Archival pigment print
23 x 30 inches framed
Bill Leigh Brewer was born in Los Angeles and received his MS degree from USC. He is the recipient of numerous honors including Vermont Studio Center Fellowships and The Epson International Pano Award. From his home near Joshua Tree, Brewer photographs in the Mojave Desert and beyond. billybrewer.com, @billleighbrewer
Joshua trees (Yucca brevifolia) are often called indicator plants for the Mojave Desert. Because of their size and dramatic appearance, they are perceived as royalty of the plant world. That a national park is named for them is a sure sign of their status. My own experience with the Joshuas can’t be separated from my experience with the Mojave. For decades I took their presence for granted. But it has become abundantly clear that climate change and invasive species have made the Joshua tree’s survival precarious. In the 19th century and earlier it’s likely that Southern Paiute people used controlled burns to manage game. These fires burned fine fuels (mostly grasses) without significantly harming brush and trees. The native grasses eventually rebounded from these low intensity burns. On a recent drive to the Upper Covington area of Joshua Tree National Park I saw a landscape crew clearing non-native grasses. I think this is an indication of the “new” reality: that conditions in the areas native to the Joshua tree need to be managed to ensure its survival.
In the 19th and 20th centuries cattle ranching in the Eastern Mojave had a slightly different result. Grazing cattle also reduced fine fuels but tended to cause a more decided shift from grasslands to shrub/woodlands, a more persistent reduction of native grasses. With settlers/ranchers also came invasive grasses from other places. This has led to major fuel load and exacerbated summer fires. Those ranching leases were retired in 2002. In August 2020 when lightning struck near Deer Springs in the East Mojave, it ignited dried grasses. The fire burned for nine days and killed 1.3 million eastern Joshua trees (Yucca jaegeriana).
I photograph Joshuas as part of a larger artistic process. While my photography encompasses the Southwestern United States, I consider the Mojave to be home. Lately I have been revisiting Joshuas that I documented from three to thirteen years ago. I’ve been returning to the same spot to re-photograph them. It’s like visiting old friends. I note changes ranging from subtle to startling; some Joshuas have grown, some are struggling, and a few are completely gone.
I don’t take Joshua trees for granted anymore. I hope my photography expresses the beauty which is innate to Joshuas. And I hope, in a small way, to motivate smart and creative public policies to protect them.