Scottsdale, Arizona
Husband: “Careful, those spines look sharp.”
Me: “Don’t worry, honey. I used to live here. I know what I’m do—OUCH!”
Husband: “Notice the words ‘I warned you’ are not passing my lips.”
Me: “I did catch the hint of a smirk.”
Husband: “It was tiny. Really tiny.”
Me: “I would be getting mad right now if I didn’t need you to pull this thing out of my finger, please.”
Husband is a good golfer. I am not. (Driving the cart—fast and recklessly, I admit—is the highlight for me.) Nevertheless, we ventured onto one of Scottsdale’s premier courses for a round. My first shot went into the rough.
Husband: “Do you see it?”
Me: “Yes. But I can’t reach it.”
Husband: “Want me to bring you a club?”
Me: “Not unless your nine iron is a machete.”
Fourth hole. Again I hit into the rough. Husband and I look for my ball.
Me: “There it is!” I move forward to retrieve it. Husband grabs my arm.
“Wait! Isn’t that a snake right next to it?”
I peer into the mesquite. “No, it’s a snakeskin.” I look closer. “What if it’s from a rattlesnake? Let’s check it out!”
Husband tightens his grip. “You’re sure he’s not still wearing it?”
Me: “Of course! That snake’s long gone.”
The course marshal pulls up in his golf cart. “Hey, you two. Didn’t you see the sign on the tee?”
Me: “Sign?”
The marshal points at the scrub under which my ball is resting.
“That’s a rattlesnake den. The wildlife people are coming out tomorrow to move ‘em. Until then, the hole’s been re-routed to the other side.” He sees my ball. “Good shot. You just about hit the entrance.”
The course marshal drives away.
Me: “I think I’ve had enough golf for today.”
Husband (trying not to laugh). “Hungry? I noticed the grill serves rattlesnake.”
Me: “Don’t push it. And I’m driving the cart.”
Alas, no Coyote. And no “Beep, beep.”
I’ve always liked the desert, especially its unique flora, in particular saguaro cacti. A cactus has to be between 75 to 90 years old before it grows its first arm. That makes this big fella possibly 120-140 years old. When he first sprouted, the Civil War had ended but three decades earlier, cars and planes could only be imagined, and women were 25 years away from getting the vote.
As I walked back to the car, I stopped by a baby saguaro, barely a foot high. Spent a few minutes trying to imagine how the world would change during his lifetime. What will the planet be like when that little cactus grows his first arm?
