Sometimes things pop up early, as was the case in 2026. Rain came early in buckets, and then a warm spell forced plants and flowers out of the soil before their usual time. So I keep my eyes peeled even in January and February.

This scene, captured in the Catalina Foothills early in February, is a prime example.
Little pops of pink and white dappled the slopes as we made our way to the Romero pools and waterfall. All was well, until we heard the unnerving sound (like a woman screaming) of a mountain lion coming from the ridgeline across from us. We glassed the slope just as several deer were scattering. So we changed course and enjoyed the elevation where these flowers were blooming.

Anemones are tubers and members of the buttercup family. These, as well as the other smaller flowers on the foothills, are among my favorites.

What’s Up? Buttercups.

Although Arizona is a relatively new state (born in 1912), we have our share of old things; mining towns, military forts, and old routes from here to there. I have a habit of searching satellite maps and out the car window for signs of old roads. Since I moved here in 1989, so many routes have changed. Arizona State Route 87 to Payson, for example, is now a divided highway, and no longer dips into the little town of Sunflower. The old US 60 to Superior used to wind right by Boyce Thompson, but no longer.
 
Every once in a while, I like to include a little bit of the manmade in my work, because it tells a part of Arizona history that I’m interested in. This section of old US 60 is near a segment of the Arizona trail, winding around the slopes of an old volcano called Picketpost Mountain. I found it when I wandered off the trail one spiring afternoon. The bridge spans a section of a small tributary to Queen Creek, and because of seasonal waterflow, it is the ideal environment for little wildflowers. These tiny little beauties are creamcups and yellowthroat gilias, which are smaller than a fingernail. I thought the juxtaposition was interesting; little with big, natural with manmade, and a window to the landscape of Arnett Canyon beyond.
 
New roads may be faster, but the old way will always be more interesting to me.

$15,200 Framed

It’s no secret that I love wandering at the base of the Mazatzal Mountains in the late afternoon. About an hour from my home, down a bumpy dirt road, awaits a land rich with history and diverse plant species. It’s in the sweet spot between desert cholla and ponderosa pines at about 4000 feet. As I write this, it’s springtime, and soon I’ll be headed back to this place to check on the land and my plant friends.

The agave get all the attention in this area, but there’s a nice crop of yucca that demands closer examination. The flower pendants gobble up the late day light, and the curly leaf fibers swirl in shades of blue. This plant has so many uses; you can make shampoo, roast the fruit for food, make rope or baskets from the fibers, and create beautiful dye.

Once again, the land seems to give us everything we need, and on top of that we get beauty.
As a painter who loves color, I’m grateful for inspiration like this, and it makes me want to be a better steward of the land. I hope it does the same for you.

If you love Arizona, you’ve no doubt heard the legend of the lost gold in the Superstition Mountains.

In the 1840s, the Peralta family developed a gold mine in the mountains, and on their last expedition back to northern Mexico in 1848 were ambushed by Apaches. All were killed but one.

Since then, there has been an ongoing quest to locate the mine. In the 1870s, Jacob Waltz, “the Dutchman” (he was German) was supposedly aided by a Peralta descendant and found the mine. Waltz and his partner, Jacob Weiser, worked the mine and allegedly hid one or more caches of gold in the Superstitions.

Adventure-seekers have been looking for the treasure ever since. Some have been victims of foul play and death. Adding to the lore is the idea that Weaver’s Needle, the geological remains of a volcanic eruption, makes a shadow that points to the location on certain days of the year.

For me, the true treasure of this rugged area is found while hiking and exploring. In certain years, with the appropriate rain, slopes are covered with blue dicks, owl’s clover and mariposa lilies*.

In this composition I positioned a leaf of the lily so it points to the base of Weaver’s Needle, to pay homage to the legend.

Gold or not, this region is special. It’s a peaceful place, where lilies wave in the breeze, cerulean skies yield to golden sunsets, and indigo blankets the nights.

*Not to be confused with poppies, Mariposa lilies (Calochortus) are indeed lilies! The word Calochortus is derived from Greek and means “beautiful grass”.

There are some pretty special places in the higher elevations of Arizona. When the valley’s flowers fade in the summer heat, there are still treasures to find on the hilltops. One of my favorite destinations is near the farming and mining town of Safford, Arizona. The Pinaleño Mountains rise quickly here, to Mount Graham at 10,696 feet. Here, and only here, will you find a small population of endangered Mount Graham red squirrels.*

If you’re not afraid of twists, turns, and dirt ruts, you can travel the Swift Trail (thirty-three miles from the 191) through cottonwoods, sycamores, and ponderosa pines. There are stops along the way; amazing views of historic Fort Grant, and neighboring sky islands like the Galiuros and the Winchesters.

Somewere before the road ends, at a beautiful sparkling blue reservoir, there is a meadow.
On this July afternoon, it was teeming with life. Verbena, coneflowers and wallflowers were swaying in the breeze as pollinators performed touch-and-gos. We lingered here as long as we could, happy for the opportunity to observe this important work, and grateful for the inspiration. The pipevine butterfly landed in front of me, and I knew I would paint him and his flower. The moment exists only in my mind, and only here.

*Since 2014, the conservation center at the Phoenix Zoo has been working hard on developing a pilot breeding program in the hope of producing animals for release in the wild. Numbers of the Mt. Graham red squirrels were as low as thirty-five in 2017, after the Frye fire destroyed 48,000 acres of habitat in the mountain. Learn more at Phoenix Zoo

Inspiration

If by chance you plan to roam,
Pack a map, pack a comb.
Pack a lunch, pack a chair,
So you can sit,
When you are there.

Crack a beer, crack a smile,
Wander, linger, stay a while.
Talk to God, talk to friends
Stay until the bright day ends.

Thank you God for days like this,
Dusty roads, botanical bliss,
Enough gas and a true blue Jeep,
This will be the company I keep.

Each desert blooming season follows an order: hedgehog cactus, prickly pear, cholla, saguaro, with various wildflowers blooming throughout. I always look forward to the jewel colors of cholla blooms that are best seen in late afternoon light. While other cactus blooms are closing up for the day, buckhorn cholla seem to lean in and embrace every last minute of Sonoran sun.

In late April, I roll my Jeep down dusty dirt roads into the alluvial fans of the Superstations looking for the glow. Cactus like these can have good years and not-so-good years. If I’m lucky, I’ll spot a patch of happy chollas, pull off the road, and hike a bit around them, being careful not to puncture myself or step on a rattler.

These are the moments I love with all my heart. The quail song, coyote howl, and cholla glow in the last light of day.

Oil on canvas 60in. x 60in.

2005     Offered from Dyana Hesson’s  personal Collection

28,000

The circle, having no beginning and no end, is my favorite shape, both aesthetically and symbolically. A wedding ring, the fellowship of friends, and eternity can all be expressed with a circle. I have manipulated all sorts of flowers, cacti, and succulents into beautiful circles for this series.

Always important in my work is the significance of relationships. When you examine a bouquet of flowers, even if they are all the same type and color, there are distinct differences within the bunch. By themselves they are beautiful, but together they make an impact. The interplay of light and shadows, the repetition of shapes — simply put, the way each part relates to the next — makes a unified composition. It is the same with people, whether in a family or among friends. It is when we are together, offering our unique gifts and experiences to each other, that we are beautiful. So, whether they are circles of the same flowers or a variety of flowers or colors, I hope the viewer will delight in the beauty of the arrangement. My prayer is that they will consider and enjoy the beauty that is right before them, both on the canvas and in their lives.

Plants, like people, have a purpose. On this rocky slope in the Mazatzal Mountains, this native plant provides flowers for pollinators, seeds for birds, and erosion control for the land.

It was originally collected by Asa Gray and named for Dr. John Milton Bigelow (1804-1878). Interestingly, both men were physicians before becoming botanists.

On this sunny day, it was collected by a band of merry native plant enthusiasts, including me. My purpose? To paint it as best as I can; remembering the warm sunny day, high on the rocky slope, where the wild things grow

$19,500.00 Framed
 
There is a hilltop near Payson, Arizona that I love. It sits at about 4500 feet, with views of the East Verde River on one side, and the Mazatzal mountain range on other. This hilltop is a botanist’s dream, with a diverse array of cactus and native Arizona plants. There is evidence that an ancient civilization spent time building, gathering and communing in this place too. I think of their time here often when I visit. I wonder what gossip filled the air as the women sat at their grinding stations, looking up occasionally at the mountains in front of them.
 
In the wild, shelter is important. For the hiker, it’s the first thing to consider when stranded in the open; before water, before food, protection from the elements is vital. Plants benefit from shelter, too. Often in the Southwest, certain plants thrive only in the sheltered cover of another plant, or in the shade of a rock. In terrain with diverse geologic formations, life thrives.
 
I am grateful for the merry band of plant lovers who have taught me so much upon this hill.

And I am grateful for the things places like this teach me about my creator, who is my ultimate refuge and shelter under which I can thrive.

I have often described my botanical subjects as actors on a stage. In that spirit, I would describe the Ajo Lily as a tall, graceful fashion model, who likes long walks in the sand and stormy weather. But she is also elusive; difficult to cultivate, and goes missing for years at a time. Named “Ajo” by Spanish explorers because of the flower bulb’s garlicy taste, these flower stalks can stand up to 6 feet in height in a good year.

I found myself lost in the colorful whites in these lilies, but I was equally enamored with the wavy sculptural leaves that grow so long at times, that they flop over make beautiful spirographs when the wind blows them over the sand.

Yes, Hesperocallis Undulata is a beautiful woman named Lily, walking down the runway in an iridescent white blouse and a ruffled green skirt. She is a tall drink of water, and a welcome sight in a dry arid land.

With gratitude to photographer, Paul Gill, who hunts Arizona flowers far and wide.

Even if monsoon season was a bust, you can count on barrel cactuses to bloom in sheer reds and pale yellows (and in this case, golds) at the end of an Arizona summer. Barrel cactuses sit like little Buddhas in the southwest landscape, often overlooked and overshadowed by the larger, more prestigious, columnar saguaro; unless they are in bloom. On this day, I was in the right place at the right time. I saw the gold glow in the distance and spun the Jeep around, because that’s what you do when you love wild plants and places.

And I love flowers. Don’t you?

The Land of Grass and Flowers
Bellflowers and Railroad Grade at Benny Creek, White Mountains, AZ
Bloomed 8-25-24 5:30 PM           Oil on Canvas 40 in. x 30 in., 2026
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For years, this spot in the White Mountains of Arizona had intrigued me. Located in a cienega near Boardshack Knoll, the land dips and yields to Benny Creek. There is a small bridge that spans the gap, which always seemed like a sheep bridge to me.

One afternoon in August, after a glorious monsoon day, a friend and I finally explored the land here. The native grass swayed in the clean breeze, and interspersed in the straw were bobbing purple bellflowers, native to Arizona but found mostly in the White Mountains. It was a glorious sight as the sun slowly sank into the earth.

 
Later, after studying maps and doing research, I found the bridge was not for sheep, but for a train. The Apache Railway was built by Flagstaff lumberman Tom Pollak in 1916. Its purpose was to haul logs from Maverick (8000 feet el.) down a six-percent grade to the mill in McNary. The rails were built with the help of one hundred sixty mules and horses, and a camp of one hundred fifty men.

 
In 1965, a few railroad men decided to run the steam locomotive as a tourist excursion. The lumber ran at night, and passengers rode in the day. For $6.95 you could board at 9:00 AM in McNary, enjoy a cowboy picnic lunch of barbeque beef under the pines at Apache Springs, and return by 3:00 PM.

 
On its inaugural journey on June 26, 1965, dignitaries, family, and friends of the train crew boarded for the historic occasion. Jo Jeffers described it in the July 1966 issue of Arizona Highways: “That first day there were speeches by politicians and Indian leaders. ‘Tumbling Tumbleweeds’ and other cowboy ballads were sung and played by the deputy sheriff, and recitations by Milo Wiltbank, the cowboy poet of the White Mountains:

Why don’t you come up here with me,
Camp in the shade of an old pine tree,
Pitch your tent by a gurgling stream,
Sit in the sun and rest and dream?
You’ll enjoy your idle hours
Here in the land of grass and flowers,
Here in the old White Mountains.
 

Today the trains are gone, and only traces of the rails appear on satellite maps. Alas, I often feel I was born too late. But not to worry; you can hike this section all the way to the 260, and enjoy the pine covered knolls, and the cienigas, and bellflowers dancing in the land of grass and flowers.

40×30 oil on canvas
$9800 Framed

There is a hilltop near Payson, Arizona that I love. It sits at about 4500 feet, with views of the East Verde River on one side, and the Mazatzal mountain range on other. This hilltop is a botanist’s dream, with a diverse array of cactus and native Arizona plants. There is evidence that an ancient civilization spent time building, gathering and communing in this place too. I think of their time here often when I visit. I wonder what gossip filled the air as the women sat at their grinding stations, looking up occasionally at the mountains in front of them.

This is my first Ocotillo painting. The time was right to finally capture this iconic and loved Arizona bloom. As I worked, Christmas was approaching. As we unpacked tangled and partly working Christmas lights it occurred to me that the Ocotillo Bloom, in the sun, illuminates much like holiday lights. But as always, nature trumps store-bought for me, the simplicity and sheer, brilliant design of southwest blooms continue to work year after year.

Leave no Trace.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the August 1976 issue of National Geographic. The cover featured a Mexican woman seemingly dressed in–and surrounded by–monarch butterflies. The pages inside told the story of the annual monarch migration to Mexico, but I doubt I read the story. Back then I just looked at pictures; there were too many words. That same year, on a California road trip with my parents, I had been enthralled by monarchs hanging on the trees in Monterey. I fell in love with butterflies and doodled them on school notebooks.
These days, I’m a better reader, and love to research the plants I paint. And recently, the butterfly of my youth has led me to its host plant: the complex and vitally important milkweed.
There are over 30 species of milkweed in Arizona, but this one–the antelope horns–likes a certain terrain. A little higher, a little cooler, a bit remote; just my style.
So on a nice day in May, we went looking near Payson in the Mazatzal Mountains, with the East Verde River trickling nearby. Not a bad assignment. This land has been disturbed over the years by Native Americans, ranchers and bovine feet, which ironically is why these plants thrive here. Tall, stately and covered with pollinators, I began to spot them, mostly near the old Dolly Baby Ranch.

These plants are Airbnbs for pollinators, but it’s not a simple check-in. The unusual structure of the flower regulates pollination. Insects snag sacs of pollen on their legs, but then they must be perfectly inserted in the slits behind the crown. If the pollen is inserted backwards, the grains germinate in the wrong direction and are wasted. This is why there are so few pods produced per plant. For butterflies, it’s a survival game too; their species only lays eggs in milkweed, thus their declining numbers.

On this day, the juniper hairstreak butterfly was diligently pollinating. As I watched him work, it felt like I was witnessing a miracle. It’s moments like these that fuel the work of my hands.
After a long hike and a ritual soaking of my feet in the Verde, we began our drive home, over the hills and into the sunset. I feel pretty tiny on days like that; the world is so big and marvelous, and I’m grateful to be a part of something so wild.
A picture is worth a thousand words.

-dh

Garnet Cholla Blooms Near Queen Valley, AZ
Bloomed 5-2-25 8:00 PM

Oil on Canvas 48 in. x 48 in., 2025

$18,500

Nothing like a steep climb in the first quarter to make a girl feel optimistic. Enjoy the desert, leave no trace, pray for rain.

Mexican Poppies and Desert Dandelion* Near Tubac, AZ

Bloomed 4.17.24

28×22 oil on canvas

$4800

These poppies and desert dandelion were found in a sandy canyon near historical Tubac, Arizona. My friend Veronika and I first noticed the dandelions on the roadsides as we approached town, and then were excited to find more of this simple, happy flower down a sandy wash. I decided to paint the flowers suspended in the sky, untethered, perhaps twirling in a gentle Arizona breeze. A simple delight on a beautiful spring day.

*I researched the dandelion, to see if any were documented in my area of Arizona and found a New York Botanical Garden Steere Herbarium entry collected by a Mrs. Capt. Hoyt near Fort Apache in 1892.  A little more research led to a R.C. Hoyt who was stationed there the same year. What a delight to have a small connection to a fellow amateur botanist from so long ago. I think we would have been friends.

Can a cactus be famous? This one is, so much so that her common name is Queen of the Night. This cactus can be hard to find, and is often overlooked because it resembles a pile of dead sticks hiding under another shrub.
Supporting an underground blub weighing between 5-15 pounds, this plant flushes (blooms en masse) only once between May and August in a good year. Its beautiful fragrance attracts its special pollinator, the hawk moth. When the sun rises, the grand nocturnal event, like a royal ball, is over–just a memory.
Like so many wild plants, miraculous events need to line up to support its existence.
Tread lightly, keep your eyes open, and if you see the Queen, curtsy and enjoy the sight. You are in the presence of royalty.
This painting was inspired by the observations of Veronika Countryman and Marianne Skov Jensen.

Available at Manitou Gallery in Santa Fe

In the Southwest we are blessed by the beauty of many varieties of opuntia (or prickly pear), some native, some introduced. One of my favorite plants is the Chenille Prickly Pear. While in bloom, its flowers range from yellow to crimson on the same plant. But don’t get too close; also nicknamed Cowboy’s Red Whiskers, this plant is deceptively prickly due to its dense clusters of glochids (or microspines), which are painful and hard to remove.

These plants are most at home in the Monterrey region of Mexico and along the Rio Grand in Texas, but they are a favorite cactus in many southwest gardens, including mine. On this day, their colors looked as if they were dancing, twirling and spinning like ladies in their finest at a fiesta.