Six Feet on a Putting Green

What a day. Another hot day to be exact. I just checked the weather pages and I only see 109 for the high today. It felt hotter, but that's because I was standing right under the big yellow star in the sky.

I talked Thiago and Lucas into going to the Driving Range around noon today. We headed across the street to a very nice place named Trilogy. It's a retirement community that is pretty quiet in the summer when many residents go north to their primary homes.

We purchased two bags of balls from the pro shop, but the employee (Rick), threw in another bag for good measure. He mentioned that it would be needed. Good place with great help.

Lucas was a champ. He took his right-handed clubs and hit them left-handed. After correcting him several times, I gave up and decided to ask the proshop for a left-handed club. Again, Rick answered the call by drumming up a nice junior 6 iron. Lucas enjoyed rolling them out twenty yards or so. I was amazed at how he kept at it.

Thiago, on the other hand was bent on showing me up. He consistently nailed them dead straight. Some shots soared, some killed worms, but they all went straight. He asked me why he was hitting them farther than me. That had me revved up. I took out my driver, teed up a yellow Callaway range ball and topped the doggone ball and watched it roll fifteen feet. I guess he was right.

We took a break after I found Lucas hiding under a tree for shade. I asked him if he would like a soda and he screamed back at me, "yes." After two sodas each, the boys were ready to finish the three bags of range balls. Thiago, being the sport he is, finished his bag first and proceeded to empty my golf bag of any golf balls. It was time to go to the putting green. When we walked onto the putting green, we were all alone. It was perfect. But before we could sink two putts, carts were lining up. It was just before a tournament and everyone was there to practice. It got interesting very fast. Lucas proceeded to walk right in front of a wana-be pro, who barked at him to go around. I apologized to the next Arnold and he said it was ok. Then Thiago goes and picks up someone’s ball after it comes within inches of dropping into the cup. Another bark from a tee’d off golfer. But the boys enjoyed the moment unaware of their infractions. After 30 minutes of putting, the boys finally agreed it was time for an air conditioner.

What an awesome day. Hot weather and two cool dudes on a driving range in the Sonora Desert.

Listen to the Quiet

It is early Wednesday morning and the day's first light filters through the blinds. As I lay in bed I try to convince myself that it is time to get up, but I know that it is only 4:30am. I know that the air is cool outside, by desert standards. It is probably about 78 degrees. Sleep wins the struggle as I close my eyes again.



Just before 7am I awaken again. This time the urge is too strong to stay in bed. I quietly slide out of bed and head for the closet. Shorts, shirt - where are my shoes? My boots must be in the garage. For some odd reason I put on a pair of topsiders (boat shoes meant for walking wet decks in rolling seas). I grab one bottle of water, a banana, my pen and a piece of paper. As I head out the door, the sun greets me warmly. A little too warmly as it is now in the 80's and climbing. But clouds abound and a little breeze blows as I climb into the car.



I park at the end of Bell Road, north of the Hunt Highway. It is a dirt road that passes small ranches complete with horses and a few barking dogs that like to chase my car as I pass by. I park at the dead end of the dirt road. As I pack away a few things, a fly has already discovered me. I cannot see him, but he buzzes loudly above me. Unfortunately, he will be my companion for most of the trip.



This is the Sonora Desert in July. Luckily this year, we have enjoyed a cooler summer. I gauge this by the temperatures at night. We have been blessed with upper 70's and a few low 80's - none of the 90's that make mornings depressing.



I hop a short fence and trek southwestward with the sun on my back. Alto Cumulus clouds abound. The middle clouds appear like pillows floating across the blue desert sky. Their presence is welcome for it dots the landscape with cool dark shadows. I stop to snap a picture of the mountains draped in shadow and morning sunlight.



The boat shoes struggle through the sand as I follow an arroyo. Grains and pebbles find their way into my toes, forcing me to periodically stop and empty each shoe. I remember an old saying. "It is not the distance that matters, but the size of the pebble in your shoe." It makes total sense to me and I am sure whoever wrote that did not wear topsiders on their treks.



I study the many tracks looking especially for any larger ones. Recently, there have been numerous sightings of a mountain lion north of this location. My guess is that the cat originated from this wild area and has found food in the developed subdivisions that make up a lot of the valley. Identifying tracks in sand is difficult as their shapes are not distinctive. Small depressions are everywhere, likely jackrabbit and cottontail. A few larger tracks are most likely coyote. But wait. I see even larger tracks. I can't tell if they are horse tracks or possibly a big cat. With the number of horse farms around, I settle on horses.



I decide to get out of the sand and to walk on Tera firma. I think that means firm dirt. A white winged dove glides by overhead landing on a nearby Saguaro for a breakfast of cactus fruit. The white winged dove, I have noticed, shows up in this part of the world as the Saguaros start to blossom - their bright white flowers adopted by Arizona as the state flower. The bright red fruit that results from pollinated flowers is a favorite of these doves.



It is eerily quiet in the desert. Any sound travels fast and lands soft on the ears. It is easy to drift off into thought as I think about my family, friends and life in general. I decide to name my article, "Listen to the Quiet." Looking upward, I find a small peak that looks like a good destination. I think of my mom and her birthday (it is actually the next day) and an idea enters my head. At the top of the peak I will shoot a panoramic video with a birthday message and post it to Facebook. I am driven to climb.



I meander through desert scrub. As long as a plant has no thorns, I am ok with walking through its branches. I stop to look eastward as the sunlight sets to glowing, small seed pods clinging to the creosote shrubs (Larrea tridenta). Each seed is adorned by fine silvery papus designed to help in seed dispersal by wind. The silver glimmer combined with the shine of the waxy leaves is captured on camera as I snap a couple of pictures. This plant afforded the local natives with medicinal uses. European settlers used it for "pitch oil," a preservative used on wood. After a rainfall, the smell of creosote fills the air and reminds me of fishing off the piers in San Diego Bay, where pilings and planks were preserved in pitch oil.



By the minute I can feel the sun warming. Looking upward I notice that the patchwork of clouds have drifted northward leaving the sun all alone to bathe me in desert heat. I twist off the water bottle cap and down half the bottle. The water is nearly too warm to drink. Again, I am reminded to move onward before it is too warm.

As I near the top of the summit, I pull my camera out and start to film. As I stop at the top I shoot a panoramic view with a brief, heartfelt message to mom. Just then the fly finds me again. His buzz annoying me as I try to film the desert world. A cool, welcome breeze finds me and seems to chase the fly away. I look towards heaven and whisper a thank you. The quiet returns as my thoughts go back to mom. Although I am a day early I find out later, I wish her a Happy Birthday. I pack away the camera and take one last sip of water before heading down the mountain. My first step breaks the silence as stones roll down ahead of me. Tempted, I stop again to listen and once more I hear it. Atop a peak in the Sonora Desert world, I stand with ears wide open and listen. Here, the sound of quiet is always waiting for a wanting ear.