Marc has left again, headed to Concord, CA for another remodel; I am back to my now solitary walks through my people-less neighborhood. Vestiges of winter’s bloom and caring hands that sculpted flower gardens are scattered throughout the streets like confetti dotting various lots; now vacant of their snowbirds and their RVs. Even my little cactus in its rock garden spot has decided to wear a halo of blooms. I walk at dawn to keep the keen sun from shining in my eyes and when the temperatures are much cooler.
As if by magic upon a certain day, I note that the neighborhood is suddenly filled with agave plant stalks. Some tower twenty feet above the mother plant. Agaves are monocarpic, meaning they die after flowering. So, many of these plants, which have been nursed along for a decade or more, are now about to enter their death throes under the killing Yuma summer sun. It seems appropriate somehow. The stalk is a means of reproduction that when finished, takes the life of the parent, much as does a salmon spawning.
There have been a few brave souls committing to building upon their lots as numerous casitas and homes have gone up. Even better, some houses which sported a For Sale sign for at least the past year have suddenly appeared wearing a Sold sign instead. I’ve even noted a few lots that have recently sold—a great sign here in the Foothills about a re-emerging economy, albeit very slowly, but providing some hope of a reawakening.
Yuma Foothills is entering the somnolent season when soon the only things I will share walks with are the cottontail bunnies, roadrunners darting down the middle of the streets, and searing El Sol.