Whilst picking photos for my post on Jerome’s geology, I stumbled across these lovelies. My old camera couldn’t do them justice, but it tried.
They were growing against a sort of cliff at Gold King Mine. I liked how they looked against the patterned rock. Wish I could tell you what the rock is – I think it’s sedimentary something-or-other, but it’s hard to tell from an awful photograph, and I wasn’t good enough with geology back then to do field identification of anything other than basalt and sandstone. It could be tuff, it could be something else – Jerome’s full of some pretty wild rocks.
I remember these flowers well. They were friends of my youth. They liked growing up on poor soils in dry, sunny places, as I recall. Once the purple blooms fell off, they’d grow little fruits that looked like peas, or tiny green tomatoes. We’d pick them and serve them up to various dolls and stuffed animals. We were careful not to eat them ourselves, especially after the Incident with my neighbors and the loco weed beans. (Everybody lived, although the parents nearly had heart attacks.)
There’s something about these that suit old Jerome. I think it has to do with clinging on to life, even thriving in a modest sort of way, despite the harsh environment. Not to mention the crazy politics*….
*Yes, I will be linking Mano Singham’s post every time I talk about Arizona. Bloody tragedy, what the fuckwits currently in power have done to my old home state. I’m hoping the right-wingers destroy themselves in an orgy of insanity, leaving the way clear for the sweet sensible liberal enclaves currently embattled to stage an overthrow. It’s a shame such wonderful geology and interesting botany are in the hands of assclowns with no appreciation for either, much less the human beings whose lives they’re so busily destroying.