L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

The Natives are Restless

February 1, 2009 on 8:49 pm | | In General Musing, Travel

My parents have lived the gypsy life for some dozen or so years, perpetually roaming North America in their ginormous RV, Roadzilla. There’s not a museum or roadside attraction they have not seen. Then Arizona lured them to put down a tentative root. They now have a “park model” in Mesa, Arizona. A park model is like a RV with no wheels. I guess they call it that because it’s “parked.” They’ve been nudging me to come visit for at least 50 years, so here I am.

Their park model, which is actually airy and comfortable, is plunked down in an RV park, but I use the term “park” figuratively, since any park-like features are sealed safely under a solid sheet of concrete. It’s a daunting sight: 2000 lots in a tight grid crammed with RVs (parked and otherwise), retirees and kitch. It reminds me a little of that scene at the end of the Indiana Jones movie where they hide the Ark of the Covenant in that hugewarehouse. You could lose an RV here forever. Every single lot has a grapefruit tree and the grapefruits are excellent. There is no dearth of activity: Tennis, bocce, cards, gym, computer lab, lapidary shop, wood shop, metal shop, pools, poker, silversmithy, tap dance, square dance, jazz dance, belly dance, painting, stamping, scrapbooking, bunco, live music (Tony Orlando without Dawn next week)… You could stupefy yourself with recreation.

I’ve met all the Jews (six including my folks). Of the rest, about half are Canadian snowbirds and all are busy, chipper and sociable.

Twelve years on the road does something to a person. Driving becomes a recreation in itself. So we’ve been doing a lot of it. When I told a friend I was off to see the sights, he snarkily questioned the existence of sights in Arizona. Big talk from someone in Florida. The last time I was in Florida I had to pretend freeway overpasses were hills to keep from becoming disoriented by the relentless flatness.

Back in Arizona, we spent eight hours on the road doing the full Apache Trail scenic loop. The last hour was a challenge to maintaining consciousness, but overall it was a hellava day. The first stop was Goldfield Ghost Town, a tourist attraction on the site of an old gold mine. If there were any ghosts, they’ve been scared off by the earnest moseying of colorful old west character types and wall-to-wall bluegrass bands. The last stop was a steep and beautiful hike to the fascinating ruins of ancient cliff-dwelling natives.

Saguaro rustling is a major crime in Arizona. The tall iconic saguaro cactus is so popular here, there is a government program to microchip them so they can track down cactus thieves and bring them to justice. A couple factoids for your next trivia night: Saguaro are slow growers. They are usually about 80 years old before they begin to grow their first branches. If you’re thinking of rustling a few for your patio, be sure to mark which way they were facing in the wild. They are directional and will pine away if you plant them facing the wrong way.

The desert is a clever place with no quarter for mistaken strategies. There’s a stark and terrible beauty here that’s impossible to deny. The bones of the earth are bared to the sky and every shred of living matter is exquisitely adapted to its niche in a scrappy, intricate web of survival. I am repelled and fascinated by the suspended arid stillness of the desert. Color is rare and fleeting. There are not enough resources to waste on something so profligate as vividness. But there are a million subtle beauties if you look very close.

It’s only the humans that are profligate in their busy scurrying and brilliant hues.

 

See more like that one:

• South and East
• Patchwork
• Snarkfree Sailing
• South and West
• Trading cactus for coffee