- Author: Cheryl A Potts
My husband and I just completed a month long trip through five US states and two provinces of Canada. Driving with our Australian Cattle Dog, Katie, for thousands of miles in our 24 foot RV, we saw just about every kind of scenery there is. The majestic Canadian Rockies, icy formations of Glacier National Park, forests of Montana, plains of Wyoming, congregations of teepees on the Blackfoot reservation, the Pacific Ocean from the Oregon coast line, the small towns and hamlets of Everystate, large metropolitan cities booming near extensive waterways, formerly booming, now unadaptable towns dying due to changes in the economy, thousand-acred fields of brilliant yellow flowers of the canola plant in bloom in Alberta, lakes so large one cannot see the other side, and the mighty redwood trees of our own state.
Oh, yes, and the desert. Miles and miles of ancient desert, changing only occasionally through the eons, by a fence post falling or a speed zone sign acquiring new bullet holes. Browns and greys. Dust. Unnamed dark brown and grey mountains on the far horizon (or is that a mirage?). Straight, oh so very straight highways leading only to the mirage and beyond. Trucks, And more dust.
But wait! What was that? A flash of incredible color there by the side of the road. Bright red. It is a flower, a living plant actually growing, here in the heat, and dust, and no water and only trucks. "Go back, Richard! I need a picture." My good husband granted my wish, stopped the RV, backed up and took pictures of a blooming paintbrush. Sadly, the picture did not turn out well, but I became aware of a very important factor of nature. What made that plant so special to me, special enough to request stopping and asking my mate to go out in over 109 degree weather for a snapshot?.
Admittedly, were I to see that plant in any one of my Master Gardener friend's beautiful flower gardens, I would not give it a second look. I would not ask questions or request a cutting. But out in the middle of the hot, dusty, truck infested Nevada dessert, I relished the beauty and wonder of this glorious plant. It was nature tricking me by using contrast. Opposite of the seemingly lifeless grey arid dust, was this luscious living green and red example of growth, change, newness. life.
As we ventured further into this vast seemingly wasteland, the wild flowers performed perfectly. Even though it was late in the season, (July), the flowers were prolific. We saw Hooker's balsamroot, yellow ephedra, pink and red wildroses, rayless daisies, and monument plant, to name a few.
My ride through the desert branch of our trip went from secretly asking "will this ever end?" to wonderment and awe, and a new appreciation for the use of the element of contrast in my own garden.
How beautiful is a plant that grows in the desert? I do not have its courage...