More sun, please

I woke up this morning and realized we’re already halfway through November. Besides it being one of those my-how-time-flies old people moments, it also means we’re closer to the winter solstice. And that means a reversal of this decreasing daylight hours crap. Sure, January and February are no picnic for a winter hater like me, but at least those months offer hope with a little more light each day.

A return to the Slot

Clockwise instead of counterclockwise

A change of direction. Instead of Yuma to Quartzsite to Joshua Tree to Anza-Borrego, I decided to do it the other way around. Because.

My previous visits to Anza-Borrego have been to the northern part of the park. I thought I’d check out some of the southern part this time. It’s very similar.

I found a campsite at Blair Valley, which seems to be the state’s version of a designated boondocking area. I cleaned up a previous camper’s debris. Evidently they disassembled a folding camp chair, leaving fittings and screws scattered about. I suppose there’s a story behind that.

A plan is forming

I’ve stayed put for a week but realized I’m not quite ready to settle in for the winter. So I think Monday I’ll go to Quartzsite to pick up a package that should be arriving at my mail forwarder, then head to Joshua Tree for a couple of days to do some hiking. As always, plans are subject to change. Especially after announcing them.

How to conceal a knife

A few years ago my friend Forrest got a special deal on some simple sheath knives and gave one to me. I’ve never been a blade guy, except for kitchen knives, but this one has become my go-to tool for opening packages, removing bottle seals and such. It lives in a particular spot in the Rolling Steel Tent, next to the scissors and hand sanitizer.

Then it wasn’t there. I had used it the day before, but now…? I searched all over, including inside crates stowed under the bed. No luck. Had someone broken into the van, taken only the knife, left everything else undisturbed, and relocked the door? Not likely.

I searched again. Still no luck. Oh well. Maybe it ran off to join the table knife that disappeared a few years ago.

Then, as it often goes, I found it while looking for something else. It was under a couple of washcloths, next to some pill bottles, in a cloth bag of odds and ends, inside one of the mailboxes I use for overhead storage. Why had I ever put it there? Or had the afore mentioned intruder hidden it just to mess with me? No. It was only my old man brain spazzing out. Again.

Why here?

To people in the greener parts of the world, the desert is rather bleak. And where I am now is bleak even by desert standards. A gravely alluvial plain with little vegetation. Modest mountains to the east and north, dunes to the west, the border to the south. The last trickle of the Colorado River contained in concrete channels. A mine in the hills. Active railroad tracks over that way. Occasional Marine aircraft overhead. Not paradise.

But, for reasons I don’t fully understand, I like it here.

Sure, it’s free and legal boondocking where even the rangers ignore the 14-day limit. Access is easy and the ground is level. There’s a strong cell signal. All the resources I need are just a few minutes away. And for the next couple of weeks there’s almost no one around. Are those benefits reason enough to like the place as much as I do? 

Nah, there’s something intangible. I’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

Just one of those days

Sleep in a little… Check the Internet… Have a light breakfast… Do some cleaning and straightening up… More reading… Get dressed… Drive into town… Pick up some supplies… Get a carnitas burrito… Return to the desert… Move to a slightly better spot… Put away the supplies… Enjoy the burrito… More reading… Check the weather forecast… Take a nap… Do some research… Watch some videos… Watch the sunset… Have a couple of dark chocolate Oreos… Re-aim the van into the wind… Twiddle my thumbs… Write a blog post.

Seasonal migration

I’m back in my usual winter range, near Yuma AZ, ahead of a cold and wet front sweeping across the West. I’m a little earlier than usual, but that means it’s less crowded. That’ll change come Thanksgiving when the OHV folks swarm over Imperial Dunes and when the snowbird season semi-officially starts.

HOW I DO IT: Setting up shade

Oven mitt

Hello, November

Feeding the multitude

The day before yesterday I deposited about a quarter cup of leftover cornbread batter next to a bush.

Yesterday the batter was dry and covered with ants.

Today the batter is gone.

Busy ants. Ants with extra food stored away. Or ants craving some chili to go with the cornbread.

A place of my own

In his review of the Nomadland movie, Stuart Klawans of The Nation says of us nomads, “These people have no place to call their own…”

Is that true? If we’re talking about the traditional bit of real estate, yeah, okay. But that reveals society’s rather limited, unimaginative concept of life and home.

I don’t remember ever feeling truly at home in the conventional world. I felt like I was playing a role, acting out someone else’s life. So there I was, in my nice suburban house, assimilated into a community, living the Dream, but unhappy and wanting to be somewhere else, needing to be someone else.

When they say “home is where the heart is” they usually mean it’s where the people you love and who love you are. I think it’s also where your mind and soul and happiness are. It’s where you’re your authentic self, regardless of external forces or circumstances. Home isn’t wherever you hang your hat. Home is within the person who wears the hat. Home is internal.

The world’s 6,317th most stylish fire extinguisher

May I never need to use it

Almost blue moon

We’re going to have a blue moon. What once-in-a-blue-moon thing are you going to do, or hope happens?