Sometimes I Think I Miss You

For a few years, I lived in the desert. And I don't mean like I lived in an arid place. From June to October, the day time temps at my office averaged 120 degrees Fahrenheit. It was hot. There was not a single annual water source in the entire basin in which I lived. I would go to sleep in the summer and have dreams of swimming. I started using sinus wash at first for my allergies (turns out deserts are a great place for allergens) but I kept using the sinus wash because getting water up my nose did something calming to my lizard brain. I touched water in a way that was necessary for my soul.

My second summer living in the desert, we built a cowboy cold pool. We got a metal water trough measuring 3'x3'x8', drilled a drain hole in it and some ports to attach a pool filter, and filled it with hose water. After work we'd sit in the unheated cow trough and my background anxiety would lessen just a little.

The desert freaked me out. It freaked me out in a way that changed me for good and bad. It f'ed up my skin, but it made me see beauty in austerity that I had previously never been able to see. The longer I was there, the more curious I became about the vast wilds of seemingly inhospitable land.

I learned desert wildernesses are endlessly interesting, but the other thing I learned is that the weirdest people I've ever lived around were with me in the desert.

I lived in a neighborhood which had million dollar houses next to meth compounds and everything in between. And, just up the hill from my house was an empty lot. Or so it seemed.

This lot was odd in the fact it had a brick and wrought iron fence completely surrounding it. The fence faced the street and houses abutted both its sides. Most of the houses did not incorporate brick or wrought iron, so that in itself was eye catching.

The first time I noticed this lot was on a winter run. I ran by the fence, and a vicious German Shepard charged the fence, jumping against the metal and brick. It slobbered and barked at me. I jumped back.

The next time I ran by the lot, the dog again attacked the fence, but I peered past it. I saw that while the lot was bare of any construction, a boat was parked on a trailer in there. And there was a plastic igloo, allegedly for the dog.

I went by the lot every time I ran. Sometimes the boat moved. It would be on the West end of the property one day, and then the North end the next. The dog always charged the fence, and anyone with a working brain knew, if that dog got through that fence, they were toast.

Then, one day while I plodded up the hill, I saw a Giant Tortoise in the lot. This was not a standard Desert Tortoise, but a rumbling battlewagon of a beast which would have come up past my knees, if I could have stood next to it. It trundled along the back fence line, and the German Shepard nearly tripped on it trying to get to the front fence to bark at me.

Then, months later, I saw the lot not only had an overly aggressive Shepard, a mysteriously moving boat, and a Giant Tortoise, but a Desert Tortoise now wandered around in there as well.

And this is what I both loved and found eerie about the desert. The longer you looked at something that seemed like nothing, the more you saw. I loved how nothing was really boring. Why was there a brick and iron fence in the middle of a neighborhood with nothing inside but a dog, a boat, and a handful of tortoises? Who was moving the boat? How was the dog staying alive? Just how many tortoises were there? And those questions, well, they freaked me out a little. Because I am not sure what kind of mind decides to make such decisions. I'm not sure I would like the person, if I could ever figure out who they were.

And while I do not ever want to move back to the desert, sometimes, in the calm of night, or the lull of an afternoon, I miss it. Just a little. I miss its wildness. I miss its eeriness. I miss its unpredictably. It was never boring, even when it was so mind meltingly hot I couldn't think.

So, I think I might miss you, desert, but only sometimes, and only a little, but in a way that I know will never let me shake you, no matter how much I try.