Last week saw the invasion arrive in the undeveloped desert. Monday was deceptive, as nothing happened. I began to wonder if it meant a reprieve of the project. Then on Tuesday the contractors came in number, filling up the end of the parking lot in the shopping center with the vehicles in which they arrived.
The first thing erected was the port-a-potty, sitting right beside the stub of the road. Then on Wednesday they brought a small earth mover to remove the Road Closed sign and metal barrier that had been sitting in the sun since the last phase of development years ago, and which I skirted around as I walked on my walk towards my favorite spots. Then finally came the water tank, with the contractor logo, hoisted twenty feet into the air on four legs like a small building rising beside the port-a-potty and the water pipe that the city crew had installed the week before. More earth movers came and started raking the desert bare, to build a road at first, spraying with water from the tank.
By Thursday the fence contractors had arrived, playing the panels of the chain link structure on the ground around the perimeter by the street on two sides. The last two days of the week the air was filled with the noise of the power equipment hammering the post into the ground to seal off the street.
Yet they did not fence the side of the property where the dry wash runs along the edge by the State Land Trust property. I was not able to go there during the day all week. I had been nearly chased out on Tuesday morning, when I snuck in towards the wash by cutting through the State Land Trust property, where only remnants of the old barbed wire fence ares still standing (apparently the fence is on the Trust property, and will not be touched).
From there I could hide by the Ironwood and peer through the bushes towards the contractors about a hundred yards away. But the whole property was swarming with men in hard hats, and some evcn coming around on the State Trust Land. I did not want to be spotted. As long I can remain free of explicitly being told I am not welcome there, I will continue to feel free to go there.
I finally snuck back into via my normal route on Saturday, when all was quiet. I stopped and inspected the equipment through the fence before walking into the property where the fence left off, where the wash crosses the road. I don't think they will continue the fence there. Perhaps they will fence that off at some point. But for now my usual paths are untouched.
But everything has changed. From one of my favorite private spots, downstream from the Ironwood I peer through a gap in several palo verdes, I see where the road is graded, only ten feet away from the edge of the trees. Already I feel as if civilization has been carried to the edge of what was once a reserve.
I am fascinated by how this is playing out. I am fascinated by how this is a miniature version of civilization. First came the tagging of the trees, the naming process of language. Then came the flags, placed on the edge of the property in conquest.
Then came the arrival of fresh water channeled in artificial routes, which I have concluded by my own reading is the hallmark of the beginning of civilization on every populated continent on earth. Then came the borders and the fencing. Now water will arrive in abundance, and the desert will be sculpted.
I am not against what is happening, even as I am sad to loose the privilege of my reserved spot, which never belonged to me. I have admiration and respect for the men of the contracting crew. I feel like their brother in a way.
I am a big fan of civilization. Somehow it is privilege to watch this happening while I am still here.
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