When the Desert was My Home

Pre-California, post Colorado, I lived in the desert at the end of a road, which was tucked into the foothills, next to the wash, that meandered up into the mountains, and turned into a canyon.  A courtyard graced the front of the house, enclosed by a high adobe wall and two old rustic wooden doors.  The wildlife didn't pay much attention to the wall.  They slid under the doors or through the drainage, or climbed the wall, depending on the particular variety of critter and the amount of determination.  The birds just flew over.  There were very few types of desert inhabitants that weren't welcome, but came anyway; termites, kissing bugs (aka assassin beetles), bark scorpions, pack rats, and ants.  I didn't mind the snakes, even rattlers.  The snakes ate the pack rats, therefore, they were my friends.  The tarantulas ate the scorpions, and they had a wide choice of these delectable creepy crawlers, since the house was infested with them.  In fact, the whole area was known as scorpion hill.  I learned about the name just after purchasing the house.

At first, I lost friends.  Once they came and stayed, they never wanted to come again.  On any given day, I could find at least ten bark scorpions inside the house.  Outside, all you had to do was pick up a rock, any rock and there would be a flashing yellow tail attached to the pinchered body.

That didn't set well with most of the people I knew.  Even my son complained about staying at the house.  Finally, I gave in and hired a pest control company for a once-a-month treatment program inside only.  Outside was off limits since too many critters would be harmed by whatever toxin the company sprays. 

I'd still find scorpions, but most of them on the floor would be dead.  The ones on the walls and on the furniture were still alive, due to avoiding the pesticides.  I only found one scorpion in my bed during the two years I lived there.   The photo was a product of a scorpion seach when a friend of mine and I gathered close to thirteen dead scorpions in one day.  I decided to do some memorial shots of the carcasses all lined up in rows.  I took a variety of photos both distance and close-up, a memory to my desert days. 

Looking back, I find it odd that I had so little reaction to this potential threat to my health, especially since years before I wound up in a hospital after being stung by one of these.  Because of the interaction between the medication I was taking, and the toxin from the scorpion, I wound up having convulsions.  The emergency doctors had me on an IV of benedryl and epinephrine.  I now carry benedryl with me whenever I travel or do any hiking.  A friend staying in the guest house was stung twice from a scorpion that was enjoying the comfort of her bed until she arrived.  I gave her three benedryl (prescription dose) to take care of the reaction.  She went to sleep and when she woke up the next morning she was fine.

I miss the desert with all its spines and stingers.  I miss the Gila Monster swinging its tail against my back door, thump, thump, thump, the coyotes howling, the javelina rooting around the house digging up the agaves, the desert tortoises looking for greener pastures, the kangeroo rats switching directions in mid-air.  What a place of wonders. 

I remember one time eating breakfast, I heard a scream and looked out the window.  There was a hawk on the ground with a gila woodpecker in its talons.  The hawk's mate was in a tree above watching.  It was not a pretty site, but it was life for the hawks, and unfortunately death for the woodpecker.  I was just a spectator who bought food from the supermarket to cook on the stove, without hunting, stalking, or walking miles.  I just opened up the refrigerator door. 

Living in the desert, I felt more of a connection with the earth than I had before.  Maybe that's why I didn't really react to the scorpions.  It just seemed natural that everything had its place with continuous life cycles, and that we all belonged to the same biome.