The desert in North Scottsdale can no longer fight off the inevitable. The signs of sprawl are there - literally. Where the asphalt gives way to the desert clay stands a huge, obscene, billboard-like monolith announcing lots for sale. Already, white pvc pipes stick out of the ground as far as the eye can see - seemingly almost to Four Peaks some thirteen miles beyond at the horizon. While there a few weeks ago, and having just completed a short creative photography expedition, I was greeted by two gentlemen as they stepped out of a car that, I am sure, cost one of them enough money to prove he has more money than sense. "Do you know how much these lots are going to sell for?" one of them yelled loud enough to wake any one of the nearby long-dead skeletal remains of the once proud Saguaros. "No, sorry."
Lots? That's all they see here? Lots? Unsatisfied with my response, they straightaway sought the comfort of their vehicle and sped back onto the more familiar asphalt.
Whatever man-made structures may soon occupy this raw, honest terrain, they can never match the grace, splendor, or elegance of those that have lived here for hundreds of years - saguaro, cholla, ocotillo, palo verde, prickly pear and barrel cacti, fairy duster, and the wooly daisy to name a few. I can predict, with a great deal of certainty, the characteristics these new houses will possess - enough square footage to justify a separate zip code; a large and pretentious foyer; dead spaces at the entry, in the bedrooms, baths, and the ubiquitous rarely-used second living room; cultured stone veneers; and multiple garages.
I'll have to drive a little further on my next expedition.
(Click on images to enlarge.)
This lone sentinal remains on guard.
The natural architecture of the saguaro accounts for it's longevity.
Beautiful white rock serves as a natural foundation for this saguaro.
Natural ground cover.
Dana W. Ball
