FAREWELL

 

I left drylab Saturday. I was not the only one to say goodbye. No, Saf left before me. She headed east on foot. I assume conflict drove her mad. Inexplicably drawn to the group, forming relationships with each of us, simultaneously spying on us like we are criminals, reporting back to greedy men. I’d like to think this group made her think twice, but more than likely she turned us all in and left before it got ugly.

A few others planned to leave after me, but I did not stick around to find out.

I’ve stopped in a city on my way northeast. It’s quiet here, but not the same kind of quiet as the desert. Rather, it’s false. No owls wake me. No ravens call to me. No lizards ruffle in the creosote. There is no breeze to cool my skin and no stars to guide my way. Tall structures of concrete stifle the morning sun. Roads and structures smother growth.

People seem to think time moves faster in the city, in the ‘real’ world. And I think it moves too fast for me. I left drylab and thought I’d never look back, but I’m still sitting outside and drinking tea every morning. The people, the place, the situation. They made more of an impression on me than I thought. Perhaps someday I will venture back to drylab, and perhaps it will rain for the first time in seven years. Until then.

MY LUCK IS RUNNING OUT

 

My luck may be running out. I caught Saf in my room the other day. She claimed she was fixing her hair but failed to mention why she wasn’t doing that in her own quarters. I have no doubt now that she is a spy, though I am still not sure why she is here. We aren’t breaking the law living out here. We didn’t come by this water in any illegal means. But we are defiant, and that is always an issue to our wealthy but fearful government. Wealth only brings a false sense of security. When one resists, others will follow, and perhaps that is why Saf is here.

She is not here for me, that is certain. She would have turned me in long ago. But I can’t have her going through my things; she will surely learn who I am. It has almost been a month here and my husband is still missing. I will leave tomorrow.

 

PURPOSE

The first week here was a bit like being the first person to wake up at a slumber party. You know, not really sure what to do with yourself until everyone else wakes up. I’m not used to waking up at 5:30 a.m., but the sun pours light into my room when she wakes so I wake up, too. would not call myself a morning person, so I didn’t know what to do. And no one else was up for usually another hour or two. I made breakfast. I cleaned. I just sat and did nothing for a while. The thing is, I wasn’t lacking in things to occupy my time, I just wasn’t used to doing things in the morning. I was also a bit paralyzed reflecting on where I’ve found myself: on the run from the government, in the middle of the desert with seven other women and enough water for a month, unsure of my husband’s fate, not sure what the next weeks will bring. You can speculate “what if this and what if that,” but you never know what it’s like until it actually happens. I knew it would get here eventually. I was physically prepared, but not mentally. Abandoning my busy life, I was lacking a sense of purpose. I mean, what are we doing out here except surviving?

I am comfortable with this way of life: reducing, reusing, recycling. It is how I have been living since the drought hit. I use an average of 1.5 gallons a day here. On the hotter days, I use more, drinking and soaking my bandana to stay cool. It’s an odd choice to settle in the desert. It is both forgiving and unforgiving. It is an adjustment, living in the heat with little air conditioning (it doesn’t cool below 100F on the hot days), but my biggest adjustment has been living with others. My husband and I have been on our own for a while. The city is full of people, but you don’t have to see them. We have a small place on the outskirts of the city. We used to have a small hemp farm, a garden, a few alpacas and sheep, and chickens, but with the draught and water restrictions, we couldn’t sustain it. We manage to have a small garden now and a small patch of hemp (it is quite resilient). Like I’ve said, we keep to ourselves. We usually go on missions alone, and water delivery is done discretely to not attract attention. All that to say, I don’t mesh well with others, especially for prolonged amounts of time. I especially don’t live well with others, yet here I am, a loner living with seven other women.

These women probably don’t know who I am. Why would they? I haven’t told them what I do. I keep to myself mostly – not the friendliest rebel in the west. I can be a bit abrasive at times, but I have been in the business of doing the things the government tells me not to do for quite some time, and that can harden a person. As I have mentioned before, I have a bounty on my head, which makes me more nervous for the group than myself. I do not wish to bring them danger. But this bounty has been out for years, and I’m still here. The government is smart, just not that smart. I am beginning to suspect someone among us may be a spy, though. I won’t name names at this point, but I am more alert now than ever. Perhaps I am just paranoid. If she was here for me, I would be gone by now, which is a good sign, but what is she doing out here? I don’t think we are much of a threatening bunch, but I suppose I don’t truly know these women or where they came from.

This past week started out unbelievably hot: 105-110F. It was as if there was no escape from the heat until the bottom of an old salt water tank here finally corroded out and rained down several gallons of water. We had been told that tank dried up a few years ago along with the rest of the desert, but somehow, there was still a little water in it. It actually felt like a miracle, and those have been hard to come by the past years. My spirits picked up after that, along with the rest of the group I think. I finally figured out how to be productive in the morning and became more comfortable with doing nothing during the daytime. I’m still cooking and cleaning here and there, but mostly I’ve been drawing, reading, and resting. I filled bottles with sand for the outhouse, helped fix the fence. Now it’s the end our second week here, and I’m finding a sense of purpose, even if it is a simple one.

I’m giving this place another two weeks, then I have to leave. I know better than to stay in one spot too long. If I haven’t heard from my husband, I’ll head to the Rockies. It’s cooler there anyways.

THE HEAT

 

110 fahrenheit
barricaded inside
fans running
dark cloths over windows

it’s still hot
so i lay low
and wait for the sun to sleep

…

wake up early
bask in the coolness of morning
do it all over again

SMALL MOMENTS

small moments
make small drawings
…
but i think
this cholla is thirsty
scorched by the sun
…
hey, so am i

ONE WEEK GONE

 

We have been here for a week, and our water supply is holding up. No one has been using their full three gallons a day, and even the communal water has a surplus. It hasn’t gotten too hot yet though, so I foresee as it heats up, we will be drinking/using more water. I “showered” the other day and only used 1.5 gallons. Makes me reflect on my 10-minute long showers back in the day and cringe – what a waste of water.

Since leaving the city, I have had little contact with the outside world, which is good – I would prefer not to be found. Mid-week we had some newcomers that claimed they had heard of our space but wouldn’t tell us how or where. Any of these women could be spies, and I have a bounty on my head. Never doubt how low the government will go.

The last I saw my husband, he was headed to the Rocky Mountains. I chose to stay back from this mission and hold down the home front, which is probably why I am writing now and my husband is missing. See, we are part of a rebel force. You can think of us like Robin Hood – taking water from the wealthy and giving it to the poor. The US hasn’t changed much as far as the distribution of wealth, except that it’s gotten worse. The wealthy are even wealthier, and they control the water and the government. Maybe what’s changed is that we all know of the corruption now, whereas back in the day, we seemed to either ignore it or be ignorant of its existence. But I believe in a great quality of life for all, and I will do whatever it takes to accomplish that. My husband and I stepped up and joined the resistance sometime in 2017. We do what we can, and we knew this was a possibility six years ago. For now, I still need to lay low, but if nothing changes, I may leave in a few weeks to search for him.

PLACES THAT WERE

places that were
still occupied
just not by human

a beautiful collaboration
between human and nature

nature is artist
maker
lover
and caretaker

HOLES IN THE WALLS

 

Glimpses of natural and unnatural demolition — the passage of time through vandalism.

…

The desert isn’t a wasteland.
But we think it is.
Some dump their trash
and vandalize empty homes.
Decay happens naturally.
Are we just helping it along?

THE DESERT IS CALM

 

calm is not something
i am accustomed to
taking time to be

the desert is slow
quiet
loud
vast,

the desert is

It seems as though all I have done in our first few days here is cook and eat (but thank god we have a kitchen now!). And when I’m not eating, I’m thinking about eating. Cooking has at least kept me occupied, and I enjoy the company of others cooking with me. It is a real team effort. Even with limited food, we have made some delicious meals.

I remember only six years ago telling my friends that the government can’t be trusted and they were only in it for themselves, only to be called a conspiracy theorist. Now look where we are: forced to take part in a brutal war in exchange for what keeps us alive. It is ironic, right? Exchanging another’s death for your life. I decided a long time ago not to sign up for the draft, which has its consequences. There is, of course, having to find your own water, which is difficult in the desert. But most of all, the government doesn’t like defiance.

Still no word from my husband.