DESERTS

Folklore and media  has created a mythological place where a big, bright, hot sun beats down mercilessly on an expansive sea of sand, an almost featureless landscape. It is usually viewed as a place where you will likely die if you were to venture too far out in it. Images of cow skulls, vultures roosting on a cactus, and occasionally a lone, half-crazed, unshaven individual who has ended up somehow in the vastness, crawling half-naked and dying from thirst, murmuring, "water...water!", as he hallucinates a palm tree and water laden oasis in the distance.

Actually deserts are not all the same, and only a few are actually like the above. It's true, most are arid and semi-arid areas of our planet Earth that have relatively sparse vegetation and limited water supply. And yes, rainfall in the desert is generally scarce and unpredictable.

Deserts cover 14% of the world's surface, about eight million square miles. They are also the hottest places on earth. And though we usually think of a desert as always hot, some desert night temperatures can frequently drop to below freezing.  Neither are all deserts truly dry. It's true, some have no water at all, but some have rivers or streams running through them and some have lakes. 

In general, many feel a dislike for the desert as it seems so inhospitable. They are the least appreciated of wilderness sanctuaries. It's true one needs to plan ahead if they venture far away from those resources we take for granted such as a water faucet, but the desert is really a beautiful place once you get to know it. They are a refuge for the human spirit. There are many who feel the desert is really an enchanted place. They are correct. The scenery in some deserts is as beautiful as any place on earth. And of course, there are people who live their entire lives in desert surroundings. Most learn to  respect the desert like a sailor respects the sea.

To many, the desert seems to have little life in it, when in reality there are a great variety of plants and animals. Though it appears lifeless, there are many intricate living systems. Nature has developed special species that have adapted to the harsh environment. Flora and fauna alike abound. With each, the cycle repeats itself. Some life forces lie dormant when it's hot, awaiting eventual rainfall that they need before they can spring forth.

There are deserts in many parts of the world. Here in North  America, the deserts comprise of close to 500,000 square miles of land, mostly in the southwestern part of the US and  northern Mexico. The American deserts are comprised of four main divisions. They are commonly called the  Chihuahuan, the Sonoran, the Mojave, and the Great Basin.

Perry Jasper 2010

Summer in the Sonora

I go for an early morning walk today in the desert. It's just past 6 AM as I head out of the neighborhood, along the old train track bed just the other side of the fence where I live in my RV. It draws me south, towards the border. I'm always drawn south, like a gravitational pull. "South" has always stood for important things to me: Mexico, warmth, culture, entertainment, others.

The sun has yet to clear the mountains to the east. The small spaces are still dark. No one seems alive as I glance at homes I pass by. "They don't know what they're missing," I think to myself, they need to get out of those houses and live. It's a peaceful, quiet time, and early mornings are always so fresh, like clean sheets on a bed or the first sip of an ice cold bottle of beer.  

Though most humans have yet to stir, mother nature has been up for some time now and she's talking to me. Off in the distance I hear a low rumbling--there's been some rain and thunder and lightning. I say some, as it's rarely ever enough. The locals call it "monsoon" season. I don't know why, monsoons are in Asia, and they're very windy also. Not so here. I have a fondness for thunder and lightning. It's such a wondrous exhibition of nature. I can't imagine anything as welcome as moisture in this harsh desert. As I deliberate, I feel an occasional drop of water on my head. There's a feeling of moisture in the air, a scent of tropicalness in my nose.

The light of the sun still low over there in the sky gives a soft glow on my surroundings. To the west, last night's moon gazes at me from the edge of a hill. As I walk, there's a constant demonstration around me. Grasshoppers jump away from me by the scores. Quail alarm me occasionally, as I do them as they burst out of the bushes suddenly and so quickly, really only a blur. Knats fly everywhere. A cactus wren calls, invisible from deep within a shrub. Cicadas buzz on-then-off, from trees somewhere in the diz-tance. Doves fly off, their wings squeaking.

The mesquite trees are so green and lush now. Their leaves almost glow in contrast to their dark branches. The red and yellow blossoms are dainty, beautiful, reminding me of some exotic bird.  The ocotillo  reach up high, high above me, their stalks covered with small green leaves. Their squiggley shape against the sky remind me of capillaries. As I look down again to see where I step, purple morning glories are numerous and add a gentler, garden-like atmosphere.

I must watch where I walk. I almost stepped on a sleeping, coiled rattlesnake a few weeks back. It was a bit unnerving. Fortunately it was like today - still in the cool of the morning and he wasn't moving too swiftly yet. He seemed to stare, that's all. Perhaps he knew I wasn't there to harm him. This time I stop and watch a tarantula rambling to nowhere in particular, on the lookout for a female to mate with probably. The horn of a train is just audible off to the south--must be a Mexican train, I surmise. I reflect on what it must have been like when there was no border. I wish I had been "back when".

As I proceed farther away from the edge of town, everywhere are remnants of so-called illegals: plastic water jugs, backpacks, someone's underpants. As I walk over a culvert I hope I'm not alarming anyone that may be sleeping down inside. I imagine some of them must be a little edgy. 

I discover a pile of old cans and broken bottles, so I poke around looking for pieces of purple glass or some other interesting artifact. Instead I find an old Cheez Whiz bottle complete with lid, and some mysterious dark lumps inside. Not a keeper, but hey. I had forgotten about Cheez Whiz. Camp food I call it. Food that doesn't require cooking or dishes to wash. I leave it and stand up again and see the sun has now peeked over the edge of the horizon, and realize I'm suddenly warmer. It's another good day in the Sonora.


PJ