Names and Purposes
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By Eytan Pol:
There is a juniper tree rooted in the red desert flats south of Twin Rocks in south-central Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park. Like most junipers, its bark and branches are not straight or smooth, but twisted, rolled upward and seemingly folding into itself. Junipers have a way of looking as if they are under constant pressure from within, the veins almost popping out, intensely tightening its muscles so it can.. so it can do what? It almost looks as if they are trying with all their might to get every single drop of water from the nearly-dry desert soil. Every fiber in their being is tensed up in the effort to reach it.
But this particular juniper tree near Twin Rocks, looks different. Two sunburnt and scarred limbs stick out from the main trunk, reaching upwards and outwards in the soft blue desert sky. The bark is twisted like all others of its kind, but the way in which it is formed can only remind one of a ballerina posing beautifully on a stage. I do not know anything of dance and theater, but in a way, this juniper reminds me of exactly that. Posing on its own desert stage. A constant performance without an audience, a fact that makes it more captivating.
Overwhelming and soothing serenity. An emancipating sensation of the necessity of self-reliance. If I were to disappear, how long would it take for people to take notice? How long could I wander around undisturbed if I strayed off-trail, disappearing into a side canyon? Hidden in vast and dry fields of red rock, heated by the high summer desert sun. A cottonwood or overhanging cliff to shade my mind and body. A solitary place to nurture and reset the synapses of my brain, a place of everything and nothing. Perhaps I tend to romanticize too much, and I might be a naive idealist. Know that this is by choice after careful consideration of the alternatives.
A heavy red rock sits sturdy in place, lodged between brothers and sisters, big and small. It has fallen from the crimson Wingate sandstone cliffs hundreds or perhaps thousands of years ago. I see blooming cliffrose with soothing yellow flowers, exuding toughness rather than beauty. It has rooted in vertical nooks and crevices so unlikely and small that even their existence is simply a wonder to behold. A couple of green cottonwood trees are standing somewhere alone hidden in a canyon and filled with dozens of webby nests made by thousands of tent caterpillars. All hanging by a thread. It is a reminder that even here in this wretched wasteland, life does not only find a way, it thrives. A thought which results in joyful, tearful liberation, powerful enough to erode even the fear of death itself.
The moment inspires elation with my time and place in the world and the finite nature of my existence. I am sitting in a part of the park that has no name. At least, as far as I know. In every direction, there are soft rolling desert hills, steeper to the foot than to the eye. They are sparsely scattered with as many black basalt rocks as green desert shrubs, prickly pear cacti and blooming yellow wildflowers. The occasional but lonely pinyon or juniper sticks out from the red dirt canvas in which it roots. Hidden between these gentle ups and downs are washes, gulches, gorges, and canyons. Invisible to the outsider’s eye, unless you know where to look. Carved by the patient forces of wind and especially water, although most of them exist in a dry state now for much of the year.
It is becoming clear to me that this desert landscape is a metaphor for desert life. The superficial sameness of these arid hills can be mistaken in the same manner one misinterprets the days in the desert as monotonous. Yet, as this rolling horizon in front of me harbors secret depths and hidden places, so does the seemingly gentle line of time.
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After graduating in North American Studies, Eytan spent a number of months living and working in Capitol Reef National Park in Utah during the first wave of the corona pandemic. He is currently working on a larger project on the desert and the American West.
