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By Mom Unplugged, October 3, 2007 8:34 pm

This funny book teaches children and adults alike about javelinas (pronounced: “HAVELEENA”) and yes, most people think that they are a variety of wild pig - nope, they are “peccaries.”

As a resident of Arizona, we actually encounter javelinas from time to time, and these encounters are all the more interesting now that we have learned so much from this wonderful book! My children adore this book and love shouting out the oft repeated refrain: “Don’t call me pig!”

In addition to the fun, rhyming text, the book features marvelous and funny illustrations of the javelinas. Both the text and the illustrations describe their physical characteristics and their life in a manner that is appealing even to young children.

For adults who want the straight facts, there are two pages at the end of the book that discuss javelinas in a more narrative manner. This book should appeal to any child who is curious about wildlife, or the southwestern United States. It would be a great book for teachers too. My kids learned a lot, and so did I!

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By Mom Unplugged, September 23, 2007 10:21 am

Fall is coming with a vengeance here.

The tired old needles of the Ponderosa Pines are turning brown and falling to earth, creating our springy brown winter carpet. They don’t all fall off, but to a newcomer, seeing so many needles turn brown can be a bit disconcerting. The first fall I lived here, I thought all my trees were sick. But the trees aren’t dying, they are just going through their annual fall cleaning cycle.

Other fall colors emerge in the yard also. Bushes and maples are turning red, aspens are turning yellow. The oaks will be the last ones to cling to summer life. But, in a few more weeks, they too will succumb to the irresistible urge to sleep and the oak leaves will finally dry up and turn brown.

In the middle of the night last night I awoke to find my 5 year-old son climbing into bed with me as a wild thunderstorm boomed all around us. Lightning flashed and wind howled as he snuggled up to me, muttering something about a bad dream.

The storm brought with it blustery winds, cooler temperatures (55 degrees at 10:00 AM), and grey showery skies. It is the kind of fall day where you just want to curl up under a down comforter with a good book and a purring cat or two (or eight) as the rain patters on the skylights.

You can read more about our fall here.

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By Mom Unplugged, September 16, 2007 10:51 am

Fall is in the air. I can tell by the cooler nights (in the 40′s now) and how it takes much longer in the morning for the air to warm up. The heat has even come on once or twice, albeit very briefly.

Mostly though, I can tell by the light. There is a subtle shift in the color and warmth of the light. Summer light is gloriously warm, soft and yellow. Then one day in September I suddenly realize that the light has become sharply cold, harsh and white. In this photo I tried to capture this light and the way it reflects off the long needles of the Ponderosa Pines. When I see this crystalline glow, I know that daytime temperatures will soon cool down in anticipation of the snows we hope to have despite our long drought.

My thoughts begin to turn to “nesting.” Sorting junk to make room for the long winter of being mostly indoors. Cooking soup, and squash, and pumpkin bread. Putting the garden “to bed” for the season. Monitoring nighttime temperatures so as to bring all tender potted plants indoors before the first frosty night.

Most of the summer inhabitants begin to leave to return to the warm desert areas that are gradually becoming tolerable as we here become cold. Traffic eases. Those of you in big cities will laugh at me when I talk of “traffic.” In the winter we can always make a left turn almost immediately. In the summer it may take a whole three minutes to find a break in the traffic! My goodness, do we permanent residents complain about that!

With the migration of the “Summer People,” as we tough “Year-Rounders” call them, our small Safeway grocery store decongests. The narrow aisles are no longer clogged with Summer People attempting to find (unsuccessfully of course) the same gourmet organic capers that they buy in Phoenix (“The Valley” as it is known here).

The overworked cashiers seem relieved at the exodus and there is something of a camaraderie that builds between the grocery store staff and the “Year-Rounders.” They know us by name and we discuss the weather, the growth of our children, how much snow we might get, and other weighty matters.

The golf course behind our house is gradually depleted of golfers all fleeing the cold. It will close on October 1st and then will become my children’s winter playground. No longer restricted to before 7 AM or after 7PM, the kids run wild out there, flying kites on windy days, having picnics on sunny days, and building snowmen on snowy days.

I think my favorite part of the approaching fall is how the cooler air begins to smell deliciously of pinyon and cedar as those of us brave enough to stay for the winter start to have our evening fires in our fireplaces. If I could bottle the smell of burning pinyon I would make a scratch-and-sniff blog post for you all to enjoy. Even the Wikipedia entry on “pinyon” points out that: “The fragrance of the wood, especially when burned, is unmistakable.” If you have never been in the cold parts of the Southwestern US in the wintertime, open your spice cabinet and find some cumin. Give it a sniff, and that is the closest thing I can think of to the heavenly smell of burning pinyon.

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By Mom Unplugged, August 26, 2007 10:23 am

So many wonderful things are happening in my garden right now. While gardens in other parts of the country begin to tire at this time of year, gardens in the Southwestern US take off. Monsoon rains bring the much-needed “real” water to the garden. Hose water simply does not produce the same results.

Here are some pictures:

A Hollyhock

Wave Petunias in a flower box…and Pipsqueak

My mixed border finally takes off

Sexy Rexy roses by the front door (surrounded by scented geranium foliage)

California Poppies

The weeds are loving life too

At least many of the weeds are actually lovely wildflowers such as this wild penstemon!

This post is part of The Sunday Garden Tour at A Wrung Sponge.

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By Mom Unplugged, June 22, 2007 8:00 am

I live in a very beautiful part of Arizona. Unfortunately, life in the middle of a magnificent Ponderosa Pine forest also means that wildfire danger is constantly on everyone’s minds, and in their memories too. This is a photo of the sign that is at the end of my road. I see it everyday, often several times a day.

Today is an anniversary. Not a wedding, or a birthday. Five years ago today someone taped a hand-printed sign on top of the one in the photo. It said “BEYOND EXTREME.” It is five years ago today that my children and I had to flee our house in the path of a raging monster.

We were lucky, and thanks to the incredible bravery of thousands of firefighters, the human-caused fire was contained before it reached our home. Others were not so lucky and lost everything.

The landscape here still bears the scars of the enormous Rodeo-Chedeski Fire, as it came to be known. My area remains pristine, but venturing further down the mountain means encountering the blackened trunks of once tall and majestic Ponderosas, standing like burned and scarred soldiers, marching across the landscape.

My son was just 12 days old. My oldest daughter was 21 months. They were both soundly asleep in their cribs when the Emergency Broadcast System sounded the alert around 9:00 PM. The crackly voice on the radio instructed everyone in my area to evacuate immediately. How often we hear those three obnoxious beeps, then: “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System, this is only a test, blah, blah, blah.” Only this time, it wasn’t a test.

Fortunately we had had several days to plan for this possibility. The fire had begun on June 18 as an innocent-seeming distant plume of smoke. I had been gathering photo albums and family heirlooms for those few days, never really believing that we would actually have to leave. Other areas farther out were being evacuated one by one. But not us. It couldn’t happen to us. Surely in this day and age, with all our technology, people can “fix” these things. Well, they couldn’t fix this one. They called it “unstoppable.”

It was such a shock. The rumor that day was that things were going better. I went to the grocery store, along with the rest of the town, to finally buy the meat and other perishables that we hadn’t dared to buy before. Everyone was in a jolly mood. But then, the spark jumped. A tiny spark jumped a canyon and that was it. We all had to leave.

Pictures my sister took from her deck that day (June 22, 2002):

I awoke the children and put them in the car, along with my two dogs, my cat, my mother’s cat, my two cockatiels, and my elderly mother. I had already loaded the photo albums, pictures, baby boxes, and heirlooms ahead of time just in case.

I irrationally closed all the blinds. Somehow it seemed that they might offer my dear little house some extra protection, or at least prevent it from “seeing” the approaching flames. Rather like blindfolding a prisoner who is about to be executed. The final act was tying a white rag of surrender to the front door knob, to indicate that we had left.

Fortunately we had someplace to go, unlike the thousands of families who slept on Red Cross cots in the sports arena of a high school 45 miles away. We headed to Albuquerque where my husband lives. We drove all night, an unhappy little Noah’s Ark. But, because the roads at night are full of elk, deer, rabbits, and other wildlife, fast travel was not possible. A four hour drive became more like six.

Due to the prevailing winds, the smoke in Albuquerque was worse than it had been at home. I worried about my tiny son since he seemed to be wheezing from all the smoke in the air. I took him to the doctor.

I worried about my daughter who was not taking it well. She was old enough to sense the tension, but not old enough to understand what was happening. She refused to bathe the entire week we were gone, threw tantrums, and was generally miserable.

I worried about my mother, who didn’t adjust as well to the unexpected as she had in her younger days. She was very upset.

I even worried about the two goldfish that I had to leave behind, and pictured them slowly starving to death (they didn’t, there was enough algae in the tank to keep them quite happy).

I craved information. I constantly watched CNN, but that was frustratingly general. I wanted to know how far the beast was from my neighborhood, my sister’s neighborhood, my friends’ neighborhoods. The local fire department hotline was constantly busy, no luck there. The internet helped a bit, but was still not enough to alleviate the worry.

Rumor had it that the neighborhoods of my town had been “triaged.” The firefighters had already determined which houses to try and save, and which to let burn.

A friend called her insurance agent who had not left right away. He said the sky over his office was black, that day looked like night, and that it was raining ash. He was on his way out of town.

As I said earlier, we were spared. 467 other families were not. This is a small community. We all know someone who lost everything.

After one tortured week away, we were finally allowed back. I was among the first to return. My neighborhood was like a war zone. The only inhabitants were jeeps full of uniformed National Guard troops who patrolled the streets to deter looters. No one was around. No dogs barked. No traffic came by. My house and yard were covered in thick grey ash that had fallen like an evil snow. It all felt vaguely like the end of the world.

We made it. We were all fine. Our house was fine. I wanted to run up and hug every single firefighter who was still uncomfortably camped out in tents on the grounds of the public school. They risked their lives to save our town. How can any of us ever thank them for that?

I hope never ever to have to go through this again. However the one wonderful thing that came out of it all, was the restoration of my faith in the ordinary human. There were lovely stories of people coming together and helping strangers. Those who lived outside of the evacuated area took strangers into their homes so they would not have to live at the shelter. People offered transportation and facilities to evacuate and house horses and livestock. Hotels that didn’t normally allow pets were full of pets.

Now every summer I have my photo albums at the ready. I have an “evacuation checklist” taped to the inside of a cupboard. I created this list when I unpacked from the Rodeo evacuation. Next time I might not have the luxury of a few days to think about it. Everything I would want to take is listed in order of priority so I can take what I have time for.

Someday I might write a post about what people chose to take with them. Obviously at the top of everyone’s list were family photos, but there were actually some really funny things that some people felt they couldn’t live without! Having to prioritize your possessions can teach you a lot about yourself.

I suppose the real lesson from an evacuation should be that things are just things. Life will go on just fine, maybe even better in some cases, without so much of the stuff we feel we need. I came to this realization during that long week away. Now after five years, that zen feeling is fading and I have to constantly remind myself of this.

Here are some photos of what it was like:

What we saw:

What happened after we left:

The aftermath (still here today):

The sign photo is mine. The two from my sister’s deck are my sister’s. All other Rodeo-Chedeski photos are courtesy of the USDA Forest Service.

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RODEO-CHEDESKI FIRE FACTS:

- Burned over 468,000 acres

- The largest fire recorded in Arizona, one of the largest wildfires in US history

- 467 homes destroyed

- 30,000 people evacuated from 12 communities

- Two separate wildfires merged to form the Rodeo-Chedeski Fire

- Causes: The “Rodeo” fire: intentionally set by an out of work firefighter wanting work (he got it), and the “Chedeski” fire: began as a distress signal fire by a stranded motorist.

- Cost to fight: approx. $22 million.

- Cost of damages: approx: $329 million.

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SOME WILDFIRE RESOURCES:

Tips for creating a defensible space around your home: Click here

How to properly extinguish a campfire (includes a video): Click here

Wildfire information, resources, and prevention tips: Firewise Communities and International Arid Lands Consortium

Satellite maps of current fires: NOAA satellite fire maps
and Forest Service satellite fire maps

Current fires-containment and acres burned: Wildland Fire and Incident Information System

Info on current fires: National Incident Information Center