Camping with Cacti by the Light of the Full Moon – A Challenge in the Desert

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument © 2013 Bo Mackison

“Every challenge you encounter in life is a fork in the road. You have the choice to choose which way to go – backward, forward, breakdown or breakthrough.”  ~ Ifeanyi Enoch Onuoha

I love the desert.

This was a surprise to me when I first visited the Southwest.

I had driven through a part of the Mojave Desert on a family vacation many years ago, and I do not remember my reaction, negative or positive. So it came as a surprise to me when I visited Arizona and the Sonoran Desert in 2008 and had an immediate, visceral connection with this arid landscape.

I felt as if I had finally found my home.

The first time I lived in the desert for any length of time, it was a challenge on all counts. It was the first time I lived away from my husband and family for an extended time. I had lived a protected life for many years, and challenging myself to come to Arizona, alone, was a big deal. I was responsible for taking care of everything.

I succeeded, but it was difficult. There were times I found myself crying in frustration, angry that doing the grocery shopping or filling the car with gas were such obstacles. I was anxious when I had to drive after dark or when I got lost in a strange part of the city. I struggled to accomplish the daily routines I believed everyone else did with ease.

My second winter in Arizona, I learned to not only live by myself, but thrive while doing so. I explored southern Arizona, traveling the back roads and byways. I found my footing.

The third year was more difficult. I stayed longer and I had fewer visits from family and friends. But again I did quite well, and when it was time to return to the Midwest, I drove cross-country, solo. Another milestone, hard-earned, but I was proud that I was gradually accomplishing more and more.

This year, my fourth year, I was pleased that I was once again thriving in Arizona.  (I had the added advantage of extended visits from Sherpa every month, which was a great bonus.)

And then . . . I decided to go primitive camping in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, a three-hour drive from my Arizona home.

Camping with Cacti

Camping with Cacti © 2014 Bo Mackison

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”
~ Helen Keller

The day I drove to Organ Pipe was a perfect desert day – moderate temperatures, deep blue skies, calm weather.

I dictated brief scraps of travel tidbits into my phone recorder as I drove, and then stopped at a roadside cafe for lunch before entering the park. I was in no hurry – I had the whole afternoon and evening for setting up camp and exploring, and tomorrow too.

I spent an hour enjoying a home cooked meal and writing in my journal.

By the time I left, the temperature had soared into the 90s and the wind had picked up. Neither heat nor high winds had been forecast, so this was unexpected, but not particularly unusual. I signed in at the campground, found an isolated site, and pitched my tent amidst saguaro and organ pipe cacti.

The winds made setting up the tent a challenge, and it didn’t help that I had forgotten my mallet back in Tucson. I still set up the tent, using a rock to pound in the stakes, but I ended up with cut hands from the sharp edges of the rock.

I did remember the first aid kit, and bandages, and that was a good thing.

Then off I went to explore with camera in hand. By the time I returned to camp to prepare my dinner, the winds had quieted, and the evening was immeasurably pleasant.

After the sun set, the skies were dark and it was a treat to take in the night skies.

Every star shimmered and danced in its glory. And then the moon rose – a full moon. Large as a saucer, brilliant with a few wispy clouds drifting across her face. The desert was awash with moonlight, nearly as light as on a stormy day. It was a moment to treasure.

But then, as if an early morning alarm clock had shrieked and blinked wildly, the desert awoke. The desert life joined in the noise making. Coyotes howled, birds squawked, dark furry things ambled along the dirt road, slithery sounds emerged from the tall grasses.

None of these sounds are new to me. I walk the desert several times a week. But it seemed totally different in the eerily moonlit desert. It wasn’t quite light enough to see well, but my hearing took on a well-tuned acuity. Suddenly I heard anything, and everything.

There was only one reasonable alternative I could think of  — zip myself into my tent and call it a night. I briefly considered pulling up camp and driving home. Too far. I also considered screaming that the desert was coming to life and I was afraid, but that seemed quite unreasonable. Plus I figured it would attract the wrong kind of attention. Nor did I want to succumb to a panic attack in the light of the silvery moon? No way.

So I zipped myself into my tiny tent and willed myself to get drowsy and fall into a blissful sleep.

That did not happen. I did not fall asleep until it was nearly time to get up. That is the unfortunate news.

But there were a lot of positives, too. I stayed (mostly) calm throughout the long night, drowsing a bit, then waking up to the moonlit desert and momentarily thinking the sun was rising. Disappointed? Yes. But still calm and in control.

I now have first hand proof that meditation and deep breathing are indeed helpful, even when a desert creature is rubbing against the ropes that stake the tent into the earth. Even when the tent is wobbling a bit.  And I can also practice meditation and calming while armed with a hiking stick – just in case the tent wobbling gets out of control.

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert

Early Morning Coffee in the Desert © 2013 Bo Mackison

There’s always a story. It’s all stories, really.
The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything’s got a story in it.
Change the story, change the world. ~ Terry Pratchett

Did I mention that the sun did rise through a haze of low clouds, and burst onto the desert scene, a white blaze?

Or that I crawled out of the tent, all in one piece, and immediately set up my backpacker stove to heat water for coffee?

Or that a cup of French press coffee after a long, wakeful night is one of the best morning gifts I can imagine?

Or that I was pretty darned pleased with myself for surviving an uneventful night in the desert, even if I did let myself get freaked out by the full-moon-night-concert-in-the-desert?

Or that I still love the desert?

Yes, indeed!

Full Moon, Dust Moon, Heart Moon – A Poem

Full Moon in Dust Storm

Full Moon in Dust Storm © 2014 Bo Mackison

Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy. ~ Henri Frederic Amiel

A Poem to Commemorate the Last of Winter Moons

In the North, the earth softens,
the earthworms venture from warm earth, deposit their casts upon the ground,
robins return announcing the coming of Spring.

Full Worm Moon

Maple sap begins to run in the East,
signals time for tapping, maples announce the coming of Spring.
Flowing, flowing, alive.

Full Running Sap Moon

Throughout the lands, the Magpies caw,
loud and raucous, singing to the last of the winter moons.
Celebratory songs.

Full Magpie Moon

In snowbound regions, snow cycles through thaw and freeze,
a gradual loosening winter’s relentless hold. Anticipation of the melt.
Crusted snow, old snow,  dwindling snow. Anticipation.

Full Crust Moon

In the Southwest, the winds twist, spiral, change direction the upper atmosphere,
touch the earth, red dust, and fling it high into the air.
But the full moon, reflecting light of the sun full face.
The moon does not disappear in the flying dust,
no, she hovers in a pastel aura, hazy and luminous.

Full Windy Moon

I see her slide above the mountain peaks, the gentle Santa Ritas,
fir trees silhouetted. Watch it suspended above the mountain ridge,
gentle reminder of the marking of months,
passing of seasons, turning years.

I spread a woven blanket, geometric colors come into soft focus, lit by moonshadow,
what luxury this lying upon earth in silence and  harmony,
awakened to the energies of the full moon as she travels westward.

I close my eyes to the dusty particles,
bathed in moonlight, I drift and dream, content.

Full Heart Moon

Crossing the Bridge

Bridge to the Art Festival
Bridge to the Art Festival © 2012 Bo Mackison

 It takes courage to grow up and be who you really are.  ~ e e cummings

When I study this photograph, I see a long bridge, laced with a repetitive pattern of lights and shadows. The bridge looks very solid, very safe. At the end of the bridge is marvelous sculptural art from the K. Newby Gallery – kinetic, metallic, engaging. And beyond the spinning sculptures are rows and rows of white tents, set up for the Tubac Festival of the Arts, (Though you can barely see it, my booth for Seeded Earth Photography is the second on the left – only a few steps from the bridge.)

I wish I were a great metaphorical writer because the metaphors that come to mind when I look at this photograph are amazing. Crossing a bridge – a sturdy bridge. Crossing over from one life experience to another. The repeating light and shadowy spaces. Life replicates the contrasts — sometimes life is light and the way is well-lit on a smooth path, sometimes life is shadowy and the way is difficult. But continue on the path, and you will find beautiful art, the kinetic art, moving and glistening in the sunlight. And then finally, not distracted by the larger than life sculptures, not comparing my art to others’ art nor finding it lacking, I reach the art festival. And there is my booth, standing in a row of artists’ booth, fitting in, one with the whole.

So continuing with the art fair experience from the last blog post…

ART SHOW — PART II

Sherpa definitely could not come for the set up nor the opening days of the art festival. I had never set up alone, but I knew the mechanicst. I knew how to put the tent together, rather like a ten foot high metal and plastic Tinker Toy model, and set up the inside panels on which I hung my art. Since I always hung my photographs, that part was easy. I decided that I would do the show solo.

I carefully planned how many trips it would take me to get to Tubac, a 20 minute car trip from my home.  If I could take the tent, the floor rug, the panels, and the bins of art in two loads, I could make one trip on Tuesday and finish on Wednesday before the show began.

On Monday evening, I loaded the car with the rug, tent and as many Pro-Panels as would fit. I added two bins of art in the passenger side seat. On Tuesday I drove to Tubac. Check in and booth assignment was at 2:00 pm. I arrived at noon, and got in line. Happily, artists are a super friendly bunch, and so there was lively chatter, lots of stories and talk of traveling across the country doing art shows. Time passed, and soon I had my booth assignment.

First I started with the tent. Fortunately, the artist next to me helped me at two crucial points and in an hour the tent was standing. I added weights and ties to the tent for stability, and set up the pieces of Pro-Panel I had with me.

By this time it was nearly 5 in the evening, an hour til dark, and I realized that the remaining panels would fill most of the car. I would have to go get the panels and return in the dark or I would never be ready for the Wednesday morning opening.

I had my camping lantern and the light of the full moon. How beautiful. I was one of only a few artists still setting up, and the silence was strikingly quiet. The moon lit up the sky, the village streets, and the outside of my tent. The tiny lantern cast a soft glow inside my tent. It was a gorgeous night. I felt a sense of well-being and confidence. I felt a sense of peace and awe alone with the beauty of the night.

“By the light, of the silvery moon….”

When I finished, I headed home, with a sense of a new-found confidence and self-awareness.

Tomorrow’s post continues with Part III.

——————

Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is discovering that every day provides opportunities to learn new and amazing things.

Taps at Moon Rise

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Moonrise at Twilight © 2007

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh. ~ ‘Taps’

This late October’s full moon is known as the Hunter’s Moon. The moon rise reminded me of the lyrics from the well-known military song, ‘Taps’.

Taken at Indian Lake County Park in Dane County, Wisconsin on October 25, 2007. I photographed both the sunset and the moonrise