The desert has a way of rejecting excessive admiration. I was hiking down a trail one early August evening, along a scenic area of Southern Utah’s Escalante Desert. The sun was still ferociously hot, and the boulders along the trail felt like giant charcoal briquettes. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful evening. My boy, red-cheeked, was hiking with me, looking for good handholds on the rocks, or maybe a lizard to chase–whichever came first.
And then suddenly she appeared, from around the corner of a nearby boulder, with amber wings buzzing and her black and blue body weilding a stinger capable of causing pain like a mini lighting strike–five seconds of paralysis according to those who’ve been through it. The Tarantula Hawk, a wasp who lays her eggs in the dead bodies of the spiders she kills. Something straight out of nature’s horror movie collection. My boy was traumatized by her presence. We could only freeze and watch until she passed…
It was a reminder that the desert won’t be adored too much. If dehydration and the Tarantula Hawks aren’t enough, there are the scorpions, camel spiders, sandburs, rattlesnakes, red ants, and prickly pears… Keeping us in our place. Reminding us that comfort is not being offered.
The Desert Toad 