SPRING FRAGRANCE IN THE DESERT

As the parade of cars, coming downgrade out of the mountains, eased around a corner, about every one in three peeled off into parking spaces near a lookout. Doors opened and slammed shut, loosing a small flock of drivers and passengers, like birds released from their cages. I was as glad as any to stretch my legs and get some air from which the hint of snow was gone.

Leaning on the stone parapet, I took in one after another of the deepest breaths I could. A woman beside me tried it too, just short, trial puffs at first. Then, a look of surprise came over her face. She breathed deeply, again and again.

Turning to me, she asked: "What is that wonderful fragrance?" We smiled at each other as I told her: "That, Ma'am, is the Desert in Spring."

I was glad she didn't insist upon knowing the name of every blossom and newly green leaf that goes into it. The breeze, bringing the distilled essence had gathered it from far and wide. From some canyon nearby-or far off-it had drawn a touch from wild Walnut groves, with a pinch of Honey Mesquite, perhaps some Lupine from a slope, a hint of Evening Primrose, and dabs of a dozen more spring things. Then stirred with sun-warmth, feeding now in the late afternoon, and mingled some pollens and the freshness from a hidden spring. There could be a little Pine and Sage, drifted from higher slopes-and there was certainly a touch of the coming coolness of the night.

The recipe is one of the Desert's own secrets and comes, like a word of welcome, when we've been away and come back into the Desert at this magic moment, just as Spring is astir, bustling to ready its house for a myriad of petalled visitors.

While we were taking in the soft air, each whiff more pleasant than the last, there was also much to see. The cloudless horizon held no promise of a prize sunset, but there was going to be a magnificent glow, if we could wait just a while for it.

In the meantime, all the land, rolled out like a scroll, was tinted from our lookout to far fringe of purpling mountains. It wasn't exactly all green, but even bare ground, between feathery shrubs or hummocks of smaller growth set beside individual shadows, was about to take on color. The Ocotillos were frankly emerald, topped. now with tassels. A few had already opened into small flames and it was just a matter of a few days before they'd be flicking the air, as though all the ghosts of all the old stage-drivers were riding by.

They are called, you know, Coachman's Whip, and the plant, Fouqueria splendens, belongs to the ardent company of succulents gone over completely to desert life. None of its family (The Candlewood) will live anywhere else.

By then, most of the other cars had left and looking off to see how many friends I could spot: a stout Barrel Cactus, several Prickly Pears and yellowing clumps of Brittlebush-were there at first glance. I'd almost forgotten the woman who'd just had her first breath of Spring in the Desert.

Some people might think it queer, that anyone should feel that way about a place-and and while I hadn't actually waved at plants I recognized, or spoken to them, my face was probably a little too expressive of what I was feeling.

JOSEF MUENCH

"You've been away and are coming home."

It wasn't a question, but I admitted it was so and we talked for some time about the Desert and especially about Spring in the Desert-that most favored time for a newcomer, just beginning to understand its fascination.

Arizona, I told her, has three floors, so to speak, each with a different climate and different tenants, though some of the floral ones seem unable to decide just which they prefer. The Lower Desert, you can also call it the Sonoran or Arizona Desert, is on the ground floor. It covers much of the southern part of the state and the elevation falls away to a mere 137 feet above set level at Yuma. Mountains here and there go up a few thousand feet and there is at least one penthouse-Baboquivari Peak -7,864 feet above sea level.

So usually, from whichever direction you come unless it's from California, across the Colorado River, you drop down-into the Desert.

Like the landing on a staircase-where you see down a fine long bajado (the Spanish word for these tapering slopes), highways from north and east bring you to an overview of Spring. For example, there are---Yarnell Hill, along U.S. Highway 89-from Prescott; The Black Canyon Highway (State 69) as well as Oak Creek Canyon (on U.S. 89 Alternate) from Flagstaff. You might also include the Salt River Canyon view on U.S. 60, southeast of Globe, or Texas Canyon, as you drive west from New Mexico, on State 86.

Each one of these previews is quite different in itself as well as varying according to the time of day or what clouds, sky and winds may have been up to. It's not fair, of course, to judge any landscape when the sun is almost overhead. Even people don't look their best, asleep. Our neighbors, south of the border, understand that better than we do and take a Siesta. Perhaps the old saw should be rewritten as warning: "Only mad dogs and tourists stay out in the midday sun."

Shadows are eyebrow pencil and lipstick, eyeshadow, rouge-and more-for the Desert. The sun must come slanting, or with backlight, and clouds, paint in the planes, and build a third dimension perspective before all the rich and subtle shades, the marvelous modeling can even be glimpsed.

All the sweet scented Evening Primroses, the fragrant Four O'Clocks and other spring flowers who don't proclaim their sensible habits by title, put by until lateror earlier. They seem to go so far as to close their very pores, holding in all the delicate aromas which passing breezes tease for, to make up their potpourri. The breezes too, as you may have noticed, seem to be taking naps, as well.

So, unless you're in a hurry to get somewhere elsein which case there's not much use telling you what to look for anyway, none of these views should even be "open for business" when the colors are washed out. I sometimes wonder if all those who call the Desert such misunderstanding names as "harsh," "barren," "empty," "desolate," didn't do their looking around noon and hurry on, in a rush of speed. In Spring, even wide highways (with beckoning white lines and prodding signs saying how much farther it is to this place and the one beyond) put out temporary posters to suggest stops. I'm not referring to the biglettered ones to tell you what to buy at the next curio shop-but the flowers along the shoulders.

I've heard travelers insist the nearest Chamber of Commerce must have planted the neat rows of Apricot Mallow, the pools of blue Lupines and off-shoulder slopes of Poppies or Phaecelia. The idea is nice and there are culverts in Southern Arizona where a leggy Yucca elata was encouraged by the Highway Department to stand right there as marker, warning, and delight when it balances a "vase-full" of lilies on its head, come Spring. Perhaps if we had more leisure, some particularly pleasant stretch of road might be forever remembered for mileage-markers reading: "Tucson-25 Yuccas Ahead," or "38 Palo Verde Trees to Ajo."

I have a suggestion for car manufacturers, too. I've noticed that regardless of car speed, it seems capable of gathering in "essence of diesel," when passing a truck. Now if some "odor-catcher"-to be shut off quickly, when desired, were perfected to gather the passing fragrance of roadside flowers-not only would you travel through Spring, enveloped in its finest fragrances, but I believe you'd be tempted to pause now and then, paying your respects to some of the roadside shows-all free. Usually all one sees the poor driver in particular-is a flash of blue, or yellow, a blur of white or a peripheral hint of something you don't know what.

Some springs, when the rains have been generous, certain of the flowers put on an extra performance. Among these are the tall, slim Brodiaea with a many-flowered head as well as the Desert Dandelion. Even when thousands dot an area, you must look twice to see them. Being independent by nature-they stand weli apart, letting each plant get its share of moisture. Only if you mount a low hill or the side of a wash to look down, can you see their blue or golden heads. From the road, slender stems hardly cast a shadow and what becomes a solid blanket from the new angle of vision-was practically invisible from below.

"Sunshine," which comes up from the ground instead of the other way around, takes no such chances of not being seen. Driving, for instance, among open groves of Joshua Trees with immense flowers, the ground may be paved solidly with the tiny faces of Baeria gracilis. Often called "belly flowers"-any of the minute flowers which turn out their floral coin without bothering to shape stem or leaf first, must produce thousands of individual blossoms for stunning effects.

Superstition Mountains

Spring, which begins in February, perhaps, doesn't pull out all the stops at once, any more than a wise hostess would put hors d'oeuvres, soup, salad and dessert on the same plate. This careful timing may be seen in many places, the Bradshaw Mountains for one. This low desert, fitted within a triangle formed by State Route 69 on the east and U.S. 60, 70, 89 and State 93 to the west, where it evidently requires four highways to shuttle traffic between Wickenburg and Phoenix. You can enter this acute angle from some three points-near New River on State 69, between Peoria and El Mirage on the other road or farther north from Morristown.

The poppies will be first, great swales of them, slopes and hilltops, sides of washes and stretches of flat landgold-plated for their brief stay. Since the Goldpoppy's bright yellow takes the attention wherever it appears, companies of the little Baeria secede, setting up their own communities, to be noticed.

Intention of later blooming is announced by the Ocotillos in fresh green leaves, masking spines, and in the beginning of red on tips. There are hundreds of these striking plants here, in almost pure stands, some, twentyfive feet high.

There are, too, some of the thriftiest "groves" of Saguaros to be seen in the area. One most dramatic setting-visible from the road and worth stopping for, shows them marshalled like an army in review, presently "at ease," from high rim to wash below-down a great slanted rockside. April sees them in flower, the official state one-waxy cream with yellow center, a crown for the tall branches, to be followed by an edible fruit.So, all Spring long, the triangle, quite unsuspected from either broad highway defining it, abounds in the color and fragrance of the Desert in bloom.

From numberless other "landings" in Southern Arizona, you may have a long look over the land, flushed with new growth and exploding with fresh tints, laid out to give a choice of further adventuring.

To list only a few is to suggest more than you can

Spears of Spring In the Bradshaw Mts.

ADVENTURES WITH A CAMERA WHEN SPRING COMES TO ARIZONA OPPOSITE PAGE

"SPRING IN THE BRADSHAWS" BY JOSEF MUENCH. Under a clear sky of faultless blue, pinnacles in the Bradshaw Mountains of Yavapai County, offer footing for the vigorous saguaros and gentler slopes flow with the gold of poppies when spring comes around. The scene emphasizes the dramatic elements in the Arizona landscape when desert and mountains meet.

FOLLOWING PAGES

"AFTER THE RAINS CAME" BY M. PAUL JARRETT. The thirsty desert responds gratefully when the rains come. Desert trees and shrubs are capable of adorning themselves in colorful dress and the desert floor itself can become a rolling carpet of green.

"THE MAGIC TOUCH OF SPRING" BY EARL E. PETROFF. The bristling desert can become quite showy under the magic caress of spring. The photographer felt rewarded when he came upon this scene. Here he found desert flowers, cacti, the graceful ocotillo and desert shrubs gaily living together.

"THE MERRY MONTH OF MARCH" BY DAVE DAVIS. Spring's timetable in desert lands depend much on moisture and elevation. This photograph was taken in early March in the Horseshoc Dam area north of Scottsdale in Maricopa County. Poppies and a few lupine in bloom add color to the scene.

"THE BLOOMING HEDGEHOG" BY EARL E. PETROFF. Admirably adapted to life in arid lands and equipped to withstand the rigorous beating of the hottest sun, members of the cactus family bloom on schedule when spring comes whether it rains or not. Here the small, tough and sturdy hedgehog cacti display their spring blossoms at their best.

"COLOR IN DESERT FASHIONS" BY LYLE HINER. When desert lovers rave about their "colorful desert" strangers may be mystified at such enthusiasm. It takes a spring scene, such as this, to show how colorful the desert can be.

"A CARPET OF SAND VERBENA" BY J. H. BURNETT. The rolling sand dune country of Southern Arizona, one of the most arid sections of the Southwest, is turned into a garden when there is just a trace of rainfall in early spring. A desert carpeted with sand verbena has all the ingredients to form a perfect picture. Photograph taken along road to Rocky Point south of Lukeville.

CENTER PANEL

"BRANCHES OF GOLD" BY DARWIN VAN CAMPEN. The palo verde, Arizona's state tree, wears a dress of shimmering yellow when it blossoms in spring. This photograph was taken near Cave Creek in Maricopa County.

"SUPERSTITION SPRING" BY JOSEF MUENCH. With jagged rock points overlooking them, slopes of the Superstition Mountains near Apache Junction, Arizona, are decorated with poppies and the blue spikes of the lupine. The fresh green of prickly pear pads and the grotesquely shaped cholla cacti accentuate the beauty of the scene.

"PRICKLY PEAR BOQUET" BY JOSEF MUENCH. The photograph was taken along the Apache Trail (Arizona 88) northeast of Apache Junction. Here shown is the prickly pear cactus displaying big blossoms of gold in early spring.

"APRIL ALONG U.S. 70" BY HUBERT A. LOWMAN. Late March and early April, if rain has fallen, finds the Arizona landscape at its showiest spring best. Here, near U.S. 70 east of Globe, the photographer found, in early April, the hills gaily bedecked with the blue of lupine with spots of the orange of poppies.

"SPRING IN PAPAGOLAND" BY JOSEF MUENCH. This is a portrait of spring at her loveliest in Papago Indian Reservation. A whole flower garden, with verbena, apricot mallow, and prickly poppy among the selections, crowds into the spring picture in this desert land.

"A GAY ARIZONA HILLSIDE" BY DICK DIETRICH. Photograph was taken in the desert foothills north of Phoenix. It shows how the desert plants respond to winter and early spring rainfall.

"APRIL IN COCHISE COUNTY" BY DAVE DAVIS. This photograph was taken south of Bowie, Arizona, in Cochise County, and shows what a variety of interesting plants can be found in the desert areas of Southern Arizona.

Really visit in one Spring. South of Quartzsite, as U.S. 95 charts a fairly straight course toward Yuma, a little road leaves it to turn east, with no regrets for lost pavement, to reach a "walk-up" in the Kofa Mountains. Hikers may go on, as far as they like, even to clambering up into a hidden side canyon among native Desert Palms. Only a few steps from the road-end, enough height has been attained to command a view west-over a splendid bajado.

Here in the amber afternoon light, volcanic "islands" rise from an alluvial sea. Cactus and Brittlebush, and always some little Spring flowers you can't put name to, crowd at your feet, as though inquiring what you see beyond. Soft pastel shades shimmer across the sloping plain. Feathery desert shrubs, delicately green and olive stir at the touch of a breeze. Saguaros, blooming in April, might be so many people, flowers in their hair, heading toward a twisted ribbon of road. Little gray skeletons of last year shrubs wears bonnets of shadow. And great quiet wells up from the scene.

At least once, every Spring, you should visit the Organ Pipe National Monument. The Ajo Mountains here, dark and sharply rugged, take their name from the Desert Lily. Among their folds, and the stony slopes built to suit the many-stemmed Organ Pipes as well as the Saguaros, the whole panoply of Spring flowers is found. They line the road like parade-watchers, down through the Growler Mountains, before the monument is reached, and stray out over land which slopes clear into Mexico. Whether it's because one can see so fareven into a foreign land, this scenery has a most unusual look. Sunsets become a mystical experience, so hushed you can almost hear the yellow Prickly Pear, red and green Cholla blossoms coming open. Glittering mounds of Brittlebush are piled here and there, clouds of Palo Verde Trees, their yellow profusion hiding branch and trunk, hold the eye. Every turn of the winding monument roads, shying away from the business-like precision of State 85-bent on a fishing trip at Puerto Penasco in Sonora, shows the charm of hidden coves, low or high spots trimmed in Spring color. Sometime I hope to come upon the hidden lair of the Night-blooming Cereus, "Queen of the Night." Hiding under the guise of dead-looking stalks, in some thicket, it gives the alert only by a penetrating sweetness, when the delicate white petals of the flowers open for one night only.

The home of the Saguaro, its own special national monument near Tucson, is another spot where Spring is sure of welcome, in no danger of returning to find its choicest settings usurped for needed housing or transformed into the perpetual green of alfalfa. Opuntias of every shape; big flat disks, pencil-thin Chollas, over-name of "Compass Cactus," loll on hillsides. All the bright annuals add assorted colors as preview to cactus blossoms, beginning with Opuntias and, as the season advances, including Chollas, Saguaros, with the Barrels rounding out the season clear into summer.

Along the Apache Trail

"YUCCA FAMILY" BY DARWIN VAN CAMPEN. Photograph taken near Oracle Junction on U.S. 89. The desert in this area is one of the most interesting desert areas in this state. Near here is the thirty-mile stretch of U.S. 89 set up as the Pinal Pioneers' Parkway, a most attractive stretch of highway which shows the Arizona-Sonora desert at its best.

But first, or last, or maybe both, you haven't seen Spring in the Desert till you've been over the Apache Trail. It's hard to believe that desert garden just happened. Surely some expert landscape designer planned the high rocky ledges, setting out pinky-bronze-leafed Sedums, slopes mixed with Mariposa's brilliant hues, poppies, lupines, phaecelia, tidy-tips; rocks chinked with Hedgehogs, Yuccas, Saguaros, Sotol and Palo Verde, Ocotillo, Mesquite, Mormon Tea and Brittlebush.

Early in Spring, like banners hung near the ceiling, Goldpoppies are high on slopes, as far up as cliffs will let them hang.

Flower fields begin at the feet of the Superstition Mountains as soon as you leave Apache Junction for State 88. They continue as the road twists, dropping along the Bronze Cliffs, and meanders at the edge of the lakes along the Salt River's canyons. Roads lead north too, wonderful desert lifts, before they climb up onto the Mogollon Rim-on several state routes-288, 188, 87.

Any attempt to mention all our "favorite" Spring spots is doomed, like a Christmas card list-to lapses.

But good friends always remember you anyway. So it is here. When you start looking for Spring-you'll come on spots you like even better.

Flowers refuse to make reservations ahead of time, preferring to make up their minds where to put up, when the time comes. They may decide not to stop where they did last year, but across the way. There is choice aplenty for them, in Southern Arizona. Whichever of their company arrives, or in what numbers, you are assured not alone the sight of them, as you come down the staircases in the Lower-the Sonoran-Desert, but, as well, the unforgettable fragrance of Spring.