desert

If you get out to Joshua Tree and the night is clear, look up. You’ll see not just the stars, but a massive swath of the Milky Way. It’s a reminder that the vastness is always present, beyond the city’s bright lights. And once dawn comes, the desert performs the same magic: long horizons, unfamiliar landscapes, the creeping feeling that we are small, short-lived creatures on an immense ancient planet. No wonder some people find it unsettling.

Not the characters in Claire Vaye Watkins’ new novel “Yellow Pine,” who embrace the desert in the extreme. They live at the far side of the Mojave Desert where California meets Nevada. Wherefore the pines, you ask? The book’s title is a wry joke — “Yellow Pine” is not a forest, not a tree. It’s a massive solar array slated to be built nearby in the Nevada desert. A ragtag crew of desert dwellers are hoping to stop it, or at least slow down the grinding wheels of capitalism that see the desert merely as an empty space for the taking.

Primary among them is Rose, a 30-something single mom who lives near the end of a very, very long dirt road in a cabin she calls Nothingness Flats. Rose works for an environmental nonprofit that has gone remote because it’s the pandemic; she often spirals at the state of the world. “Sometimes I think I can feel the planet just hemorrhaging under all this greed. Like it’s tectonic,” she laments.

Rampant environmental destruction notwithstanding, the novel kicks off with the joyous return of Miles, the guy who got away. He is an outdoor person, like Rose; has trouble fitting into societal norms, like Rose; and he is an ideal intellectual partner for her, bantering, well-read and ready to engage. Also, they have great sex.

Lest I portray this as a typical summer beach read, Watkins’ writing is in a special, different mode. Her latest books somehow cut past narrative traditions and portray plot and emotion more directly. Another novel might find Rose, after she decides she loves Miles so much that she wants to get pregnant, going to a doctor, getting tests, worrying about being almost 40 and what that means. Rose does none of that — she just suddenly deeply wants a baby, and that desire is vivid in the text. Overexplained storytelling is set aside for something that’s striking and vivid.

When I reached Watkins via Zoom to talk about the book, I asked her how she does it. “Partly it’s an intuition I have about what makes an interesting story,” Watkins says. “A story requires a lot of improbable decisions. Maybe they’re not great decisions, but the person doesn’t know that at the time.”

In “Yellow Pine,” Miles is not without some red flags. In my reviewer’s copy, I found myself scrawling “bad idea!” in the margin, trying to warn Rose about him. It gives the story some tension, and shows that our heroine isn’t perfect — she’s just doing her best under desert skies.

Rose lives in Tecopa, population 120, among people who’ve chosen the isolation, quietude, natural beauty and brutal conditions on purpose. Of the real-life people in these communities, Watkins says, “It’s really tough. The environment is extreme. There are no amenities. There’s no jobs. … I think there’s a refusenik quality to them.”

Nevertheless, some of them come together to try to forestall the installation of the solar array. They point out that “solar farm” is a misnomer because the land — an alluvial plane with Yucca colonies dating back hundreds of years, creosote rhizomatic rings even longer — will be scraped and fenced. What happens to the endangered desert tortoises is awful. These activists are trying every legal recourse and have set up a tiny camp at the edge of the property. Sweetly, and with little hope, they make a small community of people who understand each other and the desert landscape that others see as a blank space on the map.

“In California most of the biodiversity in the state is in the inland deserts, partly because a lot of the other ecosystems have been totally destroyed, you know? It’s a very alive place,” Watkins explains.

In “Yellow Pine,” Rose’s conviction that she should get pregnant grows to a point where she comes up with a wild scheme to make that happen. It is very funny, outsized and unexpected. It’s a small individual resistance to the impending destruction of the desert.

Watkins is very good at making a humorous turn at the end of thoughts, sentences, books. This is her fourth. Her debut, the short story collection “Battleborn” in 2012, set her on a trajectory of accolades; 2021’s “I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness,” was an L.A. Times book prize finalist. She is currently a professor of writing at UC Irvine.

“The thing I love about novels, writing them and reading them, is that it’s private thoughts,” Watkins says. “It’s this cool technology that we’ve come up with to deal with the fact that we don’t know what’s going on in each other’s heads and hearts and how painful that can be.”

She adds that a novelist’s job is to care about the reader. “There’s something really beautiful about, I’m going to do my very best with my part and then I give it to you, and I let it go and I trust you and I respect you,” she says. “I love the world when I’m writing and my books are like acts of love, partly because I really struggle. I’m not walking around loving my fellow man easily.”

When our Zoom began, she apologized for the noises outside — construction, dog walkers, gardeners. I couldn’t hear them at all, but I got the impression that those intrusions and distractions were weighing on her. “I feel like I have a very sensitive instrument,” she says. “I get a little agitated and the pace is really, really different.”

I had been expecting to reach her at an improbable desert outpost, like a Death Valley library with Wi-Fi, but instead reached her in Orange County. It’s for her job, and also as a part-time parent, much easier for amenities. It’s a busy town where there are lots of people, lots of businesses, lots of traffic, the hectic pace of modern life — but still, the desert has its pull. She splits her time between the two locales.

“Yellow Pine” is a testament to her beloved remote corner of the Mojave, its beauties, hardships and endangerments. The place has been an essential part of her creative process and project. “What we do for fun in Tecopa is like, watch the sky. That’s our entertainment, you know?” she says, reflecting on the long moments of silence that stretch out over the evenings. “And it’s like, ‘wow.’”

“Writers are always selling somebody out,” Joan Didion once wrote. She was talking about journalists, but it can be just as true of novelists. Whether the genre is romantasy or autofiction, making up stories often demands making up stories about real people — exploiting them — to serve a narrative purpose.

Cali Adeline’s debut novel, “People Watching in the Desert,” gives this thorny ethical business an impressively complex treatment for a book that comes on like a beach read. Sonny, its hero, has checked into Sanctuary, a spendy Phoenix-area resort, for an extended stay. She’s 25 and unemployed, and it’s unclear at first how she acquired the funds to splurge on an on-site cottage with a pool, 90-minute massages, and various forced-fun adventures. It’s also unclear why she chose a five-star resort for the splurging, given her discomfort with everything from the menu on down. Sitting down for dinner alone, she “discreetly googled some of the words on her phone under the table: cotija, calabacitas, tabbouleh, bisque.”

Adeline lays out a breadcrumb trail that eventually reveals that Sonny has lugged some especially heavy personal baggage to Sanctuary. Her neglectful, addict mom died when she was a child, only to be replaced with a repressive, overprotective grandmother who stomped on her every ambition. Early adulthood has been defined by failed relationships and uninspiring work. People are to be feared: She’d sooner indulge in croquettes at the resort’s cocktail party than make small talk with other vacationers, and when she braves the world outside her cottage it’s usually with a notebook in her hand.

The early pages of “People Watching” weave Sonny’s perspective with brief sketches of her fellow resort-goers, which usually open with godlike authority: “Allana was ten feet tall and beautiful.” “Chloe and Mark had been married for seven blissful years.” “Dale was invisible. He had that way about him.” The odd bluntness of these statements, combined with their touches of surreality (“ten feet tall”?), makes clear that these mini-bios are scribblings from Sonny’s notebook. Terrified of the world, but determined to better understand what she’s been excluded from for so long, she’s determined to imagine her way into reality.

Sonny’s Walter Mitty-like imaginings do some valuable double duty in the novel. For one thing, they offer some necessary conflict in a setting that’s all about relieving tension. Resorts are, almost by definition, boring, but as Sonny hangs out poolside or does yoga or endures a singing bowl, her mind (and the novel) is reeling with imagined infidelities, deaths, gambling debts and other domestic dramas. Second, her sketches serve as character-defining examples of projection on Sonny’s part, as her observations of others reveal her own concerns about love, sex, money and rejection.

And, of course, she’s deflecting, too — better to make up drama about others than confront her own. The memories Sonny eventually surfaces are more potent than anything she makes up. But they’re also crueler, and you can understand why she’ll think and write about anything but. She recalls a time as a child when she was neglected for days on end and braved a trip to a neighbor for help. “The woman asked Sonny when the last time she took a bath or changed her clothes was and Sonny didn’t know the answer. Her only response was, ‘I’m four,’ as she proudly held up five fingers,” Adeline writes. “She was three.”

Remember the words “beach read” up there? It’s not difficult to predict how Sonny’s arc will curve: It’s a Walter Mitty story, but also an Ugly Duckling story. That notebook full of mini-dramas becomes a source of drama in itself. Say, that bartender is pretty cute, isn’t he? And Sonny eventually integrates with a few of her fellow resort-goers, and learns there’s more to them in reality than her imaginings. As one character gently chastises her, “People can surprise you, Sonny, but you have to let them.”

The pat-ness of Sonny’s Sanctuary journey makes her yet another entry in an evolving genre you might call “Is This Character Concussed?” In these novels, the main character has been so absurdly addled by a (late-revealed) trauma that everyday human interactions are wildly aglow with (at first) terror or (later) manic-pixie wonder. Prime examples include Gail Honeyman’s “Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine,” Sayaka Murata’s “Convenience Store Woman,” and multiple characters in the oeuvre of Sally Rooney and Ottessa Moshfegh. (Women are the most common character in these books, but guys can play too: See Fredrik Backman’s “A Man Called Ove.”) Socially awkward characters offer an opportunity for dry humor and deadpan prose. Because these stories have to dramatize a search for normalcy, its leads tend to be awkward in ways that strain credulity.

But you don’t have to wholly buy into the idea of a character like Sonny to find something intriguing about what Adeline is saying about storytelling throughout “People Watching.” In Sonny’s notebook, every observation is a moral choice, a mini-essay about what proper conduct is, what failure is, how you might get past it, and what our responsibilities to others might be. A notebook is a place of wish fulfilment, and a place for vengeance. Sonny explains at one point that she only started to get free of her grandmother’s clutches once she was capable of imagining her violently erased:

“I wrote a story. About her. And how one day while I was at work the house caught fire. Which wasn’t that far-fetched because the whole place really was a fire hazard. And … and … well, she was asleep inside the house, in the story, and didn’t make it out. I didn’t mean it. I was angry. And it was a story.”

Adeline stresses the word “story” three times in one brief passage. Sonny wants to reassure everybody that she was just making it up. But no writer is, not entirely.

Athitakis is a writer in Phoenix and author of “The New Midwest.”

This is the UK’s only desert – and it looks like a dystopian filmset

When picturing a desert landscape, the UK is unlikely to be the first place that springs to mind. Yet, while we may not have our own Sahara, Britain does technically lay claim to a desert of its own.

Nestled along the Kent coastline is Dungeness, the UK’s only desert and a truly one-of-a-kind holiday destination. This stark, barren landscape boasts a decommissioned power station, deserted huts and fishing boats, vast gravel pits, and an aged lighthouse.

Don’t be fooled by its appearance, though — this is also a nature reserve that has grown into a much-loved hotspot for birdwatchers and horticulturalists alike.

Dungeness is home to a remarkable 600 species of plants — a third of every plant species found across the UK. On top of that, rare insects and spiders can also be spotted amongst its sands.

These extraordinary plant and animal species have earned it the status of a Special Protection Area (SPA) and a Special Area of Conservation (SAC).

It is also an RSPB reserve, drawing birdwatchers in droves, particularly during the spring and autumn months when migratory birds pass through.

And it’s not solely the plants and wildlife that make this corner of England so extraordinary, as Explore Kent notes: “The appeal of Dungeness lies just as much in its human history as its natural riches, however.

“On the beach you’ll find remnants of bygone fishing methods, military installations dating from WWII and the Napoleonic wars, sound mirrors and radio research stations – all dotted incongruously about the landscape as a result of the fact that the shingle beach continues to expand as the tides deposit ever more material in its shores.”

In addition to this heritage, visitors can also explore the historic Dungeness Lighthouse.

First constructed in 1615, the original lighthouse on the location was reportedly engulfed by shingle, prompting the building of a replacement in 1901.

Rising to 43 metres in height, it boasts a distinctive black-and-white striped appearance that renders it a popular choice amongst photographers in the region. While public access is not typically allowed, guided visits are sometimes offered.

A further distinctive feature of Dungeness is the pair of nuclear power stations. Dungeness A initially opened in 1965, though it has now been decommissioned, while Dungeness B hasn’t generated electricity for the National Grid since 2018, and is presently undergoing defuelling.

SWIMMING with sharks in the dark and no cage? Well that is a Jaws-droppingly bold idea.

Just a couple of hours after arriving at the Sun Siyam Iru Veli resort in the Maldives, and being wowed by my over-the-water villa, I’d plunged straight into the aquatic action with an intense but exhilarating experience.

My group of five guests would be night swimming by a coral reef with nurse sharks, which are generally docile around humans.

But they are up to 10ft long and have around 75 teeth!

As the sun set over the Indian Ocean, we gathered at the dive centre to get kitted out and be briefed by guides Alex and Ammaday.

I’m an experienced snorkeller, but it took me a while to get the hang of following the group and coping with the current and waves.

WAIL OF A TIME

I drove Irish Route 66 with deserted golden beaches and pirate-like islands

TEMPTED?

Tiny ‘Bali of Europe’ town with stunning beaches, €3 cocktails and £20 flights

I was definitely not hanging back to avoid being first on any shark buffet.

Armed with underwater torches, we spotted colourful fish and corals before several nurse sharks swam towards us, some of which were 8ft in length. Absolutely fin-credible.

It is one of various extra-charge activities (£80pp) at the cosy five-star all-inclusive resort in Dhaalu Atoll, now with Privé Collection status after Maldivian-owned Sun Siyam rebranded to mark its 35th anniversary last year.

And now that the Foreign Office has scrapped its advice against travel to destinations such as Doha, flights to this sun-soaked hotspot will be smooth again.

The bucket-list experiences don’t end with sharks.

Another on offer at this resort is the chance to be “cast away” on a desert island, a couple of miles offshore and only accessible by speedboat.

Just us and a resort host on a 200-yards-long by 30-yards-wide sandbar surrounded by pristine sea that’s perfect for snorkelling.

Like the radio show, your Desert Island Discs-covery comes with a “luxury item” — a Japanese bento box and prosecco lunch under a sunshade to refuel you while you enjoy blissful seclusion (experience costs £158pp).

There are plenty of activities included in the price of a stay, too, including guided daytime snorkel tours of the house reef (I found Nemo) and a trip to neighbouring island Ban’didhoo, where some of the 125-villa Iru Veli’s staff live.

Most of the 600 inhabitants work in the fishing industry and our guide Altho showed us the marina where mackerel, yellowfin and bluefin tuna are landed.

To stop overfishing, only rod and line is legal.

After checking out the 17th-century coral-walled mosque, kids’ parks, outdoor gyms and a football ground financed by Sun Siyam, I nosed around a souvenir shop, a 24/7 convenience store (Maldivian WD-40, who knew?) and the small shipyard by the beach.

While there are no resorts on this local island, there is one guest house, the friendly Divhoni, with clean rooms from £55 a night B&B. It’s well worth seeing where Maldivians actually live and work.

As for the other excursions, guests staying at Iru Veli are also entitled to a complimentary sunset cruise to spot dolphins, and £77pp spa credit or scuba, if PADI certified.

All of the swimming and snorkelling requires high energy and the resort’s restaurants can certainly help with that.

Much as I liked the food at the Aqua Orange main buffet, which is included in the price of a stay (the butter chicken curry with ginger pickle was awesome), the most memorable meal was at extra-charge Japanese-themed Teppanyaki, with incredible egg juggling, groan-worthy jokes and stellar chicken, steak, lobster and yellowfin tuna from chef Irvan (set menu £108pp and veggie £71pp). No prizes for guessing where the tuna came from.

One paradise island is never enough, though, and I spent the second half of my week at Sun Siyam’s five-star Iru Fushi resort in the North Male Atoll; like Iru Veli, a 45-minute seaplane transfer from the international airport.

And no sooner had I arrived than I was leaving!

Wild horses couldn’t normally drag me away from a tropical beach, but the throbbing 200 horsepower of a four-seater white “Rolls-Royce” jet car was irresistible.

After a briefing, I was behind the wheel of the £51,000 car-boat, driving across the ocean and getting 007 vibes like the scene with the aquatic Lotus Esprit in the movie The Spy Who Loved Me.

But you don’t have to be a secret agent facing down metal-mouthed baddie Jaws to bag this showstopper.

Starting at £94 for two, you can take the jet car out (escorted by a guide on a jetski) for a thrilling 45mph blast across the ocean that you’ll be telling your mates about for months.

Add drone videos to smash it on socials.

It’s one of various extra-charge activities at the gorgeous Luxury Collection all- inclusive resort.

Others include an Insta-fave floating breakfast in your villa’s infinity pool (£108 for two with fizz).

But there’s so much already included, you can have a brilliant week without spending more than the cost of your holiday in this archipelago of 1,200 islands.

Top of your list will be the Secret Sundowners pop-up bar (alcoholic and non- alcoholic cocktails at Sun Siyam resorts are terrific), wine tasting, kayaking and SUP, guided reef snorkelling and the excellent Sax On The Beach music session.

Food is also a highlight of any Maldives getaway and Sun Siyam’s inclusive restaurants and buffet are so good, you don’t necessarily need to visit a la carte venues.

However, the prawn thermidor I had at Islander’s Grill was sensational.

As was my accommodation, an over-the-water butler-service villa larger than some flats I’ve lived in and with an infinity pool, spa bath and direct sea access.

Iru Fushi has 221 villas and you will rack up your daily steps count getting around this sizeable resort, be it to the dreamy, award-winning Thalgo spa, Fluid bar and its terrific family pool, the adults’ pool and adjacent beachfront No Mistake bar (an unmissable spot), the highly-rated (and included) curry and pan-Asian restaurants or the water sports and dive centre.

You could just lie on the blissful beaches in the Maldives — or you could also drive on the sea like Bond and swim with sharks in the dark.

The choice is Jaws . . . 

TONOPAH, Nev. — Some years ago, Harry Chahal and his wife were on a trip to Las Vegas when, like countless motorists before and since, they passed through this high desert speck of a town.

Tonopah, built by the mining industry around 1900 and depleted as the gold, silver, lead and mercury waned, is a remote way station about halfway between Reno and Las Vegas. Signs on either side warn — ominously, given the unforgiving expanse ahead — that once you’ve left, the nearest gas station is not for another 100 miles or so.

Harry Chahal opened hometown pizza in 2015 after driving through town and seeing there was no pizza place.

(Mark Z. Barabak / Los Angeles Times)

As he passed through town, Chahal noticed something missing: a pizza parlor.

Pizza is not generally associated with Punjab, India, where Chahal — given name Harvarinderjit — is originally from. But he learned how to make pizza, and how much customers loved gobbling it up, while working at different gas station mini-marts around rural Nevada.

In that absence, Chahal saw opportunity.

He and his wife, Ravinder, moved to Tonopah and in 2015 opened Hometown Pizza in a vacant building on U.S. Route 95, which runs through the heart of town. Ten years later, they bought the Dream Inn Motel, a 39-room operation just up the road.

Views of the 47th president, from the ground up

Lately, Chahal has been sprucing up the motor inn: new cabinets, new furniture, fresh paint every few months. The reason is President Trump.

Tonopah and the surrounding desert, stretching farther than the eye can reckon, is verging on a boom, owing to vast reserves of lithium, boron and other sought-after materials and a Trump administration promise to turn the U.S., in the words of Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, into “a mineral powerhouse once again.”

Chahal, 40, is a repeat Trump voter and even though he has issues with some of what the president has done — he’s not happy about the war with Iran and inflation has taken a decent-sized bite out of his pizza business — he feels his faith in Republicans in general and Trump in particular have paid off.

A registered nonpartisan, Chahal is fairly apolitical. “I vote for Republicans because they’re better for business,” he said as a lunch-time crowd of locals and folks passing through tucked into the $11.99 pizza-and-salad buffet. Here’s proof: In the last year, Chahal said, he’s seen motel occupancy increase significantly, from around 15 rooms rented each night to 25 or more.

Those fresh touches to the Dream Inn are Chahal’s investment in the future and a belief that, with Trump in office, even better times lie ahead.

Tonopah was built as a mining town around 1900. It’s fortunes have waxed and mostly waned.

(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)

::

For much of its being, Tonopah relied on metal, minerals and other valuables scooped from the earth. Today, government is the largest employer.

But mining continues to hold fast to the town’s imagination.

A headframe — that’s the tower built directly over an underground mine shaft — is part of Tonopah’s logo. Mining-related sculptures, including statues of Jim and Belle Butler, who staked the first claim in the 20th century silver rush, dot the main thoroughfare. The high school’s athletes are called the “Muckers,” after those who shovel ore into underground rail cars.

The Tonopah Historic Mining Park is a big tourist attraction, along with the Clown Motel and other lodging establishments supposedly haunted by the ghosts of dead miners and other paranormal phenomena. (Chahal says there are no apparitions at the Dream Inn.)

The Clown Motel, which draws visitors from around the world, is said to be haunted by the ghosts of dead miners.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Lately, however, mining is becoming more than just a part of nostalgic lore. It’s poised to again be a major boon to the local economy and the town’s 3,000 residents.

Plans are underway for a new lithium and boron mine at Rhyolite Ridge, approximately 30 miles southwest of Tonopah, in Nevada’s Silver Peak Range. (Lithium, most of which is now imported, is a vital ingredient in the batteries that store solar energy and power electric vehicles; boron is used, among other things, for bulletproof armor and vests.)

About 27 miles to the south of Tonopah, near the town of Goldfield, a new gold mine is set to open in 2028.

Joe Westerlund, Tonopah’s town manager, said fresh development and the prospect of hundreds of new, good-paying jobs are much welcomed. The median income here is about $37,000 annually, less than half the state average. The hospital in town closed in 2015. Venture off U.S. 95 and the rolling hills are flecked with weathered miner’s cottages and tumbledown homes no longer fit for habitation.

(A three-bedroom, two-bath home in a comfy subdivision on the north end of town can be had for around $250,000, but don’t hurry over to buy; inventory is low and could grow even leaner if demand for housing increases.)

The Tonopah Historic Mining Park is a big local tourist attraction.

(Mark Z. Barabak / Los Angeles Times)

While some of the groundwork for the mining resurgence was laid during the Biden administration, Trump is credited with fostering a much friendlier regulatory environment, which promises even more opportunities for extraction.

“As soon as he got into office, things started loosening up. We had 15 drill rigs,” said Westerlund, who has lived in Tonopah since 1972. “I had never seen that before in my life.”

There are, of course, environmental concerns — about pollution, water supply, native habitat — but those worries haven’t gained much of a toehold. Nye County, which is home to Tonopah, isn’t exactly tree-hugger country — and not just because most of the land is scrub-filled desert. Trump carried Nye County all three times he ran, with landslide support ranging from 68% to 70%.

“This is a pro-Trump town,” Westerlund said, “and I feel like his policies are doing good for the town.”

Chahal stands ready to cash in, knowing firsthand what economic good times feel like.

The Mizpah hotel, opened in 1908, offers the plushest accommodations in town.

(Chris Erskine / Los Angeles Times)

When he moved here in 2014, he and his wife were forced to stay in a motel for six months because workers finishing up a $1 billion solar energy project were taking up most of the living space. That’s the kind of extended-stay guest he’s after, not the tourists bedding at the Mizpah Hotel, the plushest resort in town, with its cut-glass chandeliers, Victorian furnishings and photo gallery of celebrities who’ve stayed the night.

“If I can rent 25 rooms a night, maybe 15 can be for the long term” of several weeks at a time, Chahal said. He’s done the math — $82 a night for a queen bed, single occupancy; $89 for a king — and likes how it pencils out.

::

Chahal came to the U.S. in 2006, after marrying Ravinder, who grew up in the Sacramento area. She had family in Punjab and was a regular visitor to India. The two met when they were 10 years old. Chahal became an American citizen in 2020.

Politically, Indian Americans lean heavily toward the Democratic Party. But in the tiny Nevada communities where the couple lived — Lovelock, Battle Mountain and Ely before Tonopah — there was little or no Indian American presence. So Chahal wasn’t acculturated into the party the way many others have been. Rather, he embraced the GOP gospel of lower taxes and less regulation.

Working seven days a week, Chahal has little time these days for politics, beyond voting. He isn’t particularly ideological or, for that matter, worshipful of Trump.

“Every coin has a head and a tail,” he said, flipping his wrist as though tossing a quarter in the air. He sees two sides to the president. “Maybe you’re angry for some things,” Chahal said. “Maybe you agree with some things.”

He supports the notion of tariffs as a way of bringing manufacturing jobs back to the U.S. He also laments that the pizza boxes he uses, which are made in China, once cost him 30 cents and now run almost 67 cents apiece.

He backs Trump’s promise to round up and deport violent criminals who are in the country illegally. But he’s also mindful of the important role immigrants play, especially in areas like farming and construction, in sustaining the U.S. economy.

Chahal criticized the heavy-handed enforcement that resulted in the killing of two protesters in Minnesota. But he blamed their deaths on overzealous ICE agents, not Trump.

Living in a town greatly shaped by outside forces — the fluctuation of commodity prices, the changing of presidential administrations, the shifting priorities emanating from Washington — Chahal is familiar with vicissitudes and the business cycles of boom and bust.

Not everything Trump has done has helped the mining industry.

His tariffs and inflation have greatly increased construction costs. Cuts to the federal workforce have slowed the oversight and approval processes. His hostility toward green energy has dampened the market for electric vehicles and made solar energy considerably less attractive.

But based on the talk around town, Chahal believes a more prosperous future is in the offing. He certainly hopes so, and he’s counting on the president to deliver.

If the Constitution allowed for a third term, Chahal said, he wouldn’t hesitate voting for Trump again.

Forty-eight days, 16 hours, 57 minutes and 12 seconds after a virus transforms humanity into a blissful symbiotic horde, one of its survivors, Carol (Rhea Seehorn), treats a rooftop as a personal driving range — the golf balls shattering a neighboring building’s windows. “If you’re alone for 40 days, you’re going to go a bit crazy and be lonely,” says “Pluribus” cinematographer Paul Donachie of the series’ aesthetic, which finds surreal beauty in bland desert urbanism emptied of people. “We searched Albuquerque to find the right kind of rooftop and building to frame her in light, but with darkness around her,” he says. “We’re putting her in this box before revealing what she’s aiming at.” Along with a looser framing, shadow and contrast highlight loneliness and emotional ambiguity. As another survivor (Carlos-Manuel Vesga) makes the long journey in search of Carol, “what was interesting about this particular episode was there was no dialogue and we’re telling two little stories of what’s going on emotionally with each person,” Donachie notes. “She is trying to enjoy it and take her mind off it. But I think there’s frustration not knowing what the hell is going on in the world.”