This morning I walked to the coffee shop it was cold and pitch black, it felt so strange, it’s late October on the South West coast of England. I chatted to the girl behind the counter, She asked ” where did you live in America” I tried to explained what it was like living in Arizona. “Its Sunny every day, every day ” I replied. The Sonoran desert is amazing place to live. You know your in the Sonoran desert when you see the wonderfully tall Saguaro cactus lining the horizon. We were lucky enough to lived North of Scottsdale in a small town called Fountain Hills.
You don’t change the clocks in Arizona, there is no need, just sun sun and more sun. I used to climb out of bed and walk out to the yard with my blanket, climbing into my hammock at five, six o’clock in the morning and watch the sunrise, it was the most beautiful place. ARIZONA is known to be one of the hardest states to live in. The temperatures soaring above 110 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer months.
The only time it rained was early spring and late summer during monsoon season, which sent all the blue green plants in to a frenzy of blossom, exploding into purple or yellow bushes and trees. The parched redish earth became a beautiful bed of soft green grasses speckled with the sweetest yellow and orang wild flowers. The sweet sticky smell of the creosol bush hung heavy in the dry air and landscape sprung into action transforming right before your very eyes.
I thought perhaps after a couple of years living there I would get tired of that hot dry sun but it was intoxicating and slightly addictive and well I still long for its warm healing rays. The bright red majestic sunsets against the dark inky mountains never cease to amaze me. The wildlife were exciting as well, sweet curious hummingbirds dancing at your coffee cup , clever coyotes hunting in the hills and howling late into evenings to reminding you it was their land. I did found out, you couldn’t feed the birds, because that meant you would be feeding the bobcats, which jumped on the walls of your gardens and sweeping up a White tail doves, showing their cubs how to hunt for an easy snack. In contrast to the harsh arid desert here I sit in West Dorset so green, miles of rich farm lands surrounded by rugged cliffs and coastline giving way and dropping into the sea. It couldn’t be more different but as an East Cost girl from New York I am quite at home here and love to walk in the woods again and kick the the beautiful autumn leaves. Dorset is very much like my beloved New England that as a child I spent my summers enjoying and discovering with my Mom. As the nights grow longer and the holiday makers disappear the towns and villages switch gear, lighting fires and harvesting the rich landscape. Mending fences and sweeping up after the tourists have gone home and preparing for the long damp cold winters. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as I sat bundled up drinking my coffee. Bridport is a delightful market town coming alive every Wednesday and Saturday.