Exploring A Unique Landscape in Tucson

I enjoyed two hours at an interesting building’s garden spaces, before driving home from a few days in Tucson.

I marked the University of Arizona School of Natural Resources and the Environment on my Google map to visit, though I forgot about this work on previous visits. Finally!

I first learned of Colwell Shelor, the landscape architecture firm who designed this property, when I temporarily relocated to the Phoenix area in 2019. There, I was reminded of a fellow garden blogger’s post covering the site and landscape design work at Western Spirit.

I’m certain these yuccas are Yucca rigida / Sonoran Blue Yucca.

Blues on rusts and tans: just right, so let’s go inside.

Hindsight – I could’ve captured the woman walking in more or a blur.

Standing out are the boomerang curves of seat walls (which also harden the edges), plant massing supporting it all (Salvia microphylla?), and Tucson’s love of bikes (even cargo bikes).

Also notable is the firm’s love of vines climbing or cascading along some of the vertical surfaces. Green on oxidized metal works nicely, as does green with white.

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This sheeting of small rock slabs reminds me of a similar effect on a small arroyo or three, that I’ve hiked along from the Gateway Trailhead in north Scottsdale. It’s also used at their museum project mentioned earlier.

I’ve never seen that occur in the wild near me or employed elsewhere, except by this firm. Hopefully, I have some photos of it in the wild from past Arizona hikes.

Inspiration – don’t leave home without it.

Before I go back downstairs and resume the four hour grind of I-10, I spied a young Platanus wrightii / Arizona Sycamore, starting to tower above those boomerang sitting walls. You can see that sycamore growing at the bottom of nearby Sabino Canyon, at a lower elevation than I realized.

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Quercus fusiformis / Plateau Live Oak is also used here, which will soon provide an evergreen canopy along the sidewalk and street. You’ve probably seen my own projects with that species, one of the few adapted oaks available from regional nurseries.

One can also note how this mix of spiky Dasylirion wheeleri, Opuntia engelmannii (or a close relative), and vines with live oaks frame the gracious sidewalk, guiding the route for pedestrians.

Yet, no signs of carnage that certain municipalities or contrarian designers imply, as issues with spiky plants in public spaces.

What I see is gorgeous function and form that reflects the southwest desert region, year-round greens, and the primary use of trees and succulents.

One of the firm’s principals, in fact, shared with me how they tend towards the use of only trees and succulent plants. To me, that would proactively bypass typical maintenance practices that are detrimental to the health, water use, staffing expenses, and aesthetics of shrubs and grasses.

Adios, dusty and soulful Tucson!

Trader Joe’s provisions-check, In-N-Out lunch-check, and gas station-check.

Until next time ~

Autumn Island in the Sky

Early afternoon temperatures in the 90’s, my car was headed towards the lofty Santa Catalina Mountains, the backdrop to the Sonoran Desert city of Tucson. At the end of October!

At just over 9,000 feet in elevation, my destination of Mount Lemmon is several life zones above the big town, and many days, about 30F cooler.

For the plant-savvy, that’s trading the land of saguaros and jojoba for maples and aspens!

Trade was made.

At about 7,500 feet elevation, hiking this trail (mostly level walking) was through fallen leaves and the scents of far-away, mixed hardwood forests. It’s a different world than the Sonoran Desert that surrounds these mountains on most every side.

In fact, the drive between 2,500 feet in town and these maples went through several different plant communities as we climbed. But I was busy driving, so no documentation.

The best parts began after hiking west through the tunnel under the highway.

Most of the reds, oranges, and yellows in this low area are Bigtooth Maple / Acer grandidentatum. They grow best in areas capturing more moisture than flows downhill from adjacent, higher and drier land. A small creek was flowing that day.

So, there’s plenty of inspiration for how plant communities and the land work together, only with different plants than desert people can or should employ in the landscape.

Including water harvesting. In fact, this is some of what water harvesting emulates.

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It was time to get some cookies and fudge in Summerhaven, then enjoy a short hike a little higher in elevation, where a hard freeze or three were evident.

Nearing 9,000 feet elevation, aspens become abundant, while maples drop off in quantity but never fully disappear. Presenting Quaking Aspen / Populus tremuloides.

We’re getting above my zone of plant knowledge here, but I’ll try. This mass of grasses looks to be a montane fescue, perhaps Festuca arizonica, given the fine blades of foliage.

Did you notice how dark the soil is up here? It’s fairly rich with decomposed organic matter, unlike most of the desert soils nearby, or farther away where I live.

But the last two photos of a coarse-leafed plant, fading into cool season dormancy, are the stars in a few spots on this last hike. These are Heracleum maximum / Cow Parsnip, a favorite of a co-founder of both an informal society of aficionados into said plant and a renowned landscape architecture firm in Cascadia – Shannon Nichol herself.

She was happy to see this species and plant community thriving so far from her beloved Salish Sea and their much loftier Tahoma.

But enough of that – back to the final exploration and that sharp, late afternoon chill of Mount Lemmon.

A few stands of aspen had already shed their leaves. The scent of the balsam from that tree was subtle but nicely warmed the chill.

More maples tucked into large stands of aspens, occasionally punctuated by Roundleaf Snowberry / Symphoricarpos rotundifolius, Hairy Brackenfern / Pteridium aquilinum var. pubescens, and the evergreen Netleaf Oak / Quercus rugosa.

Near the frigid top, distant views…

A small ski area, too…

Then, the long descent into Tucson as the sun began to set, the temperature out the windows warmed nicely, and also no photos. But memories of a skilled road cyclist, who was usually close to the 35+ MPH speed limit for many miles, pacing him at several car lengths behind.

I was partly saving my car’s poor brakes and gripping my steering wheel for much of the 40 minutes to the bottom of the hill. Though rush hour, Siri routed me on a rather traffic-free, winding and up / down road west another 25 minutes, towards other plans that night.

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Obviously, I had to leave and return home. Looks about right – if it was March.

Another Garden, Two Neighborhoods West

After being roped into teaching a design workshop for this year’s Native Plant Society state conference, I finally spent time at Mary and Ken’s home garden.

But earlier that morning, I got in my hike during a break in the brutal spring winds, which would hit several days each week.

That day we also had quite the sky.

I still awe how the badlands of New Mexico begin a short distance away. While my awe about how dry it has been is even more real, for much of the last 5 years, during our driest season that is spring.

Cue Bill Callahan

With some early, toasty weather in the low 90s a month earlier, the sprawling Vachellia vernicosa / Viscid Acacia leafed out and was setting its fragrant flowers.

Back to work for a few hours, then I hopped onto my bike for the ride to the conference planning meeting out on the couple’s patio. Though I was more interested in seeing their garden, than I was hearing about a conference or anything else already set.

Do you appreciate that courtyard gate like I do?

Local natives blend seamlessly with regional or even natives of muggy, far-off northeast Mexico. Some of the plantings were inherited from the previous owners, while some of the plantings were added by Mary and Ken.

On the side, our state tree Pinus edulis / Piñon is happily growing in front of the stereotypical, Kodachrome sky of New Mexico.

While Piñon is mostly native above 5,500 feet elevation – this is 4,200 feet – it’s perfectly happy here where it’s 5F+ warmer, with some drip irrigation. It can sink its root system deeply into all our sandy and gravely soil.

With the meeting over, I was free to sneak in some more photos between a few conversations. I became lost in seeing this place in daylight, as opposed to the dark my last two visits on winter evenings.

That potted Melampodium leucanthum / Blackfoot Daisy is native just a little higher, up on the less arid desert grasslands beyond.

There are some framed views closer to their home, which provide focused interest instead of the expansive interest farther away.

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I visited again this summer, returning home from a mountain bike ride out west, before the late morning heat set in.

The owners have been slowly removing many square feet of that counterproductive scourge*, weed barrier – also called weed fabric or filter fabric. (*embraced by many regional landscape designers and municipalities, the same who see no issues with plastic grass yet cry “climate crisis”)

As the soil horizon recovers from being effectively smothered, plant roots can once again spread, as the soil biology improves. More plant growth and health = less weeds and more habitat.

And unlike those gimmicks of plastic grass or weed barrier, a thriving planting that belongs brings more appeal, people to wildlife.

I look forward to seeing their spaces continue to evolve, at least as long as I remain here.

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