Leslie Silko - The Turquoise Ledge - A Memoir

Yesterday, September 6, the dogs in back were barking, so I went out. I found a Gila monster lizard outside the fence, and outside the reach of the mastiffs. Beaded in jet black and coral, the big lizard was breathtaking in his beauty and a blessing to see.

The next day, Chapulin’s in-laws and their relatives were all here for a visit in my front yard. Lord Chapulin and his wife must have told them I am a friend.

The grasshoppers prefer the white rain flowers over the pink flowers this summer. The foliage is what they like. They work unseen from the bottom of the stalks in the pot so the rain lily leaves get shorter quite rapidly.

Black — obsidian black, coal black — Chapulin wants another portrait this year. As soon as I complete the manuscript, I will do it.

Lord Chapulin’s kinfolk stayed for another day. They didn’t touch the four o’clock or jessamine; I don’t trust them with the datura. I lifted off any grasshoppers I saw in the daturas; otherwise I won’t have any datura flowers this winter. I am a little concerned by the number of Chapulin’s entourage.

A pale green rain comes with a warm breeze out of the southeast. I hear thunder now, and more raindrops fall. Delicate threads of rain swirl into thick white draperies that fold across the dark hills.

Two thunderstorms this afternoon and evening — thunder and lightning and good but not huge rain. I brought the dogs indoors early tonight because the tarantulas and big toads come out after the rain, and of course rattlesnakes and Gila monster lizards. The dogs can’t resist harassing them, and I don’t want my dogs to harm them.

We haven’t seen Godzilla lizard for about two weeks. There are baby lizards in the front yard now, and on the south-facing wall, a baby lizard no longer than my thumbnail. All the good rain we got nearly every afternoon in July and August may mean plenty of roaches and other insects off in the aloe patch or under the greasewood bushes. No need to show oneself to the predators in the front yard if the weeds are full of bugs. However we are beginning to worry that the largest and boldest of the mesquite lizards met an unfortunate end.

Again the following day as we sat out on the front porch, we wondered about the Godzilla lizard and what became of him. Just then I noticed motion in the top of the big mesquite tree and heard the characteristic rapid beak rattle of a roadrunner. Speak of a likely suspect in Godzilla’s disappearance — there was Roadrunner, that cuckoo bird, clown and thief, death on snakes, lizards, baby tortoises, baby birds and rodents. Our suspicions grew after Roadrunner’s visit.

A clan of roadrunners was already living here when I moved in. They built one of their nests inside the impenetrable arms of a six foot tall cholla cactus with spines so thick and sharp few predators ever try to rob their nests.

All the rain this summer brought many sorts of insects. There are a great many very large butterflies this year — mostly shades of gold and bright yellows because the wild flowers late in the summer are mostly hues of yellow or white.

I welcomed Lord Chapulin and his wife last year and invited their return. But the grasshoppers’ visit this year gave me quite a surprise.

Chapulin’s entourage glutted themselves on the leaves of the white rain lilies and moved into the pink lilies and to the four o’clocks which they don’t eat but use for their siestas. The grasshoppers are so gorged they can’t fly.

These grasshoppers are sneaky and crafty and quickly take cover when humans come around. Lord Chapulin and his wife were entirely different — so gracious and regal at all times. What a disappointment.

Today the grasshoppers in their wild celebration ate the white rain lilies flat to the dirt in the pot; luckily the lilies don’t mind as long as there is plenty of water. I picked the revelers off the white four o’clock plant and the geraniums although they didn’t really eat those plants, they merely rested on them.

I didn’t take any chances after I’d seen what the black grasshoppers did to the rain lilies so I tossed the hoppers over the fence. I didn’t realize one of the mastiffs was on the other side of the fence catching and eating the grasshoppers until that evening when the mastiff threw up a pile of black grasshopper legs and red wings all over the doggy bed.

Early the other morning after a night of an apparent grasshopper fiesta, I saw one big grasshopper eat the thorax of a fallen companion.

I remember that when I first read the web site reports about the black grasshoppers I thought they must be referring to “black grasshoppers” and not my beautiful green Chapulin with rosy magenta wings.

But now that I’ve had the entourage here for a few weeks, I am beginning to understand. The black grasshoppers, unlike their Lord, are furtive, sly guests. I had no idea Chapulin would have so many followers this year. Still I haven’t killed any of the grasshoppers out of regard for Lord Chapulin.

Were the stories about black grasshoppers that I read on the Internet the reason for Lord Chapulin and his wife’s sudden departure, and for the other grasshoppers to behave so boorishly? They hadn’t done me any harm in the past — because of their majesty and beauty I invited them to eat the rain lilies. But after I’d read the infestation reports on the Internet, each time I saw a black grasshopper I recalled the stories of havoc, instead of seeing their majesty and beauty as I had at first. The negative energy of these stories must have touched Lord Chapulin, and his wife; they must have felt a change in me when I recalled what I’d learned on the Internet. So they did not visit for long. They did not feel I was their friend anymore.

About two weeks ago in one of the rainstorms a big saguaro fell, and shattered into five or six large pieces about ten feet from the odd knob of basalt above the Gila Monster Mine. The big segments of the cactus blocked the trail so that horses had to detour around them. Within a few days the heat began to ferment the cactus, which gave off a strong wine odor.

The saguaro was part of a small grove of the same size — sister plants ten feet tall with many long branching arms which marked their age at one hundred fifty years or more. I took a close look at the rocky ledge where the fallen cactus once stood but could see no apparent cause for its demise. Its companions in the grove appeared untouched by the wind and other forces that had taken down their sister.

Years ago during an evening thunderstorm a saguaro fell across the road, and a friend who’d just left our house returned to get help to move the big saguaro so his car could get by. The toppled saguaro had broken into five or six sections in its fall. Most of the sections were at least two feet in diameter, and weighed hundreds of pounds each because saguaros store water in their tissue and weigh more than a ton. Many cacti are able to regenerate from severed branches or pads, but not the saguaro.

I went to help roll the sections of broken saguaro out of the middle of the road. After the rain the evening air was cool so I was surprised, even shocked at the body heat that radiated from the broken pieces of the giant cactus, just as the body of any dead thing remains warm for a while.

By daylight, the saguaros are spectacular enough with their towering strange presence. But the first time my younger son saw them he was six years old and it was dark. He saw them in the car headlights and he asked me why there were so many telephone poles here.

After dark, especially in the moonlight, the saguaros come to life. You can feel a subtle energy as from the gathering of a large clan. They move gracefully, and sway in the wind.