Chaparral Spring

Posted on March 22, 2003 in Biomes

I got out in the daylight today, as anyone comparing the times at which I’ve posted can see. The change from night’s limited visions has refreshed me. I’m allowed to witness the passing of the seasons, California style.

California winters commence with rain falling on dead grass whose brown shafts have had their vibrancy bleached out of them by the sun and the wind. The jagged hills around me turn first to green as new shoots of grass and other vegetation sprout up. Right now, the most verdant spots lay at the base of the mountains. A yellow fuzz covers them. Many years ago, the story goes, the padres scattered mustard seed along El Camino Real to mark the road. This is one explanation given for why California is called the Golden State, though I think the description is more apt when the mustard seed and the alien oats wither in July.

Pale green rickly pear cactus or tuna covers the badlands below us. A parasite that sucks the life off some chaparral plants makes an orange confetti carpet in between the stands. As your eyes climb past the manipulated landscape of Portola Hills, manage the buttressing ridges, and then ascend to the low peaks of Mounts Modjeska and Santiago, the green turns grey and, in a few places, olive. The snows of a few weeks back have melted. I expect that there may be a few more days of rain and several more of fog drip. Spring is like summer elsewhere, when life in the chaparral is at its most robust.

This dream lasts until June, with rising temperatures marking the passing of the time like the shadows on a sundial.