Happy Valentine’s Day
What is your love language? Over the course of our young marriage, Tyler and I have learned that we aren’t much for gifts. The gift-laden marketing of Valentine’s Day, in particular, doesn’t appeal to us. Favoring experiences over trinkets, we say, “Heck with chocolate, let’s go hiking!” But where to go hiking in February? For us, the answer has become a pattern. For Valentine’s Day, we go to the desert.
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/MHno1pnoNaZKsPGb6
February 16th, 2024 - TexMex Day 1
Ohioans like to complain about the weather. It’s not that we’re a pessimistic state. Actually, most of us grin ruefully and say, “Well, that’s Ohio for ya. Don’t like the weather? Just wait five minutes!” Complaining about the weather is as innate to Ohio as the cornfields. Really, though, we have nothing to complain about. We have four seasons, no hurricanes, a moderate amount of snow, and some hot days for the lizard-folk amongst us. I rather like Ohio’s weather. Despite my contentment, we do exit Ohio often. In the grips of winter, we journey to the desert. Call it a Vitamin D deficiency, or maybe I’ve-been-cooped-up-too-longitis. Whatever it is, we’ve come to enjoy our weekend retreat from the grey skies and naked winter trees. Sometimes it’s just nice to see a cactus.
This year’s migration landed us on a plane bound for New Mexico. Before we could take off, however, our plane required de-icing. An unpleasant spittle of freezing rain was attempting to hinder our escape. I’ve never been more grateful for the sacrificial work of an airport ground crew. Thickly layered in heavy coats, they showered our plane with colorful de-icing liquids. It was like magic. When the airplane sorcerers had finished, we were off, rocketing into the bleak grey sky. Slowly, the winter grey morphed into a birlliant desert blue. The ground beneath us was a dusty skin of browns and yellows. It looked blessedly warm.
It was, in fact, warm. We shed a few layers in the airport, then drove for hours to White Sands National Park. Once there, my Ohio mind was confuddled. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was looking at enormous piles of snow. The gypsum sand was pure white, perfect white, unblemished. It dusted the roadways and drifted in massive dunes. The white sliced a clear line into the dark blue bowl of the sky above. The scenery was a minimalist dream. I was in a photographer’s heaven.
We climbed a dune, huffing a little, so I could snag some landscape photos. Looking out across the field of sand, I was struck by the musicality of the scenery. Each gentle curve was like a melody, layering into the soothing rhythm of a lullaby. The scenic tune crescendoed with a line of blue mountain ridges stamped into the sky. If I closed my eyes and listened, could I hear the dunesong under the hiss of the wind? Out in the quiet ocean of white, it certainly seemed possible. Perhaps it doesn’t make sense to compare sand to music. Yet what is music but movement? Noise is the vibration of sound waves echoing into the receptive structures of our ears. A sand field is the motion of sand granules tumbling in the wind, piling into ever-shifting dunes. Is there really much difference between a Brahms lullaby and the waltz of sand? I don’t think so.
Musicality aside, I think I nearly wore out my camera with the volume of photos I took. In the middle of a shutter click, I was startled by a burst of motion in front of me. The field of sand, once empty, was now occupied by a barefoot man running across the lip of a dune. His curly hair bounded behind him. His long legs stretched out with glee. There was happiness in his gait. Interested in the new photo subject, I obliged by snapping several shots.
“Sorry about that,” a woman’s voice came from behind. She smiled apologetically at us. “I hope he didn’t ruin your shot. He’s been training for a marathon. After so long in the car, I think he just had too much pent-up energy.”
The three of us stood, quietly, and watched him run. There is something beautiful about a natural athlete. Is it their balance? Is it their posture? I’ve always been a little envious of gifted runners. I am not one of them. I attempted cross country running for a season, and discovered that I am woefully slow and heavy-footed. Tyler, on the other hand, can sprint like a deer. If we ever needed to outrun a bear, I’d certainly be the slow one that would be eaten. Not all of us can be natural athletes. Some of us must resign ourselves to the fate of being bear food.
Thankfully, there were no bears in White Sands. In light of Valentine’s Day, my sweet husband agreed to let me set up a tripod so we could take some couples photos. The sunlight was blindingly bright bouncing up against the sand, but our photos were still wonderful. I thought so, at least. When I later published them on social media, a college friend lovingly informed me that we looked like “a pair of dads on vacation.” To this day, I’m not sure what that meant. Is it bad to look like a pair of dads on vacation? What made us look like dads? Was it our plaid shirts? Was it our ball caps?
After a few sets of photos, this pair of dads turned into a pair of kids. The vast amount of sand inspired a youthful vigor in us. Kicking off our shoes, we sprinted for the nearest dune. We ran up it, jumped off, then ran again. Our mindless running had no goal. It was simply play. We played until we panted, the sad reality of our adulthood sapping the remnants of our energy. Then, like practical adults, we wandered back to the car to change into clothes better befitting a desert sunset. I don’t think I’ll ever fully grasp the temperamental nature of the desert. She swelters in the sun but shivers at night, no longer warmed by the shuddering heat waves of the sun. Those who dwell in the desert have no luxury of inflexibility. Seemingly at a moment’s notice, they must be willing to adapt clothing and behaviors. We enjoy the desert and are thus willing to bend to her will. With appropriate layers dawned, we drifted back out onto the dunes for sunset.
It happened in gradients. First the haze over the mountains lifted, then their regal slopes darkened to navy blue. The shadows stretched like a cat awakening from a nap. Wayward people in singles and pairs slowly wandered back to vehicles glittering like beetles in the parking lot. Lazily, stars took their places in the darkening sky. The only sound was the soft hiss of wind brushing over the dunes. It was still.
I slipped my chilled fingers into Tyler’s warm hand and smiled at him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”
Comments