Moominmama's Adventures: Year Five

 

In which Moominmama reflects on the start of a new year and what it means to reach Year Five of a life on the road...

Starting on my fifth year on the road, Moominmama wonders if it's an adventure anymore, or just a lifestyle. Somehow, "Moominmama's Lifestyle" just doesn't have the same ring!

But the truth is that not everything is new and exciting! Having picked up the trailer in New Mexico and driven to Arizona, I'm enjoying a Sonoran Desert that's actually somewhat familiar. I enjoy being back among the grandfather saguaro cactus, unique to this particular desert.

The Sonoran Desert, unlike others, is marked by two rainy seasons: the summer monsoons and winter rains. But as I've learned, last year there were no significant monsoon rains in the Phoenix area, deepening an already serious drought.

This year, no flowers greeted my March arrival. The plants were dry and dormant, and the local park ranger was taking photos of stressed-out saguaros on my first nature hike. I'm happy to report, though, a few days after my arrival, the Phoenix area had rain. And now, a week later, more rain. It's all anyone talks about here! The brittle bush, which will eventually bloom in a brilliant yellow, was finally persuaded to send out a few leaves. You can see the contrast above before and after rainfall.

This year, I am not documenting a Super Bloom as I did a few years ago. This year, I'm looking for signs of life! They are out there! Like this early flowering of the ocotillo at the very tip of its tall branches. These draw hummingbirds, which are also a delight to watch.

In fact, year five is starting out as an opportunity to appreciate smaller things. I have fewer awe-inspiring vistas and more simple pleasures to report. 

And that suits me just fine. My goal in traveling and in sharing what I find is to encourage my admiration and appreciation for the natural world in its amazing variation. As I get older, I'll likely climb fewer mountains and hike more canyons.

I'm not tired of it one bit. My little trailer, the Moominhouse, suits me fine once I get it organized. I am more aware of the water I use (much less than in a house or apartment) and the electricity I need, especially when I rely exclusively on solar. I accept a measure of dirt and dust, but living in a 17-foot trailer, I can neither accumulate things nor tolerate disorder. It's a good lifestyle from which I can seek out the occasional adventure.

Or I can sit outside my home and read Edward Abbey's classic The Monkey Wrench Gang (purchased for $1 at the Desert Foothills Library book sale) while a rock squirrel clings to my water hose, watching me cautiously before reaching under to get an errant drip from my tap. Later, I watched a bird do the same!

And I enjoy regular hikes, especially when the creosote bushes release their smoky smell after the rain. Instead of focusing on flowers I'm looking at interesting rock formations, like the one at the top, in the South Mountain Park & Preserve below Phoenix.

I also revisted the Desert Botanical Garden, where, among other things, they had an art display about climate change, with a collection of fabric squares, some painted, some embroidered, some appliquéd, some with with photos imprinted into the design -- all by local artists focusing on the things they love about the natural world or the things that worry them about climate change. Visitors walk in a labyrinth maze through them all, slowing their step and encouraging reflection.

I don't know how much I can do to protect the places, plants and critters I've come to love: the enormous redwoods, sandstone canyons, blue glaciers, proud saguaros, black bears, bison, the songs of the curved-bill thrashers, the squeaks of the Gambel's quails, the yellow glow of California poppies, coyotes sounding off in the night or the frustrated bellow of rutting elk at Yellowstone. But they all deserve to be admired! They deserve my awe.

Not all will survive climate change-- but while they are here, they will be acknowledged and appreciated by me. Perhaps now you can see why year five is only a start at this project of learning and celebrating the natural world around me.

This year I'll also be documenting what I find as I visit some of our national parks, monuments and forests. How quickly will the federal staffing reductions be felt? Already, I hear there are longer lines at the entrances. I worry about trash on the trails, locked visitor centers and overworked rangers. I fear all these national treasures are only real estate to our president. How will that play out? 

For now, I'm in a Maricopa County park that's well managed and well loved. On my way here, I waited out high winds in a Walmart parking lot in Winslow, Arizona where I learned I was near an old meteor strike. Before leaving the area, I paid a visit. For a century or more, it was unclear if this was a meteor crater or a volcanic caldera, because there are many of the latter in the same area.

Then in 1902, Philadephian Daniel Barrington bought claims for the site, convinced that hundreds of thousands of pounds of valuable iron ore lay buried at the bottom in the form of a meteor. He spent his family fortune and the next 26 years digging for something that had largely vaporized, melted or broken into small fragments when it hit.

But he was right that it was a meteor crater not volcanic, getting formal confirmation from modern science in 1960. The meteor is estimated to have struck Arizona 50,000 years ago with a force greater than 20 million tons of TNT. The Barrington descendants still own the site and formed a partnership to feature the tourist attraction and to allow further scientific research. Above is the one large piece of the meteor that was found a short distance away, apparently having broken off prior to impact. I end this post with a photo of the crater from the rim, with our guide Kyle in the foreground. 

Chiricahua Mountains and the Coronado National Forest are next on my itinerary, so hope to post next week about my adventures en route -- and what I find when I arrive!