We went flying the other day (trolling for missions?). Normally we fly at night but this one was mid-day. The weather was clear and cool and the dust was minimal so you could see pretty far into the distance. Flying here is what I would imagine flying in the Mojave would be like. Except for the weapons and body armor and constant threat of engagement. We fly low, 50-feet AGL. The gunners and PJ’s constantly scan for threats, our weapons following wherever our eyes wander as if the two were connected. As far as the eye can see there’s nothing but brown and multiple shades of brown. Colors vary, from a soft, almost vanilla color to orange to dirt brown to black. The one constant is the landscape is harsh. It varies from smooth, drifting sand dunes with intricate patterns etched on the surface by the blowing winds with absolutely no vegetation - to rocky, craggy, desolate scars in the earth rising 50, 100, 500 feet in elevation with patches, here and there, of plants. Most of the land however, is void of any vegetation whatsoever. What vegetation does grow is limited to two types, a sagebrush looking plant and a grass that grows in clumps with blades that are two to three feet in length. As mentioned in previous email, the plants that do exist are in constant danger of suffocation from the land itself. The plants, half buried in their own craters, struggle to grow in a landscape that will surely smother it over time. And probably sooner rather than later, these areas will be become completely void of vegetation too. And then there are the mountains. No foothills to speak of, just sudden sharp, rocky raises in altitude several thousand feet high. In parts of the country there are communities (from 2-3 buildings to small towns) built in the form of compounds. Built of clay and grass, some are simple looking structures while others are elaborate, admirable pieces of architecture with round as well as square buildings. A clay and grass wall several feet thick surrounds the majority of these communities. The reason for the walls I can only guess. Maybe they offer protection from other tribes. Tribal feuds are common and as a matter of fact contribute to a large portion of the political strife that exists here. Or maybe, the walls exist purely for protection from wild animals. In just about all the compounds there’s usually a small courtyard or central-square within the walls and there’s usually several people congregated there in the compounds that are populated. There are usually several fires going, the smoke curling into the air blending with the constant dust. The buildings, for the most part, have no “physical” doors or windows although the openings exist for them. They appear as shadows, gaping dark holes, which break up the contours of the otherwise constant shades of brown. Glass and wood are obviously scarce commodities out here. Laundry, hanging outside on clotheslines inside the compounds is always present. Strung with brightly colored clothes, the clotheslines provide the only color in an otherwise colorless land and stand out in stark contrast to their surroundings. There are numerous abandoned compounds too. The obvious disrepair, the collapsed walls and roofs of a once thriving community may tell of a failed agricultural attempt or maybe a long ago dried up water source. Who knows? Wherever there is a compound though, there is usually some visible attempt at agriculture. You can see the rows and furrows obviously, painstakingly dug from the clay and attempts at irrigation for those “gardens” but there are no visible signs of green. Even along the few rivers that we fly over the colors remain all shades of brown. More vigorous attempts are made at agriculture along the riverbanks but again; I see no visible signs of green, no signs of life. Maybe whatever they’re growing is brown too. The thing I find most strange about this land is the people. Flying out in the middle of nowhere and I mean “nowhere” all of a sudden there are people and camels and longhaired goats. Small, nomadic tribes that live in tents, (very similar to yurts) made of felt and fur, can be found in the most desolate of places. We call them Tuskan Raiders because of their similarity to the race of people in one of the Star Wars movies. The people of these tribes exist out in the middle of nowhere, where in our minds, no man should exist, collecting grass (huge piles of it) for their camels and goats and are undoubtedly content with their lifestyle not having anything to do with (or avoiding) current politics or affairs. I’m sure they would rather be left alone to do what ever it is they do. As we fly over, they come out of their tents and stare at us as we fly by. No waves or enthusiastic greetings, just acknowledgements of our presence. Once in awhile, as we fly over areas completely void of life, all of a sudden a man or a couple of men will appear. They trudge across the landscape carrying piles of grass, huge piles, some as tall as they are. Where they came from and where they’re going you cannot tell or even guess. I guess, like us, they’re just doing what they do. Like us, they live life a day at a time, trying to make things better for themselves, their families and their communities. Peace.