The Return of a Modicum of Life

The waking of the river valley from its winter slumber is always such a lift. "What is that call? Oh! The Bell's vireos are back!" They will eventually become part of the background chorus of the summer, but when they first appear a whole new world feels like it opens up, even if it is quite similar to the old world. Various other arrivals will evoke the same response over the course of spring. 

The assault on the valley took a pause and spring migration transformed the river bottom back into something resembling normality, even though the lack of useful winter rain meant virtually no spring flowers and little for the fauna to eat. The cries of gray and zone-tailed hawks were a welcome alternative to the sound of whirlybirds. The lack of much forage abroad kept four-leggers around in the river bottom and the meager tent caterpillar population seemed to provide some sustenance for some of the winged arrivals.

Spring migration got off to a slow start. The lack of vegetation likely contributed to the low numbers. Without spring flowers to attract insects for the insectivores or to produce seeds for the seed eaters, many likely moved on quickly. Luckily, the cottonwoods, willows, mesquite, and acacia draw life from below the parched earth and were able to provide sustenance for some to stick around. 

The first two weeks of May, though, turned into a flurry of warblers. Even Wilson's warblers were in such numbers that there was one or two in every flowering mesquite. Usually, each sighting of a Wilson's is worth noting, but for a while it was "Oh, just another Wilson's." 

But the Wilson's eventually moved on like the western tanagers and buntings. As peak migration eventually morphed into peak furnace, the valley quieted down again, everything holding its breath for the predicted "wetter than normal" monsoon season to materialize this summer. Whatever "normal" is anymore. Without it, it will truly be "hell on earth" here.  At this time of year, we are mostly just in survival mode, waiting each day for the sun to sink down below the hilltops for some relief. 
  
The return of the purple Martins to our neighborhood saguaros in early June is one of the things that helps me endure the furnace, listening to them negotiate over which nest hole to rent as I wake up in the morning. They seem more subdued and fewer this year, but they are the sound of my summer and I welcome their return. The yellow-billed cuckoo and blue grosbeak also rode the heatwave in and were heard together on the same day from our abode as we approached the Summer Solstice. 

Part of what makes this valley special, and is pointed out by many visitors, is that there still are brief moments where all you hear is the sound of nature at work instead of the work of mechanized slaves. But it doesn't take long for a plane to fly over head or a truck to race down the main dirt road to spoil it. With construction having ebbed for a bit, more of those moments have returned. I try to savor them and not take them for granted because I have lived where that wasn't an available experience. In those places I found myself filtering out the mechanised world to find peace, the side effect being I was filtering out most everything else other than an artificial reality of my own creation.

Life here, as summer takes hold, is quite harsh, but there just isn't anything like the feeling of hearing and seeing the return of spring and summer life, even if subdued. If monsoon does come in full-bore, then a whole new set of life will emerge that can be truly amazing.