Why the Need to Search for Spring Wildflowers?

After one of the driest winters on recent record, I know the blossoms will be sparse when I begin my hike in the McDowell Mountain Preserve, but memories of the bumper crop of poppies from one year ago compel me --memories of countless photos of the yellow-orange wildflowers against a backdrop of palo verde and saguaro.

An Anna's hummingbird darts close to my ear. We are both on a quest for springtime color as I turn right at a fork on the trail. One mile. Two miles. Three. Blooms are scarce, but color is not absent. My eyes drink in the color of a terracotta boulder, the red in the hooks of a barrel cactus, and the faded purple of distant mountains.

The wind whips at the top of Bell Pass as I peel a small tangerine, pulling off a segment and popping it in my mouth. I suck on the juice as the silence does its work on me.  Do I turn around? Or do I add two miles to my hike and take a different route back in an elusive search for spring wildflowers?

The noise of an overhead jet mingles with a scolding cactus wren as I choose the longer trail home.

Four miles. Five. Six.

Circumnavigating McDowell Peak, I hike in the monotony of continuous muted green covered in desert dust.

Jojoba. Creosote. Prickly pear.

I do not see a single flower.

At Windgate Pass, a group of women asks me to take their photo. "It's a special hike," they say, jostling for position on the narrow trail.

"What makes it special?" I ask, focusing the camera lens on four smiling faces.

"We are celebrating life."

"Good for you."

They offer no more information, and I do not interrupt their privacy with questions, for I have known the need to document joy in my own hard seasons. Maybe this is why I search for wildflowers.

With aching joints, I push on.

Seven miles. Eight.

My feet begin to throb. With less than a mile to the car, I have given up on the flowers, and wish I had not added miles to my hike.

I almost miss it. One tiny poppy, no bigger than a nickel, blooms in the dust, inches off the trail.

I drop to my knees, so I am eye-level with the four golden petals, a tiny cup of sunlight on a slender stalk. I am not the only one fascinated by the flower. A small bug dive-bombs into the orange center, like a child cannonballing into a swimming pool. Pollen splashes.

Ah, spring. Welcome back to the desert.

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

(This post recently appeared in the Ahwatukee Foothills News, The SanTan Sun News, and the East Valley Tribune.)

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I was thrilled to participate in Women's Voices of the Southwest at the Chandler Library in April. Check out the video.