Desert the Bittersweet

This is the kind of friend the desert is…the kind that tells you he just gave you the clap, but on the up side, he thinks you’re the one.

Here’s a question, does anyone even know what the clap is anymore? For those of you who weren’t sexually active in the seventies, or perhaps not yet born, it’s an STD. But for this analogy, it’s the caterpillars in my garden. And the upside is that my friend the desert can bring on beauty overnight just as easily as it can deliver decimation, often simultaneously.

To wit, the triple digit temperatures arrived this week and set off a flurry of blooms. Maybe the plants think the world is about to erupt into flames, so they must make hay while they may. Kind of like how everyone ran out and got laid for the Y2K Armageddon.

This happened in my garden:

Texas Sage exploded overnight. A gorgeous plant that usually is mal-pruned, so no one gets to see its blooms.

Texas Sage exploded overnight. A gorgeous plant that usually is mal-pruned, so no one gets to see its blooms.

The Tranquility Tree I've pruned to cascade over the courtyard entry went nuts with its tiny yellow flowers this season. Best blooms to date.

The Tranquility Tree I’ve pruned to cascade over the courtyard entry went nuts with its tiny yellow flowers this season. Best blooms to date.

The blooms up close.

The blooms up close.

p.s. Thanks to Anne Carson for writing Eros the Bittersweet…well…for writing everything she’s ever written.

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4 thoughts on “Desert the Bittersweet

  1. I love every word you write! I do remember the seventies but must say I really enjoyed your explaination of the word “clap”. The garden pictures are beautiful. Keep writing Rebecca so I can smile when I read your latest discourse.

  2. The clap! Too funny, also I had been thinking something along those lines as our peach tree is bursting with fruit even after I cruely thinned out a few dozen baby peaches. We have some type of boring insect infestation at the base of the tree and our landscape architect neighbor is sure our little peach tree will need hospice services soon so my thoughts were it is going for broke this year pumping out babies….

    • I saw a shortish saguaro blooming the other day. On average, this cactus species won’t bloom until it’s about 55 years old and eight feet tall. We were driving down the street and I’m terrible at gauging height, but it looked at most six feet tall. The plants seem to be on to something. 🙂

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