Philosophy in the Desert

We've lived quite an interesting life over the last month. At some times, it feels like everyone in the world has done this type of thing; at others, it seems we are alone. And some times, just sometimes, we've stumbled upon a piece of insight so perfectly applicable to our situation that it's hard to ignore. This quote came to Julia from a friend, and since we've just lived it, I feel it's important to pass on to others.

Edward Abbey advises:

"One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am -a reluctant enthusiast... a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it's still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for awhile and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: You will outlive the bastards."

The red rock desert of southern Utah is Abbey country, and there are few (if any) he loved better. His attitude and spirit infused the red dust and rock of the place, and as I hiked I could almost hear Abbey muttering on the wind. I couldn't ignore the paved road that carried us from the Arches NP visitor's center to our trailhead in Devil's Garden, at the northern end of the park. That road was the very one Abbey tried to derail by pulling up survey stakes in the late 1960s, before Arches served as the destination for thousands of RV-bound tourists each year.

Terry Tempest Williams, too, may be heard on the wind. A more modern voice, she speaks from a different angle from Abbey but arrives at the same conclusion: Utah's desert and the remaining wild places on the Colorado Plateau are unique, the objects of deep love, and must be preserved. I challenge you to walk across the slickrock, ever vigilant to stay off the cryptobiotic soil, and feel disconnected from the place. If your eyes are open, your nose alert for the scent of juniper, your toes desperately wanting to curl in the soft sand, you will not miss the voices of Abbey, Williams, and others, including the land itself.