This particular part of the country feels the need to mark all areas that might, at some point in the year, contain water. Perhaps its about inconsistent availability because it doesn't seem to afflict areas that have multiple words for moving bodies of water. Where there are rivers, streams, and creeks (or cricks, depending on the region), the signage seems haphazard. If it’s there and running no matter the seasons, it’s not special enough to be named.

But in the desert, even a sandy depression that holds water now and then warrants a name and a sign big enough to be read moving seventy five miles an hour. “Holy Moses Wash,” this one says. I imagine the storm that prompted someone to say that as they passed by.

Holy Moses! they exclaimed as they were carried uncontrollably down the sand. Deposited yards or miles away from where they started.

Holy Moses that was a ride.

Or maybe Holy Moses this place is dry.

Or Holy Moses I need a wash. Of the shower variety.

Holy Moses, where are we going?

Holy Moses, what is this thing ferrying me down a temporary valley.? Sometimes it’s dry and sometimes it’s so full of a life-giving liquid that it moves mountains a grain of sand at a time.

Holy Moses, there is life where there once was not.

Holy Moses, that was fast. And how quickly it returned to hot, crackling and baking.

I'd like to think the one who named this was slightly religious but enjoyed a good joke. Bible-adjacent or otherwise. Regardless I'm looking a little more carefully for name signs. There's only so many Horseshoe Bends and Mill Creeks that you can pass by without wondering if perhaps a little more creativity could be used.

Maybe that’s why I appreciated this one so much.

Holy Moses, I whisper to the dry and baking air. Away we go.

This story inspired by events in Amargosa Valley, Nevada