Night Magic in Tohono Chul

 

Is it dark out?  What about that street light on the corner,  the string of party lights in the neighbor’s backyard, the motion detector light across the street? No, it’s not dark. We live “under skyglow,—diffuse artificial brightening of the night sky,” as author Leigh Ann Henoin writes in her book Night Magic.  I live under skyglow. I can barely see any stars. It’s as if we, as a species, have grown afraid of the dark. We are so afraid of the dark that we close our parks at dusk.

 

As a child, I was deeply afraid of the dark.  I remember when electric cooperatives began offering large security lights to their customers.  Dusk-to-Dawn Mercury Vapor Lamps, designed to withstand the weather and provide bright, broad-area coverage for buildings and livestock, began popping up everywhere in rural communities. It created a wide spread of light on our driveway right outside our kitchen window. But the light did not reach the end of the driveway where the mailbox stood, and when I was sent out to get the evening newspaper, the dark surrounded me.

 

Our eyes need time to adjust to night vision to see in true darkness. In Night Magic, Henoin also writes, the pirates of old with the eye patch in our storybooks wore it to maintain their dark vision, so when going  below deck into the darkness, they could immediately see all.

I went out on a summer evening to Tohono Chul Garden near Tucson, AZ.  When I arrived, it was the golden hour, and the Catalina Mountains were a rosy pink, and the air was beginning to cool.  The garden sponsors “Chillin in the Chul” on summer nights. In summer, the garden closes at 2 pm and reopens at 6:30.  Realizing many visitors won’t want the night to be dark, they provide twinkly lights, live music, drinks, and tasty treats.

 

We are only visitors to the garden; so much life resides there year-round. The dusky light lures the desert tortoise to crawl unhurriedly from his burrow.  Bats swing into mosquito-catching duty.  The ants climbed right into the fun, finding the sweet cocktail remains on the table tops. When the deep dark finally arrived, I headed to the garden’s art gallery and its warm glow.

There was the exhibition of the queen of the night, the night-blooming cactus that opens its large white flowers in the dark, usually in June, so unfortunately, none were blooming in the garden during my visit.  The cactus itself is a scrappy, dry, unimpressive plant easily overlooked, so much so that I didn’t think to take a photo.  But at just the right time of year, it puts on a show that stops visitors in their tracks if they are lucky enough to be passing by.

 

It was when I was leaving the art gallery that I hesitated to step outside.  The cool evening air is welcomed by the snakes, scuttling rodents, and lizards. I wondered what might be lurking nearby?  The music covers the katydids and crickets, and owls wisely remain silent. Tarantulas and scorpions crawl quietly but quickly in the dark.

A new world surrounds us after the sun goes down, and I am not personally familiar with all these animals that rise with the moon.  Most I have only encountered behind glass, with a proper nameplate.

 

Fortunately, another well-lit venue offered entrance, and it showed me the beauty of the night. In the open-air Garden Pavilion, a 1200 sq. ft mural painted by Mural artist Ignacio Garcia welcomes you into Twilight Sonora.

Opened in February 2026, this enormous work of art pulls me into the desert night with night-blooming cactus, twinkling stars, owls, bats, a grasshopper mouse, shadows, mountain peaks, and clouds.

The moon rises. It glows in the night, it mesmerizes, and it feels so safe to stand knowing the scene before me will not move. I can stand and stare.

Deeply studying all that my eyes can’t see in the dark.

 

 

 

If you want to hear a grasshopper mouse howl, here’s a link to it courtesy of National Geographic.