To preface this chapter, I first went to Yermo in the Spring of 2020. Desert Gold, Five Spot, and Lupines abounded in a field adjacent to both a relic of the past in Calico Ghost town, and a contemporary thoroughfare of the weekend warrior, Interstate 15. I marveled at the reality of all the people hurtling towards Vegas with no conceptualization of what they were passing by in such a hurry. It’s a fantastic juxtaposition: the momentary existence of wildflowers in spatial proximity to the fast paced endeavors of humanity. It causes one to wonder if it’s all worth it, the collective shift towards an ever more frenetic pace in everyday life.
The desert itself mandates a slower pace for all of existence within its domain. End up in its grasp, and you will likewise fall in lock-step with a measured state of being. It is said that the subconscious works in ways unbeknownst to the part of the mind that we are all acutely aware of. Might this have an intangible connection with the desert? Is such an environment not aligned fundamentally with the common, and readily discernible, desires of humanity? For it is a select few who are exempt from the overall trend through their rare understanding. These are examples of humanity set apart from the masses. They prefer the solitude of a desert canyon, with the flitting sound of hummingbirds about the blooming bladderpod alone breaking the stillness. This is the way that the Mojave instills its prescience, its ancient knowledge, within a chosen individual who stands ready to listen. After all, almost no one ever does.
I moved to Yermo in the heat-induced doldrums of August and, well, it was 115+ degrees for nearly 3 straight weeks after that, and I quickly stopped wondering why I never saw anybody walking around outside. The neighbors, however, were cordial. I myself became known as "the guy with the dog and the camera". This refrain was communicated to me on several occasions, hence the clarity of my remembrance. Yermo may understandably itself not be a destination, even for the occasional desert enthusiast, but there are so many cool places to go nearby, especially down Interstate 40. Pisgah is relatively close at hand. Amboy is a desert stone's throw away from that, further down. Barstow is 9 minutes away by car, and scenic highway 247 leading southward into Yucca Valley and the Morongo Basin, best known for its proximity to Joshua Tree National Park, is not difficult to find or navigate along. The Calico hills, if not congested with off-road enthusiasts, make for a unique Yermo adventure. My thoughts on OHV use in the desert may be elaborated in a future post or topic, and it is a touchy subject. But what I will say here and now is that the riders I met in the canyons near to the ghost town were always good natured, helpful, and generally responsible humans (aside from some trash left in certain areas). I never encountered the malevolent, evildoing caricature often portrayed as a blanket image for those who simply view the desert, and their role within it, differently. This is not to say that I ignore, or otherwise condone, those who illegally mar the landscape and treat it as less than what it is. Having an opinion in this respect is a tough line to walk.
Was fun for a while. If you get the chance, I'd say choose wisely or stay part-time. It can get a little isolated out there. Nonetheless, if you have good people, it's worth it. My brother driving up from Riverside and Isaiah being off from work on the weekends made this brief chapter worthwhile. I lived for Sundays in which nonstop football was on for 7 hours, from 10am until about 5pm. I cooked breakfast and we burned so much sage that the entirety of the house became shrouded in a nearly impenetrable veil of sweet smelling smoke. Sage Sundays, as we affectionately called 'em. The beauty of the desert really served to top it all off. I have to say, I even miss EddieWorld just a bit. And the thrift shop. And walking through Odessa and Mule canyons with Davis. And taking both dogs to Jack in the box or Dairy Queen for a ride in the car and a treat of fresh fries. And the sun striking the Calico hills. And, to circle back to the initial topic of this post, that endless field of Desert Gold.
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