I took a trip out to Death Valley in December 2021 for no reason other than I got a few unexpected days off work and, whenever anything like that happens, my first instinct is, "Pack the car."
It was a four-day trip filled with some of the most stunning scenery I've ever seen. Sunrise at Trona Pinnacles and the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes. Blue skies over Devil's Golf Course. Shadows seeping across Zabriskie Point throughout the day. It was breathtaking.
One of the last things I did was make my way down to Badwater Basin to see if standing at the lowest point in North America would actually feel significant or if it would just feel like standing at, you know, sea level. Like a peasant. It's at this point that I feel obliged to say if you have a choice between going to the highest point in North America or going to the lowest point in North America, the highest is probably more thrilling.
But as I was hopping through the hexagon-crusted salt flats of Badwater Basin, a turn-of-phrase came off my tongue and caught my mind: "Nature isn't a whore." Normally this sort of nugget would be something I'd pop into my back pocket for future songwriting inspiration, but this time was different because I could tell what was coming wasn't a song at all but a poem, and it didn't stop coming. As I paced around the salt flats, line after line just kept falling out, and by the time I got back to my car an hour later, the entire poem had written itself.
I don't even know if I like it. I have little to no sense of what "good poetry" even is, and it feels tasteless to use prostitutes as a stand-in for something that's taken advantage of. I feel a bit sleazy every time I read it. But I also feel strongly that any art produced that fast and that mindlessly should just be accepted for what it is and not spoiled by overthinking. So I'm choosing to share the unspoiled version.
Nature Isn't a Whore
Nature isn’t a whore
There for one night
To fuck and leave
Emptier
Nature is a lover
A two-way street for those wanting more than just a touch, more than just a wisp of her air
Meant to be visited over and over and over again
To explore each other’s bodies, every curve, every ridge, every layer
To see more of yourself by seeing more of her
To spend the sunrise and the sunset with
‘Til death do you part and then more
Nature isn’t a whore
I don't remember anymore exactly what I was thinking about when I wrote it. A lot of it feels like it was pulled right from the hills of Death Valley, a place with stunning scenery but also a dense history of mining, resort villas, and other exploitation. Insert stock commentary on how we must protect Mother Earth.
But reading it back now, I'm focused more on the "lover" part than the "whore" part. There's something so beautiful as humans about falling in love with someone and spending years or decades or an entire lifetime learning everything about that person and what makes them tick and what turns them on and what pisses them off and what makes them laugh when they're alone. I don't view my relationship with nature much differently. Sure, I absolutely love going to new places and seeing as many corners of the country and the globe as I'm able to, and I'm a tourist through and through in that regard. But there's also something really special about going somewhere, falling in love with it, and then going back to it, again, and again, and again, and building that relationship with a place the same way you'd build a marriage. Maybe the sex isn't as good. But the idea of truly connecting with somewhere and learning every curve, every ridge, every layer it has is deeply fulfilling to me. It's a relationship.
Nature isn't a whore. Nature is a lover.
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