Getting away from it all
Figurative grass
I decided to unplug over election day. Molly was off traveling for work and I didn’t see any upside to my being glued to the play-by-play at home. I figured I’d go poke around the desert for a bit. Maybe hole up in a cave while things shook out.
In 1940 the oldest mummy ever found in North America was discovered in a recess of this western Nevada hollow. He was 10,600 years old and by all accounts looked good for his age. (He was initially thought to be ~2000 years old.) I’d stumbled across an article about him and it rang as good a place as any to spend some time.
Most of my first day was a scramble in the hills, searching for the cave entrance, and then an ambling hunt for petroglyphs and minor summits. By sundown I’d relocated to a more remote campsite—a stretch of ancient shoreline that had caught my eye for the next day’s wander.
Wander is an apt word for this trip. Though the word more commonly in my head is jambo.
I lived in the Marshall Islands briefly and jambo is the one Marshallese word that’s remained in my vocabulary. It comes from the Japanese word sanpō— “to stroll around.” But in Marshallese jambo usually holds an even more aimless connotation… a random journey without a clear destination. A truly meandering exploration or jaunt. I intended the next day to be a proper jambo.
I woke before dawn to spend all eleven daylight hours slowly strolling across the hard-packed bed of a once-massive lake that dried up about 12,000 years ago. Relatively recent rains showed in the cracked mud, logging a record of coyotes and bobcats. I caught a few vigilant jackrabbits eyeing me as I slipped into arroyos and over dunes. Bits of bone. Tracks and sign. Debitage was scattered everywhere—evidence to a long history of human occupation.
The temperature was crisp. The sunset radiant. And my many evening quesadillas, heavenly.
The next morning, just after sunrise, I packed up for the long drive back to the coast. I opted to leave well enough alone and keep my phone off.
I took in the towns I drove past. Glanced into cars while stuck in traffic. I walked to a store once I’d parked at home. All the while I’d been trying to read the news on folk’s faces. To see if I could glean any election results, or clock any major turmoil. I got nothing, which I took some comfort in. Any other day, insofar as I could tell.
That momentary inability to discern global events at a day-to-day level isn’t everything. Obviously. But, it is something, and that thought has hung with me. More than that, my time in the desert was a much appreciated touchpoint to a long timeline of American history, and a reminder of just how much I benefit from a good jambo. Touching grass, as the kids say.
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