by Phyllis McCrossin
It’s the start of another quiet week.
King and I are back at the trailer while the boys are at their father’s for the week.
The good news is the “shelter-in-place” order has been lifted for San Diego County. The selfish news is that means the campground is filling up. We prefer solitude. The interesting news is we still have the oldest RV/trailer in the campground.
There was considerable excitement at our daughter’s apartment this past week. The butterfly habitat the boys received as a Christmas gift saw some activity. The butterflies started emerging from the chrysalis, which they had formed sometime after the holiday. Our daughter said she was quite relieved it happened on her watch and that the insects will be heading back to the boy’s father’s house so he can decide when to release them.
The days can be warm, but the nights still dip into the mid-30s. It’s a heat wave for King and me, but not so much for native Californians – butterflies among them.
We’ve had another wet week. Every time it rains I ask my daughter if the state is preparing for another “Super Bloom” – a time when the conditions are just right for the California deserts to become alive with color. She laughs at me (The nerve) and tells me over and over that a little rain does not mean the deserts will bloom. I know. But hope springs eternal.
According to the Death Valley website a deep soaking, gentle rain is essential for a desert floral display. A rainstorm of a half-inch or more is needed to wash the protective coating off the wildflower seeds to allow them to sprout. Then the rain must come at evenly spaced intervals throughout the winter and spring.
The best blooms are triggered by an early, winter-type rainstorm in September or October, followed by an El Nino weather pattern that brings above average rainfall to the desert. That didn’t happen this year.
A few years ago, King and I visited Joshua Tree National Park at the very end of the blooming season. It was not a “Super Bloom,” but it was impressive. I was struck by the number of cars lining the highway with people stopped to take photos. It reminded me of tourists taking photos of the tulips in Holland, Michigan.
I have not been to Holland during Tulip Time since 2015. My sisters and I met there after work one evening to watch the Dutch Dancers and to have an Elephant Ear. I probably have photos of that day somewhere in my haphazard storage of photos but I just spent most of the morning looking for the desert flower photos. I’m not going hunting again.
Speaking of Tulip Time, I just checked the Tulip Time website to see if the event was going to happen this year. (Alma, Michigan, has canceled its Highland Festival already this year). Today is the last day of January and the Tulip Time website says they hope to announce festival events in January. There are none listed. I’m guessing it’s a no.
I honestly don’t think I will attend large events for a least a year anyway. I don’t live in fear, but I am claustrophobic. The thought of not being able to breathe does bother me a little.
Tulip Time does bring back some memories.
Besides growing up in Hamilton, being a band member and marching in every Tulip Time parade from seventh grade through my senior year in high school, I also worked for the Holland Sentinel for two years during Tulip Time. Working downtown Holland during the Festival means arriving early in the morning to find a parking space and either staying in the office all day (rather difficult for a reporter to do) or planning on walking several blocks to work after going out on assignment.
A co-worker came back from lunch one day and heaved a huge sigh. “I had my lunch in Centennial Park,” he said. “I met a senior citizen who was in Holland on a bus tour. She said she was traveling alone and didn’t know anyone on the tour. They stopped to take photos and when she turned to get back on the bus, she wasn’t sure which tour she belonged to. She winked at me and said, ‘We all look alike you know.’”
I asked him what he did. He said he had already eaten most of his lunch, so he shared his banana with her and took her to the Tulip Time headquarters as she wasn’t sure of which hotel her group was staying.
It’s funny… except I’m now a senior citizen too.
DK Update: Our new companion is rounding the corner. He now wags his tail more (even in his sleep) and has figured out how to beg for food. His spine is now less pronounced and I can count just three ribs rather than four. I now get up with him twice a night for potty breaks rather than four to six times. I still nap when I can… just in case.
PHOTOS: Desert flowers at Blair Valley Campground in the Anza Borrego State Park near Borrego Springs, California.
