The Sad Town

by Wendy Lee

February 4, 2017

 I have made the drive at least fifty times, perhaps closer to one hundred, in my lifetime.  As a child, the drive from Barstow to Las Vegas seemed tortuous and slow.  Things were different then, lower speed limits and cars that struggled to make it up the passes without overheating.  And timescales are skewed when you are young.

We made some of those trips in darkness, avoiding the daytime heat.  It was scary to me as we drove the barren desert listening to mysteries on the AM radio. 

Would we ever get there?

Over the past several years, the drive has changed and provided a bit of comfort, lost in my thoughts while taking in the vistas that I suspect many never fully appreciate.

Today I was actually searching for something, what I am not exactly sure of.  Perhaps a little peace from  the heartache.

Peace is sometimes elusive in my mind.  As I was flying through the Mojave desert in a hurry to return home, it seemed a nonsensical notion to search for peace in such a harried state. 

Still, I was trying to connect with something bigger, maybe to mend a broken heart and to show me a better path.

I never expected to find some answers near Baker, California, a place I had always found so loathsome. 

I spent a few days in Baker as a young girl, staying at a little motel where my uncle worked.  Cleaning motel rooms one moment, jumping on a trampoline the next.  Nonsense.

The town was always so dead and boring to me, and as I turned into an adult, my feelings didn’t seem any different.  Actually, I grew to despise the town, for its overcharging and lack of any hospitality.  I would blow on by, acting as if it were never there.

I still find the town a little sad, but I actually miss those meals we would take at the Bun Boy many, many years ago.  I found a fondness in seeing the old sign for the Royal Hawaiian Motel.  It seems a relic, that town, but it strangely provides a bit of nostalgia for me.

Today, as I neared this unhappy town, I was amazed at what opened up before me.  Delightful flats, full of water from the recent rains.  I marveled at the reflections I could see, even with my poor eyes.  The tall mountain peaks in a distance were covered with a dusting of snow, something I don’t ever recall seeing.  There were dark volcanic mountain formations contrasted with the gold and brown and gray hills, with a tiny, tiny smattering of red undertones.  Layers of textures, rough and craggy, along with smooth rocks.

As I passed the town, the highway dissected the snow covered peaks, the parting of the seas, so to speak.  The Joshua trees began popping up as I climbed the pass, each with its own personality.  They have always fascinated me. 

I thought, ever so briefly about pulling over for a photo, but quickly dismissed that notion.  I knew that it would be impossible to capture the depths of the scene in a digital form, and even if I could, I would never be able to evoke the same feelings. 

It is difficult to describe the wash of calm I felt in noticing some this, perhaps for the first time.  All of the thoughts tightly bunched up in my head and the sting I felt in my soul were gone.

It was simply me and nature, perspective and harmony. 

And then I realized that I am going to be just fine.  Indeed, I already am. 

…with love