All in the territory

The Sonoran Desert Museum recently held a talk on rattlers. I missed the part about the Gila Monster, which is unfortunate as it's what drew me there in the first place. (In the second place, I thought my nephew, visiting from Oklahoma, might get a kick out of the poisonous reptiles presentation.) I thought I knew enough about rattlesnakes. I know they can hunt in the dark. I know they don't necessarily rattle before they strike. I know they hang out in shady areas during the day and their poison is fierce. Yes, I have a lot to learn about what "enough" means when it comes to poisonous reptiles. The talk was incredibly interesting, covering rattlesnake physical features (which I did know much of already), hunting habits, and the profile of the person bitten by a rattlesnake, or probably any other snake. Go see this presentation or one like it if you get the chance. You're not asked to handle the snakes (though I would have, had they offered) -- you're not even close to them. It's just really interesting information.

The part that surprised me, what I thought I'd share as it's part of what this blog is all about, is that new research that says rattlesnakes have home ground. They identify with an area, to the extent they become accustomed to the habits of others sharing that territory, including humans. What experts think now is that it's probably better not to remove rattlesnakes completely away from their home territory, that it may in fact be better for us humans to have rattlesnakes in the area that know us.

I wonder if that's true for other snakes and reptiles, too -- do they adjust their habits to us or do they just ignore us unless we bumble into their direct space and force a confrontation?

Gone Fishing

A stumbling start to this infant blog. I must admit that despite how I like summers in the desert--the long days, the quiet streets--this is a time of year I find myself wanting to wait and watch, not do. I'm not alone. Only the most persistent are active, and they start as early as the sun. The rest of us, we hide in the air conditioning until there's a compelling reason to go outside. Or we leave. Those who can afford it leave for the season. Me, I get a sublime week fishing in the mountains in Colorado.

What I like about fishing: the challenge of casting a line into the wind; retrieving a snagged hook; trekking up river over winter-felled trees and rocks looking for that one fishing hole; watching my dog explore the area with his tail flagpole straight until he finds a spot in the sun where he can keep an eye on my husband and me simultaneously. And of course I like eating fresh fish.

I don't like reeling in a fish that's fought the hook deep into it's gills and yet is too small to keep; I hate watching the day's catch flop helpless on the stringer, in the water but unable to swim away into it. Call me a reluctant fisherman.

My husband isn't. He's perfectly happy spending the day trekking his stringer from spot to spot and his contentment pulls me along. Also, I just like being outside all day in an area that's surrounded by water, budding wildflowers, and the distinct possibility of spotting wildlife other than coyotes, pack rats, and rattlesnakes. (Although a well-fed kingsnake was spotted in my front yard while I was gone.)

Fishing's a great way to hide from the heat. However, I know someone who recently took up fishing at a lake just north of Tucson--not what I have in mind when I go fishing. I want the running river ten feet from my door. I want the late afternoon heat to be no more than Tucson's morning breath. And I appreciate the break the most when it comes between Tucson's wildflowers wilting and the monsoons beginning.

But it's here now, monsoon season. The heat is no longer brittle. It's charged with humidity and the current from an oncoming storm. Grass is growing wild, cacti are plump and green, and it's all reminding me that summer, even in arid country, isn't just about hazy heat. It's also about growing. For me that means writing more.

I know it's ridiculous...

I delivered him (her?) to his doom (i.e. hawk, owl, coyote or some other meat-eating wild thing needing normal sustenance while undergoing rehab.) I practically crowed that I found an environmentally friendly way of dealing with the pest. And yes, I recognize it's a tad hypocritical of me. That didn't stop me from hurrying through my tasks this morning because I was worried the stupid pack rat was too hot trapped outside on my carport.

Randomness

I was typing up something earlier this week along the lines of "Summer's officially here oh joy" but before I did much with it... put it this way, mid-day today I spent in a thick flannel while doing yard work. I'm not complaining here, but-- what gives?

---

To me this post, the part about her finding them twice, is a solid argument for not making the bed. Of course, my mother would point out I never did it anyway. She'd be right, but still. If you don't make the bed in the morning, you're far more likely to shake out the sheets before you put your feet under them.

---

A website I really like (but haven't posted along the side since it's not technically southwest related) is What's That Bug. Maybe I should be posting it under favorites. I immediately, well second or third to immediately, dove for the computer to find out what was that thing on my bedroom wall. Immediately I hollered for my husband to identify that whatever which looked like a cross between an ant and a spider (on steriods). Specifically, is it dangerous? When it vanished before we could usher it outside, that's when I found the site. It may have been a solupod/matavenados. Short answer: not poisonous. But according to the person who told me about matavenados, they do bite. Oh good.

About mandatory pet spaying/neutering

I met a woman about a month ago who proudly proclaimed she & other dog lovers had managed to get legislation in the AZ house to mandate spaying/neutering all cats and dogs. Now, at first pass, most people think this is great. But I just feel we, as a nation, tend to over-legislate, and this particular legislation has a risk if it actually succeeds -- which I'll get to. Anyway, I started poking around the internet to see what I could find out about it.

Wow.

A little background on AZ. We have -- have had for years -- a mandatory spay/neuter for all animals adopted out of a shelter. This proposed legislation (House Bill 2516) would take that further by mandating ALL animals be spayed/neutered unless the owner purchases an "intact" permit. You can get this permit if your non-neutered/non-spayed dog works for the police/fire departments, is a show/competition dog or in training to becomes so, or if you are breeding working dogs.

For a more thorough run-down of the bill & what it means, read this. The short interpretation is that if the bill passes, you must fix your pet, or you must prove that your pet fits into the exceptions and you must pay (twice) to not fix your animal. Twice, because you have to pay for a permit--that's per animal, per year--& pay a higher-rate for a license--again per (dog) per year. The exceptions to the spay/neuter mandate do not appear to include regular breeders. The bill specifies breeders of working dogs.

The provision is for both cats & dogs, but I'll focus on dogs just to keep the messy debate a little less cluttered.

Mandating spaying/neutering (I'll use MSN from now on) is intended to address pet over-population, decrease animals being killed in the shelter system, and in some arguments, increase public safety. What I found in numerous articles on the web were facts on how & why this doesn't work.

It's not at all the importance of spaying or neutering the family pet that's under debate. It's widely agreed that the typical dog owner needs to get their pet fixed (although there are differing opinions as to when they should be fixed.) What's being argued is the legislation, the legal requirement to have all dogs fixed.

There are cities and counties that have enacted similar laws already. The laws are all slightly different, (see here for some) but they seem to range from ineffectual to disastrous. Some counties repealed their law. In general, though, places where MSN was enacted and enforced saw a rise in the cost of animal control (which far exceeded expectation), little effect or even a rise in euthanasia, a significant drop in dog licensing, and in some cases a rise in rabies cases. On consideration, this seems like an obvious effect of MSN. If the law is strongly enforced, as in animal control is going out and citing people with unfixed animals, then the "backyard breeders", the indifferent owners, and those who want to comply but simply can't afford the vet bill will be dumping their animals on the shelters who will then have to euthanize most just to keep up. Those who don't get cited won't be licensing their dogs in order to avoid not only the fines but all the fees associated with unfixed pets. And dog licensing is linked to rabies control. Where I live, when I get my dogs' rabies vaccinations renewed, the county sends me a slip reminding me to renew the license too. People who want to avoid licensing their dogs then have to avoid rabies vaccinations too. If the law isn't strongly enforced, then it's only the good breeders and owners who are affected. In the end, MSN only really affects the responsible pet owners and the good breeders. It has the potential to affect breeders badly, but I'll make that a separate post.

As far as what MSN is trying to address…Over-population is an issue, but only in some places. Where it is a problem, MSN does not address the underlying cause of crowded shelters, the unwanted adult dogs. There are many reasons animals wind up in shelters, but many of them boil down to a human who under-estimated what it took to be an owner of that particular dog. In regards to the goal of decreasing the number of animals killed each year, the numbers I've seen in my poking around indicate euthanasia has been decreasing steadily over the last couple decades. Successful spay/neuter programs are already in place, through a combination of owner education and low-cost clinics & campaigns to help those who can't afford it themselves.

The public safety concerns were about dog bites and dog aggression, and breed specific. I don't know that this is one of the reasons people are promoting MSN legislation in Arizona. I read about it in regards to San Francisco, where they were considering it as a way to address fears about pit bulls and dog bites. Ultimately, I understand spaying/neutering does decrease the animal's drive, but it does not stop dogs from biting, wandering out of the yard, or running up to people. Outside of truly vicious dogs, it's dog training, socialization, and quite frankly human behavior that will affect this.

This is just a summary of what I've learned so far, and I hope you don't take my word for it but look into it yourself. I have not done an exhaustive search on the arguments around HB 2516 (the AZ legislation on MSN) and I was predisposed to argue against it to begin with.

If you find a site with thorough arguments for MSN, please post it in the comments section, I'd love to read it.

There are too many pages I looked at to post them all, but here are the a few:

Animal Law Coalition's arguments against MSN

American Kennel Club's arguments against the law proposed, and defeated in California

KC Dog Blog did a series of posts on BSL/MSN. The posts pure opinion of course, and he gets rather snarky about media coverage and such, but he supports his conclusions with numbers and brings up excellent points.

National Pet Alliance on the San Mateo ordinance

Pet-Law.com article on MSN

Creosote celebrates the rain

Thoughts from J. Bockman

This is the season where each morning is so clear and nice you wish you could just stay home and do domestic-y things like yard work all day long. You put it on the list for the weekend or maybe even for right after work, because now daylight lasts past dinnertime. Of course, by the weekend, or the end of the day, it's hot and icky. Not sweltering, that's a month or so off, but the kind of hot where opening your car door reminds you of your oven. Yard work sounds like, well, work.

This is the season where you watch things grow, and wilt. Unless you are a very conscientious gardener who waters every day. I am not. I over water or I forget to water. No doubt one reason I favor drought-tolerant plants, and desert neighborhoods. I don't have to go far to watch plants morph from weeds into wildflowers into wildfire bait, all within a three month period. Things aren't dead -- the birds are still foraging, seeds must be growing -- but in this not-spring, not-summer season, everything (not just my plants) is a little crackly, and often dusty.

And then there's days like today.

It's raining. It won't rain for long. In fact, it quit as I've been typing this. But it rained enough. The wilting plants are saying hallelujah, and so are the people who are out doing yard work. It rained enough to leave the air cool even if the clouds go away, and more than enough to leave that wonderful smell the desert gets. That amazing woody smell, the scent of things growing and reaching out to catch the raindrops. It's the creosote bush, celebrating on behalf of the desert.

Now's the time to do the outdoor stuff, right now while you can smell the creosote. It's one of the wonders of the desert.

Natural Neutralization

Thoughts from J. Bockman

While we're on the subject of pack rats, I thought I'd tell you about how I'm dealing with them.

I really don't like poison, unless it's a black widow spider that I can't squish with something big and heavy. I particularly don't like it when it involves a rat or rabbit or other, well, prey animal, because it's easy to inadvertently do a lot of harm. If we poison the prey animal we're also poisoning the predator who snaps up the staggering, or fallen over, rat/rabbit/squirrel. If we poison the predators, all we get is more of the prey. (Fewer carnivores to catch and eat the dumb ones…)

Last year my husband and I bought two humane traps, the kind that just catches and cages the animal. The basic idea we had: catch 'em, and drive 'em out to the desert. Humane and easy. Except that finding a patch of desert that really is just a patch of desert isn't easy at all.

There are remarkable people, and in at least two parts of Tucson, who rescue wild animals. They don't rescue them like we would rescue a lost puppy. In fact, it's illegal to keep a wild animal as a pet. These folks nurse them back to health and then release them back to the wild. And they're willing to take pack rats, in a way.

Yesterday my two pack rats went to the cause of helping a red-tailed hawk regain its health. I know some who might be horrified at the idea of deliberately delivering a creature to its doom. Of course, I know more who are horrified that I don't just kill them and be done with it. I personally feel this is a great solution. I think of it this way: the pack rats are playing their part in the eco-system…immediately. Another way to think of it might be: poison-free pest neutralization.

Cute, cuddly, vicious little beasties with really big teeth

From the desk of J. Bockman

Every area has its resident "they did what?" pest. Other parts of the country, I understand it's raccoons or possums. For most people within Tucson, it's pigeons, the world's flying rats. Up on Mount Lemmon, in the mountains that serve as a compass point for Tucson residents, it's bears. For outlaying areas of Tucson … I just never knew pack rat was anything more than a human who wouldn't throw anything out but kept it safely in one room so he, or she, could locate it through the chrono-geographical system (aka magic). In fact, a google search on eliminating pack rats turned up a "how to get your spouse to clean up" article in the first ten sites. I think only one site dealt with the originator of the term.

The pack rat is arid country's resident pest. And an amazing beastie at that. He doesn't need a water source--he gets moisture from cacti. He doesn't need a specific food source; he'll eat just about anything, including mesquite pods, cholla, car wiring, and house insulation. Well, maybe the last he just uses to line his nests, like couch cushions. Because his only defense is hiding, and he's likely to get snapped up as a midnight snack for a mistake, he breeds like a maniac to insure species survival.

Turns out he & I have the same taste in landscaping. A mesquite tree here and there, and a nice mix of low-lying shrubs and century plants in decent proximity of each other. No bare spots please. For me, it's a testament to the variety of life in the desert. For the rat, it's an inviting cornicopia of hiding places and food sources. He can get to this neighbor's cholla and that neighbor's mesquite without risking himself in the open too drastically. And my neighborhood provides multiple places that make choice nests, places that simultaneously keep out the sun and foil the coyote. (I am of course reordering my yard before the heat really hits.)

The pack rat is a true desert survivor, and undoubtedly a big part of the eco-system. He's a scavenger, taking what the desert (or the home owner) offers and making the most of it. He's a food source for coyotes, owls, hawks, and snakes. For all his cowering and skulkery, he's incredibly intrepid, exploring his surroundings for anything he might find useful at some point, some where. I'd admire him if I wasn't so annoyed with him.

A Discussion About Dark Skies

Thoughts from J. Bockman

I heard a radio interview about National Dark Skies Week--that's how I know it existed as a week at all. The man being interviewed mentioned how it would be kicked off with Earth Hour, a campaign to get everyone to turn off their lights for an hour. Earth Hour, according to their website, began last year in Sydney, while the dark skies organization(s) have been around a bit longer. But that's a tangent, I was talking about the interview. In answering the question of the campaign's underlying importance, the man spent far more air time speaking in terms of his personal connection to the night sky, of being able to see the stars, of the feeling of infinity it inspired, than in the more global issues underlying the movement. Keep in mind, I'm summarizing here from an interview I heard awhile ago while most of my attention was on driving. National Dark Skies Week was actually a couple weeks ago.

Dark skies has a particular importance to Tucson, and I was listening for an expert's take on it. It was mentioned, as were a couple other points, but none were really covered, so I went looking for a good discussion on why dark skies are important. Maybe I didn't listen to the right stations, read the right news sites. (I don't watch television news, but they're given to sound bytes and so never do more than peck at a matter anyway.) I never did find a good discussion.

While National Dark Skies Week, and having dark skies just in general, may not match the importance of gas prices and sustainable living in our social dialogue, the issue is related and rates more than the symbol of a week in its name, more than the lights-out-for-an-hour awareness campaign. It absolutely needs more of a discussion that one person on the radio talking about how the vastness of the stars changed his perspective on himself. Which is not to say that moment isn't important. I knew exactly what he was talking about; I've had the same experience. Not an "aha" moment, more of an "I never knew" wonder that sets you on your backside and never really leaves you. I hope everyone has the chance to experience it. But, it's a very personal thing and what the interviewee effectively glossed over were the public reasons dark skies are important, the reasons we the public, we the city residents, should care.

And, I don't think a news blip about a campaign to turn light off does much to address this. Actually, if I wasn't already at least peripherally aware of the issue, it may have had the opposite effect on me. I'm sick of being asked to participate in symbolic acts that don't really do anything, especially when it's titled (i.e. Earth Hour, National Dark Skies Week) because it smacks of the cause of the moment.

The issue behind the dark-skies movement is light pollution. Light pollution is not really something that's in our social consciousness. That is to say, we generally don't walk outside at 10 o'clock at night and wonder if the fact the parking lot sports light poles every ten feet has consequences that out-weigh the safety benefits of seeing our car from seven rows away. I know that I only started to think about how bright cities were when I moved from Phoenix, where my mother used the street lights flipping on as the deadline for me being home and where on major streets you can't find a shadow with any muscle to it. I could count the number of stars in my field of vision (two). Tucson is the literal dark side. Most neighborhoods haven't a streetlight at all (the shadows are big bullies, hiding pot holes and laughing when you trip over them) and the university campus is lit in this weird orange glow that just looks contaminated, if you're coming from cities with typical street lighting.

Maybe because I just generally like Tucson, and certainly because I live with someone who knows quite a bit about telescopes, I've reversed my view on which is the bad city when it comes to lighting.

Incidentally, if you want to see how much of the continent is lit at night, there's a good photo here and here. It's tricky to get past how beautiful it looks and understand the sheer amount of energy being used every night. But that's not as hard as moving beyond energy consumption to other things affected. Actually, I think it's impossible unless you have some context about it. After all, it's light, what does it hurt?

According to International Dark-Sky Association, the adverse affects include: energy waste (and the pollution caused by energy use); disruption of bird migration routes, and public safety, among other things. The radio interview I heard passingly mentioned a couple of these, but I recommend looking at the IDA website if anyone wants a comprehensive take on light pollution.

What's way down on the list of reasons to control night lighting is something very important to Tucson, and really to the desert in general: telescopes. Specifically scientific telescopes. In fact, the telescopes on Kitt Peak are why Tucson's lighting ordinance is the way it is--the amount of light at night directly interferes with how much a telescope can do, so the city put strict regulations on lighting in order to accommodate scientific observations.

On the surface, it doesn't seem so important -- a couple telescopes on a small mountain just south of the city, versus the city teeming with residents who can't see beyond their front porches at night, at least not without a flashlight. But it is important, in that long-term subtle cascade way. The Kitt Peak Observatories were, are, successful. They gather useful data and -- best of all to those involved -- they don't need to make extreme accommodations to do so. The observers can live nearby or visit from out of town, the support staff can live nearby, in an area with lots of amenities, as opposed to driving or flying thousands of miles to get to work. (One example of the extreme in telescopes: for the observatory at the south pole, the staff live in New Zealand and fly to the site every few months.)

Our region has the dry-air conditions observatories need, and the mountains nearby that make things drier, colder, and even better for gathering images. Tucson has a technically knowledgeable work base, many of whom have worked on telescopes before. The university has the facilities for the optics, for developing the support structure, etc. In fact, Tucson is one of the largest optics research centers in the U.S. It's attractive to build telescopes here and the benefits to the region have tumbled down from there. Tucson has many technical job opportunities--from engineers that design the equipment to technicians that maintain the power lines to the telescopes. And, the economy all through the area gets a cash boost. One example: we have observatories on Mt. Graham. Some employees live in nearby Safford (thereby paying for housing, food, etc in town.) Others commute & stay on the site for several days, generally buying groceries in Wilcox or other communities. Visiting observers -- the telescopes are an internationally funded, so there are occasionally people here from Germany or Italy -- will take time off to be a tourist. All because Tucson turned the lights down.

Arizona has optical telescopes at Kitt Peak, Mt. Hopkins, Mt. Graham, Mt Lemmon, and Flagstaff. (It should be noted, we also have radio telescopes here & in New Mexico, but that's not directly related to dark skies.)

I think there's a lot to say about why dark skies are important. Telescopes are just one, the one I'm most familiar with, and therefore the one I chose to open the discussion with.

And I think there's a lot to say about finding the balance between street safety and lighting waste. Cities are slowly changing their lighting ordinances, but it's the public who determines where the priorities are. Most everyone I meet that's new to Tucson demands to know why Tucson doesn't do something about the lighting. If they had their way, there would be a street light every ten feet on every single street, not because they don't care about environment or about economy, or any of that, but because we, most of us, don't realize there are consequences to it. We've been taught the more light the better; it's just light.

The Desert's Traveling Musicians

From the Desk of J. Bockman

The coyotes are outside my window most
before-sun mornings, gathering
for the Blues. I want
to shepherd them inside, teach them
how it feels to be warm and loved; to eat
civilized kibble, not my cats. But then,
I want my cats to have their ancient right
to climb trees and stalk
the birds we hear humming in our trees.

I am just a city-raised girl with a liking
for camping. Didn't think we'd be
leaving the city when we moved
the mountain to our window.
The address still says Tucson, after all.
I didn't know I'd be explaining
to my old-man cat he's not
mature enough to take care
of himself. I'd worry about him
outside, so he must stay in, guard
the house from six-legged
intruders, never mind those busy-body
neighbor cats, friend.
The coyotes will deal with them.

I wake up predawn to
this desert serenade. To
old-man cat purring,
purring and tail twitching,
crouched close. My lover, less
citified than I, more
rational than I, listens
to the coyote's moonlit song and
dance routine and says, "That's why you can't
go outside anymore, cat."
Sleepy and content, he tightens
his arms around me, and leaves me
awake. Contemplating.
Coyotes just need better manners.

My dog, nonplussed, leans his head against my hand.
A warm brow, a cold nose, a contented sigh.
The desert's traveling musicians are here,
he seems to say, pet me while I listen.
And so I listen to them sing, the serenaders, and know
why coyotes decline my ideas of civilization, manners, and love
the way I offer it - shut behind walls away
from the moon, their favorite audience.
They don't care that the city has different rules
about vagrants. The night is free,
they sing, but if I want to tip them,
they'll gladly take a cat.

I decline, but by now
the coyotes have gone
their mournful way.

(c) 2005 Jessica Bockman

It Begins With Phoenix

Thoughts from J. Bockman

There's a distinct advantage to being a girl in Phoenix. Not only do girls, even back then, have more opportunities in dressing for the season--girl's short shorts and mini skirts are an absolute advantage over boy's shorts in summer heat beating--but skirts form great pockets, the longer the skirt, the deeper the pocket, and the greater advantage I had in olive fights. Never mind I was bigger and stronger, being several years older, my skirt held three times the amount of green olives contained in my brother's and his friends' seven-year-old pockets.

In moments of nostalgia, I'm sorry for the kids now in Phoenix who will never have olive fights. Green olives, properly spiked, hurt. A lot. They leave welts. They drive combatants to dodge and weave around the trees seeking protection, or just a way to sneak up on the enemy, um, sibling. It's a fun way for siblings with nothing in common to bond. One that doesn't require the preparation, money, equipment, or clean up of a paintball fight. But today, though olive trees are ubiquitous in Phoenix, dotting the lawns like yard ornaments, like the pink flamingos and carefully tended rose beds, they have been rendered ornaments. They don't flower, they don't fruit.

There's an irrefutable argument for the ban on flowering olive trees. A great portion of the populace are allergic to them. Yet I can't help feeling that a season of sneezes is a terrible reason to deprive Phoenix, and Phoenix children, of its heritage. Maybe I should feel bad for those who grew up in Phoenix, sniffly, achy, and swollen while my brother & I pelted freshly plucked missiles at each other. Those kids never viewed olive trees as a playground even when there was more reason than the ordinary draw to climb a tree because its there.

Olives & olive trees are inextricably interwoven into the landscape, both the physical, geographical one and the historical, personal one. Not many people remember that Phoenix began as an agricultural community. Three types of orchards have left their mark, ready to show themselves to the person paying attention. Palm trees stand sentinel over certain parts of Scottsdale Road. Citrus trees, round topped and white trunked, dominate yards by Camelback and 48th Street. Olive trees offer gnarled shade down the neighborhood sidewalks around Indian School and 40th Street. Except for certain pockets, old family hold outs and historical sites, I think Phoenix, the city itself, has forgotten. I wouldn't know it except that my family's history is part of Phoenix's history. When I came to Phoenix, it was to move from an ocean breeze-swept modern house to a tiny 30s-era adobe house on one of the last parcels of my great-grandmother's olive orchard.

Most of the people now in that neighborhood came from somewhere else. The neighbors my grandmother knew for so many years have died or moved into care facilities, their houses sold to strangers from Nevada or Michigan or Washington, and certainly from California. All of which have their own histories, their own heritages but, being transplants and interested primarily in the lack of snow and the comparatively low prices, buries Phoenix's memories of different times. Of poorer times. Almost as if Phoenix, by reaching out to these new people and providing them with green grass, familiar shops and restaurants, and business opportunities, becomes the heroine in a rags to riches story, a city who has changed her clothing and acquaintances and, while not denying her past, hopes no one brings it up.

This phenomenon isn't Phoenix alone. To say Phoenix is to include not just the city of that name but also the cluster of smaller cities surrounding it, each passing into the other uninterrupted and unacknowledged beyond a street name change, if even that. Phoenix's boundaries are barely visible. It reaches out into the desert and seems to deny with its green lawns and white trunked citrus trees the very existence of the desert. With its plethora of brand name restaurants, chain clothing stores, and tracts of houses with a small patch of yard, it seems to deny its agriculture-in-desert roots.

This must seem like a strange beginning for a blog about living in a desert. Why pick a city that grows grass and white washes its citrus tree trunks? Well, this is where it begins for me. With olives, oranges, and grass all courtesy of the irrigation system the Hohokum left behind, which brought people like my great-grandparents from Kansas, who had to learn that olives paid better than the citrus they'd been replacing the olive trees with, and that people would pay for olive-fed turkeys even during the Great Depression. Olives gave Phoenix one of its booms, during World War II when suddenly olive oil couldn't be imported from Spain. The irrigation system also brought people like a woman I am forever fond of but will never understand, a woman who grew up in Phoenix yet enthused over her new Scottsdale home because "it looks just like California."

I don't particularly like Phoenix, even though it is the biggest city in my state. But it is where I first learned what it meant to live in arid country. I didn't learn to love it there, but I learned my link to it, and through that I learned that there are many ways to live here, ways that are constantly changing, affected irreversibly by choices of residents, established and new. It's where I started thinking about what effects our choices have. How much is too much when it comes to population growth and water? To building and loss of native habitat? If we chose a house because of its proximity to natural wilderness, how does it change our relationship to that wilderness?

I think every place should have its own sense about it, its own microculture or personality. And as Phoenix grows, it adds more yards, more non-desert trees and bushes, more generic restaurants that look and smell just like the one in California, it represents to me not only the beginning, but the ending. It's what we lose when we go too fast; we forget that we live in arid country.