The Desert Changes a Person

Something about the vastness, the great emptiness, the abscence of human sound other than your own breath- it exposes and magnifies any cracks in your soul.

There is something about watching the clouds roll in, the dust storm approach through the mountain pass miles away, and yet being powerless to do anything but watch it approach. The millions of pin pricks impaling the skin on the back of your neck as you turn to shield your face.

The strong scent of rain, of ozone- so much more overpowering than back east- drenching the dry sandiness of your insides, where your heart should be, washing away the bitterness and regret, eroding away the hardened hatred along the cracks until small hollows form and eventually become man-sized caves where the pain used to be.

The desert changes a person.

So many things larger than you- you, small, insignificant, irrelevant to the searing heat, the bitter cold, the unrelentless wind.

Life is hard. Small problems dissappear through necessity. Day to day stress melt away in lieu of calculating the water left in the camelback, and not loosing the trail in the stark but deadly beauty. The desert tortoise, the horned lizard, the ravens- all survive just fine. The evidence is in the tracks.

"I coud die out here, and no one would know- not in time to save me, not before my bones are picked clean. They wouldn't know where to look. " Aloneness, physical, and emotional, magnified. "A broken ankle, a slip, a fall, a knock on the head, a snake bite. It's all over, so suddenly." No man is an island, but I live in a vaccuum, both real and imagined.

The rusted out old chevy sedan, half burried in rocks rounded by years of water. There is no river here, not now- but once, once, this car was parked, or was driven across this valley, or perhaps a higher valley- when the storm clouds gathered over the pass. No glass, no head lights, no upholstery; boulders on the roof, cobbles filling the spaces where feet and legs and pocket books once resided. Nothing but silence (the deafening noise ringing in my ears) and the clatter of cobbles as the dog explores this former trap, sticking her head out of the empty rear windshield. The panting and scramble of paws for a food hold.

Death Valley.

This is the Mojave I know.

The desert changes a person.

March; mid-spring. 70s at lower elevations, but up in the pass, it was cold, windy; 45 and spitting a swirling snow. We pass the abandoned mine shaft, equipment left to rust and lose their features in the sun. The long dirt road, hours from the last paved road, after so many turns I can't remember. We passed a ranch with curious steer. A whale, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere, painted up high on the valley wall.

More abandoned mines than I can count lie haphazardly throughout the hillsides- some recently shut down (steel, modern equpiment left to rust), others old, with rotting wood timbers, and shacks that pass daylight. Slowly collecting swirling snowflakes where the wind eddies- they sit still for a few seconds before dissapearing without leaving a wet spot. Its hard to ignore the snese of decades passing before your eyes.

This is the Mojave I know.

The desert changes a person.

ice cream

ice cream, ice cream, ice cream. and not the store bought kind that comes in a tub or a box (yay! freezer burn!). Its a cultural thing around here.

Upside: you can find all these great family owned ice cream stands within a half-hour of my house. Its freshly made, there are more flavors than you can really choose from (too many choices), and its so smooth and creamy. and cheap.

Downside: who gets to go get ice cream from an ice cream stand by themselves? Its right up there with going to a playground without a kid. you HAVE to bring someone with you to get ice cream. going alone is just not done.

Its funny. Once you leave New England, for the most part, there are no great ice cream stands. The best you can do is a Dairy Queen, or a Stewarts (in new york). McDonald's soft serve. yuck. If you're lucky, you might find a Marble Slab- but thats way over priced, and their ice cream has a LOT of those ice crystals in it that eventually rub your tongue raw. There are very seldom any mom & pop ice cream stands. Its very sad.

Maybe there are some in Wisconsin - they have a lot of cows, so maybe they have ice cream stands too.

One of those homesickness things that will bring me to my knees is a lack of quality ice cream.

Beyond Late - Maybe I'm Early

So here I am. A little late, as usual. No- really late. I jumped off the 'current culture' bandwagon BEFORE blogs were mainstream, so now that I'm waking up again, maybe I'll climb back on the wagon. I blinked, and then suddenly *everyone* is discussing their blog. I feel left out.

Why would I bother? I'm bored. good enough for me.

I've moved around a lot. In the past 4 years or so, I haven't stayed in any one place longer than 12 months- with an interesting mix of permanent and temporary moves thrown in. I'm not saying why- if you know me, you'll know why. The big picture is that this is all changing, and HOPEFULLY the upheavel is in its death throws. I'm trying to glue life together again, one.last.time.

Places I've lived in 3.5 years: South-central Texas (3 months + 3 months + 12 months), The Mississippi Gulf Coast (3 months: Pre-Katrina), Nevada (6 months), Virginia (1 month, doesn't really count, but I'll throw it in for good measure), Alabama (1 month- see Virginia), Southern New England (12 months +.....) . That about sums up my life as of late. I'm really tired. Bone tired and weary. I feel old, worn out, exhausted. My car does too. I've calculated the mileage from the road trips in the past year alone: 12,000 miles. Really, thats since last September. And it doesn't include day to day driving, as well as weekend fun trips (which have been few).

Why bother listing? To explain the title, of course. A Sense of Place. Thats what I need. A Sense of Place. Everytime I start to get that within my grasp, I suddenly spirit myself off (whether its my idea or not is another question). But here I am, thinking I'm finally going to get stuck here (stuck being good). Home is such a mythical concept - but if I can get a sense of place, I might just get my head screwed on right.

What is a sense of place? knowing without having to see for yourself anymore how it smells in the rain, how it sounds in the fog, how crappy the drivers tend to be, what the local transit system (if any) is called, what's in season for produce throughout the year, where the best sunset spots are, where the good bars are with 40+ micro-brews on tap, what neighborhoods to avoid, which weatherman tends to be WAY off, etc.... the list goes on. and on. the old question of what makes home home. Its really important. to me, at least, and damnit, this is mine.

That being said, I wonder if I'll ever mention it again. It seemed to be a good title. But my hindsight is WAY better than my foresight, so we'll see.