Perhaps a commenter had already prepared the ground in my mind because I started to appreciate dirt as a geologic layer when I saw what was just outside the trailer, one morning. It was flattish ground, sparsely covered with creosote bushes. But it was “ground,” soil, dirt—rather than rock layers as one normally encounters in the Southwest.

Strange-looking breaks covered a yard-sized area of this ground. By "breaks" I mean abrupt, eroded vertical drops in the ground level. Or call them dry waterfalls. The typical height was about one foot.

The shapes of famous places in the Colorado Plateau were replicated here, like John Ford's Monument Valley. Several of the shapes reminded me of specific places in more glamorous, red rock Utah that I haven't visited in a couple years now. The similarity was close enough to bring on some nostalgia.

Looking from above, the dirt breaks were horseshoe shaped, like the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Perhaps this shouldn't be surprising—after all, they were formed in somewhat the same way.

But how could dry dirt waterfalls stay so vertical? Ah ha, maybe it's those creosote bush roots.

I drove out on a new road on the way to Gila Bend, AZ. It was by way of Agua Caliente, 'hot water' or hot springs in Spanish. It was the name of the town in the climax of my favorite Spaghetti Western. The bad guy said, "It looks like a morgue, and watch out, it could be one so easily."

There was surprisingly nice scenery along the way. Finally we approached the Gila River and the land became a flood plain. My fantasy fizzled when I saw no town that reminded me of the movie.

But the agricultural valley seemed like a morgue. It had been an important agricultural valley at some time in the past. There were concrete-lined canals, water control valves and gates, etc. But now there was little growing.

I stopped to look at large piles of black stuff. Walking right up to it, I still couldn't tell what it was. Was it some kind of fertilizer, scaped off the bottom of a sewage treatment plant? I wasn't brave enough to touch it, so I just kicked it. The entire pile shook like black jello. It seemed like some kind of alien killer blob that belonged in a sci-fi, B movie.

Or maybe there is a better explanation. Consider all the glamor and glory given to red rock topographies in Monument Valley or near Moab, UT. Yea, it makes pretty photo cliches, but it's useless land. If nature lovers saw themselves as part of an animal species, instead of as the frivolous tourists of a post-industrial economy, they would realize how well our species can live without the glamor boys, and how important soil has been to our species.

Poor ignored, unglamorous dirt. Perhaps after millenia of neglect and ingratitude, Dirt became so resentful and bitter that it went over to the dark side...