The beginning of twenty sixteen saw a bit more water fall out of the sky than normal onto the thirsty earth of lower California and the deserts that hem it in, resulting in a natural phenomenon in those deserts that felt biblical in its scope and irresistible in its power to draw us out among it all to bear witness to its miraculous display. These deserts were in (super) bloom, from long dormant seeds finally finding enough water to burst forth in intense color and delicate shape. And so, we were drawn out to view this spectacle and drove out to Death Valley through the night, post work, because it felt quite fitting to see this massive amount of life spring forth in usual place of "death." We found a camping spot late that nite in what amounted to a parking lot, after searching through a few camp spots that were all jam packed. In the morning light, we found this first grouping of wildflowers mere feet from our tents, pushing their way up through said parking lot (nature always wins)
Not quite the ideal spot, but we took what we could get. Plus, desert morning light and cloud play made it all seem ok. Winter in the desert is the best, in general, and with the added bonus of usually dormant life suddenly come to life, it all soon became quite overwhelming
Melissa set about producing a brownish hot drink
and I hooded breakfast
Followed shortly thereafter by yet another wiener hop
Then we got down to business, up close and personal with this gravel ghost (one of the only flowers I remember the name of at this far remove from the events described in this post. You can see why).
Yellow splashes everywhere roadside as we made our way out of our parking lot home of the night before and pushed out into the biggest national park in the lower 48.
Here Lindsay demonstrates proper flower spotting/appreciation technique
Melissa displaying her own take on this flower approach, with m'head creepin into frame
O, the glory of it all
The shoe pollination process commenced
A big ol' splotch of it, with someone already fancy camera-ing right in there
Our turn, our view with some ancient hills and their muted/stunning colors
We drove south from those fields in bloom, dropping elevation as we proceeded en route to Badwater Basin, but were first drawn to the gnarled ancient lake bed now referred to as the Devil's golf course
Quite devoid of wildflowers out there, but Melissa still needed to squat
Moussa and his extensive tummy ink
Stompin among the hailte piles
Another Trager family portrait
Faces appearing the closer our inspection got
Further down the road, we stopped at one of the lower points of the world (the lowest in North 'Merica) to squat and check some more salt out
Some thin top layers
To levitate mid air
Then got into a documentation battle
The white salt vista stretched to distant mountains, confusing distances quite well. Even though we've been in that space a few times by now, it never fails to amaze/dumbfound
Nothing else to do but cartwheel. Twas really pokey on m'hands, really disappointed in my form here
The ladies then salt salutationed
and then we made our Badwater exit, only to find Dave cruisin in a nearby parking lot
Yellow ringed at the entrance to the natural bridge canyon trail
Up close with the only other flower I can remember, the imaginatively named "desert five spot"
A view point from the trail entrance that kind of felt like a time machine in that we were looking directly into millennia of geologic sloow changes and shapes
Up into this canyon which harbors a natural bridge
Thar she blows
Incredibly fragile looking on one side, hard to imagine it standing up to the occasional rivers that flow through this area, but so far so good. Still made me nervous standing underneath it
Upper walls of the canyon, lovely palette and texture
Waterfall discovery on our trek
Really stokin the group
Right underneath 'er
Traipsin' back underneath the bridge, deep in conversation and paying no heed the bridge's fragility
Another yellow blast as we took in another view into the work of millennia
The plague continues, even unto these painted hills
Yellow rug set before us as we moved northeast towards the stateline
Shortly after crossing over into Nevada, we discovered more of Kymaerica in the visitor's center of the fairly expansive Goldwell art site.
Lindsay and Moussa trying to wrap their minds around the district of shadows we were currently in, Melissa breaking the news to them that what they were reading and were generally confused about mostly takes place in an alternate history.
Feet firmly planted in our linear world, mind firmly in an alternate history
A penguin and the greater clouds 'n landforms beyond
No trees, but plenty of beer to fashion a house out of (the glass, at least)
A few steps back
Trager family portrait number two for this post and the bottle patterns of habitation
A bank of Rhyolite that now looks more like a boat, at least from a distance
Why this impulse of mediocre white men naming majestic things after themselves?
Whatever the reason, we found ourselves at Zabriskie Point again, and again, we were absolutely gobsmacked by the intense beauty of the strata strata patterns and the cloud show above it all
Trag Fam portraiture, number three
After we took in the view from Zabriskie Point and the sun set, we searched around a bit to find a better camping spot for the nite. We found one, indeed, but as soon as we considered setting up a tent at it, gale force winds began whipping through the campsite, with no sign of them slowing down. We even saw someone else's tent going ass over teakettle off in the distance, tumbleweed-like, and decided that we probably should not bother setting up a tent/sail and were then left to accept the unfortunate relity that we would somehow have to get the four of us to sleep in my diminutive sedan for the nite. We all eventually crammed into my car and tried to fall asleep in the sitting up position, with random intense gusts of wind rocking the car/us to sleep/awake at various points in the nite. Absolutely brutal un-sleep and as soon as we spotted daybreak, we made our exit into a bleary eyed a vaguely headached new day. We soon set out due east, out of the National park, to at long last visit/pay homage to a place we had long wished to, but first, breakfast time.
This place, with its beautifully desert morning lit plaque that could very well come from the kcymaerxthaere but is actually quite tethered to our linear reality. We were drawn to visit this place awhile back due to it fitting quite well into our general wheelhouse due to it being the product of many years of obsessive passion/labor, much like many other art environments we've sought out in the past (some documented in this very blog)
TFP number five right outside the opera house in the middle of nowhere/somewhere
All krewed up!
Waited many years to go through these doors and take in the fullness of the hand painted interiors that have seen years of performances, sometimes only for the enjoyment of the paintings themselves
The flipside of the front doors
Straight into the overwhelming scope of detail in the inside, including some Russian aesthetics
Also, this guy
and these talented men
The stage herself
and the view from the stage I wish my camera could have captured better. But, I've come to accept the limitations of that machine in capturing the subtleties of existence and take some solace in knowing that even though life moves insanely fast by us, there are certain moments that we can only fully experience in those moments.
Just jam packed with audience members
Some daylight on this situation
Moussa pile in the backseat as we made our way back towards the ocean
Blessed from on high somewhere just outside of Death Valley Junction
Mandatory Zzyzx stop, under beautifully broody skies
Strolled the main thoroughfare through town
And arrived at the pond side swings
and thus concluded our time spanned in a desert come to life, swinging our sleep deprived delirium next to a spring-fed pond in the middle of the Mojave. Further adventures await, dear reader, which I hope to push thru the blog machine at you sooner than later.
