One mans trash is another girls
treasure. The Sonoran desert is teaming with both. From old steel
cans and barrels to vintage Pepsi bottles and remnants of machinery
from ages long past. Unfortunately, along with the treasures one
finds...the desert has become the dumping ground of the slovenly.
Household trash, plastic water bottles – tires, mattresses, Mylar
balloons and every other imaginable item...including the kitchen
sink.
For me, it began innocently enough. I'd
take along a bag to carry out the trash I find on my daily walks or
rides. I've done this for as long as I can remember. It may have
started with my dad who instilled in my sister and I to always leave
a place cleaner than you found it...even if it means picking up after
others...and it always does.
I suppose being on the lookout for
discarded items that don't belong on our public lands has given me a
keen eye for finding other, less distasteful things. Cool rocks,
ornate cholla, deer and elk sheds and vintage bottles manage to find
their way into a backpack or saddlebag. I consider these treasures
reward for doing my small part in picking up after other people.
Personally, I'd rather hang those people from the nearest Palo
Verde...but we don't always get what we want in this life. The 1930's
Vick's Va Tro Sol bottle complete with glass eyedropper I found at an
old mining claim will have to suffice.
I keep these desert treasures in my
she-shed in cardboard boxes labeled "Desert Treasures" in
black permanent marker. Don't judge. Everyone is entitled to one
quirky vice. I don't smoke...I don't drink (much)...I don't swear
(much.) Ok...I do drink some...and I swear a little...a lot actually.
Maybe I drink more than a little if it entails cinnamin whiskey...or
Pendleton...whiskey of any kind really. And "shit" is my
favorite word of all time. BUT I DO NOT SMOKE! So there is that. I
don't smoke and I have a box of treasures filled with rusty steel
cans, vintage bottles, old iron parts and the skeletal remains of
what I'm told is a desert tortoise. I, however, am not unconvinced
it's not the alien skull of an extra terrestrial.
I have discovered I am not alone in the
relentless pursuit of desert treasures. My southern neighbors, Blair
and Cheri P have spent a good decade landscaping their winter home
with a plethora of desert finds. A stroll around their five acres
leaves you feeling as if you are walking through a museum of Sonoran
artifacts tastefully placed here and there. When I say it takes real
creative talent to spew that much junk around a yard and have it come
out a work of art, I say it with utmost respect and more than a
little awe. I don't know how they do it. I do know who to call when
it comes time to landscape my place.
It's become somewhat of a competition
of who can find the coolest desert treasure. It's all fine and dandy
when the competitors are on an excursion by themselves; make it a
group ride and it can get real and it can get ugly in a hurry. Hungry
eyes scanning the desert floor...back and forth...back and forth.
Spurring their steeds here and there at the glimpse of shiny objects
beckoning in the hot sun. Eyes start to play tricks on the mind.
Ordinary mesquite stumps become vintage kerosene cans. An oddly shaped
rock takes on the form of a rusted metal pail.
Out of nowhere, the bellowing cadence
of a single word that momentarily stops the heart: "MINE!!!!"
Damn it...damn it all to hell! You missed it! You swear you were just
scanning that very same area and yet...there's Blair, standing over
the most awesome rusted out metal bucket thing you've ever seen in
your life. "What is it, Blair?" He examines his find with
childlike glee: "It's a really cool rusted out bucket thing with
lid and everything!." If that isn't enough to make you green
with treasure envy – Cheri takes the bucket, reaches inside and
discovers another find: An old enamel coffee cup. I'm pretty sure
people have been killed for less. I really wanted that coffee cup.
These are my neighbors. We must co-exist. I feigned congratulatory
interest. "That's really cool guys." Fake smile...try not
to look too irritated....just walk away. There will be other
days...other treasures. Maybe not cool, enamel coffee cup
treasures but...whatever.
Word of our desert treasure hunting has
spread. Thanks to Facebook – the phenomenon has reached the far
corners of our Facebook friends and family. Enter Frank and Rhonda
..dynamic due of a thousand cactus pictures. Frank has single
handedly photographed every cacti from every angle between New River
and Wendon. I believe he suffers from OCD. Obsessive Cacti Disorder.
Frank and Rhonda hauled over to ride
with us...bringing with them housewarming gifts they gleaned from
beneath a greasewood bush: Three metal welcome signs adorned with
sunflowers and butterflies... tags still attached. An easy 20 bucks
in any tourist trinketry shop. A more perfect gift for the desert
scavenger could not be had.
Nine of us hauled up Eagle Eye and
unloaded for a short ride to the sheep ruins. We parked in an area
large enough for three big rigs pulling horse trailers.
Unfortunately, the area is just one of the many common dumping
grounds. Old tires...mattresses, a play pen and some sort of dead
carcass stuffed in a plastic bag and liquified to a pile of goo and
hide. Some thought it must be a pig...others a sheep. I chose to
ignore it altogether.
We rode the short mile and a half to
the ruins, snapped pictures and headed back cross country to the
trailers. Nobody had found any treasures to speak of, but it was
still a great ride. I thought we were done and ready to head back but
apparently Blair wasn't quite satisfied leaving without something to
show for the day. He and Frank sped back toward the mountain with
horse trailer in tow. What the hell? Concerned something was wrong, I
asked Cheri what they were doing. Shaking her head, she rolled her
eyes: "Oh, that's just Blair going back for his new piece of lawn
furniture." I was perplexed: What? Wait...you mean that old
broken up wicker love seat with two legs missing? Is he going to use
it as firewood in the pit?"
Back at the Rundown Ranch (Blair and
Cheri's place) – we partook in Taco Tuesday vittles, cocktails and
campfire tales of scavenger hunts past and present. I noticed
something as each group recounted their adventures and finds. Each
has their own taste...or cadence, when it comes to desert scavenging.
I tend to migrate more towards items I can carry in a backpack or
saddle bag. I am as likely to pick up a cool rock or a uniquely
twisted branch of cholla as I am an old bottle or steel can.
Blair and Cheri seem to be drawn to the
larger, eclectic items: Metal barrels – pieces of iron mining
equipment or...apparently...two legged, dilapidated wicker loveseats
worthy of hauling back in a horse trailer. I worried a little about
Blairs mental condition when he drug that thing out and proudly
carried it over to a spot he'd obviously envisioned for this very
purpose. Propped against an old barrel – the loveseat served as a
backdrop to a mock firering with a bovine femur "roasting"
on a grill. The skeletal frame of a large umbrella pretended to
offer shade over the entire scene. It looks like the perfect setting from A Nightmare Before Christmas. I'll be damn if the
whole esthetic menagerie doesn't somehow work.
And then we have Frank and Rhonda.
Fairly new to the desert scavengers guild...the duo seem to be drawn
to the bizarre and arcane...or perhaps it's drawn to them? From surf
boards to nerf guns and Christmas decorations. You name it –
they've likely came across it. Not only have they spotted the kitchen
sink...but they've likely encountered a squatter or two brushing
their teeth in it.
I have no idea what any of this says
about those of us desert scavengers. We retire...sell everything...move 1000
miles away from all we've known and spend our days dragging home junk
others made a great effort to rid themselves of. I guess I don't need
to give it meaning. For us, it is something that brings joy and is
more fun than a barrel of monkeys. I've never actually seen a barrel
of monkeys – but I have no doubt if such a thing exists...Frank
and Rhonda will run into it and have photographic evidence posted on
Facebook before the winter is over.
