The Desert is a Mirror
I spent 154 days in the wild desert with angry teenagers who hated their lives, hated their parents and ultimately hated all of us.
If I can just make it west to the mountains, I will take whatever odd jobs I can find to have a life near great wilderness, I thought.
Well, my ticket west presented itself — a job offer working in wilderness therapy with at-risk youth in Idaho.
I was twenty-two years old and my bank account hovered right around $138.
Just like every good solo traveler bailing from the flatlands of the midwest and heading west, I packed up the necessities into a burnt orange 2006 Chevy Cobalt and drove west with a gallon zip-lock bag of homemade trail mix from my Iowan aunt.
And, yes, I ate that entire bag of trail mix by the time I make it to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
I drove through several magnificent snow-peaked mountain ranges over a span of three days, using the Couchsurfing App on my phone to find takers to host a traveler overnight.
The journey was spectacular in all regards — winding roads intertwined with rushing rivers, early morning foggy breath puffing out from a large bull elk’s wet nose along the road, no cell service for miles, and gas stations that seem to be run down but by-golly they were still a -runnin’ when I stopped by and desperately needed to pee and my car had been running on empty for the last 10 miles.
I finally crossed the border into Idaho.
It didn’t match the fields of potatoes I had expected, nor did it reflect the rocky mountain-range, of which I had sworn I found on a map previous to driving out here.
I arrived in mid-July and it was a straight up hotter n’ hell desert.
Western music from Hang ’Em High rang in my ears as I slowly rolled over railroad tracks and into the town of Gooding, Idaho. Tumbleweeds were stuck to the front bumper of my car.
This is where my story of “firsts” truly beings — with the wilderness, southeast of Sun Valley (one of America’s top ski resort communities) in a town called Gooding.
And it wasn’t pretty.
Dry, cracked land with sage brush for miles and deep carved out red canyons with swirls of blue and gray rock.
In all, I spent twenty-two weeks or 154 days in that wild desert with angry teenagers who hated their lives, hated their parents and ultimately hated all of us instructors.
It was NOT their choice to be there.
Most of them were taken to this desert retreat against their own will, by two large body guards who were hired by their parents. These kids would stay in the desert with shifting instructor groups (two weeks on/two weeks off) for an average of 12 straight weeks.
With no running water. No electricity. And just the group and themselves to rely on with the continual thoughts of the actions that landed them in this place.
Cussing, hitting, hateful words, running away, physical threats, suicidal threats… it all happened out there in the Bennett Hills.
But something beautiful happened around week 5, that is, for most kids.
They fell in love with the desert.
Night after night spent under star-studded skies and mornings spent engaged in campfire conversation with the daily practice of meditation, these kids grew to understand the desert as their home.
A place of refuge and a reflection of who they were as individuals.
Kids started noticing the sunset sky saying,“Oh I like that purple shade over there!” or “I like that reddish, pinkish, yellowish hue!” Some nights the entire sky was lit up with a shade of pink that illuminated the clouds and reflected on the canyons surrounding us.
One night, a girl who had lived in the desert for 96 days said, “The desert is a mirror”.
So I started to truly think about this concept and found many ways that she was absolutely right.
The desert is a mirror — a reflection of all of us at one point in our lives.
Harsh, hurt, dry, cold, unrelenting, withdrawn…
And yet filled with watercolor dripping sunsets, protection from the wind in deep canyons, surrounded by elements purposed for survival such as water and the sage brush used to make bow drill sets for fire.
It was all of those things.
I realized that the desert was the perfect wilderness for this type of operation because beauty wasn’t the first thing you noticed. It came after weeks and weeks after getting to know the land, relying on the land and coming to understand it as home.
That job left me wind-whipped and glowing with a profound love for the hidden things in life that bring so much comfort and protection. The things we may overlook.
I did eventually make it into the Sawtooth mountains, which is where I currently live and explore. It doesn’t take any effort to drive into the Valley and be in awe of the rocky peaks rising high to the east and west of Hwy 75.
It truly is a magical place, delivering extraordinary experiences daily.
However, the desert will always stand as my first and only reminder that each person is a reflection of the desert — one of real beauty and raw pain.
