We are thoroughly enjoying our three-night stay at Parisol Misional Campground.
The staff here are always working to improve the campground, and their care shows in every detail.
Yesterday, I took Tad for a hike up and over the lava mountain behind our motorhome while Janice and Comet made breakfast. The staff have spent hundreds of hours creating trails and building small aqueducts along the hillside. About halfway up, we came across the ruins of a large home, something built decades, perhaps even over a century ago.
Whenever I encounter a place like that, I find myself wondering about the lives that unfolded there… the stories, the laughter, the quiet moments. Memories once held within those walls, now roofless and slowly returning to the earth.
At the top of the mountain, we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the village of San Ignacio. The mission stands at its center, embraced by a sea of date palms, oasis of life in the middle of the desert.
Last night, Janice, Tad, and I enjoyed a wonderful meal in the village across from the town square. At least two other dogs joined us in the outdoor seating area. We ordered margaritas, and somewhere along the way we accidentally added chips (tapas) and guacamole to the order—a wonderful mistake. The fresh tapas, salsa, and guacamole were outstanding. We ordered a second round of margaritas, and we both agreed they seemed… a bit more generous with the tequila.
After dinner, we walked the two blocks back to the campground. Workers were still out, even near 8 p.m., building new sidewalks along both sides of the street—another sign of a community steadily investing in itself.
It was still warm in the motorhome, the temperature had reached nearly 100 degrees, so we sat outside and talked about the day. As I looked up through the palms, I thought I could see hundreds of stars shimmering between the leaves.
Then they began to twinkle… and move. For a moment, I wondered if we were witnessing some great cosmic transformation, or if perhaps that last margarita had contained something a bit more “magical.”
I shared my observation with my wife—the scientist, and she gently suggested that what I was seeing was moonlight reflecting off the palm leaves. As my vision adjusted, I realized she was absolutely right. Were it not for her steady presence, I might very well have torn off my clothes and run through the campground proclaiming the end of the universe!
Even so, it was a remarkable moment—one that reminded me how thin the veil can be between perception, imagination, and reality.
Now it is Friday, and several more campers perhaps fifteen, have joined us. Despite the mix of people, dogs, cats, and children, the atmosphere remains incredibly calm and respectful. It is quiet, save for distant Mexican music drifting through the evening air and the gentle wind moving through the palms. It is… mesmerizing.
This morning and much of the afternoon were spent working on Umpqua Watersheds projects, Zoom meetings, staff coordination, and drafting comments on federal agency actions. To be completely transparent, I also took a well-earned 64-minute nap while Janice continued working diligently. I eventually rose and completed my comments opposing the Trump administration’s proposal to prohibit nonprofits receiving government funding from engaging in DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) efforts. It is a troubling proposal, one that carries many shades of darkness, and I was grateful to lend my voice in opposition on behalf of Umpqua Watersheds.
It has been another beautiful day in paradise.
Tomorrow, we continue our slow and intentional journey south toward our ultimate destination: Cabo Pulmo National Park.
Closing Reflection
There is something quietly profound about this place, where desert meets oasis, where history lingers in abandoned walls, and where moonlight can momentarily become a universe in motion. Here, between work and wandering, conversation and stillness, we are reminded that life is not just about reaching a destination… but about noticing the wonder along the way.
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