Nicole Dinovo Cacti, Sunsets, and Dirt: These Are My Roots The Arizona Sonoran Desert after a rainstorm,

during the summer monsoons is a place that gravely resonates with me. I would have driven my car out, a few miles down the road from my house to get deeper into the desert. I would find the spot where there are no houses, just desert and mountains surrounding me. But, there is a lone structure. This structure is not a house, nor is it merely a shack; it is possibly the beginnings of a security gate for a neighborhood that has never been built, or that is yet to be built. I would climb to the top of this structure, and find a comfortable place to sit. This was the place where I could see the stars; a rare thing in the city. But, after a rainstorm, it would be cloudy, with the sunset peering through, making the clouds near the horizon glow bright orange. It would be exceedingly warm, the kind of warmness that completely covers my skin; like a warm blanket, surrounding and encompassing me. Usually in the desert, everything is dry, and to an outsider it may even seem lifeless, but after a rainstorm, everything feels alive; every tree and every bush, every leaf, as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself. I sit there, peering down at the cacti, the bushes, and the small animals scurrying around. I can hear coyotes howling, enjoying their recently caught rabbit. I hear the javelinas bustling about, trying to find the next trashcan to knock over. I can also hear the rattlesnakes nearby, slithering in and out of the ground, finding their next meal. I know from many years of experience that as long as I do not bother all of these desert creatures, they will not bother me. Looking farther away, I can see the vastness of the desert; with Pinnacle Peak, Camelback, and other various mountains surrounding and protecting me, like the arms of a mother protecting her child. Next, I notice the clouds, seemingly endless, but like a protective canopy overhead. Then, there is the smell. There is nothing like the smell of the desert right after a rainstorm. It is petrichor- the smell of the earth after it rains. A beautiful word for a beautiful smell. I feel tranquil, and at home. I unwillingly think of how I need to enjoy the rain, in this moment, because by tomorrow there will be clear skies, and it will be over 100 degrees. I can hear the last bit of drizzle as it hits the ground, the

surrounding plants, and the structure. I lie on my back, as this lullaby of drizzle puts me to sleep. Later, I wake up and drive my car up the road, glistening with rainwater, to my house. I stroll inside, to the cool air conditioning, and march up the stairs, then back outside to the balcony. I wander out to the very edge, and I sit down, with my legs hanging over the edge of my house, which goes two stories down. I look out to the horizon, and I can see the bustling alive city from this place. I look around, at my house, and at my neighbors houses and wonder what this area might have looked like 30 years ago, back before any of the Pinnacle Peak area was developed. I wonder about the city, sitting in the valley, and what that may have looked like as well. No pollution, no buildings, no city lights to obscure the sky. What will happen in 30 more years, when the area around me is fully developed? Where will people like me go to access fresh air? I wonder if maybe the human race is expanding too quickly for our own good. What is going to happen when these resources are gone, the resources that I need in my everyday life; water in particular? Should Arizona even exist?, I ask myself. The state is facing a water crisis. Water is not a renewable resource, and when living in the desert, it is important to become educated on water usage, and how we need to conserve, and be responsible for the resources we have. Living in the desert can be hazardous, but I wonder what my life would be like without the desert. If not for the terrain in which I grew up in, would I be a different person? Would my life be turned around, if I had grown up in a place like Durango? The desert is an important part of who I am, and it is hard to imagine a life without it. I have always loved living in the Valley of the Sun. Many people may believe the Sonoran Desert to be barren and dead, but they are wrong. Going up to Pinnacle Peak, you can feel the coolness, getting away from the buildings, hot concrete, and going to a slightly higher elevation. This place receives more water, and is cooler than other areas in the valley. The Sonoran Desert is the most lush and diverse in both plants and animals, of all the world's deserts. And the Pinnacle Peak area is one of the most exquisite areas of the Sonoran Desert... with the wealth of fascinating plants, prominent granite outcroppings, boulder landforms and sandy washes that ribbon through the valleys between rugged mountain ranges. This area of the Sonoran

Desert is immensely visually stunning, as the granite mountains have eroded into monstrous granite boulders and unique rock formations in the form of pronounced monoliths like Pinnacle Peak. The result of all this is a remarkably bountiful desert. It may not look like it as you drive by on the road, but get out on a trail and you will be in wonder at the diversity of plant life and terrain. Although Arizona is not always a place full of beauty and wonder. The harshness of Arizona can be felt during the summer time, when the temperature reaches over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It would be remarkably hot; we would have heat days at school, where we were not allowed to step outside. Another hazard of loving the desert is the constant threat of attack by Teddy Bear cacti, or rattlesnake. Indeed, the rocky outcroppings provide habitat for many pernicious creatures. Sandy washes provide travel corridors for many mammals, including coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions and javelinas. Then there was the sun. During the day, the sun would work to heat the lively city. In the evening, the sky would blaze with red, orange, and yellow, with sometimes even deep purple in the mix. The intensity of the colors and light came together with peaceful harmony, calming you, as the sun became an inspirational fire in the sky. The sun is as powerful as a symphony quieting, as it becomes more fervent and admirable when it dies down. You are filled with a sadness as the sun leaves, but are filled with confidence that you will see it again. Then, in the early morning, before anyone else has arisen, the sun makes its way back. The sun rises slowly into the morning sky. There is coolness in the air, and the sun grows more vivid as time passes. It climbs higher and higher, making the sky exceedingly radiant, until the sky is bright, the birds are singing, and the city is awake. I had lived in the same house since I was born, exploring the desert around my house from the time I could walk. There were so many marvelous saguaro cactuses, with twisting and turning arms. They could grow to be over 60 feet high, and live to be over two hundred years old. I would always wonder the life they have lived, and all that they have seen. I wonder if they frown upon humankind, and all our selfish ways, and if the death of their brothers and sisters sat heavy in their hearts. These magnificent organisms have been around to see an agglomeration of life and death. It

was not long before we realized how crucial and magnanimous these giants are. Harming a saguaro in any manner is illegal by state law in Arizona, and when houses or highways are built, special permits must be obtained to move or destroy any saguaro affected. In August of 2012, I moved away from the desert, to a place that I knew nothing about. I could not describe this place, and I did not know this place with the clarity that I knew Arizona. This place was a little town called Durango in the southwestern part of Colorado. Here, it was much too green; this greenness was overpowering and I would come to look at it with despise and distaste. Where was the dirt, and the warmth that comes with it? Where were the magnificent boulders, and the ever-present sun? This was an alien planet. It was cold, even during the summer, and rained for over two weeks straight when I first moved here. In Arizona, the rain was a rare, delicate thing that was to be cherished, as it only happened a few times each year. The rain here was cold, monotonous, and trapped me in, eventually making me feel immensely claustrophobic. On these rainy days, stuck inside in a town I did not know, with no one but my cat to provide me solace, are the days that I allowed my mind to wander. I sat on my bed, surrounded by boxes that would take me months to unpack. Sitting there, I looked out the window, into the rain and into the forest. Only a few feet away from my house, there was a bulky yellow construction machine. I can see, as these people tear down the forest, that there are more houses being built, going deeper and deeper into the woods, men scarring the land. Looking out my window, I find myself wondering again, about the expansion of human kind, wondering if there will be any forest left in this area in 20 years time. What will become of this area when all houses have been built, we hit our limit, and when there is nowhere else to go? I am not certain of what this place will become in 20 years, but in this moment now, it is beautiful, I cannot deny that. Even though I have not yet found a complete connection to this place, I still believe we need to try and keep this region the way it is so others, in the future, can enjoy it. As time goes by, my appreciation is growing. I have experienced the changing of the seasons for the first time in my life. There is the steady change to fall, where the leaves turn from green, to yellow to orange to red,

and every color in between, reminding me of my sunset. Then the leaves fall off, and it becomes bone chilling cold. I experienced the first pulchritudinous snow of the year, as it covered the town. Moving to Durango has been an unforgettable experience, filled with emotions, events, and people that are completely new to me. I cannot deny that I still miss my place in Arizona. But, my appreciation for Durango grows, the town and the people within. I am beginning to love and appreciate this newfound place, and the knowledge I have acquired since moving here. I have learned more than I could have ever hoped about life, nature, and people. I find myself at peace sitting on the floor of the forest, gazing up at the sky. Moving to the little town of Durango, Colorado, and the opportunities that came from this move, have helped to open my eyes, and my mind to the resources of the Earth, and the protection we need to provide within it. This is applicable whether the place be Scottsdale, Arizona; Durango, Colorado; or even the village of Som Roang, Cambodia.