"The spell of October's chinchweed marked the unexpected start of a second spring that I didn't think would last beyond Halloween. Pectis papposa naturally comes to light weeks after summer monsoons, but I had never seen the tiny yellow flowers spill so magically across the Mojave. Especially so late in the year. Their bright display was a struck match to my exposed cornea, hypnotizing me into oblivion. It was disorienting - experiencing so much life even as the Northern Hemisphere began to tilt away from the sun."
"Fall was supposed to be a time of shedding sunny summer habits, harvesting and hunkering down for cold, snowy nights. But the second wind of spring meant those cozy habits could die hard: We baked in the sun like chuckwallas, planted penstemons and searched for fairies in the buds of our bladderpod. Howling storms hit the desert one after another, flooding nearby communities with wildfire debris and turning our dirt road into a date shake."
"Hints that second spring was transforming into forever spring came queerly as the days grew shorter but stayed warm. Some Joshua trees bloomed around Thanksgiving, and botanists worried they might not be serviced by the yucca moth, their only pollinator. But it wasn't until the winter solstice that all hell broke loose: The flowerfields of Anza Borrego Desert State Park gushed with color three months early."
"My husband and I skirted the Salton Sea to see them and were lulled by tens of thousands of devil's lanterns as we walked toward the looming phantom of a mountain. Giant white evening primrose flowers ( Oenothera deltoides) lit the way and led us deeper into a beautiful nightmare. What else could we do but attempt to enjoy the world out of sync? What's the difference between strolling through an unusual bloom with chronic climate dread and attending Lady Gaga's Mayhem Ball while LGBTQ+ rights are torched?"
Tiny yellow chinchweed flowers appear weeks after summer monsoons, creating an unexpected second spring in the Mojave. Warm, life-filled conditions disrupt fall routines like harvesting, hunkering down, and shedding summer habits. People plant penstemons and search for fairies in bladderpod buds while storms bring wildfire debris and muddy roads. Some Joshua trees bloom around Thanksgiving, raising concerns about pollination by yucca moths. Flowerfields in Anza Borrego Desert State Park erupt three months early by the winter solstice, with giant white evening primrose and tens of thousands of devil’s lanterns guiding walks toward distant mountains. The response is to enjoy the world out of sync despite climate dread and broader social harm.
Read at High Country News
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