Mother Nature’s Sandbox

 “I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can’t look at hobbles and I can’t stand fences
Don’t fence me in.” Cole Porter

I’d hoped to spend time in Zion National Park, but there were no accommodations available, so I drove around the edge of the park before heading to Bryce Canyon.

The terrain of the Utah desert is varied and colorful. In the midst of far-flung emptiness, it seemed a mirage grew in the distance. After several miles, the outline of a town became clear. Soon, I saw that it was a city under construction, sprawling out into the desert, isolated, remote, complete with a fitness center and McDonald’s. Farther on, there were several other cities mushrooming up in the wilderness. What do people do to earn a living out in the back of the beyond?

Driving was enjoyable on that two lane road, going through small towns surrounded by orchards, many miles between them and the new urban areas. When I entered Hwy 89, it was heavily trafficked, especially by trucks, going well over the speed limit, passing each other for road dominance. I found it unnerving driving behind trucks hauling multiple trailers like wagging tails. I let them pass me and tried to stay out of their way.

The highway started a long incline, dark clouds looming in the distance. There were flashes of lightning as the clouds drew nearer. Suddenly, they were overhead and there was a burst of rain, lightning, and thunder. The windshield wipers worked as fast as they could, and rain bounced off Freedom’s hood, still the trucks sped ahead, passing each other. I was terrified. This lasted for fifteen minutes, and then the sun came out, the roads and hillsides dry, as if nothing had happened.

I was relieved to turn onto Hwy 12, a narrow, winding road that led to Tropic, Utah, where I spent the night. The main street is about half a mile long with a view out to Bryce Canyon. Besides tourism, they raise hay for feed, and I saw a fair amount of cattle as I drove through the area.  

I had the thrill of watching the full moon burst through the clouds over the canyon.

In the morning I went to a coffee shop for breakfast and to write a few postcards. I asked to have my coffee in a mug rather than a throw-away cup. The shopkeeper went off about how there’s a drought and he’d have to waste water washing a cup. Meantime, sprinklers moved back and forth across the hay fields to keep them watered.

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I love Escalante, UT. I spent three lovely days there. It’s peaceful and quiet, with birds singing to greet the day. The people are friendly, genuine, mostly from someplace else, there for the season to work and enjoy outdoor adventures on days off. The food I ate was fresh, delicious, and prepared with care.

I was fascinated by the abandoned brick homes that were built around 1900. I wonder why they haven’t been preserved and turned into a museum. And there is a whimsical phone booth.

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A cloud floated by, reminding me that love is everywhere.

I spent a day hiking in Kodachrome Canyon. I went in search of Shakespeare’s Arch only to learn later that it had collapsed in 2019.

It’s peaceful in the desert. Still. Quiet in the sense that there is no human made noise, other than the hellos of other hikers, but there is the sound the breeze makes as it flows freely across the open space, the crunch of sand and rock under one’s boots, and my breath, in, and out.

I’m in awe of the majesty and power of Mother Nature, and feel comforted by it. I am in awe of the indigenous people who lived here before us, in the heat, or the cold, in dry conditions, or monsoons. They took what Mother Nature served them and lived, and thrived.

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The next day I hiked the Petrified Forest Trail. It’s a steep climb up, then an easy walk for a while, with a scattering of petrified logs among the basalt boulders. Pine and juniper trees dot the landscape.

The Trail of Sleeping Rainbows branches off and descends into a ravine. The petrified logs are larger, and numerous. Some logs look like quilts of many colors and feel like glass. I’m surprised that they are cool to the touch, even in the blazing desert sun.

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The sweeping vista is filled with the varied colors and shapes of the sandstone and mudstone plateaus and buttes that were formed during the Upper Triassic epoch. I’m surprised at the amount of vegetation in the valley below.

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Along the way, I pass a young woman hiking alone. We chat and sip water for a few minutes. An older couple sit on a boulder enjoying the view. Other hikers pass, say hello and move on. I enjoy stretches of brisk walking, and stops to take in my surroundings. My senses are alive with the sight of color and texture, the sounds of a hawk above and birds hidden in the vegetation, and the breeze scented with the sweet fragrance of the juniper trees.

The trail ascends again. At one point I decide that whoever designed the trail was a sadist. There’s a series of switchbacks, some going down, yet always ascending. Every turn seems familiar, but I know I haven’t walked this way before. The day has gotten hotter. The trail seems to have come to an end, and I am at the top of the plateau, within a bowl. There are no trail markers. I realize that I haven’t seen any footprints on the trail in quite a while.  Do they disappear easily in the soft sand, or have the other hikers not been this way?

I sit in the shade of a juniper tree and sip what remains of my water. It’s peaceful, quiet. Too quiet. Not a breeze. Not the shriek of a hawk. I wonder if I’m lost. I stand up and look around. Everything is unfamiliar. I wonder if I should go back down the way I came? If I am lost, and if I start moving, will I get even more lost? I wonder if there are any wild animals here, or worse, scorpions and snakes? My imagination goes on a wild ride. I need to do something.

I reach into my backpack and pull out my cell phone. I Google “nearest park ranger station” and call the first number that comes up. A man named David answers. I tell him that I think I’m lost and I’m almost out of water. I’m stifling tears. I feel foolish. David reassures me that calling was right thing to do. He asks questions about what I see around me, and tells me to stay where I am. Someone is coming to help.

I sit under the juniper tree, admiring how green and alive its spiny leaves look growing on long branches of seemingly dead wood. The berries are a beautiful shade of blue. Gin is made from juniper berries. I wonder what they taste like and reach to pick one when the phone rings.

“Hello, this is Tom from emergency services. Is this Frances?” He says that David contacted him for additional assistance. He tells me to hang up and call him back. I do. He answers and asks me to hold while he triangulates my location. It’s quiet for a minute.

“I know exactly where you are,” he says. “I want you to start walking up the hill.” I walk about a hundred feet and there is a trail marker. Now I really feel foolish. He reassures me as David did, that calling for help was the right thing to do.

The trail continues to ascend and then curves around to a clear path. Tom stays on the phone with me as I walk. Soon I hear someone call, “Frances? Is that you?” A tall, good looking, young man walks towards me. It’s David. He brought me two bottles of water. Tom says I’m in good hands and says good bye.

We talk as we hike down to the parking lot. David asks why I called that particular number. He says he’s not a park ranger, he works at Yonder an RV park and campground. He came on his own to find me when I called. I feel humbled by the kindness this act shows. He says he graduated from college with a degree in creative writing, but felt he needed to have more life experiences to become a better writer.

I say that I’m a writer, too, and that he sounds like me when I was his age. We talk about writing, and I encourage him to write every day, even if it’s just to keep a journal. I hope to someday read his published work.

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The evenings are still. I watch Venus appear after sunset and grow more radiant in the twilight sky. That little dot above the Circle D Motel, where I stayed, is Venus. She was larger and brighter in the sky than the photo shows.

I sit in the twilight and recite a poem I learned as a child.

“Star light, Star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have this wish I wish tonight”

With all my heart, I make a wish.

P. S. Utah is a beautiful state, with lots to see and explore. Unless you like it hot, I recommend going in the spring or fall.