Joshua Tree
Tuesday, 12 April 2005 13:47![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scotcheggWhen I cease to look, I begin to see
I do all in my power every year to make a pilgrimage to Joshua Tree to experience the desert in Spring. I first started doing this with my son when he was small and a friend, an old hippy who introduced us to this alien landscape.
She would tell us stories of visiting Hidden Valley, under the influence of some mind altering substance (this was the 60’s and it IS Southern California) and seeing the wind whip through the formations and cactus, caressing and enfolding all.
When first I enter the park, all is dun colored and my vision, clotted from an unending barrage of billboards, screens – computer, television, movie, magazines, all constantly vying for my attention (and dollar) betrays me, seeing nothing. Then something begins to change, ever so subtly. My breathing and thought patterns slow down and my dulled senses start to sharpen. Is that sage I smell?
This place is my church. This place is my school. I relearn how to just be, without effort, just like a child. The clutter of modern life ebbs away and with clarity, I start to see. Colors, shapes, blooms, camouflaged creatures more fantastic than any CGI studio could produce. I am convinced that Theodore Geisel found his inspiration here for his fantastic worlds and creatures as Dr. Seuss.
Countless artists have drawn creative sustenance here – legend has it that the friends of minstrel Gram Parsons buried him under a moonless sky. Once, I befriended a desert rat, living in a battered airstream, peddling Confederate flags with images of a young Elvis silkscreened over the top. He showed me his treasured possession with hands as knarled as the bark of an occitillo cactus – blurred Polaroids of him with The Man In Black himself, Johnny Cash, who would roam the desert alone from time to time. it was a relic much like the pilgrims of medeivial times would carry as proof of divinity.
For years, I had searched high and low for a sign of the elusive Bighorn Sheep to no avail. Just, the wrong time, the wrong location. A few years back, I took the man who would become my husband to the desert. It is a place of mystery to him, as he comes from England. We went in July, with me warning him of the surety of crippling heat. We found ourselves under a cloud cover, keeping the park at an unusual spring like temperature. The park was close to deserted and we set up camp, feeling as though we had the entire 700,000 plus acres to ourselves.
We hiked around Barker Dam, one of the most traveled and visited areas. I played the tour guide, focused on checking off landmarks, pretty much unaware of my surroundings. We rounded a corner, hearing a curious knocking noise, to find ourselves witness to two males locking horns. Never have I stood so still as we watched their awkward dance, as they would back up, run for each other, grind their horns together. Whether or not they knew of our presence, we could note tell – they were engrossed with each other completely. After what seemed an eternity, they grew bored and wandered off together, unimpressed, while we gaped in wonderment. When I cease to look, I begin to see.
I am a lax student and disciple most of the time but I know that Joshua Tree is dying. The crowds, the RV’s, the invisible pollutants. The keepers of the park remind and rebuke all to leave no trace and take nothing but photographs, but I read of the illness that infects this place as well as many of our National Parks. Everything one needs to know can be found here if one will only give of themselves a day or so.
I do all in my power every year to make a pilgrimage to Joshua Tree to experience the desert in Spring. I first started doing this with my son when he was small and a friend, an old hippy who introduced us to this alien landscape.
She would tell us stories of visiting Hidden Valley, under the influence of some mind altering substance (this was the 60’s and it IS Southern California) and seeing the wind whip through the formations and cactus, caressing and enfolding all.
When first I enter the park, all is dun colored and my vision, clotted from an unending barrage of billboards, screens – computer, television, movie, magazines, all constantly vying for my attention (and dollar) betrays me, seeing nothing. Then something begins to change, ever so subtly. My breathing and thought patterns slow down and my dulled senses start to sharpen. Is that sage I smell?
This place is my church. This place is my school. I relearn how to just be, without effort, just like a child. The clutter of modern life ebbs away and with clarity, I start to see. Colors, shapes, blooms, camouflaged creatures more fantastic than any CGI studio could produce. I am convinced that Theodore Geisel found his inspiration here for his fantastic worlds and creatures as Dr. Seuss.
Countless artists have drawn creative sustenance here – legend has it that the friends of minstrel Gram Parsons buried him under a moonless sky. Once, I befriended a desert rat, living in a battered airstream, peddling Confederate flags with images of a young Elvis silkscreened over the top. He showed me his treasured possession with hands as knarled as the bark of an occitillo cactus – blurred Polaroids of him with The Man In Black himself, Johnny Cash, who would roam the desert alone from time to time. it was a relic much like the pilgrims of medeivial times would carry as proof of divinity.
For years, I had searched high and low for a sign of the elusive Bighorn Sheep to no avail. Just, the wrong time, the wrong location. A few years back, I took the man who would become my husband to the desert. It is a place of mystery to him, as he comes from England. We went in July, with me warning him of the surety of crippling heat. We found ourselves under a cloud cover, keeping the park at an unusual spring like temperature. The park was close to deserted and we set up camp, feeling as though we had the entire 700,000 plus acres to ourselves.
We hiked around Barker Dam, one of the most traveled and visited areas. I played the tour guide, focused on checking off landmarks, pretty much unaware of my surroundings. We rounded a corner, hearing a curious knocking noise, to find ourselves witness to two males locking horns. Never have I stood so still as we watched their awkward dance, as they would back up, run for each other, grind their horns together. Whether or not they knew of our presence, we could note tell – they were engrossed with each other completely. After what seemed an eternity, they grew bored and wandered off together, unimpressed, while we gaped in wonderment. When I cease to look, I begin to see.
I am a lax student and disciple most of the time but I know that Joshua Tree is dying. The crowds, the RV’s, the invisible pollutants. The keepers of the park remind and rebuke all to leave no trace and take nothing but photographs, but I read of the illness that infects this place as well as many of our National Parks. Everything one needs to know can be found here if one will only give of themselves a day or so.
