Desert Girl

This is a Plinky post in answer to the prompt “Begin writing the first chapter of your memoir”

There is an importance to place. While we are who we are, where we are effects us in strange ways. I would not be the person I am today had I grown up on the beach, or in a forest. I am a desert girl.

The desert stretches out around me.

Grass gives way to sagebrush, which in turn yields to the brittle cedar and juniper, and all yield to the white hardpan where nothing can grow. Hills rise and fall, and turn into mountains.

Streaks of black volcanic rock jut out in places, giving variety to the endless, drab beige that otherwise surrounds me.

I feel like I’m the only human in miles.

I feel like I’m home.

I’m a desert girl, born and bred. This place is in my soul. My ancestors came here on order from Brigham Young, and, as a testament to their faith, stayed.

I relate to the desert that is the Great Basin. It is not inherently beautiful. It is difficult to get to know, difficult to love. But once you learn to see the beauty, it never leaves you.

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