“You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”
~ Max Ehrmann ©1927
On Monday, I decided it was time to move. I had met a couple very nice people while at Marshall Lake, but I was parked in a spot between some very sketchy folks. On one side of me was a man, living in a car, with windows covered in Reflectix and a tarp pulled over the top. He rarely got out, but when he did, he hollered and shook his fist as he argued with an imaginary foe. I suspected he was a little off. I believe the professional term is “bat shit crazy.” Fortunately, I was never outside the few times he crawled out of his hatchback. On the other side of me was a family. I heard shouting and swearing one night when I was down visiting Jamie but didn’t pay much attention to it. On Sunday morning, another man joined them, and they all climbed into his car and left for the day. When they came back, no one got out of the car for nearly half an hour. Then the woman emerged with the two boys. She went around to the driver’s side (the two men were sitting in the front seat; she and the boys in the back.) She opened the door, and although I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I could tell she was having a heated argument with the driver. She walked away for a while, but then came back and continued. It grew louder and the driver pushed her and threw something that hit her in the face. She walked a short distance to a chair and sat crying. The boys played, oblivious. This was clearly routine for them. The whole situation made me uncomfortable, and I’ve learned in my three years of being a nomad to trust my gut. I decided to move on Monday morning.
I drove into town and got some supplies and when I went back, instead of going to Marshall Lake I continued 8 miles south to Ashurst Lake where I found the dispersed camping area nearly deserted. I chose a spot I’d stayed in last summer and got set up in a huge clearing in the middle of the forest next to a meadow.
It felt good to be alone out in the middle of the forest again. It precluded the opportunity to make new friends, but it also meant that I’d not have to sleep with one eye open because of shady neighbors.
In the afternoon, I decided to take my bike up the rugged road. I liked the spot I chose, but one of the main reasons I bought my bike was to be able to explore rough terrains for the best possible spot without having to drive my van over potholes and boulders and without having to worry about not being able to turn around before the road became impassible. About a mile farther down the road were two great spots. I could easily move to either one if the clearing I occupied acquired an unwanted neighbor over the weekend. I’m getting used to the bike, even on less-than-optimal roads.
The week was quiet. Cosmo and I enjoyed our morning walks, having that entire section of the Coconino National Forest to ourselves. There was a rig parked near the main road, but for most of the week, we were the only other campers on this mile-long stretch of dirt road through the forest.
On Friday, as expected, we got a few more neighbors, but only one was visible from our spot and all seemed to be single old men, parked alone. Last year on several weekends in that same spot, groups would show up and park nearby. One weekend in particular we had two such groups: one played loud Mariachi music into the wee hours and the other was a group of off-roaders, who sped up and down the already bad roads, tearing them up and spewing clouds of dust throughout the area. I’m happy for the quiet old men filling in spots and hoping any loud groups decide on someplace else for their weekend.
The moon was still a tiny crescent most of this week, and although it set later with each passing night, and even though it is waxing, it still sets long before the Milky Way is high in the sky. The Milky Way is not visible at the time I go to bed, but several times I’ve woken up in the middle of the night, and I go outside, camera in hand. I’ve been rewarded with an awe-inspiring show that not everyone gets to witness.
Lessons From The Road: Coconino National Forest is dirty. The last time I was here we had some torrential rain, and the soft, powdery, brown dirt (Imagine your entire yard being made of Nestle’s Quik) turned to thick black mud. So far, we have only gotten a sprinkle one afternoon, perfect for keeping the cocoa colored dust from blowing and covering everything I own. But I have taken advantage of the isolated location to take several outdoor showers. I keep my flip-flops on, and try to not stand in one spot, but the water running off my body quickly turns the dust to a thick clay and sticks to the souls of my flip-flops. With each step, I gather more mud much like a snowball rolling down a hill. By the time I walk around to the door on the other side of my van, it looks like I’m wearing snowshoes. I remove my flip-flops and enter the van. Fortunately, the mud made from my shower dries quickly in the heat and although I remove my footwear before entering the van, Cosmo does not. It’s a chore to try to keep up with the dirt and pine needles that are dragged in each time we enter. I have dusted the dashboard and all horizontal surfaces with a wet towel each day, and I wipe down my “dining room” table before each meal, but it seems futile. The dust is no match for me.
In spite of the dirt, it has been a week in paradise. I’ve read a bit about the Japanese custom of “forest bathing.” It seemed silly to me at first, but after a week in the forest without the distraction of neighboring humans, I swear I could feel the energy of the tall ponderosa pines. How could I not? Some of them have a life force hundreds of years old. And at night, I can look up at stars whose light has taken over 1,000 years to reach my eyes. In spite of the dust, this is a pretty spectacular place to live for the time being.