Monsoons

I must admit that when I moved to the desert more than 25 years ago, I thought monsoons were limited to India. (Or at least that's what I had learned from old Hollywood movies and geography class).

I moved to Tucson in November of 1981. The winter was glorious-- riding bicycles in February, instead of shoveling snow or sliding on a sidewalk slippery with the remnants of a freezing rain shower. The spring was perfect-- giving birth to our first child around Easter, enjoying the sunshine on the patio of our little adobe near the University. By June, the desert was hot, dry, and brown. Over the years, I have decided that June is really the worst month of the year here-- HOT as an oven and very dry. Obviously, the person who originally dubbed Tucson the "Baked Apple" coined the phrase in June.

Now it's early July, and the monsoons have started-- hallelujah! In 1982, on the first day on the monsoons, the three of us sat outside on the patio in the rain. My brother called from Ohio while we were outside. He asked what we were doing. I said, "Sitting in the rain." People who do not live in the desert can't relate to this refreshing activity. Yesterday and the day before, I sat on the porch in the rain. As Petey Mesquitie would say, "The desert is beautiful."