Longing
“We need wilderness because we are wild animals. Every man needs a place where he can go to go crazy in peace. Every Boy Scout deserves a forest to get lost, miserable, and starving in. Even the maddest murderer of the sweetest wife should get a chance for a run to the sanctuary of the hills. If only for the sport of it. For the terror, freedom, and delirium. Because we need brutality and raw adventure, because men and women first learned to love in, under, and all around trees, because we need for every pair of feet and legs about ten leagues of naked nature, crags to leap from, mountains to measure by, deserts to finally die in when the heart fails.”
I long for the desert West. An already overdeveloped land with too many people and not enough water. It’s Ed Abbey’s fault. All those beautiful essays written about the place conjured up romantic images in my mind that were only confirmed by subsequent visits.
Why leave a place blessed with water and a moderate climate for a harsh one where live is a struggle? I can’t answer that, and no, it’s not logical. I have no idea why my spirit seems to grasp for this place, beyond the obvious. The vastness, the color, the heat, it’s varied landscapes and multitude of interesting inhabitants like Gila monsters, rattlesnakes, javelina, Texas horned lizard, Cactus wren.
I find Barrel, Cholla and Saguaro cactus so much more interesting than azaleas and oak trees. Nothing wrong with the mighty oak, but I’ve lived with them for 47 years. Time for something different like replacing my Southern Baptist neighbors with Crucifixion thorn, Mormon Tea and Joshua Tree.
“What draws us into the desert is the search for something intimate in the remote.”
Also of note is the fact that my companion of twenty-five years does not want to move. She wants to remain here in a violent city full of fat, ignorant, religious zealots. We regularly make a number of top five lists for obesity, a poor educational system and violence. Throw in rampant racism and the fact that my home is the Southern Baptist capital of the world, and it’s easy to feel my pain.
Most days are a struggle to get out the door and to the office. Just the thought of having to be tailgated all the way to work by hoards of angry, bad drivers is enough to make me never leave the patio. Once I get there it’s not so bad. I have a nice workplace with good people. Much to be grateful for, but I can do this job in other places. There’s nothing sacred or critical about me being here.
Simply put, this town has a bad vibe. People are angry, violent and backward. Many of the religious extremists are about a step or two ahead of the Taliban.
I feel breaking point is near. I can no longer pretend the ugliness isn’t there and satisfy myself with “this is home.” I’ll have to make a decision just to maintain whatever level of sanity I have remaining, and it’s questionable how much really remains. I think about Austin a lot and see it as sort of a compromise move. A more progressive city near the desert where my wife will have the things she wants and needs, not the least of which is extensive healthcare.
Family? That’s an issue, but some have already moved, more will move or others will frankly die soon.
Too harsh? Perhaps, but most of the family we’re the closest to has either already left, are planning to leave or wishing they could leave. Some that are dear will remain behind, but that’s just the way it is. They can either visit me west of the Mississippi or in a mental ward here in Tennessee.
But even a city like Austin, as great at it is, is not a long term solution for me. The only way to really live is out of the city. In the countryside where you can walk out your back door and start a hike. Where you can actually see the stars at night and hear nocturnal predators other than the ones carrying .45′s. Where there’s fresh air and no traffic. That’s the only way to live, not being all stacked up on top of one another and on blood pressure meds for the rest of your life.
Some have asked, “well, what if everyone wanted to do that? What would be left of the countryside then?”
A fair question, but not realistic. Most people hate the country and hate the desert. It’s too lonely and too harsh, especially the desert, a hot, barren place where everything either stings, bites or sticks you. They love their city life with its urban noise, packed streets and stores. One man’s paradise is another man’s hell.
“The desert is a land of surprise, some of them terrible surprises. Terrible as derived from terror.”
Sorry, Ed. I know you said “stay away.” To “take the other road,” but you wrote too well friend. You sold me on emptiness and solitude, and I’m headed your way. I’ll tread lightly and happily let coyotes feast on my bones when the time comes.
I just can’t die here having never known.
Very well put. I can definitely get down with all of that.