Of absolutely no concern to the desert

I arrived late yesterday afternoon at the St. Joseph Mission located on Soboba Reservation lands after driving from Phoenix.  What a beautiful desert drive I had, traveling along I-10, through the Sonoran landscape looking out upon its muted pinks, browns, purples and greens.  I am a road trip girl, so four-plus hours of desert driving are pure heaven for me.  When I was a little girl, I wanted, no yearned, to be an explorer – to travel alongside Magellan, Columbus, de la Salle or Lewis and Clark.  I imagine seeing mountains, rivers, forests and prairie in their unspoiled, pure and pristine states.  As I look out at gnarled trees, oddly shaped cacti, craggy ridges, dry washes and deep blue skies, I wonder what all of this looked like to the eyes of a 15^th and 16^th century Spaniard?  What did he think when he saw this stark, yet beautiful landscape? As I drive along, these romantic, girlish wonderings fill my head.

I listen to local radio stations, as they come in and out of range – lots of ranchero, norteno, cumbia as well as twangy American country music.  I see signs for Joshua Tree National Park, Coachella and Palm Springs.  I see developments that seem to spring up from nowhere and connect to nothing.  What are these walled collections of tiled roof homes and lawns doing in the middle of the desert?   Who lives here and why do they try to make it green?

I see massive wind farms and I feel my roller skate of a car rental shimmy in the desert winds.  Sunglasses, bottled water, a cell phone and cold car a/c do not feel like luxuries – they feel like necessities.  I am surprised at the number of bars I have on my cell.  Despite the desert looking raw and unspoiled at various junctures along my route, modernity is clearly out here.  I wonder if I would have had the fortitude to have done this in armor, on horseback, without a map or GPS. 

And when no radio stations can be tuned, my mind becomes still. All I can hear is the sound of the tires on the highway and in the late afternoon shadows, the desert makes me feel small and alone; tender and vulnerable.  I am deeply aware of my human-ness and that I am not a natural part of this environment.  I am a visitor.  My romantic, girlish notions ebb away as I remember why I am out here. 

The finest quality of this stone, 

these plants and animals, 

this desert landscape 

is the indifference 

to our presence, 

our absence, 

our coming, 

our staying or our going. 

Whether we live or die 

is a matter of absolutely no concern to the desert.  

 Edward Abbey