Joshua Tree

I spent 10 days in Southern California at the beginning of the year. New Yorkers have this thing about California. We've internalized Annie Hall to the point where we're convinced that the effervescent sunshine out west must be hiding deep, dark secrets because how else could the weather be so damn nice all the time?

The only secret I found out was how happy and at ease I felt there. It was in no small part because of my tour guide and his highly selective greatest-hits tailored perfectly to a country yet city girl who likes getting dirty but more often than not needs a nice americano in the morning and wants to inspect up-close every cactus, leaf and flower under her nose. It was a whirlwind, and I think I felt the most inspired and energized during our time in Joshua Tree.
The Mojave and the Colorado deserts join forces in Joshua Tree and visiting it's rocky terrain is something of a pilgrimage for artists, hiking vagrants and U2 fans alike. I fell hard for the desert, so unfamiliar and fascinating. It was cold, even by East Coast standards. As we scrambled from rock to rock, our toes froze and required a thaw courtesy of some spicy indian food and the car heater on high. The next day it snowed, shattering many Southern California conceptions. Happy surprises, all around.

To describe the beauty in Joshua Tree as subtle, especially in winter, seems the easiest solution. A rocky abyss, brown, brown, brown and dusty enough to camouflage the blackest shoes in a matter of minutes. But subtle doesn't remotely describe the huge cactus spikes, hazy mountains, coral wildflowers and chartreuse lichen. Little fighting plants everywhere you look, huge boulders balanced, seussical trees for miles and banana date milkshakes at the local diner.

It's put me in the mood for geodesic domes and cactus gardens and while it couldn't be further from all of the things that speak of home to me, I somehow felt at home there, too. When expanding your horizons, an expansive horizon is always a beautiful backdrop.