In 2009, I wrote a blog post (really just photos from the internet) about a place I had never been but always wanted to go. You can find that post here.
Back then, it felt symbolic. I loved the colors, boldness, quirkiness, the scriptures, and God's messages of love. It was created in the middle of nowhere, and I remember thinking that one day I will see it in person.
Last weekend, I did.
Leaving Irvine after a weekend of baseball games, we decided to venture off the I-10 to finally see Salvation Mountain. Driving past Salton Sea and through the desert, it rises out of the earth like a mirage. What surprised me most wasn’t just the joyful and vibrant colors, it was the scale, the texture, and the way layers of paint held years of devotion. You can see the brushstrokes and in them, the dedication, grit, and steady care of the volunteers who have kept it alive.
It’s imperfect, sun-faded in places, cracked, repaired yet still standing.
Maybe that’s why it moved me more now than it would have in 2009.
Back then, it was an idea. A someday.
Now, it’s a reminder.
Dreams don’t have expiration dates (even if the dreams are weird and quirky). Sometimes they just wait for the right season.
Seeing Salvation Mountain in person felt less like checking something off a list and more like closing a quiet loop. It felt like honoring the woman I was when I first wrote about it, and appreciating the woman who finally made the drive.
Some places are worth the wait.
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