Two weeks ago, a sudden Biblical sleet chased NBN from Romero Canyon during our Sunday hike. So when Pima County Parks and Rec offered a wildflower identification hike along Hidden Canyon Trail last Saturday it seemed like a nice alternative to tempests.

Imagining that anything county-organized would leave the trailhead at 8 a.m. sharp, I nearly ran the Jeep out of gas rushing to join the group alongside Starr Pass Road. But wildflower expert Meg Quinn was in no hurry. The flowers — or my budding allergies — weren’t going anywhere.

I didn’t ask about Quinn’s search-and-rescue qualifications. No matter, as the trail wasn’t particularly hazardous. Only a couple sharp switchback descents appeared, and most of the hikers had brought trekking poles anyway.

From the outset, the pack stopped frequently to marvel at various plant species. Several hikers pulled an illustrated identification guide from their packs, “Wildflowers of the Desert Southwest,” which Quinn wrote.

“This is like an Easter egg hunt,” a voice up front sounded.

Our host steered us along the hike, a Hollywood Walk of Fame transposed for Sonoran Desert flora where the dirt carpet rolled past droves of local actors — like the Sleepy Catchfly that glues up gnats until they fall to the ground and fertilize the plant.

We marveled at the Jojoba shrub, the only local plant to be domesticated worldwide for the valuable oil in its seeds, which replaced sperm whale oil in cosmetic uses.

Some of us who skipped breakfast considered munching the wooly plantain, a Native American favorite to cure stomach ailments, which sprung abundant along the trail. Quinn explained it was high in protein.

The omnipresent and incandescent yellow ragweed called bursage — responsible for Tucson’s brisk Kleenex trade during the past week — lit up the hike, as well.

As the pack divided among two groups — nine experienced hikers hitting their stride and nine nature lovers stopping to smell the cactus — Quinn would repeat her findings frequently, like a museum curator catering to groups of field trippers.

Dick Gelpke, a beanpole-statured geography professor, earned more mileage from his corny wit than the GPS unit clipped to his butt pocket. Eventually, he yielded on memorizing the floral inventory and repeated plant names into a digital voice recorder.

“My mental memory card is getting full,” quipped Gelpke.

Quinn identified wild carrot and wild onion for us, and a hiker who offered her name as “The Rockhound” challenged me to create a Sonoran Desert salad sometime — a meal she regularly assembles, dressed with cactus jellies.

Rockhound said she’d lived across the country, and the desert won her over, with its unique array of botany and wildlife.

“Back in the Midwest, there’s only one shade of green,” the Rockhound said. “And it’s green.”

At noon, the hike ended with the strange vision of the Starr Pass resort’s pool, and we wondered whether the tour would conclude with a swim. Instead, several hikers offered applause for Quinn and her expertise.

Rockhound handed her copy of Quinn’s guide to the author, for an autograph. Quinn signed on a page featuring the Mariposa — an orange flower that wasn’t supposed to have bloomed just yet, though we found one anyway.

As Quinn penned, and I searched for a fresh Kleenex, Rockhound turned and said we now had something to cap our column. Maybe we’re getting predictable in this business, but Rockhound, you hit the reporter right on the head.