My Secret Garden

OK, it really isn’t a secret garden.  And it certainly has nothing on that wonderful example of early nineteenth century English children’s literature by Frances Hodgsen Burnell. It’s just my little contemplative corner here in the desert.

To be honest, it’s nothing more than a couple of Adirondack chairs (estate sale specials) in one corner of my small orange grove. Nevertheless, it’s a place to go when I want to get lost inside my head and escape my daily routine. The orange trees are neighboring a couple of lemon trees; all of which are going through an off-season this year. So, while the grove isn’t as thick as usual, it still provides enough greenery to close me off from the rest of the world, literally and figurative.

Whereas last year we harvested an abundance of lemons and oranges and limes, this year the output has been relatively sparse. This last summer brought an onslaught of high temperatures and with it a steady growth of the grove. Yet even with trimming this fall; it’s still a secluded corner in our side yard.

It’s a different spot than the rest of our back yard. Unlike our two recliners where Sharon and I can sit back and enjoy a setting sun, a rising sun and the occasional cloud on the horizon, my plum-colored chairs block out all of that scenery. If I want to see our mountains constantly changing color, tone, depth and character, I wouldn’t go hide in the orange grove.

We also have three stone benches that are surprisingly comfortable for a slab of stone. But in truth, they are more for decoration or stone art than a comfortable resting place. That leaves our two (depending on sunlight and the time of day) orange/pink/salmon-colored chairs purchased at an estate sale for ten dollars each as a quiet third alternative.

I started retreating to my orange grove almost by accident. I had just gotten my first stack of old Playboy magazine’s online and wanted a comfortable place to get lost in my past; real and imagined. I found the Adirondack two chairs and surrounding orange grove so relaxing and away from anyone and everything that I began to sit there whenever I was in the mood. My surroundings are nothing special.

To my left

Straight ahead

Or to my right

Then again, it’s not the view I come for. Instead it’s the quiet that surrounds me, an occasional bee or hummingbird out snacking or tiny lizards scampering about my feet. It’s another world where I’m cut off from the real world, at least in my mind. It’s a wonderful place to reflect and refresh my perspective on life.

And how fortunate I am.

Long and Winding Road

I wanted to get lost inside my head.

After a summer of play productions, self-published books and speaking engagements I thought a thousand foot precipice overlooking the Coachella Valley would be a good place to start. So one of the first things I did upon my return to the desert…was climb a mountain.

The granite plateau is a pivotal point in Book Three of my ‘Debris’ series. It’s where one of the protagonists goes to meditate and think about the ghost of Tahquitz Canyon. I figured if it was good enough for him, why not me.

It wasn’t just any cliff face but my favorite sanctuary of solitude and comfort. It’s my granite tabernacle for reflection and contemplation. A slab of rock that warms my bottom as well as my soul. An escape for quiet soul-searching amid the shadows of Indian lore and homes of the rich and invisible.

I call it my Vision Quest with a reverent nod to Native American lore. Only this year it’s different. Hopefully I’m a little wiser if not a bit older. Reflections seem to trip forth easier with age. Here I reflect. I meditate and I plan for the future. The San Jacinto mountain chain is a great place to recharge one’s creative batteries.

The Coachella Valley is shouldered by several mountain chains which have imbued this area with numerous opportunities to seek solace, quiet reflection, exercise and release from the routine of our daily lives.

Something magical, almost spiritual, can happen during a mountain traverse. It’s a physical as well as mental challenge. At face value, it can be an afternoon of hiking, climbing or finger-probing the rough crags and fissures of the mountain face. On a more spiritual level, it’s an assent into the vaulted realm of oxygen deprivation, aching muscles, sweat-drenched clothing and overall mental exhilaration…all to put your head in the right place.

There’s a culture here among a small group of old goats who work and hike these mountains year round.  They care for the trails as an elder does the tribe. They endure scorching summer heat and windy overcast winter days. Most are rail-thin. Their skin looks like weathered copper or dried up old parchment. Most of them are lithe as an antelope. They’re the desert rats of the higher altitudes.

Following that elite group of desert denizens come another eccentric group of trail runners and new age meditators.  They frequent the mountains like others hang out at Starbucks. Finally come the tourists, snowbirds and occasional weekend explorer (many with families in tow.)

In the spring, the trail is accented with blooming yellow brittlebush and flowering cacti…and at times an abundance of rattlesnakes. These rattlesnakes are usually very difficult to see since their coloration blends in perfectly with the rocks and gravel on the trail. One bite and it’s off to the hospital for several vials of antivenin serum. It’s an expensive proposition at several thousand dollars per vial.

    

There are picnic tables at the top which are perfect for casual reflection without worrying about some rattlesnake biting you on the butt. Scenic vistas go on forever in a field of quiet that is almost deafening. Along with dreams and meandering what-ifs, it’s a perfect place to escape within your head and do some exploring there. But it still doesn’t compare to my tabernacle.

I’ve tried yoga, marathons and long trail runs. Collectively they can punish the body all the while soothing the soul. My tabernacle is no different. It just takes a longer climb to get there.