We’ve taken three rides on the desert in this past week. Two were joyful, terrific and one was a bit of a trial, since we were in a wash filled with deep sand and gravel that made the going a bit hard, and we happened to get ourselves kinda-sorta lost for a little while (yes, we had a map AND a compass!). All three rides, though, were wonderful adventures filled with discovery and exploring, seeing places and things we’ve never seen before. Encountering new is one of the things I love most about riding our four-wheelers whether we are in the Wyoming mountains or the Arizona desert. Pioneering to new places satisfies a curiosity that is ever-present inside me.
I love to absorb the feeling and demeanor of a place. The desert intrigues me. From the big perspective, the desert is so very beautiful. We’ve seen panoramic vistas that completely surround us and some of the biggest skies I’ve ever seen. We’ve seen steep and rugged canyons lying in silent mist that epitomize beauty and serenity. But close up, the desert is different. Still beautiful, maybe. Threatening and suspicious, unwelcoming and inhospitable, certainly. Every plant has thorns or barbs, rocks are sharp and jagged-edged.
So much in the desert landscape points upwards — ancient saguaros, ocotillo stems, rock spires and spindles. Sometimes I look at these and think they are pointing upwards to God, their Creator, giving Him credit for their life and each day. In other moments, however, when the sun is beating down and the dust is in my eyes and throat, I wonder if the desert isn’t trying to send a message to me instead – letting me know that here I am an outsider and this world has no actual need or desire for my presence. Those are the moments I think maybe those spires and cacti are, perhaps, flipping me off.
