A Spring Break to Remember
My connection to the desert has a history. In middle school I attended a small country day school in Los Olivos, CA where we called our teachers by their first names. One of those teachers happened to be my mom, affording us a much-needed break in tuition. Every morning we drove from Santa Maria to the Santa Ynez Valley, often before the sun was up. Tarantulas scampered across the freeway, looking for love. Those early hours revealed grass covered in frost, sparkling in the sun. By late morning, the dew had melted and left us baking in dry, hot and dusty air.
Those were the years I fell in love with experiential learning. I had already grown to enjoy traditional school subjects, but my time at Dunn Middle School ignited a creative enjoyment for making things with my hands, storytelling, and the discovery of how other people around the world live. It sparked my imagination in a new way. Now that I’m a parent, I hope my kids get to experience that kind of learning away from the city.
This Spring Break, my family and I headed for a desert escape in Joshua Tree. The air reminded me of those middle school days. The wide-open spaces, desert flowers and dusty roads took me right back. My young kids were new to this simple desert life. What was intended as a relaxing escape from our beach city life left me wringing my hands.
The well-appointed solar-powered home was approximately 250 square feet. (What were we thinking?) My son was quite literally climbing the walls at some point. The thoughtfully stocked games were a tad too old for him (he was dying to play Operation, but his hands weren’t yet steady enough to avoid the jarring buzz that lit up the patient’s nose). His frustration erupted into multiple tantrums that even promises of ice cream couldn’t appease.
Given the small footprint, the adult sleeping quarters were situated in loft spaces. My daughter joyfully balanced against the 90-degree iron ladder rungs leading to the two lofts. The sight of the steep climb would send shivers down any parent’s spine; thankfully, our two little monkeys lost interest fairly quickly.
In an effort to amuse themselves, my kids found other hazardous items across the property (heavy bocce balls became “cupcakes” that were flung wildly like cannonballs; carefully displayed rocks and pebbles became superhero ammunition; a broom and sticks were swords (naturally). At one point my son was playing with the rodent trap box and I squealed: “Please put that down!” His simple reply: “But it felt like there was something in there, Mom!”
They enjoyed the two hammocks, though bruised their knees when dismounting without warning. The worst moment was when I dutifully emptied my son’s diaper contents into the grey water system toilet, only to clog it. (I know, we’re working on it.) It took many attempts to return its functionality, likely only helped by the fortuitous timing of the arrival of the septic tank maintenance truck.
I figured the Joshua Tree Park experience would be a better bet: plenty of space to run around and explore. But our son had an epic meltdown when we parked at the trail: “I just want to go home!” he cried, flailing his arms and legs, restricted by the car seat, sweaty from the hot sun. We waited it out, but he was so exhausted from his tantrum that even a short hike would have depleted his limited barely-4-year-old resources. Although he proudly hiked with a renewed positive attitude, my husband and I shared carrying all 40 pounds of him up and down the rocky terrain for a good quarter mile.
By nightfall I was eager to finally see the blanket of stars that lured us away from our light polluted neighborhood. But after the kids were tucked in bed, I realized I was trapped in the loft. In this eco-friendly home, there was no light to flip on. I didn’t dare scale down the steep rung ladder in the pitch dark for fears of waking them. They would wail if I left them alone in there.
I closed my eyes in our tiny home away from home. At least there was the silence.
Come sunrise, I heard from below our loft in the open room: “Mom, I had a pee-pee accident.” Still groggy, I stumbled down the ladder, fumbling to keep my glasses on, racing to remove the soggy diaper before soiling anything that didn’t belong to us. This time we were spared disaster.
There were some beautiful moments, too, of course. Thankfully, those are what’s frozen in pictures — good memories that we’ll keep from our Spring Break escape during a slow waning global pandemic. That desert air was just like I remember from Middle School. The sunrise behind the mountains reminded me of those mornings. It’s when the air still holds a chill and the ground crunches when you walk in it. I felt a flood of gratitude — not despite my son’s early wake-up call, but because of it. And I remembered, if only for a minute, a love of experiential learning and a calm that only nature can provide.
A fine Spring Break, indeed.
