Calling all gardeners! I need your help!

But first, an explanation. Some of you may know that those of us who reside in the Sonoran Desert recently survived a miserable summer and fall where temperatures soared and rain was non-existent. The thermometer bubbled up to at least 110 degrees 54 days, at one point topping out at 119. We went five straight months without a drop of rain.

I’ve resided in Phoenix, Arizona over 30 years and have never lived through such a dismal time. People only went outside when absolutely necessary. One could get third-degree burns from a seatbelt. Birds and even insects vanished. Our hearty desert plants that are practically indestructible were dying all over. Trees turned brown and dropped their leaves, leaving skeletal branches against unrelenting, cloudless skies. Even our signature giant—the saguaro cactus—toppled over, dead from the heat.

I planted my spring garden before the worst hit. Vegetable gardening in the desert is always a tricky task, but I’ve been doing it a long time and understand the pitfalls, still I wasn’t ready for the unrelenting heat. No matter how much I watered, everything eventually withered and died. I kept going out to assess the damage, but all I did was get depressed. I’d show you pictures, but then I’d have to put up that warning: “Some viewers might find these images disturbing.”

We have two planting seasons here in the desert, the second comes the first week of October, but as I’d planned to travel for five weeks around that time, and it was still inordinately hot, I abandoned my plans, figuring there was no way my 26-year-old son Troy would water the little plants enough to keep them alive.

When I returned from my travels, the temperature had dropped enough for me to consider at least popping some greens in the dirt, so I asked Troy to pull a big turquoise planter from the garden up onto the patio. And there it was. A plant I didn’t recognize. The container had been sown with a packet of sunflower seeds, but, along with everything else in the garden, it had been abandoned, so the seedlings never appeared.

Still, somehow, this green plant—clearly no sunflower—had survived. I have no idea what it is, but as I stood over the pot ready to rip it out and plant some spinach and red-leaf lettuce, I paused. Tiny white flowers winked at me. When I considered tossing it in the compost heap, I realized that the tough little bugger deserved better, like maybe a Viking funeral.

I left the mystery plant in the pot, saving the lettuce for another time. And now, it’s taking over, thriving without any help from me.

As I will be traveling again soon, the garden remains deserted. But this strange plant seems happy. If anyone knows what it is, let me know. But even if it’s just an everyday weed, I think it deserves a chance, considering all it’s managed to overcome. Don’t you?

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