Thinking back to my college days, I became fascinated with terrariums. They could be made from anything, but the container of choice was the coveted 5-gallon water bottle. With the help of a funnel and a long grabber tool, soil and plants were placed inside. Little tropical plants would thrive in the artificial space created just for them.
With the proper amount of sunlight and water, the level of humidity was perfect for those small plants to thrive, never growing bigger than the container. Transplanting those little plants was so much easier than transplanting an entire human life. As long as their nutritional requirements were met, the survived.
Moving to the desert, I’ve found a culture and way of life that is unique. Certainly not for everyone, even the shades spring-time green take some getting used to. Four distinct seasons are pronounced, each with their own distinct challenges and beauty. VST and I quietly moved to The Dun-Movin House in Virginia City, Nevada, sat back, and waited for our roots to take hold. Having each other, we had a wealth of shared memories to talk about. We had plenty of adventures to create over our six years together. It’s easier to transplant when you are a unit of two.
Seventeen days after his death, I transplanted to Winterpast as a Unit of One with one little dog to keep me company. The move has been easy in some ways and the most difficult thing in the world in the other. Choosing desert life has been good for me, being very similar to the one in which I grew up. Farmers. Ranchers. The Feed Store. Rodeo. Living with nature. Understanding weather patterns. Spring time and harvest. Those things are second nature to this farm girl. To someone transplanting from city life, those things can be learned, but it takes a lifetime to internalize them.
The Central Valley of California was a desert before it became the Bread-Basket of the United States. Anything you could imagine grew there until that was all abandoned and it returned to desert status. Without water, a desert is just that. Barren wasteland. Add water and can see what happens. Here in my little town, there’s not much help for the soil. Even at Winterpast, where gardens have blossomed for 18 years, the soil is still marginal. Some things can’t really be changed.
Will my tap root really grow strong enough to keep me from blowing away in the Zephyr Winds of the desert? That remains to be seen. I’ve transplanted myself in a nurturing, positive environment. My new friends are encouraging me to do my best by moving forward one day at a time. I’m finally finding out who I am and what I can accomplish. I’m also discovering all the limitations that come with my age.
At the present time, the town is comforting its residents, still in shock over the nightmare of the last three weeks. Visiting the local Walmart last night to get a few things, I noticed people staying a little closer to their loved ones. It will take some time to get over the unthinkable that took place on March 12, 2020.
One of the family members spoke yesterday, cursing the desert lands that kept Naomi hidden for weeks. The blame belongs with the one that caused this, which wasn’t Naomi or the desert. I, for one, find comfort in the wide open skies with their puffy white clouds. As the desert night skies reveal beautiful galaxies of stars more plentiful than I can count, I feel extremely blessed to live here. Nevada’s state song says it all.
Home Means Nevada — Written by Bertha Roffetto
Way out in the land of the setting sun,
Where the wind blows wild and free,
There’s a lovely spot, just the only one,
That means Home Sweet Home to me.
If you follow the old Kit Carson trail,
Until desert meets the hills,
Oh, you certainly will agree with me,
It’s the place of a thousand thrills.
Home means Nevada. Home means the hills.
Home means the sage and the pine.
Out by the Truckee’s silvery rills,
Out where the sun always shines.
Here is the land which I love the best,
Fairer than all I can see.
Deep in the heart of the golden west,
Home means Nevada to me.
Whenever the sun at the close of day,
Colors all the western sky.
Oh, my heart returns to the desert grey
And the mountains tow’ring high.
Where the moon beams play in shadowed glen,
With the spotted fawn and doe,
All the live long night until morning light.
It’s the loveliest place I know.
Home means Nevada. Home means the hills.
Home means the sage and the pine.
Out by the Truckee’s silvery rills,
Out where the sun always shines.
Here is the land which I love the best,
Fairer than all I can see.
Deep in the heart of the golden west,
Home means Nevada to me.
More tomorrow.