What's Worth Preserving?

2011 Summer Fun Write Stuff Contest Winners

 

Thank you, one and all for making this summer’s Write Stuff contest so successful. All of the winning entries will be published in the magazine in upcoming issues.  

And, the winners are:

"Hummer the Hun" by Stephanie Bradley

"Our Best Christmas Ever" by F. Allan Powers

"Ah, The Good Old Days" by Marielle D. Marne

"Good By ... And Good Luck" by Barb Owens

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2010 Write Stuff: What's Worth Preserving Contest
1st Place Winner

Hummer the Hun

By Stephanie Bradley 

"Ocotillo Flower" by Tom Morris

On the south side of our house hang three hummingbird feeders, clear plastic domes made red by colored sugar water. I emphasize “three” for reasons that will soon become apparent.

After a Costa’s hummingbird showed interest in the bougainvillea in our yard, we decided to hang a feeder near the kitchen window to entice it closer to the house. What greater pleasure can there be than the thrill of viewing desert wildlife?

Once the feeder was up, it took little persuasion to draw the little bird.  She delicately sampled bougainvillea, then the feeder, twittering with pleasure. She enjoyed easy dining, and we enjoyed her spirited antics.

In short order, her position on the feeder had morphed from visitor to proprietor.  We thought of this charming little hummingbird as “the lady,” gracefully alighting atop a nearby ocotillo, where she rested while surveying the ordered world around her.

When a flicker or cactus wren wrapped itself around the feeder for a sip of sticky syrup, the vigilant lady would chirp in vigorous protest. This often caught my attention, and I would shoo away the bigger birds, more to prevent a gooey spray of nectar on the patio than to aid the hummingbird, I must admit. If I failed to assist her, the lady took action, flitting, zipping, chirping complaints, and dive-bombing the giant birds like an oversized mosquito on steroids.

After weeks of sole possession, the lady suddenly had a companion. The new arrival settled atop the prized ocotillo, quite close to where I was working.  He was a jewel of a bird with a shimmering emerald back and a stunning amethyst head. I marveled, as one does, at the play of color on his tiny body.  How lucky we were to now have two hummingbirds, I thought.

My perception changed abruptly, however, as a study in power politics unfolded beyond my kitchen window. While the original hummingbird was ever alert and oversaw her feeder with prudent oversight vis à vis larger bird invaders, this “new guy” protected the feeder with a ferocity that soon included the resolute exclusion of the lady, whom we considered the proper owner. I am sorry if this plays to stereotype, but this marauding newcomer was an aggressive male, raiding and pillaging with abandon.

When the lady tried to feed, the greedy interloper darted above and below her, driving her off. He harangued her with staccato chirps that ordered her to “get out.” Her tired wings brought her to anguished hovering before she fled in defeat.

The little “Hun,” as we came to call him, had prevailed. Atop his ocotillo, he smugly oversaw his realm, certain of his conquest. He even had me in his power.

When the feeder was empty, he would buzz over to the window, hover to get my attention, then zip back to the feeder. Once there, he hovered anew, then darted back to the window to see if my brain, presumably smaller than his, had comprehended his message. Just in case, he repeated his circuit until I dutifully appeared on the patio, food in hand. From his ocotillo perch, he eyed me with regal satisfaction as I acceded to his demands and poured in the red liquid.

Meanwhile, the lady made frenetic attempts to sneak a sip. Her frustration was palpable, her confusion evident, her exhaustion imminent. Before we lost her to the terror of the Hun, we had to act.

Our solution? We installed a second feeder at the far end of the house. We were confident that this would acknowledge the dominance of the Hun while providing for the lady. That plan proved a complete failure. The Hun immediately assumed possession of the second feeder as well as the one by the kitchen. If the lady went to the far feeder, he dashed there to drive her off. If she tried the kitchen feeder, the Hun dashed back in alarm. While our empathy had always gone to the lady, we now worried that the Hun, who expended stores of adrenaline protecting his treasure, might patrol himself to death.

Final solution? We installed a third feeder, which, I think, overwhelmed the Hun’s efforts to protect his realm. He retreated to the ocotillo. To add to the frenzy, another new hummingbird showed up. We expected a battle royale, but before the pecking order could sort out, we were all saved when the weather turned cold and the wee flyers flew to Mexico for the winter! 

Stephanie Bradley is a resident of north Scottsdale. She was awarded 1st place in the 2009 Summer Fun Photography Contest.

           

 

 

2011 Write Stuff: What's Worth Preserving Contest
2nd Place Winner

Our Best Christmas Ever

By Donna Powers

Young Javelina with its Mother
 by Dennis Liddell.



        Christmas morning. Sunny blue skies. A cool, crisp Arizona winter day. Perfect for a morning hike with my husband Al. Coming from the harsh climate of Minnesota, even a cold day in Scottsdale seemed a blessing. Hiking most mornings in the McDowell Mountains or around our McDowell Ranch Community, we started out as usual that morning, not knowing what that day had in store!

        Being early Christmas morning, the trail was peaceful. We enjoyed the singing of myriad desert birds, quail running among the cacti, and desert cottontails hopping under brittlebush. Suddenly, we both stopped. What was that strange sound? "Is that a bird?" I asked. "It sounds like a parrot squawking" my husband said. "Are there wild parrots in Arizona?" We walked on, a little more cautiously, and kept hearing strange cries and wailing sounds. Rounding a bend, we came upon the source of all the noisemaking-the tiniest baby javelina. What a sad sight. He seemed to be abandoned by his mother, wailing his little lungs out in misery.

        What should we do? Being new to Arizona, we didn't know javelina habits. Would the herd come back to his rescue? Were we in danger if we approached? It saddened us greatly to see him in such distress. Being Christmas morning, we quickly christened him baby Jes'us! We sat down nearby, and kept watch to see if momma javelina would return. Little Jes'us kept pacing and wailing, saddening our hearts. Soon it was apparent that he was alone in the big scary world. We decided that the best course of action would be for my husband to stay and watch, keeping predators at bay, while I returned to our home to check the phonebook for wildlife agencies that could give us assistance. Being Christmas morning, we had little hope of success.

        Hurrying as fast as possible, I found the name, "Southwest Wildlife", with a number to call. I left a message, thinking it would be a few days at least. Five minutes later the phone rang!! I explained the, situation, asking for advice. They told me that once a baby javelina gets left behind, the herd will not return, and it is usually doomed. Our thoughts were correct. The little guy was now alone in the world, dependent on human beings for his survival. I arranged for volunteers to meet us, a place where the trail crossed a road, and hurried back to my husband and little Jes'us.

        Jes'us was still wailing, and inching up close to a cholla, which may have looked like "mom's legs" to his less than perfect eyesight. I told my husband what Southwest Wildlife had said, so he gently picked up the tiny javelina, whose tummy just fit in the palm of his hand, and laid him in our pack, cuddled in a sweatshirt. The little guy was so tuckered out. He quickly curled up, felt secure, and started snoring little javelina snores! We hiked to the trail crossing, sat down to wait, continuing to marvel at the tiny little bundle in the pack. He was a beautiful golden color, had a cute javelina snout with wet pink nose, and very sharp little tusks!! It wasn't long before two wonderful volunteers arrived. We were so surprised and grateful to be able to get help on Christmas morning! They told us that little Jes'us would be well taken care of, and hopefully able to be released back into the wild someday. We learned more about Southwest Wildlife, its principles and philosophy. It was sad to see him taken away, but we knew that he could not be in better hands.

        Two days later, we called Southwest Wildlife to check up on little Jes'us. They informed us that he was a newborn javelina, born on Christmas Eve, and would have been dead very soon if not for our help. He was in an incubator, and doing well. Wonderful news!

        Quite a few years have passed since that Christmas morning. We often think of Jes'us, and imagine him back in the desert enjoying the life of a wild javelina. With human beings encroaching more and more on the natural habitats of wild animals, organizations such as Southwest Wildlife are invaluable in helping to preserve the wild creatures that we all enjoy seeing. I know that my husband and I will always remember our encounter with one tiny little baby javelina. And we will always think of that Christmas morning as our best Christmas ever!

 
 

 

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2011  Stuff: What's Worth Preserving Contest
3rd Place Winner

Ah, The Good Old Days

By Marielle D. Marne

        Gone are the days when new residents were repeatedly warned not to let their bedspreads drag the ground, lest a scorpion use it to climb in bed with them. (Not that they still aren't out there, mind you!) No longer are visitors cautioned to check their shoes before donning because a tarantula could be hiding within. Yes, it happens, but not with any frequency anymore. They call it progress.

        Desert sand has been replaced with recycled asphalt. Sweeping horse and cattle ranches have been replaced with too many cookie-cutter, tract homes, jammed together so as to make optimal use of the diminishing open space. At some point, the northern reaches of Phoenix may look eerily similar to downtown. No saguaros, wildlife considered pests, water a dangerously depleting precious commodity. Relegated to ancient history are the days wet sheets strategically placed in windows would suffice as air conditioning!

        Gone are the storytellers. Few left to recall, "I remember when Dick Van Dyke used to enjoy jam sessions at Harold's ..." Can you imagine comparable comedian and fancies-himself-a-musician Jack Black sauntering into the Cave Creek institution to play a little guitar? Can you say mob-scene frenzy? Many of the stars who used to seek refuge in California's unsuspecting neighbor now jet to Bali ... or Jackson Hole.

        Gone are those who volunteered for EVERYTHING. "Oh, you need someone to man the circulation desk at the library this weekend? I can help." The next week, that same person assures, "Yes, I can pick up trash on the scenic drive." The next month, "Of course, I can bake a cake to help [insert cause here]." Hectic professional and even personal lives have usurped the spirit of altruism.

        Progress has invited in a flood of people from across the nation, across the globe. Progress has stripped the desert of less square footage. Progress has added more trash, more pollution, less civility, less time for ourselves since we're sitting in traffic!

        The people will come, both to visit and to stay. Progress will no doubt continue with a vengeance.

        Coyotes will be birthed; quail babies will be hatched. Gila monsters will continue to hide from prying eyes. We, the people of Arizona, need to look ahead, embrace the future. Yet we need to remember the past, protect all that was good, all that shaped what we are today. Wild West tales, javelina rooting up our (often nonnative and HOA disapproved) plants, dirt roads, sweeping vistas of saguaro, cholla and brittlebush. Those calmer, gentler times.

        We must preserve the intelligence to make sound decisions about our precious desert foothills. We must preserve the integrity Mother Nature bestowed on this land. She intended beauty not blight. We must preserve our kindnesses to each other so we can work together and assure we can get things done for the good of our community. Once we look like downtown Phoenix, or any other homogeneous city in America, we will have lost what is precious to our area. Preserve now! Preserve strong!

 
 

   

 

 

2011 Write Stuff: What's Worth Preserving Contest
3rd Place Winner

Good Bye ... And Good Luck

By Barb Owens

"Inquisitive Bobcat" by Beth Hyatt Rapp

        Animals in the desert always bring out the awe in people. Pictures in a book or newspaper can never capture the feeling of seeing desert critters in their natural habitats.

        People will stop their cars to let a quail family cross the road. They'll watch in wonder when they see a roadrunner running through the dessert. They'll wait to hear the calls of coyotes as the sun begins to sink behind the mountains, hoping to get a glimpse of them. Many times cameras will be draped around their necks, intertwined like exotic necklaces, waiting for the "right" picture. The Southwest would be a sterile place without the animals.

        But what about animals in distress from injuries, lost parents or loss of habitats due to changes in their environment? How do they find their "place" in the world? Fortunately for them there are a number of local rescue groups that know exactly how to help. They nurse back to health the injured and release when the critters are healthy. Animals unable to be released are used as teaching tools. The young, abandoned for various reasons, are nurtured until prospects look good for their survival in the wild. They then are released. That's how this story begins.

        A call came in several days before an actual release was scheduled. Two young bobcats were to be released.

        They arrived in pet carriers and appeared to be frightened and nervous as we peeked into the enclosures. Little did they know that it was time to be released and to get a taste of the wild life they so deserved.

        A group of us huddled around, waiting for the big moment. We were silent as kids under a blanket, reading after lights out - thinking that our silence fooled the critters into thinking they were alone. Boy, were we wrong!

        Their caretakers opened each carrier and backed away. Their home was going to be ideal - a running creek, tall trees, plenty of vegetation for cover, rocks to climb and small-like protuberances in which to hide.

        Then the wait began. Suspicious of the open doors, they clung to the inner security of the carriers. We could see little paws protruding from the open back panel. However, nothing seemed to be happening. No wild escape. No tentative peeks out into their new world. Nothing.

        After at least fifteen minutes the first one poked his head out. Suddenly, as if propelled by a rocket, he shot out of the carrier and headed for the creek. In amazement we watched as he began to swim away. Who knew bobcats could swim? After a few graceful strokes he headed for land and bounded away into the underbrush. Except for a few graceful leaps we lost sight of him.

        A murmur went up among us, building in volume as though we were getting ready to utter a big cheer for our "home team." Yes!! The taste of his freedom filled our hearts with something difficult to explain. Whoever thought so much fun could be free!

        Okay, one gone, one to go. Our attention now focused on the second carrier. Still no sign of movement there.

        You've heard mention of how time drags or can fly by. It was now happening to our small group. We were trapped in a cone of silence now as well as suddenly feeling the ache in our legs from standing around so long.

        One hour. Two hours. Still no movement from carrier #2.

        It was a group decision - leave and hope the young bobcat would leave once we were all gone. Cameras were put away, goodbyes were said and we all agreed that it was exciting fun to see at least one successful release. Back to our normal lives except for the worry in our minds, burrowed in like a repeating song refrain, "Hope the little bobcat makes it okay through the night."

        The next morning, as the light of dawn began, we ran down towards the creek to check on the bobcat. Sheme was gone!

        The smiles on our faces lit up like the now rising sun and we gave a sigh of relief. As we turned to leave a spontaneous cry went up from us to the bobcat somewhere out in the 'world. "Goodbye . . . . And good luck!"