8/8/2019 A Fully Socialized Human Being

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A Fully Socialized Human Being is an essay by ENnie Award-nominated author and rancher Jason S. Walters in which he discuses his first two years living deep in the Black

Rock Desert. For more information on Jason S. Walters visit www.jasonswalters.blogpost.com.

Frozen pipes. Broken generators. A septic system that froze, then backed upthrough every drain in the house. Debt. Massive propane bills. More debt. UnreliableInternet. Days in which there is no sun for the solar panels and no wind for the windmills.Leaks in the office roof. A battery bank rendered inefficient by freezing cold. Illness. Aright hand for a time rendered useless by infection. A child that needs surgery.

And, oddly, a sense of peace. None of these things matters beyond its station.Somehow, I have found something close to happiness here amidst the distracting clutterof ranch life. We Walters came her to be modern day settlers, and to live upon this hardland in the manner of our ancestors: free, independent, and answerable to no one. Thosetough, hard people of a century and a half ago suffered like saints and martyrs for theright to be here.

They suffered and endured things none of us have had to, tough old birds that theywere. Some, like Kit Carson, became legends. Many didn’t make it past their first twoyears, and retreated back to civilization or died anonymously in the dry, desolatemountains.

We have endured.To be honest, I’m not sure how much of an accomplishment it is to simply hold

on in the face of adversity. It does certainly feel like an accomplishment, especially inthis harsh, barren, and beautiful place. Yesterday a freezing fog rolled into the desertwhose impenetrability rivaled any you would find in San Francisco or London: cold,thick, and mysterious. It stayed throughout the day, reducing sunlight to a dim twilightand visibility to a few car lengths. It left white frozen tendrils clinging to every availablesurface: trees, homes, and even the salt brush, transforming the Black Rock from somberbrown to glistening white.

Is this what it might be like to be a settler on Mars? The Moon? One of the moonsof Jupiter? Endless mighty vistas, shocking weather, hard work, isolation, and the smallpleasures of life shaped into razors by the threat of death hovering in the background likean unmentioned party guest? In another future time, living another life, could that havebeen our life? Is it possible that, whether through the gentle hand of God or some miracleof modern medicine, this could be Cassidy's future still? To be a pioneer out among thestars: free, independent, and answerable to no one?

I pray for this, but only dreams answer me.

I was driving through that frozen fog when I stumbled upon a photographer,standing by his car at the edge of the Playa, looking out into the white nothing. As is myhabit, I pulled over to see if he was all right. Having been stranded in the Black Rock before myself, I've developed a sort of “leave no man behind” attitude about this sort of thing. I always pull over. I hopped out of my pickup truck and strode over to where theman stood with his camera, taking pictures of the snowy infinity.

We spoke. In retrospect, he to me as one might handle an escaped lunatic or anoverly affectionate drunken stranger: delicately, carefully. I can see why. I was dressed in

8/8/2019 A Fully Socialized Human Being

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snow boots, a filthy surplus industrial jumpsuit, and a battered black fedora. Beard,earrings, hair uncut for years: all moving toward him in the fog in the middle of a nearlyuninhabited wasteland.

A mutant. A Crazy. Somebody Mad Mel shot in Road Warrior.Many of us get like that out here, given enough time and an initial disposition

toward craziness. Our day-to-day appearance sort of... unravels, turning us into weird,dusty cartoon characters. Many don't, too. There are cowboys out here - real ones - whoseclothing outside of their ranch is so crisp and sharp you can set your watch to them. Thenthere's the Burning Man DPW people, who often look like the road warrior has alreadykilled them, and they've been reanimated for a sequel that involves flesh eating zombies.They make me look like a Montgomery Street bank manager.

But, then again, they're not out here in the freezing fog.

Christmas is in full swing in Gerlach. We attend a Christmas pageant in which ourcommunity's preschoolers [5] sang three songs. Then our elementary school students [27]sang a selection of Christmas and Hanuka songs. All of this was done with great

enthusiasm, not to mention a little spontaneous dancing on the part of the kids, and waswell attended. Cassidy wore her red reindeer outfit – a gift from our postmistress Jola -that came complete with a pair of antlers. She got to sit on Santa's lap afterwards and, asis her habit, was a good sport about the whole thing.

On Saturday the three of us (our dogs weren't invited) went to the annualChristmas party thrown by our friends the Carters, whose home is a shrine to all thingsElvis and Star Trek. Today I shall make the rounds, giving out small presents to friendshere ant there. Christmas is about the little things.

It's odd, really. I moved us here because I wanted to flee civilization, and end upfinding community amongst people I never thought would ever accept me (Wife wifeTina is a different matter. I was never worried about Tina.) Is that ironic, or does it meanthat I'm finally at this late date becoming a fully socialized human being?

Only time will tell.