When the Beatles wrote “When I’m Sixty-Four,” I don’t imagine they had a woman from Brooklyn getting stuck in a sand pit with a poodle in mind. I certainly didn’t. They also left out septic systems and trenching. Hard to work either one into a love song.

But there I was, in the California High Desert, with Bella Chica, my little 3.5 pound poodle, riding along in my Bronco, stuck in the sand. Fortunately, the Bronco has a driving mode specifically for sand. I switched it over, got myself out, and continued on my way. The other seven poodles were back at the house I was renting, which was probably just as well.

Getting out of the sand changed my route, and I ended up on Yucca Mesa Road, where I spotted a small For Sale by Owner sign. The property wasn’t on my list. And believe me, I had a list. Sixty-two properties, roughly a thousand miles of driving, and a remarkable number of roads that seemed determined to rearrange the underside of my Bronco.

I’d been looking for a place of my own after spending several extended visits in the High Desert. I live in Sedona, Arizona, but I kept coming back to Joshua Tree and the surrounding area. Originally, I wanted a little getaway. Five acres and a shack would have been fine with me. I wasn’t looking for anything fancy. I wanted Joshua trees, privacy, mountains, and room to breathe.

I had driven away from every one of the properties I’d looked at. This time I parked the Bronco and walked onto the land.

There were Joshua trees, mountains in the distance, and that unmistakable scent of the desert. If you’ve spent time here, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve worked with aromatics for almost forty years, and I still can’t describe it. It’s the desert. You know it when you smell it.

The property stretched far back from the road, and I loved that. I could see the mountains and the enormous sky, with houses far enough apart that I didn’t feel surrounded. I started imagining where I might put a house.

I didn’t want to leave.

I texted the number on the sign, got a call back, and started discussing the property with the seller. We negotiated a price, talked about owner financing, and I began asking my questions about water, electricity, and whether I could actually put a home there.

I can hug a Joshua tree and ask exactly how much it’s going to cost to install a water meter.

That evening, after we’d agreed on the deal, I went back to take pictures. I was walking around photographing everything when I apparently managed to lose my wallet. I think I may have put it on top of the Bronco and driven away, although I still don’t know for sure.

I was supposed to be buying land the next day, and my driver’s license, credit cards, and cash were now somewhere in the Mojave Desert.

Excellent timing.

When I told ChatGPT what had happened, the immediate advice was to cancel my credit cards.

What for? Was a chipmunk going to take them shopping?

I was more amused than upset, which surprised even me. When I told Andrea, my “right paw” at Stillpoint Aromatics, that I’d lost my wallet, she said, “The desert wants you to stay.”

That’s why I love Andrea.

And here’s another thing. I almost never carry a checkbook. Who carries checks anymore? But for some reason I’d brought both my personal and business checkbooks with me. I had also saved photographs of my driver’s license on my computer and was able to get an approved digital version onto my phone.

So there I was, missing a wallet but still able to buy the land. I went back to the rental, made tomato sauce, and had pasta and a glass of wine. It seemed like the right way to celebrate.

On July 18, I signed the papers. I owned approximately 4.7 acres of the Mojave Desert, complete with Joshua trees, beautiful mountain views, and absolutely no running water.

I was thrilled.

After signing, I returned to the property later that afternoon. I walked around taking pictures and thinking about where the house might go. Then I did a little ceremony. I sat in silence for a while, got up, wrapped my arms around one of the Joshua trees, and kissed him.

Yes, I kissed a Joshua tree.

I felt a connection with that tree, and I had the distinct feeling that the land was happy, too. Make of that what you will. I know what I felt.

The next afternoon, before heading back to Sedona, I drove over one more time with all the poodles. They stayed safely inside the Bronco, but I wanted them to see where we might be living someday. And I wanted the land to see them, too.

Then came the business of figuring out how to build a house on the property. Apparently, purchasing undeveloped land is the easy part. Now I’m learning about surveys, septic systems, permits, site plans, water meters, and trenching. Especially trenching. I had no idea how much of my future happiness would depend on getting a pipe from one place to another.

I have a business to run, classes to teach, and books to write. I’ve spent most of my life doing something, usually several things at once. Yet here I am, coming back to the desert whenever I can, taking walks in the early evening and sometimes spending an entire afternoon doing absolutely nothing and enjoying it. That’s new for me.

I still love Sedona. I’ve lived there for twenty-two years, and leaving won’t be easy. But I keep returning to this place. I love hearing the coyotes in the distance. I love the Joshua trees, the mountains, the dirt roads, and that scent I still can’t describe. I even love the fact that there’s so much I don’t know about living here.

And now I’m planning a house. I can picture it sitting among the Joshua trees, with a fenced courtyard for the poodles and enough room around us that I can walk outside and see the desert instead of someone’s living room.

Of course, there’s the small matter of actually getting the house onto the property. I’ve been looking at manufactured homes, and at some point one of those enormous trucks is going to have to come down a dirt road carrying my future living room, kitchen, bedroom, and everything else.

I just hope the driver knows about Sand mode.

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About the Author

Virginia Joy Musacchio is a Brooklyn-born educator with a master’s degree in education, a licensed massage therapist, and a clinical aromatherapist who has spent nearly forty years exploring aromatic plants, from their chemistry to their mysteries. She’s the founder of Stillpoint Aromatics, creator of the Aromatic Mystery School, and is currently writing The Honest Unknown. She shares her life with eight poodles and is preparing to move from Sedona to Yucca Mesa, assuming the trenching cooperates.

If you find a wallet out there, it’s hers.