More Desert Magic: The Healing Power of Freedom and Awe

The Gypsy Wagon is at home under the desert twilight.

My friend and I rolled into a remote desert hot spring mid-afternoon. It was hot as shit with not a stitch of shade. This was the kind of scene—scorching sun, desiccated soils stretching into infinity, a long, rutted dirt road compacted into hardpan but wearing the deep scars of previous rain events where desert turns to greasy, vehicle-engulfing clays and a broken down vehicle could lead to certain death—that at once makes you aware of how insulated and soft we’ve become and at the same time, makes you feel so very alive. The Gypsy Wagon was fully gassed and in running order (but lacks 4-wheel drive, insulation, and temperature control); there were a few people in and out—sketchy characters to be sure but other beings nonetheless; and, in what seemed like a miracle (but really wasn’t for the presence of a massive energy facility on the horizon), we had cell service, so while theoretically a desolate spot, we had little concern. Still, it was blazing hot and we were undecided about whether we would soak and roll on, using the time during the heat of the day to make road miles, or make it through to evening when the desert turns up its magic.

There were some interesting characters soaking in the tubs when we arrived—two over-crisped desert men living out of a couple broke-ass vehicles. We took our time, eating lunch and sussing out the scene before deciding whether we felt safe enough to stay. We watched. There were no visible weapons, the men were out of shape, older, and their conversation, while loud and gruff, seemed relatively harmless. We waited, giving them space, hoping they would get out of the tubs. One finally did. We waited some more. Eventually, we decided to go for it. While often taking the bathing suit optional approach, we were most definitely not going nude here.

We suited up and walked to the tubs. To my extreme delight, the last one was cool. The three had been plumbed with both cool freshwater and scalding natural geothermal waters and we had some control over mixing. We slid into the cool tub. It was immediately apparent we’d wait out the desert heat here.

From across the tubs, the man spoke to us, seemingly eager to engage. My friend had her back to him but I was facing him directly, though separated by a pool. It made me squirm a bit—both because I wasn’t interested in engaging and my friend was ignoring him entirely. She and I ended up playing good cop, bad cop—she was giving him the stiff arm and I was politely but reservedly engaging in conversation, providing nothing but short declarative answers. He was not one for hints and kept trying. He was a jeweler. He had just been to a gem show and purchased lots of jade. He had a slew of birthdays in his life recently and had given away a lot of jewelry (Perhaps a partial explanation for the vehicle scene?). We should come over to his truck to see his wares. (That was a silent and implicit Fuck no between my friend and me.) We waited him out and eventually he departed, returning to his nearby desert camp. We relaxed into the afternoon and whiled it away, alternatively chatting and silently soaking up the waters, the desert air, the sun, the sound of trickling water, the occasion trill of a bird.

Evening finally arrived. A few more people had come in and out of the area during the afternoon and thankfully, we felt comfortable enough to camp the night. Neither one of us had really wanted to leave but would have had we felt unsafe.

My friend read her book in the van and I took a solo walk into the twilight. Everything felt still and soft. The sun streaked pink for a bit before the horizon melted into a melon orange against a deepening cerulean blue. The moon hung as a crescent beacon in the air. The fringes of the desert softened; surface waters glinted in the waning light. I found myself entranced, enthralled by the muted colors, the softening, the way my whole being felt present, nurtured, grounded to the soil beneath my feet. A couple weeks of sleeping beneath crisp desert breezes, walking for hours on end over and through canyons and water sources and more canyons, had my breath, my heart, my body, my nervous system all beating in synchrony with nature. It’s certainly my recipe for wellness and I was feeling it deep in my bones.

As I marveled at the night desert, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about these desert colors—the feeling of these desert colors—that had me so enthralled, a bit obsessed really. Part of it is that the Desert Southwest twilight is truly special: Air masses coming from the Pacific Ocean contain relatively few particulates and by the time they’ve arrived in the desert, much of their water content has been squeezed out via orographic uplift. That is, as prevailing winds bring moist air masses from the Pacific eastward, the Sierra Nevada mountains act as a barrier, forcing the air to rise. Lower atmospheric pressures at higher altitudes cause air to expand and cool (adiabatic expansion and cooling), decreasing its capacity to hold water and ultimately leading to condensation and precipitation. The result is often rain and snow on the windward (west) side and drier conditions—a rain shadow—on the leeward (east) side of the Sierras. With fewer particulates and lower water content, dry desert air has lower hygroscopicity—that is, aerosolized particles are both fewer and drier and therefore have less capacity to uptake water and experience less hygroscopic growth (i.e., increased size with water uptake). Since larger particles tend to increase light extinction and scattering and reduce atmospheric visibility, clear desert skies with lower hygroscopicity instead grace us with greater spectral purity—and the vivid colors and dramatic sunsets for which these skies are renowned.

It’s not just this, however. It is well-documented that exposure to nature and its colors—particularly greens and blues—acts to down-regulate our nervous systems, helping us move from sympathetic to parasympathetic nervous function, decreasing cortisol levels, slowing heart rate, regulating breathing, improving digestion and enhancing overall wellbeing. Further, it makes us feel more calm, creative, compassionate; happier and better able to communicate. (For more on this, see: Re-Learning How To Be: Lessons From The Natural World.) I’ve experienced this time and again. Still, there was something special about this evening.

“If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide, and so we are found.”

―Terry Tempest Williams

I posted the topmost image of this piece in Substack Notes the other day. One reader,

Cara Bradley

, commented: I freaking love everything about this image. It depicts both awe and freedom. And perhaps that was it. The awe-inspiring magic of the desert and the freedom of the road are an intoxicating combination; both had cast their spell on me. Not only that, it just might be I’d also remembered the sacred and I’d found myself.

I wish you desert magic.

xo Wendy

Can you recall a time and place where the colors and forms of nature enchanted you in some really deep way? What did you experience? Please share in the comments.