A Short Break From Impeachment

It’s not what I expected to see when I looked out the bathroom window this morning. Ending a week ago we had four days of rain, totaling just over an inch. It could have been more, was in other places, but spread out that way, it was just what the yard needed. So when I looked out, I was checking for how the plants were blooming.

Rain makes a major difference, particularly after this summer’s “nonsoon”. It’s a name they came up with to describe the lack of rain in what is our rainy season here. The ocotillos have now leafed out, transforming spiny grey branches to glorious green, expectations of flowers to come. Our desert willow is forming flower buds, the San Marcos hibiscus is blooming yellow, and our orange bells - both orange and red varieties - have gone from looking for a grave to being well leafed out and popping into bloom again. The thorn tree is more visible, going from bare green branches to  a fuzzy silhouette of 1/8” leaves everywhere. Still waiting on the palo blanco, however, to show signs of life.

It was the sage I was looking for. When we purchased it, I envisioned a delightful purple clump for its corner when it bloomed. Unfortunately, what was selected turned out to be a white flowering variety. I’m still disappointed. But twice, now, it has burst into the nearest thing to a snowstorm I care to get anymore. It was almost there last night, so I wanted to check it this morning before hopping into the shower. My bathroom window looks right out on it and the orange bells.

The sage was glorious! I almost forgave it for not being purple. But my attention was quickly drawn to movement in the yard. Shhhhhhhhh! Gambel quail were scurrying directly towards me, first two, then a couple more, then more still. The stopped right under the largest and closest of the orange bells.

I had already checked the ground for the abundance of dropped bell-shaped blossoms that had been scattered under it for the last two days. Having seen the quail scarf them up before, starting at the narrow point and working their beaks, one side then the other,  “walking” them down the length of the flower, I was ready for a repeat. Today, however, the ground was bare of dropped blossoms. The quail had finally discovered and cleaned up the recent abundance of food.

So what were these birds doing here? Almost holding my breath so as not to startle them away, I watched as they spread out under the bush and started jumping - jumping! - up about 18” to pluck the lowest blossoms off their branches for a quail’s breakfast snack. Some other kind of bird I haven’t identified yet, grey, slimmer of body and longer of tail, hopped right up into the branches, maneuvering itself around the various perches to locate even higher blossoms.

I had a morning commitment, and couldn’t keep watching, so hopped into the shower as quietly as possible, as if that wouldn’t still scare the birds away. None were left when I emerged. A quick check of the sage showed an apparent lack of desire for any white blossoms, so I tend to feel vindicated in my color prejudice, at least for the other 358 days of the year when it’s less than spectacular. But I’ll keep an eye on the orange bells, looking for the quail’s morning feeding.