent sunshine. 360 days of it per year, so say the tourist boards and chambers of commerce anyway. And although this figure might be a tad hyperbolic, it merely serves to emphasize a basic truth: this desert is a sunny place, and likewise a warm one. Come April and May the sun lords over Tucson Arizona, its heat captured by degrees, absorbed into the shimmering land, the cacti, trees, and of course the Tucsonans themselves, at least those of the outdoor persuasion.
Given shade and water, though, the heat is tolerable. It feels alright. Remains a main attraction here. Yes, spring is a good time of year to get out into the mountains and canyons bordering town, the right season to find oneself hidden in a grove of Ponderosa or lost by a verdant desert pool. Bear Canyon comes to mind. As does its photogenic lure, Seven Falls, a well-polished stairway of water cascading down between stately pinnacles of rock. Many make the 3 mile trek that time of year. Plying the narrow dusty trail for an hour or so, they arrive at the falls to cool off, take a dip, and revel in the vernal splendor of it all. Indeed, if heat and sun epitomize this arid corner of the globe, then perhaps the beauties of Seven Falls symbolize the ultimate getaway, so close yet so far removed.
January 30, 2002 was not a day for dipping, nor one that hinted at the approaching cusp of spring. The temperature was atypical even for winter in these parts, hovering around the freezing mark even as the hours progressed. Nor was our good amigo Sol anywhere to be seen, his omnipotency squelched for a period of not hours but as yet whole days; the clouds of an advancing winter storm had that job covered. By noon the rains turned back to snow showers, and this was within Tucson city limits, not up among its fortressing mountains. No, up there it was a full-fledged snow day, the exclusive domain of old man winter, everywhere a playground of crystalline whiteness.
Throughout southern Arizona, you could sense it. It hung on the air at least as heavily as the snow clung to the ground, and probably a good deal moreso. Here in a desert land whose human inhabitants take great pride and comfort in a stifling yet liberating monotony of weather conditions, great changes were alighting, swooping in from... ? The North Pole? A month later, and here they were feasting their eyes on Christmas all over again. And not just another "string the garland 'round the saguaro" sort of holiday, either. This was the real thing. Snowball fights in the schoolyard, and later, muddy snowmen beside the driveway. Northerners-cum-southwesterners talking it up, reveling in winsome memories of their former lives. Gazing out the windows, it must have seemed a dream to them, an expressionistic painting of a storm, full of emotion yet utterly intangible. Not harsh or concrete. Gone tomorrow, no doubt. The wintry weather represented a deviation from the monotone scorch of desert living, and in that it widened our eyes and sharpened our senses. Wherever we live, it seems we humans enjoy the idea of nature pulling the occasional prank on us. We become embittered only when the prank is cruel or unrelenting. This was neither. Tucsonans seemed to enjoy it, then woke to greet the sun next morning, alongside a white world fading quickly back to tan. The storm had ended, and only memories remained. That, and the photography of the painstakingly circumspect among us.
To be continued...
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