The picturesque view from atop Bear Mountain Trail is worth all of the grunts and groans.
spread plants across the continents. All the rest of us followed happily along in their wake. Botanists have lavished lifetimes on understanding the vagaries of wildflowers, which have evolved oversized seeds that can lie in the soil for decades awaiting that perfect combination of rain and sun. But despite all the studies and rain gauges, wildflowers remain irredeemably capricious. A hillside covered with poppies one year may remain barren the next. One slope may sing with brittlebush, while a similarly facing incline nearby remains silently forlorn. That unpredictability plays havoc with the creatures that depend on flowers. Tiny hummingbirds undertake continent-spanning migrations to remain on the edge of spring as it shifts from the tropics to the pine-scented northern forests. Bees depend on their stash of nectar and pollen to make the honey they need to survive winter. Moths and butterflies synchronize their metamorphosis to these seasonal displays. The other plant eaters also respond. Elk, deer and javelina all have preferred floral delicacies, drawing enough extra energy from certain plants during certain years to increase their reproduction. Quail orchestrate the number of eggs they lay each year by the Vitamin A content of the tender green springtime annuals. The effects of the flowers touch everyone from the whirring hummingbirds to the lurking mountain lions whose reproduction and survival remain linked to the populations of the flower eaters. I know that others find powdered truths in these waiving stems as well. During one recent Kodachrome scurry through spring, I encountered a young woman, perched on a
12 Arizona Highlands