Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century

by Jessica Bruder

Most folks who stay in Quartzsite don’t bother with the RV parks, though. Instead they gather on the local equivalent of a low-rent district—the public lands just outside of town—like pioneers swarming the site of a latter-day gold rush. (“The old rush,” the same Scotsman reporter quipped.) There they camp on the hardpan mix of dust and gravel known as “desert concrete.” Rather than pay for amenities, they boondock, using solar panels and gas-powered generators for electricity, hauling their own water in jugs and tanks. What creature comforts they sacrifice are made up for by the scenery. They park beside giant, open-armed saguaros that grow thick and tall as telephone poles; from a distance, the cacti look like giant hitching posts for the motorhomes. They cluster along the edges of desert washes, seeking out rare patches of shade among the creosote, mesquite, ironwood, and palo verde trees. For neighbors they have kangaroo rats, Gambel’s quail, lizards, scorpions, and roving packs of coyotes, whose nighttime yipping competes with the hum of their generators. (There are rattlesnakes, too, but most are dormant and won’t stir until spring, when shimmering waves of heat scour the desert, clearing out most human visitors.) As the campers settle in, they put out welcome mats, barbecue grills, and lawn chairs; unfurl awnings, Astroturf lawns, and weatherproof carpet; fly colorful flags and set up fenced-in dog runs. It looks like a sprawling tailgate party, a spectacle that Nat...