When I was a little girl living in Southern California, my parents purchased a home in the desert. It was off of Bob Hope Drive in Palm Springs. That house was on a cul-de-sac, and three other families we knew from Santa Monica also had houses there. The kids outnumbered the grownups by about five to one. We played a lot of Kick-the-Can late at night...
The house had a swamp cooler, and the cul-de-sac had a pool. Over the block wall was the desert, and in the desert there were snakes, and beyond the snakes were date palms. Pretty interesting stuff for a seven-year old!
However, I'm a redhead, and fair-skinned, and really am more built for the Lapland than the desert. In fact, if I'm dehydrated, and it's hot, I faint. I have a lot of fainting stories. I didn't really like our trips to the house off of Bob Hope Drive. The beach in Santa Monica was nice. The beach was always cool and breezy and didn't make my face flush red for days. And why did we always go to Palm Springs in the summer? Why not November?
So when I married a man whose family all lived in Arizona, in Phoenix, in the desert, I started making up names for the place. I called it the Arid Zone. I complained when there were June weddings. I added to the fainting stories.
But you know? I'm older and wiser now. I'm not 16 going on 17 anymore, and I've figured out how not to faint. I am admitting today, publicly, to all Meyers everywhere, to all desert dwellers in the universe, that spring in the desert is about one of the most amazing things going. If you ever have a chance to visit Scottsdale in March...
You Should Go!
Published: April 24, 2015 | Filed under: Far