Q: I just survived my first Arizona summer, and the worst part was mowing my lawn in the triple-digit heat. Now, my neighbor asked me if I am going to put in a winter lawn. Am I?
A: First of all, congratulations on your getting through your first summer. You are now officially qualified to lord it over other newcomers and to say…
Two Arizona sites listed as oddities have fallen victim to wind, rain and fire.
The little church that Loren Pratt built to honor his late wife – the Mini Taj – was severely damaged by an Arizona thunderstorm. It stood in the open fields at Dome and welcomed visitors and curious passersby since 1996, but succumbed to the storm in early September. The winds tore the roof off and left only a couple of walls standing.
Q: The other day when it was raining, it made me wonder about this: Is it possible to have more than 100 percent humidity or less than zero percent? My husband thinks I am odd.
A: He may be right. I don’t know. If he is just basing that on your question, you probably aren’t all that odd, but there may be other factors involved, such as manner of dress, eating habits or the like.
First of all, no, it is not possible to have less than zero percent humidity. It’s possible to have zero percent, but not less.
Ergo, hence and ipso facto, it would also seem to be impossible to have more than 100 percent relative humidity, but it turns out that’s not true. This I learned from Randy Cerveny, an associate professor of geography at Arizona State University and the King of the Weather Wonks.
YUMA — This city is so proud of its sunshine that it has always been willing to be on it. According to the Guinness World Record book, Yuma is the sunniest place on earth, with bright skies prevailing an average of 4,055 hours out of a possible 4,456 hours every year. That’s 91 percent of the time. Or 350 days per year.
More than a century ago, Yuma hotels backed up the sunshine boast by offering free board to visitors every day the sun didn’t shine. Times have changed, but there are still freebies.
Q: What are the canals for, and how do they work?
A: Bibbity, bobbity boo. Next question, please.
Oh, all right, we’ll tell you: Farms and gravity.
Really.
The miles and miles of canals maintained by the Salt River Project were put there to bring water to thirsty acres of alfalfa, cotton, citrus and dates. Although there are a few pumping stations along the way, nearly all the system operates on the principle that water flows downhill.
That’s what worked for the Hohokam, who dug the first canals about 1,300 years ago to water their corn, beans and squash.
The ancient ones had quite a little civilization going—check out the Pueblo Grande Museum in east Phoenix — before they vanished about 500 years ago, probably chased off by a long drought. By the time the Europeans arrived, the desert had reclaimed the Hohokams’ 135 miles of canals.
In 1867, Jack Swilling, a former Confederate soldier living in Wickenburg, realized what those lines in the sand meant. He formed the Swilling Irrigation Canal Co. and dredged out one of the canals. A
meager harvest resulted and—voila!—agriculture was reborn in the Valley, and Phoenix had a reason for being.
The subsequent flood of farmers expanded and improved the canal system, but they lacked what the Hohokam had lacked: a way to tame the Salt, which actually had water in it in those days. The problem
was, it either had too much water or not enough.
