A few days I ago I was making the long morning drive to Needles, and I passed a coyote walking down the side of the road. It was shortly after 6am and slightly under 100F, a quiet morning of sun and highway. He barely flinched as I drove past him pushing 60, like he knew I was there to just pass by.
It’s hot here in the Mojave. We love to talk about it. You know when you’re baking and you open the oven? The feeling of the heat rushing over your face and arms? It’s a little like that. It’s astonishing, and only harsh in the forgivable kind of way.
Some days we drive two, three hours to our field site. Those days, emerging from air-conditioning and drive-induced daydreams, the hot desert wind goes right through me. Like it sees all the other places my mind goes, and it wants to ground me. It works, mostly. It’s humbling, and I’m thankful.
The creosote blooms, and fruits, and blooms again. Soon the monsoon season will be upon us, meeting the desert with an abounding sizzle.
Occasionally I like to read the horoscopes over on the Toast. They’re always peaceful and inspiring, and they help me zoom out and see the bigger picture. Here is a chunk of mine from June: Think how lucky we are: life is vast, on a scale we cannot imagine, but it isn’t infinite. These summer days might stretch out as far as you can see, but you don’t have to do everything there is to do in this world. You don’t have to be everything to everyone; you don’t even have to be everything to yourself.
I think I’m in the middle of learning a lot of lessons, but I’m still in that milky stage where I feel as if I’m falling short. But then: you don’t have to be everything to everyone. You don’t even have to be everything to the desert.
You can only live your own life, strange and specific and sweet.
So, I zoom out. I see the the vast expanse of creosote, the unrelenting yet forgivable heat, and the extraordinary life that grows here. I see a lot of heart. I think about all the thousands of years of these cycles, of the creosote blooming and fruiting and blooming and sizzle. And I think about that coyote, who saw all along that I’m just passing through.
Kate Sinnott
Sensitive & Invasive Plant Monitoring Intern
Needles Field Office
Bureau of Land Management
You blog captures the desert so well!