I live outside the Tucson city limits and, as regular readers of my column already know, I take more than a passing interest in the wildlife that surrounds my house. I have seen some pretty odd things out there, but this morning’s spectacle set a new weirdness record for me. I know we all have a tendency to get a little nutty when the thermometer reaches 112F at lunchtime, but there is no excuse for the incident I witnessed this morning.

As I quietly prepared my breakfast I looked out, as per usual, upon my back garden. No surprise, it was already nearing 90 degrees by 8 am. My little fountain chortled away. A few birds staggered in dazed circles halfheartedly looking for food and shade.

Suddenly I noticed an overly large wild bunny (the normally mild and friendly Sylvilagus audubonii commonly known as the desert cottontail) racing across the middle distance in furious pursuit of an overly large and very beautiful bull snake. This was not just some sort of bizarre animal game: the bunny was out for blood. As the snake whipped across the baking sand, the rabbit managed to get the tip of the snake’s tail in his mouth and seemed to be trying to consume the reptile from the small end up.

I was so shocked by this scene that, without thinking anything through, I rushed out into the garden and broke it up. “Hey bunny!” I yelled. The rabbit stopped gnashing at the snake’s tail and looked up at me, with as angry a visage as a cottontail bunny could manage. The bull snake, cool and efficient, took full advantage of the distraction and instantaneously slithered up into an adjacent cholla tree. I admonished the bunny: “I put veggies out for you every day. What are you doing with the snake?”

Snake hides from bunny

At that moment I realized I had missed perhaps the greatest photo op of my lifetime. I shuffled inside to get the camera, but by then could only manage a few snaps of the bull snake skulking around on the cholla branches. The crazed rabbit had already taken off, perhaps hopped up on crack or bunny steroids, and no doubt searching for a mountain lion to tangle with.

During the past few weeks, despite the appalling heat, I have been enjoying a lot of adventuring and rockhounding in the Sonoran Desert. When I am out in the field I always carry a little pocket Nikon digital camera with me. I need a camera or three, primarily, to document our expedition work, but I also like to pause and take pictures of the life around us. I have always been fascinated by the details of the natural world, particularly patterns and shapes. Stopping to appreciate them for a moment, here and there, can be a welcome break from sometimes arduous field work.

A good macro (close-up) lens allows an observant and patient photographer to examine the minutiae of the plants and animals that live with us here in the Sonoran Desert—a unique habitat teeming with natural wonders, some of them not found anywhere else in the world.

In the old days, the dedicated photographer had to haul a bulky macro lens around in the camera bag and mount it on an SLR for those close-up shots. Digital cameras, with their built-in macros, have made those brief journeys to inner space so very much easier, but no less fascinating.

Here are some details from this week’s adventures.

This handsome fellow, blending extremely well into his surroundings, is one of about ten horned lizards or "horny toads" belonging to the Phrynosoma species

Bark patterns on an elderly mesquite tree

A beautiful cluster of Coryphantha vivipara, the "Bisbee Beehive." This elegant plant is rarely seen around greater Tucson.

Wisps around a yucca plant

Industrious red ants working on their cave. Don't let these guys bite, it really hurts.

Ferocactus wislizenii is a survivor. Three new heads grew from the body of this injured plant.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

I enjoy fresh fruit as much at the next guy, especially when it comes with sangria or a cocktail. I also like to think I am a moderately adept gardner. At least I do well with cacti which, let’s face it, is really not that difficult in the desert. It seemed natural, therefore, to populate my desert garden with some citrus plants. I bought a youthful grapefruit tree from my favorite nursery, and one of those miniature ornamental orange trees. I also grew some lemon trees from seed. The lemons are doing quite well; the orange tree folded up and died almost immediately.

I did my research and planted the grapefruit in my front garden with all attendant digging, mulching, watering and fertilizing. It was not happy. Although my well intentioned vendor promised me the tree would deliver luscious fruits within two to three years, the leaves turned white from sunburn and most of the branches dried up into parched bone-like appendages.

During a pool party at a friend’s house, I was impressed by a lemon tree our host had installed into a large container. It was flourishing in the shade behind his house. So I took my pickup truck down to Tubac and purchased an enormous ceramic pot, about the size of a New York City closet. I carefully dug up my distressed grapefruit tree and relocated it into the big pot, and placed the them on my shaded patio.

The tree began to thrive almost immediately, with tender new leaves sprouting everywhere. Last spring the tree became enveloped by a platoon of large yellow butterflies and they made mincemeat out of the new growth. I tried to shoo they away, but did not have the heart to swat any of them, as they were so beautiful. This year we experienced no insect invasion; instead, a mourning dove took up residence and built an ingenious nest of interlaced twigs among the green leaves.

Not quite a partridge in a pear tree, but similar

The first few times I walked by she panicked, and fluttered away. I learned to sidle out onto the patio slowly and quietly and she soon became accustomed to me. Each morning, I sat for while, just a few feet away, drinking tea, while she kept her melancholy black eyes on me. She gave birth to two chicks and tended to them during the long hot days.

Shortly after, it so happened that I threw a fairly large party at my house. Concerned about my new resident’s nerves, I taped a sign to the tree trunk: “Dove nesting in tree. Please give her some space.” All my guests were very respectful and with a few photographers present, many photos were taken.

It amazed me how quickly the chicks grew. After a few short weeks one left the nest followed, a couple of days later, by the second. Once the kids had headed off to bird college, their mom moved on too, to points unknown.

It was enthralling to watch the cycle of desert life unfolding on my patio. The cleverly crafted empty nest remains ensconced within my peripatetic tree and, if I’m lucky, perhaps my adopted dove will be back next year.