CNUW has been very fortunate to have been assisted in its wildlife surveys and vegetative restoration efforts by a very dedicated staff, student volunteers, McDowell Sonoran Conservancy stewards, and others. Most of these people have worked for no or very little payment other than the satisfaction of working on such a conservation project. The following collection of "Letters from Brown's Ranch" is dedicated to each of these people.  

Dr. Jack Sampson is a veterinarian with a practice in Phoenix, Arizona. When he is not tending to his patients, Jack likes to spend much of his spare time hiking in the desert, teaching his young daughter about desert plants and animals. Here are a few thoughts he wrote down about an observation he and his daughter made on a recent trip to the desert near Brown?s Ranch.

"Impromptu Eulogy"
by Jack Sampson, DVM 

    It, of course, was the plant?s only defense, so he barely noticed the small line cut into his skin by the cat-claw acacia.  Blood droplets beaded up at the margins as if by magic and mustered together at one end of the wound preparing for the journey down his arm. He stopped walking when he saw it and slowly sat on a rock at the edge of a small desert wash right next to the body.  Dry stalks of grass vibrated nervously in the gentle breeze.  Taking his worn field guide he began to read, slowly reverently almost by memory.  His lips forming the inaudible words of the codified eulogy, "Campylorynchus brunneicapillus, the largest North American Wren," he began.  ?Long white eye-stripe, brown head upperparts striped with white, dark spotting of under-parts is concentrated on upper breast.  Voice: Calls are low, harsh and frequently unbirdlike.

    He moved his mouth as if to call but no sound came out.  Staring down the wash he continued, ?Habitat: deserts and arid hillsides.  Nesting: large oval covered structure with side entrance usually placed in cholla cactus and made of grasses?.  In place of a benediction he read, ?Cactus Wrens are curious and intelligent birds, they forage for food very methodically searching under leaves and other ground litter.  They are late sleepers and an early bird watcher may surprise them still dozing in their snug nest.?  Yes it had been surprised!  He closed the book carefully and then after a long while he reached down and touched the wren.  Feathers carelessly ruffled by its fall.  He barely noticed the small bullet hole in its breast.  Blood dried at the wound edges where it had run down the body.  It, of course, had not been the shooter?s only defense.

?A Desert Walk?

by Jack Sampson, DVM 

    Pushing a strand of hair from her face, she pulled the worn Plants of Arizona from her bag.  It was held together by rubber bands, which tried to tame unruly bits of paper and plant protruding from its edge.  The old book looked like rumpled professor, knowledgeable but unconcerned about its outward appearance.  As she removed its trusses, she hummed a tuneless song.  Some invocation perhaps or supplicants chant, meaningless to the novice.  ?Baileya multiradiata,? she said out loud smiling, as at an old friend.  She held the book to her chest, wrapped in hands strong from doing nails short and fingers dark from earth and sun.  The desert marigold stood defiantly in full view.  Its gray green woolly leaves formed a tuft from which rose a single stem topped with a sole yellow flower.  The flower thrust towards the sky reaching in clear bright desert air right up to the sun, bathing its face in pulsing radiation, unfiltered heat and energy, no dappled shade nor pale moonlight, just full throttle sun.

    She carefully slid the stem between her index and middle fingers cupping the flower in her palm.  Turning its face toward hers, seeing not one face but dozens of faces crowded together.  Shoulder to shoulder packed tightly as a carpet, ray flowers with arms raised in homage at the edge.  Then like a goddess, loving and caring, but a casual dispenser of death, she decapitated the flower.  Bringing it to her nose she inhaled its bitter desert scent, caressed its petals and slid it between the pages of her field guide.  Rebinding the book with the dry rubber bands and replacing it in her bag she moved on, keeping to the sandy wash so as not to crush any small plants or new seedlings, eyes alert and senses aware drinking in the desert.