D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
August 2010
A Study in Contrasts
A trip back East reminds why we love the Southwest.
Why on earth would you wanna live in a place like New Mexico?
That's the question I was asked by some of the people I had just renewed acquaintance with at my 47 year class reunion near Philadelphia. And to be honest, I couldn't answer them.
After all, how can you explain what a steak tastes like to someone who has only eaten the cheapest hamburger?
I guesstimated that fully 80% of my classmates have always lived within a 50-mile radius of where we went to school.
It was only as my flight made its approach to Tucson and I peered down over the deserts of New Mexico and Arizona that I began to understand the answer for my own self; that answer was in the contrasts.
As I looked far below, I realized that the desert was a study in contrasts; both browns and greens intermingled to form a mosaic of sorts.
The East, on the other hand, namely Pennsylvania, while beautiful in its own right, has no contrasts. Everything there, at least to my eyes, is a boring green; the trees, the grass, the hills, all are near the same shade of green! (By the way, when I visited Florida two years ago, I was struck by the same impression.)
And then there is the lack of humidity here. Why, I've seen times when it was pouring rain and the humidity registered only 50%! And there are luxurious days when we bask in almost a zero humidity when it tickles the 5% mark. That's pure ambrosia!
I'll take the notorious "dry heat" any day. Even last June, when my thermometer told me that it was 109 degrees in the shade, I could pleasantly relax in the shade of one of my junipers and feel quite comfortable, thank you!
Not so back in Pennsylvania, where the humidity registered a stout 100% even when it wasn't raining. Forget sitting in the shade and sipping mint juleps; my wife complained that while sitting still, she was wetter than the drink! In fact, we felt sorta sticky and gooey almost all of the time. I do believe we only dried off when we jumped into the shower!
I got claustrophobic, too, back there. Out here, if I take any road south, I can expect to see for miles in any direction. I know what's in store for me, be it a critter crossing the road, or a notorious dust-devil. I can view mountains 50 miles away.
Back East, they don't even know what a dust-devil is! And there, the trees creep right down to within spitting distance of the roads. Even when I came up to adjacent fields I couldn't really see them without craning my neck and risking an accident, because there were fencelines between me and the views.
Consequently I felt hemmed in, even while driving the Pennsylvania Turnpike, their version of an interstate highway. I never could relax because I was constantly on the alert for animals or vehicles. Speaking of which, the roads seemed narrower, too. More than once I felt myself holding my breath as a tractor-trailer rig drifted perilously my way.
Where did all of those cars and trucks and people come from, anyway? Out here, I'm spoiled; I can drive for miles and never see a building. Over there it seemed as if a house sat upon every hilltop.
Out here we have real mountains; there they have pretend mountains — no, hills really. In Silver City we sit at a smug 6,000 feet, give or take a few; there they sit mostly at 600 feet with a ridge or three towering to a mere 1,500 feet. Hah!
Do yourself a favor and go out after dark and look up into the night sky; gaze upon the vast Milky Way. It is so bright that it blots out the galaxies beyond it. Why, easterners can't even see the Milky Way; they see brightness, too, but it's all from light pollution and regular smog pollution.
On a sunny day we can look up into a beautifully clear, bright blue sky. Easterners see the same thing but it is a faded blue with tinges of brown on the horizon.
Ya wanna get a thrill? Get up at dawn and look upon our majestic sunrises. Or, almost equal, admire our sunsets. I will admit, they have brilliant and majestic sunsets back East, too, but it is because of all the ever-present smog that rims the earth in the sky.
Now, I will admit that they have better autumn moonrises than we do, because of that same pollution. Their moonrise seems to be twice the size of ours in October when the frost first hits the pumpkins. I suppose ours is inferior because we have less dense air at our altitude and much less humidity.
One last contrast was somewhat amusing to me. I arrived at the reunion early and several of us were commiserating about our class's attrition rate — something like 30 people so far. One woman asked the whereabouts of a certain classmate and I responded that he was dead. A collective gasp went up from those around me.
It seems I said a socially incorrect word. The woman corrected me and said that the person was "passed on, or passed away." It was a more delicate term, I guess. Anyway, I'm glad we're less delicate out here and "dead" is still quite an acceptable term for someone who is, well, dead!
Thank You, Lord, for moving me to such a wonderful place! There's no place quite as unique and great as New Mexico, especially southwest New Mexico, and no place I'd rather be.
As always, keep the sun forever at your back, the wind forever in your face, and may The Forever God bless you, too.