It was good just to experience again the California deserts. I used to argue with my dad about whether there would be room on the planet for all the world's people. I thought there would not, but my dad pointed to the big empty deserts of the west and said there would be plenty of room for new cities. He was proven partially right, as two major cities, Palmdale and Lancaster, popped up in later years in the desert north of L.A. (they look like Havasu City except flat and without a lake).
On Pearblossom Highway, heading east into the still vast and empty desert, my dad seemed further vindicated. You could build dozens of Palmdales and Lancasters in these deserts, but now I would ask my dad, "Do you want to cover the planet with townhouses, franchise restaurants and malls?" Just to spar with me, he might have answered, "Yes."
My dad and I would have argued about Havasu City. I would have moaned from the back seat that it was ugly. On this trip Susan and I arrived at sunset, a beautiful red splash across the desert horizon, and in the foreground RV lots, warehouses, high tension wires, stray Taco Bells and Burger Kings, and then finally malls, Denny's, Starbucks, Chili's and thousands of townhouses.
I'm older now than my dad was when we had those arguments, and I've accepted certain things, for instance, the importance of comfort. It didn't take long for me to love our Havasu time-share, with its king bed and big plump pillows. The two mile walk to the nearest mall was aided by wonderful air, warm and cool at the same time, somehow buoyant, as if you were swimming in it. Beautiful desert canyons are everywhere around the city, with isolated trails that go for miles. The old downtown, where we watched the Veteran's Day parade, has a lot of charm and character, as did the parade. Not a bad retirement spot, really. I must channel the 14 year old me and tell him to dull some of his sharp edges.
The history of Havasu is poignant. It was the last refuge of the Chemehuevi tribe. Their name might mean, "people who play with fish," or it might mean, "nose in the air like a roadrunner." As the meaning of their name is forgotten, so they are largely forgotten, except in Havasu City in the waiting room for the ferry that takes you to the California side and the Indian casino. On our visit most of the passengers waited outside, but I wanted the air conditioning in the waiting room. Inside, several teenagers were enjoying an adult free atmosphere. I noticed a series of posters around the room that told the story of a Native American tribe. A boy and girl were horsing around by the first poster, so I had to nudge towards them until they moved aside. I read that the Chemehuevi were nomadic hunters and gatherers. Their ancestral territory covered thousand of square miles from the San Gabriel Mountains, through Nevada and Arizona. They liked to take long trips in small groups, but sometimes men traveled long distances alone. They were an inquisitive people who "liked to visit all tribes, whether friends or enemies; to speak strange tongues, sing strange songs, and marry strange wives."
They were not particular to the Havasu area, but were hemmed in by European settlement and, at times, hostile Mojave Indians. Early in the 20th Century a Chemehuevi reservation was created at the low point in the Havasu Valley, no doubt chosen because of frequent flooding. At this time there were only a few hundred Chemehuevi left. In the 1930's, Parker Dam, built to supply water to L.A. from the Colorado River, created Lake Havasu, at the bottom of which are the remains of the Chemehuevi reservation. To make amends, the tribe was offered land on the western shore, which, as it happened, was traditional enemy territory for them. At this point most members left, or married out of the tribe. Some of the bloodline were able to establish the casino, and these remnants of the tribe, although they no longer command the deserts and mountains- let alone the strange wives- receive boatloads of money.
Is this a happy ending? It depends on how you look at it. Certainly the story entails the death of a culture, which is an all-American story. When my grandfather left Ukraine around 1900, he left a culture that had existed for over a thousand years. That culture is now gone, though people who were formed by it live on. Just about every American can say something like that. We are all Chemehuevi, with our village at the bottom of a man-made lake.
Havasu City is not a great city. There are no central areas for people to interact- unless you count Starbucks- and little in the way of arresting architecture. But Havasu City does have the desert, the river, the big sky, the mountains, canyons, friendly people and the spirit of the Chemehuevi. When you think about it, that's a lot.