A Concerned Citizen

The desert is changing me, or at least my behavior. Then again, it could be age.

This part of the world has a lot of rugged individualists, but in at least one sense I'm finding that I'm becoming the exact opposite. I've never been a fan of torture or cruelty, not that most people are, but I'm getting further and further away from acting in my own self-interest or justifying my actions because something is easier for me or simply because I want it.

To be specific, I'm talking about plants and animals.

To get an idea of what I mean, check out this Google satellite image of my immediate neighborhood – http://goo.gl/QVNzU

After being appalled by the ugliness and boring sameness of the desert, look again, maybe zooming in a notch or two and looking around the area. It's not as obvious from ground level, but it didn't take me very long at all living here to see that within just about every property's fenced in area, there's hardly any vegetation (mine included).

And, I've decided that hardly any of this clearing was done on purpose.

Years ago, when I had my first Jeep, I used to love driving around in the mountains and desert, climbing hills, tearing up the land, and working all four wheels for all they were worth. It was fun.

I'd heard some of the concerns, even back then, about off-road driving and riders ruining the fragile ecosystem, but the only part of that that I paid any attention to was driving only in authorized areas. I've always, usually, been pretty much a wuss when it comes to breaking the law.

In the past few weeks, however, after getting both of my gates to work, I've noticed a change in my attitude. In the mornings I usually stroll around my enclosed area, picking up trash, seeing if anything's been damaged or any of my outside possessions have moved, and just checking around to see which of the holes in the ground are active. Also, it must be said, basking in the knowledge that it's mine.

I also check for animal tracks to see if any coyotes or anything has been messing around, and for longer than it should have, puzzling over circular tracks that surrounded some of the plants (I even took some pictures of them, which would make this blog visually appealing, but you don't get to see them yet because they're still locked in the camera). After going outside on one of our particularly windy days, I saw a lower branch on one plant scraping the ground and figured them out.

See, the wind blows, moves the plant, and when it hits the ground it moves some of the sand and small rocks aside, leaving a mark. Since the plant is rooted and can't move much, the branch acts like a compass when the wind moves it about.

In my investigations, I've seen just about all the plants that live on my property. There are probably only, at most, a half-dozen different varieties, but a few of those have examples of them in different stages of growth. Some I've come to recognize as fully grown, others as their earliest arrival on the planet, just past a sprouting seed.

Yeah, I take the time to do that sort of thing when I should be doing something else, something worthwhile and productive.

Even though I've only been here a couple months now, and haven't even lived through one summer, it's pretty obvious to me that everyone who's called the desert a “harsh environment” knows what they're talking about. It's not too much of a stretch to say that what lives here ekes out an existence, and I'd be dead in no time without the nearby town and grocery stores.

For better or worse, it's given me a deep appreciation for what lives here and a sense of respect for all those things. They were here, obviously, before me and have managed to grow, reproduce, and survive for tens or hundreds or thousands of years. I think it's fair to say that something that's figured out how to live here over the past few hundred thousands of years deserves a little respect.

Even bugs. Even stupid little, ugly plants.

When I first drove the Jeep from my house to the front gate, I drove around the large plants if for no other reason than “why mess with them?” By the second trip, I was avoiding driving anywhere that wasn't just sand. Part of that may have been because I saw the tiny shrubs as “mine” and not to be messed with, but a large and growing element of that decision came from a “live and let live” philosophy.

Yes, I'm a member of this planet's dominant species and can pretty much do whatever I want, but there's rarely any reason for me to do so. If they're not actively engaged in trying to kill me or ruin my stuff at the moment, why not just let them live? It's what I'd want them to do.

So, instead of flexing my muscles, doing what I want, and showing these struggling plants who's in charge here, I drive and walk around them. Yep, it only takes a couple seconds to kill them off, but it also only takes a couple seconds to go out of my way and let them live to see another day.

I'm sure that hardly anyone living up here clears the land around their houses. The satellite photos show what the land looks like when we leave it alone, and also how our walking around, driving around, and just generally mucking about strips away the plants. I'm convinced it isn't intentional, just something that happens over the days, weeks, and months of tromping about, carrying things or just moving around.

And, unlike the rest of the world, things just don't grow back the next season. What's learned to live here has, I think, learned to do so slowly. Although we're supposed to get a millimeter or two of rain today, there really isn't enough here for anything to sprout up a foot a day. Or even an inch. The plants up here, hardy as they are, know how to shepherd their time and resources, and it sounds silly, but I've come to respect them for that.