Living in the Desert

Forgive me if this is rambling; I've felt compelled to write about this for some time, but I can't say my thoughts follow any logical order or conclusion. :)

When my family converted to Mormonism and moved from Scotland in the late 19th century, they immediately trekked westward to the Salt Lake valley. From there, they were asked by their religious leaders to settle in northern and central Arizona. My great-grandfather helped design the LDS temple in Mesa, and his house is a historical site across the street.


Like many raised here, I've spent much of my life wanting to leave. (Likewise, I would venture a guess that Seattle residents hate the rain, and New Englanders despise snow?) Sunshine, believe or not, can be depressing when it bears down relentlessly - 86% of daylight hours, to be precise. That's roughly 300 sunny days per year.

As I've lived in/visited various climates, I'm intrigued by the desert and its effect on people. Call it a kind of morbid fascination with the city of Phoenix.

The desert, of course, has long been a symbol for finding oneself. Venturing into the wilderness alone with your wits, body, and maybe God too. The desert fathers - Anthony, Athanasius, John Chrysostom; even John the Baptist and Jesus himself - lived in a climate very similar to the Sonoran desert.

Many cradle Phoenicians complain about the lack of life, culture and vibrancy here. There is indeed truth to the sentiment that the Phoenix metropolitan area is nothing more than a vast wasteland of urban sprawl. Even downtown is not easily walkable (though the new light-rail helps!), and nearly every trip requires a vehicle.

But that's not interesting to me, because culture is easily discovered if sought after (even here), and I've heard cradle Phoenicians bitching about it for two decades - the very same folks who move to Los Angeles or New York and continue whining that there's "nothing to do."

No, seeing this land as New Englanders, Midwesterners, Southerners and Europeans see it is more interesting. Eastern Europe is suffering from a natural gas blockade/shortage, and most of the U.S. is in a deep freeze. It was 73 degrees today, which really puts thing into perspective. It's given me a sympathetic and curious attitude towards cities like Baghdad, Jerusalem, Riyadh and Cairo.

The desert, originally an icon of self-sufficiency, where many survivalists try to make their mark, is anything but. It's eerie, how uninhibited by nature we are. There are no floods, no blizzards, no tornadoes or hurricanes, no earthquakes. Even New York City, the iron heart of capitalism and civilisation, is penetrated by snow and ice. Plant life is scarce, and much of it survives only because we keep it alive under carefully regulated systems in neatly trimmed hedges. This city feels like an outcome of "Man vs. Nature," where Man has won final victory.

What are the spiritual effects? I couldn't begin to tell you. I've experienced a deep and abiding sense of gratitude for the ability to wear shorts. "Nature" begins to look less green/blue, and more brown/yellow. Not that that's a bad thing. There is much beauty here, perhaps less easily found. It assumes a different shape. I'm surprised at how attached I feel to this sprawling mess when away. There is something to be said for the emptiness of the skies, the deadness of the earth (covered in concrete or dirt), the conspicuous absence of pests and pollens. I used to hike up trails in local parks at night and watch the city. It is one of the most silent cities. Maybe there is still some monasticism in the desert.



Tell me about your city! What's it like?