Our second December trip to Southern California in as many years. On the cusp of Jordan’s 3rd birthday, we bring him “home” again, this time for a tour of the region that includes the high Mojave Desert, coastal San Diego County, and time again split between a few different houses, different family members, kids and cousins. His first visit to a U.S. national park: we buy an America the Beautiful annual pass (grabbing mine ASAP before a certain idiot-fascist’s face is printed on them). We rent out a house on the outskirts of Joshua Tree, an old California ranch home whose backyard is dotted with the funky, namesake trees, whose living room windows look out on the northward mountain slopes where the bajada meets the desert washes below. Jordan is growing into a resilient little kid, one who loves lying on the desert floor, sweeping sand up into his clothes, and tracing his favorite train tracks in whichever scenic patch of open ground we lead him to. He troops through these two weeks of late December, on long car rides, train trips, bouncing around the arid region like pinballs in a holiday-themed machine. He skips some naps and catches up elsewhere. Jetlag means he’s frequently up well before dawn; on our first morning in the state, we go out and grab breakfast at Black Bear Diner near my mom’s house in Chino. It’s the holidays, so I’m leaving everyone at least a $20 tip. After arriving at the Joshua Tree ranch home - home for the first stretch of the trip - Jordan settles into a nice pattern: exploring in the morning, coming home for lunch and a nap, playing with Mama in the backyard, and watching Thomas the Tank Engine and listening to vinyl records after dinner. My mom and I do groceries for the house, and wind up roasting a prime rib on Tuesday night; this is vacation, after all. We go out for little outings in the national park, walking the paths around the Hall of Horrors and Barker Dam. My dad fails to exercise basic outdoors safety and then throws a stink about it when I give him an earful. We head up to Keys View to take in the golden hour over the Coachella Valley, with views stretching southward toward Indio and the Salton Sea, and northward across the San Bernadino Mountains. A beautiful, memorable sunset sky - admired, as usual, from behind the steering wheel on our long drive back through the desert and downhill to the house.
At night, Jordan and Jane wander outside to stargaze. I find them standing in the dark in the backyard, singing “Twinkle Twinkle” rapturously. I ask Jordan how many stars he sees: “So many!” “Can you count them?” “One two three four five - TWENTY!” he yells. To his toddler brain, twenty is the pinnacle of multiplicity. He gets spooked when a bush rustles in the wind: “Is there snakes!?” “I think that was the wind, Jordan.” “I’m so scary [scared]!” He heads back inside for his bath and bed routine. I stay outside awhile with my tripod to frame the bristles of a nearby Joshua tree with Orion’s belt. On our last morning in the region, after firing off some time-sensitive, fellowship-related work emails, I head out for sunrise on my own while Jane and Jordan move through their jetlagged breakfast routine. On a pullout just inside the park boundary, I stop and inhale deeply. Fragrance of juniper and mesquite on the wind, clouds like wisps of fairy floss, and first light on mountains. I take long-lens shots of trees backlit by the rising sun. Satiated, I head back to help pack up the house and pick up the family. We drive back through the Inland Empire and to the Riverside downtown train station, to continue our journey in Orange County.
