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Trade's Journal
Well, the mesquite beans have gone crazy. They’re all over the place which is good for the cattle. Even the ranch horses are gobbling them up as fast as they can. Dream, Gray and Chapo, confined to the pasture, have become giraffes with their necks stretched out as far as they can go, standing on tiptoe to grab the mesquite branches so they can shake the beans down. If horses pray, I’m sure they’re lighting candles for the wind, which always results in a windfall (ah, that’s where that comes from!) of mesquite beans. Juan’s garden is thriving and we’re up to our ears in fresh corn, tomatoes, squash, cucumbers, basil, onions and tomatoes. Late in the month this bounty was boosted by the start of the monsoon season. Known also by their Mexican name, chubascos, the storms start out in the Pacific, gather moisture from the Gulf of Mexico and then churn into Southern Arizona with a vengeance, usually in the late afternoons. There is absolutely nothing on earth that can compare to the smell of the desert after a monsoon. This really has to be experienced to be believed. The monsoons while welcomed by all of our desert plants and animals, really get the reptiles and amphibians excited. Even before the rains last week the toads had come out. After the first thunderstorm, the pastures and ponds had hosted a real Toad Woodstock with the Colorado river toads, the spadefoot and red-spotted toads all chiming in, each with its own distinctive song of love. Unfortunately with the monsoons, come the poachers. Our biological diversity makes us one of the hottest reptile collecting areas in the country. People come from around the world to pounce on our snakes, toads and Gila monsters. On the black market a Gila monster can bring over $1200, a rock rattlesnake $500 and even a hideous Colorado River toad (North America’s largest specimen- they can be the size of a dinner plate) will fetch $150. For years I’ve been scolding Mrs. Fierce and Blue not to hassle the toads since their nasty toxin can paralyze or kill a dog. Now people are actually buying the things so they can lick them and get high. Yeccch! Second only to drug trafficking, the illegal wildlife trade is a lucrative business with worldwide revenues in the billions of dollars. An interesting sidelight to this poaching thing is that a lot of drug smugglers have come into the venture, leaving drugs behind. Figuring their profits can be as lucrative with a lot less risk (frequently the fines are a couple of hundred dollars and no jail time) they eagerly make the transition. Poaching has gotten to be such a problem that the Arizona Game & Fish Department has set up a special anti-poaching task force called Operation Viper. Who said that summer time was easy?
Here it is again…my least favorite month. It’s dry, hot (triple digits are common) and parched as the desert again screams for rain. In the early morning and once the sun goes down the rattlers come out. We have more species (11) of rattlesnakes than any other state in the U.S. Here in Southern Arizona we’re blessed with seven different kinds of rattlers. As I mentioned in Rode Hard, Put Away Dead this translates into the possibility of finding some of them en flagrante delicto from the middle of March to the end of October. This in itself is pretty impressive since they rarely make love for less than an hour or two and usually it’s longer – like six to twelve hours. Armed with two penises, known as hemipenes and located in the tail (although only one is used at a time) some rattlers have even been known to go at it for twenty-four hours, which probably results in a lot of rattlesnake headaches. Late in the month Emily Rose invited all of us over for a barbecue to celebrate her night blooming cereus. This is kind of a scrawny nondescript cactus with a few thin stems that produces a spectacular bloom. Legend has it that it only blooms one night a year. Like most legends, there’s a kernel of truth to it, for the plant produces a flush of beautiful fragile flowers, most of which open on the same night although there may be a few stragglers the night before or the night after. The great photographer, Michael Stoklos was at Em’s. He’s got a great collection of night blooming cereus pictures (stoklosphotos.com). The Tohono Chul Park even has a hotline open when its cereus is ready to bloom. The good thing about June is if we can get through it, the rest of the year’s a breeze. That’s true of a lot of things, isn’t it?
Another beautiful month in the Sonoran Desert. The palo verde trees are loaded with frail yellow blossoms along with the white waxy saguaro blossoms. Quinta came in the other day with a soaptree yucca stalk full of white waxy bell-shaped flowers. She plopped it into an old canning jar and it made a wonderful arrangement. Lasted a while too. Everything on the yucca can be utilized. The leaves are used as fiber for making sandals, mats, cloth, baskets and ropes. My Apache ancestors ate the buds, flowers and banana-shaped fruits and made soap from the roots (called amole). The fluffy white suds, which can resemble clouds, are used in a number of different tribes’ ceremonials – for adoptions, name-givings, puberty, weddings, even funerals. In Southern Arizona the Yaquis gather the old dried dead pods and use them in some of their ceremonial dancing. Bea called on the 8th to tell me that someone had won the Ice Break on the Santa Cruz River contest for Channel 4. This is a flaky euphemism for guessing the time and first day of the year that reaches 100 degrees. Of course the joke is is that there’s no ice ever in the Santa Cruz. Hell, there’s rarely any water in the Santa Cruz either. As Mark Twain once said, "It’s a place where you fall in the river and then get up and dust yourself off." Kind of sad when you consider it used to flow year round and even housed a beaver population. We were rounding up cattle on the north end when Dream got in a barrel cactus. These are absolutely the worst for horses as they not only carry a nasty toxin, but the thorns insinuate themselves into the horse’s leg and can often permanently cripple an animal. We pulled it out as soon as we spotted it, then smeared mag paste on the leg, wrapped it with a Pamper diaper (plastic side toward the leg) and vet wrap. Left it on for 2 days and was relieved to discover that Dream was fine. Sometimes we need a little shaking up to remember to count our blessings.
Martin, Quinta and I were helping some of the T Bar 4 boys gather cattle in the Tortolita Mountains early in the month. The weather was beautiful, perfect for riding, and apparently for Gila monsters, who prefer a narrow temperature range between 82-85 degrees – which isn’t much leeway for an animal living in the Sonora desert. As we gathered cattle we spotted five different Gila monsters, in five different areas. A personal record for all of us and definitely unusual since the lizard spends 99% of its time below ground. The Gila monster is the largest – and only poisonous – lizard in the U.S. Most males are around a foot and a half long (with the tail comprising 40-50% of the length) and weigh in over a pound. With their black snouts, and beadwork coloration of black and pink, or black and orange and yellow, they are handsome, well concealed creatures. Contrary to myth, the Gila monster does poop. But he’s still venomous. When you get one of these lizards angry, they hiss and open their mouths, exposing their beautiful purple black interior. Their tails are a good clue as to their health as they serve as their pantries. A plump tail is an indication of a healthy lizard. Unlike other lizard species, their tail does not fall off. In captivity, they can live 20-30 years.
Juan spotted a great horned owl in the nest in the old cottonwood this afternoon. Nuts. I was hoping for the hawks. After all, they’re the ones who do all the work. Owls don’t make their own nests, preferring to usurp the homes of others. In this case, the red-tailed hawk’s. Since the owls nest before the hawks, the aerie won’t be as fortified as it would have been had the owl not arrived. Juan tells me that the hawks are busy on another nest down along the creek. And once again the turkey vultures have returned, in this their 12th year to the Vaca Grande. They’re roosting in the eucalyptus trees. We’ve exploded with wildflowers thanks to the winter rains. Purple lupine, locoweed and owl clover, orange Mexican poppies, mariposa lilies and globemallow, pink fairy duster, and the yellow desert marigolds create a desert landscape that would make any expressionist painter envious.
More birds. I woke up this morning under assault. It sounded as though someone had set off a string of firecrackers as a Gila Woodpecker attacked one of the vent pipes in an effort to stake out his territory. I hope the lady woodpeckers were more impressed with his performance than I was. The red-tailed hawks are back at it, ferrying strings of eucalyptus branches to the huge nest in the cottonwood tree in the orchard. Like Capistrano's swallows, they return every year. Their remodeling is readily apparent in winter for the tree is naked. But then spring comes and it leafs out, the babies hatch and I feel cheated as they hide in the dense spring foliage. The brittlebush and desert marigolds are starting to bloom, their yellow flowers brightening the desert landscape. We helped the B Spear boys round up this month. Paco Flores had quite a time of it. Dashing after a runaway cow he was jumping one of the barrancas (ravines) with his horse when a mountain lion jumped out of it, brushing his gelding's belly. The horse went ballistic, Paco went flying. By the time Martin and I saw him some two hours later, he was still pale and shaking. And those Texas cowboys think they've got it tough!
A surprise here on the 16th as snow began to fall! Nothing is quite as beautiful as snow in the desert. Maybe it's the unexpectedness of it all as a coyote scurries across the lane with a light dusting of snow on his back or the sight of centuries-old saguaros wearing their sometimes fatal snow coats. Since a saguaro's composition can be 75 -90% water, a long freeze can damage the cell integrity, setting up these stately sentinels for bacteria infection...and ultimately death. And speaking of snow...Martin was delivering some cattle down in Willcox the other day and he said the place was lousy with tourists. All there to see the flocks of snow geese, Canadian geese and sandhill cranes that spend the winter here beefing up for their spring migrations to their northern breeding grounds. Numbering in the tens of thousands, these feathered winter visitors look like something out of Alfred Hitchcock's movie, "The Birds."
A new millennium in the month of the "moon of the cottonwood blooming." I guess they do in some low desert river areas, but here at the Vaca Grande the cottonwoods are a long way from even thinking about putting on new leaves. It's still dry but I can remember the flood of 1993 where the Canada del Oro ran over its banks and threatened the ranch. Luckily the buildings were all saved, but Martin, Sanders and I worked our tails off moving horses and cattle to higher ground in the deluge. Not fun. But the good news in all of that is that the raging waters are full of nutrients and seeds which are then deposited along the river banks for new growth. January's frequently a schizophrenic month where we're in shirtsleeves one day, and in a rare snowstorm the next. This afternoon I noticed the Harris' hawks begin their courtship and listened to the curve-billed thrashers define their territories with song. The packrats are also involved in romance, an eight-month long date that will last through August. It may be a new millennium, but a lot of things remain the same. Thank God. They say La Nina is bringing warmer weather to Arizona this year and I believe it. Days have been pushing 80 and I find myself feeling sorry for Dream, Gray and the other ranch horses who still have their heavy winter coats. Although it seems as though they should start dropping hair with the higher temperatures, they won't start shedding until the days grow longer. Romance is in full swing this month too as the red-tailed hawks rebuild their nest in one of the huge cottonwoods near the orchard. This will be their ninth year (they missed one when a great horned owl got in ahead of them and hatched her brood there). The whitetail deer are also mating in this month the Tohono O'odham call the "moon of the deer-mating odor." The unfriendly critters are moving about too. While checking cattle the other day I saw a snake shed, although I haven't run across a rattler in the flesh yet this month. The other morning I climbed out of bed and as I was straightening the sheets, found a large scorpion between them right in the spot I had just vacated. He was kind and didn't nail me. I didn't return the favor. Ah, February. March, the time of the "Green Moon" for the Tohono O’odham. If it gets much drier the moon may be the only thing that’s green this month. Since the first of January we’re an inch under our annual rainfall. Coupled with the dry winter, we could be in for a serious drought. La Nina’s really having her way with us. I spotted the red tail hawk perched on the side of her aerie so I suspect her eggs may have hatched. It's still too soon to see fluffy little heads peeking out. The turkey vultures have also returned. This is their 11th year. They’ve taken to roosting in the eucalyptus trees and at dusk as they hunch their shoulders and settle in for the night they resemble nothing as much as a coven of witches. Quinta's become a bird watcher and she's set out some thistle seed for the goldfinches. It's working as I see flashes of yellow brilliance here and there flitting among the mesquite branches. Juan's tilling his garden. His onions are already in the ground and he's watching the mesquite trees carefully. Once they begin to bud, he's convinced that all cold weather will be past, although this winter that hasn't been a problem. For everything there is a season. I find comfort in that. It's official. The cold weather is in the rear view mirror according to the mesquite trees which have now leafed out. Old timers always use this harbinger of spring. Still lots of rattler tracks, but have yet to see an actual snake. Speaking of snakes reminds me of an old adage from the late 1800's..."women come in two types. Those who tie pretty bows, and those who shoot their own snakes." This is the time of the "yellow moon" for the Tohono O'odham. Probably a pretty good call since in the lower elevations the paloverde trees have set their buds and late in the month will burst into yellow flame. The mesquites have also set out their long, pale yellow fuzzy catkins. While April is my favorite month in the desert, the lack of winter moisture has resulted in a fairly dreary April. Not many wildflowers are blooming. Even the cactus seem reluctant to give us much of a show, although the prickly pear look like they will soon be making a valiant effort. We've given Quinta her own horse, Drifter. Although she was not brought up on a ranch, she seems thrilled with the life. I've told her to always saddle her own horse, which is good advice for all of us... an aphorism for taking charge of our lives, honoring our commitments and just doing what needs to be done, without complaint. Nothing like a little cowgirl philosophy to brighten April. The drought continues, damnit. We've now taken to giving a few of the mesquite trees a drink of water since they'd normally have six inches of rain by now and they're thirsty. The saguaros are sporting white waxy flowers that look like wreaths. They really do resemble May day dancers as bouquets sprout from their spiny heads and arms. They remind me of young girls at dance recitals as I ride among them. Although the mesquite trees seem slower this year at setting their bean pods, the Tohono O'odham call this month the "moon of the bean tree." Sounds like a Barbara Kingsolver novel, doesn't it? The redtail hawk kids refuse to stay in their nest any longer. Long legged, scruffy looking teenagers they remind me a bit of James Dean, without his grace. The other day I saw them playing in the water. One flew up in a mesquite tree - a clumsy flight at best - while the other was dragging one of his legs. Oh no, I thought, he's hurt! Upon closer inspection I discovered he was dragging one leg because he had caught a pack rat. Since he could hardly fly on his own, he was smart enough to figure out he couldn't handle the extra cargo. Yet he would not relinquish his treasure. It was take a step, drag the rat, stop and nibble on it (it was dead, thankfully!), take a step. From the mesquite tree his mother and brother squawked encouragement, or perhaps disgust. Finally Gorilla the cat discovered the free meal, snuck up and took it from him. Desert dining can sometimes be capricious.
The hottest, driest month of the year and my least favorite. It seems like every day is over 100' and we've even gone to 115'. Ugh. Although it's hotter than Hades the desert is still ripe. The mesquite, acacia and palo verde are all lush with plump seed pods while the male cicadas are busy vibrating their tummy plates creating their courtship tune for their girlfriends. When a lot of them get together they are incredibly noisy. A few and you'll be looking for rattlers. The Tohono O'odham call this month the "moon of the saguaro fruit." The Apaches call June something similar - "face painted red with cactus fruit." As the red cactus fruits burst open and fall to the ground everyone gets a treat - bats, birds, mice, ants and coyotes. As I see the saguaro fruit I'm reminded of how I met Stella Ahil who had an important role in solving the J.B. Calendar case (Rode Hard, Put Away Dead). The turkey vultures have now settled into serious housekeeping here. Over the years I've grown fond of the silly, ugly things. How can you not love a bird that deliberately spends his summers in Arizona? These guys definitely have more juevos than our snowbirds. During the day they take the free ride of the thermals. While a lot of birds don't have a keen sense of smell, the turkey vulture does. Much as we know when chocolate chip cookies are in the oven, what better way to tune into dinner but to have the rich aroma of decaying flesh drift upward on a warm air current? Plus, they piddle on their feet in an effort to gain evaporative cooling. Even with its fancy name - urohydrosis - the practice is still enough to get you thrown out of most restaurants. But the buzzards don't care. Some theorists suggest the habit is also a healthy one, for the ammonia in the urine may kill bacteria on the vulture's legs. Maybe June isn't so bad after all. OK, so the Tohono O'odham call this the "moon of the rains." This particular month the Apache moniker is more apt..."meat spoils." Traditionally this is one of our rainiest months and the one in which the monsoons hit with a vengeance. Not so this year. After a promising June, we were left with dark clouds, lightning and thunder and very little rain - all in all a big disappointment. The good news is the garden's in full swing and I've managed to make a lot of fresh salsa with Juan's tomatoes and also pesto from the fresh basil (I'll post the recipe over in that section). Martin and I were out checking cattle the other day and ran into huge swirling airborne clouds of flying ants...mostly the Sonoran leaf-cutters and the seed harvesting ants. Clever things can actually breed in the air. And who says fighter pilots have all the fun? The rain we missed last month came in like gangbusters. After the first major thunderstorm the pastures and ponds hosted a real Toad Woodstock with the Colorado river toads, the spadefoot and red-spotted toads all chiming in, each with its own distinctive song of love. The desert animals appreciate the rain, too. On a ride last week I saw red and black racers, a red fox, three mule deer, a coyote and a desert tortoise. Not bad for a two hour ride! The Colorado river toads, some the size of dinner plates, love to sit beneath the yellow porch lights and stuff themselves with flying night creatures. Blue and Mrs. Fierce give them a wide berth since the toads emit a defensive toxin on their skin that is poisonous to dogs. Mrs. Fierce knows to stay away from them because she's brilliant; Blue because she had her mouth washed out after hassling one of the creatures. While the Tohono O'odham call this the "moon of the short crops" and the Apaches "little harvest," it's been good for us. Although the garden has slowed down a bit, we've now stocked the barn with hay for the horses for winter, and the prickly pear fruit is lush and ripe which makes for great jam and syrup. One company here in town is actually shipping the syrup east for margaritas! The "moon of the dry grass" for the Tohono O'odham. Not so much this month since the desert is still lush and green and in monsoon mode, although by the end of the month things will truly begin to dry out. The Apaches prefer "big harvest." One week we had hordes of yellow caterpillars with black stripes covering the ground. You couldn't step anywhere without squishing some of them. Within a few days, all had disappeared. Obviously transformed into something. What, I have no idea. The bats and hummingbirds seem to be increasing in preparation for their migration. The turkey vultures, who should be leaving this month, seem content to continue to roost in the trees here at the Vaca Grande. Maybe they're waiting for cooler temperatures. Not likely yet since September has set the record for Tucson's warmest ever with an average of 84.8 degrees, 9-13 degrees over normal. The last day of this month, we hit 100. Fall's here somewhere. I know it is. The hot weather continued into the early part of this month. By the second week I was still running into rattlesnakes out in the desert. Guess they don't know they're supposed to be sleeping. The turkey vultures have finally left on vacation, as the Mexican jays attack the bird feeders, scattering feed everywhere. For the Apaches this is the month of "summer is gone, winter is here." " Harvest moon" to the Tohono O'odham. All the rain we missed last July came in with a vengeance as this month tied for the wettest ever October in Tucson. A low- pressure system decided to hang above us and really sucked in the moisture. There were flood warnings throughout the month. Sounds funny in Arizona, I know, but seeing a wall of water roar through these dry arroyos will make anyone a believer. We had over 6 1/2" or rain here at the ranch, although the airport is only claiming 5". Guess that sounds better for the Snow Birds who will soon be coming here in droves. And speaking of snow, Mount Lemmon is wearing a light dusting. "Moon of the fair cold" to the Tohono O'odham. "Sizzling snow" to the Apaches. Early morning temperatures here at the Vaca Grande are below freezing and the mesquite trees know it as they drop their tiny, delicate leaves everywhere. The mule deer are busy too, as groups of does move around together while the bucks try to look studly standing along on ridges or wandering by themselves as they prepare for rut. The whitetail deer, content to stay within their small home ranges of a few square miles, are also living segregated existences, as they anticipate...a drum roll please...da breeding season. Juan is busy trying to beat the woodpeckers to the pecan trees. Every year, it's a race to see who will gather more, the birds or Juan. With Quinta helping him, I believe he's ahead. Martin, Sanders and I helped some friends gather cattle in the Dragoon Mountains this month. We were near the west entrance of Cochise's Stronghold and stopped long enough to check out Council Rocks, a rock amphitheater/shelter area where the Apache chiefs used to gather. It was humbling to place our hands in the ancient footholds chiseled into the rock by my ancestors. I like the Tohono O'odham name for December - "moon of the backbone." This is because the days are half dark and half light. Seems fitting for the month of the winter solstice, doesn't it? To the Apache, this month is called "cold even around the fire." But for me December, at least this December, will be known as the B Spear Massacre month. It started when Martin and Hildy Peters were working together in the north pasture. The Vaca Grande shares a fence with the B Spear up on the northern end of the ranch and so the two cowboys were replacing some of the old wire. When Martin came back to headquarters and told me what he'd seen, I knew that if I lived to be 110 I would never again see what he told me about. We loaded Dream and Chapo into the horse trailer and drove into the B Spear ranch headquarters. Then we rode down into the Canada del Oro. It's steeper here, and the horses really had to work to keep their footing, but we finally made it down to the massacre site. There were four dead cows and two dead mountain lions - a female and her half-grown daughter - all within several feet of one another. We checked out the tracks and came to this conclusion. The mother and daughter lion were hunting. One of them hid out in a jojoba bush while the cows came through. Two cows looked as though they had been attacked by the lions. On one of them the neck had been eaten (the only cow thus abused); the other had a small deep puncture wound on its neck. That one also sported a large wound behind the shoulder, a favorite place for lions to go in after their kill to retrieve the heart, liver and lungs. (coyotes, on the other hand, will eat a carcass starting at the rear). Since both lions were killed, we suspect there was a second cub involved in the attack who returned to feed. The other two cows were untouched and near the dead lions. A rotten utility pole was on the ground. The tracks of one of the cows went to the pole. In her fright she must have charged into it, it collapsed and the fallen electric line electrocuted the animals. Definitely not a pretty sight. But one that served to remind me of not only how capricious nature can be (to say nothing of utility companies), but also how fragile our lives really are. The fortunes of both man and animal can change in the blink of an eye. Which is precisely why we should always enjoy every moment. There's really not much point in troubling ourselves over what we did last week or worrying about something next month. Somehow, the universe always provides us with exactly what we need at any given point in time. It's enough to trust that and to enjoy the time we have. Enough of the cowgirl philosophy. Feliz Navidad!
"Harvest Moon" to the Tohono O'odham Indians, Snake Month to me. October. I should have known better. They always do it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Ginny Eske came by today and asked if I'd take her kids to the old Indian ground. We tell them it's a burial ground, but who knows? Anyway, it makes a better story that way. I piled them in Priscilla and went up the old forest service road until I found the turn off. From there we had to hike a bit. Although they knew about the desert, I still told them to watch out for snakes. "They're always bad in October," I warned, hardly believing it myself since it's been so unseasonably hot. But the hunters and the taxidermists and the people who are out in the desert in this tenth month, they know. Rattlers out pigging out to get ready for their winter sleep. Off we went. Frolicking down the trail, taking turns at
being leader. Tanner, the soccer star in his rubber flip flops, tangled with a piece of
cholla in his foot and held bravely still until we flicked it out with a Sh. That was it. No great concert of rattling leaves or symphony of sound. Just a very quiet, one syllable. Sh. But I knew. Froze in my tracks. Made them freeze behind me. The diamondback rattler was the largest one I'd seen in years. Draped around the neck of the prickly pear. Headed for the trail and not concerned about us. He could handle three little kids. Thank God he didn't get the chance. The Tohono O'odham call this month the "moon of the fair-cold." Hasn't made much sense this year since we've been setting record highs in the 90's. Not that we haven't had our share of snow though. Light, fluffy stuff has been blowing around most of the month, covering plants, cars and people. But it's a dry snow as the desert broom sheds its puffy white seeds.Found some buffalo gourds while checking on cattle the other day. Brought them home and used them, along with some devil's claw and dried desert grass, for decorations for the Thanksgiving table. Shoot, Miss Martha, we got esthetics out here in the West too. Maybe I'll gild some road apples for Christmas. This is the time of the year that's divided in half by the sun. The "moon of the backbone" to my friends, the Tohono O'odham. Winter solstice was hailed this year since the moon was not only full, but also reached its perigee which is the closest it ever gets to the sun. The last time the convergence of the solstice, the full moon and the perigee happened was in 1866. Headed out into the cold night to check it out, and frankly, all I saw was a pretty nice moon. As I looked up at it, I did think about how amazing that in this century we were able to put people up there and it still appears unchanged. Wouldn't it be nice if that was true throughout the world? The dirty-shirt cowgirl Christmas at the ranch is always fun. Our wreaths are made of strung red chiles, the holiday tamales have all been foisted off on friends and families, luminarias - the real kind with paper sacks that get wet and dump sand all over the place - herald visitors into the ranch, and the cowboy Santa collection has taken over the living room, other than the corner reserved for the huge Christmas tree loaded with horse and cattle ornaments. But the best part of Christmas for me is the quiet time as I curl up in the La-Z-Boy in front of a roaring fire in the old rock fireplace, with Blue and Mrs. Fierce at my feet (well, OK, I let Petunia in too, but only briefly since the Navajo rugs can only stand so much abuse) sipping a mulled red wine as I count my many blessings. Peace on earth.
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