Anne Shirley's Apprentice

From the Birmingham Botanical Gardens

2012-02-07T13:08:00.000-08:00

We were anchored in Birmingham for the winter, which offered plenty of time for exploring the many corners of the city. The last adventure of the stay, which makes it the first adventure of the new travel year, just a couple days before our departure for the high seas. The majority of the garden was dormant, despite the warm, spring like weather that we have been having, however, the camellias were in full bloom.

As we wandered through the gardens, we discovered a strange fact. While the crew smiles and laughs all day long, they cannot, for some reason, produce a picture worthy smile on demand. However, they have truly mastered the pirate grimace.

It took about seven tries of setting the camera on automatic to get this picture with minimal pirate scowls.

The Baby tried to demonstrate proper technique, but they just didn't get it.

Note the Baby's perfect smile.

So I let the First Mate take the camera and document our trip to the gardens in his very own style.

He traveled through a bog, and traversed a barely present path through the woods to find this old canoe looking log.

Then he climbed to the top of a high ledge so that he could get this picture of the Harbor Master and me waving to him from the gazebo. We are in the very center of the picture, behind the branches.

The First Mate believes in making sure that the location of the photograph is well documented. Thus, we have the sign that led us to the fern glade, but no pictures of the fern glade itself.

The Japanese dry landscape (rock) garden.

Little problems

2011-10-13T00:17:00.000-07:00

Even under the best circumstances things are going to go wrong in an rv. It is absolutely inevitable. Often, those things are quite simple to fix, like when everybody panics for a few minutes that the stove isn't working, and it turns out that someone switched the gas detector off (which shuts off the gas and results in an inoperable stove). Sometimes they are somewhat less simple, as in the awning that got stuck in the extended position and had to be rolled back up by hand after all the wires were pulled loose. Occasionally, it is a simple problem whose answer is not instantly apparent.

Friday, after we had come all the way across from Minnesota, through the Donner Pass (which although very high up and very covered in snow turned out to be beautiful, but uneventful) we were greeted at the border of California by way of an agriculture inspection border station. Our apples and oranges were duly examined by a trained inspector, the pepper plant that the A.B. carries around was forbidden to leave the camper (Although his aloe, peace lily, and BABY APPLE TREES were scarcely looked at.) the dog was duly noted, and then the trained inspector handed us a yellow slip of paper and let us go on our way. We then encountered California traffic, probably the worst that we have seen in our travels so far. Exhausted and ready to crawl into our sleeping spaces, we drove to the campground only to find the dreaded sign "No Vacancies." Apparently there has been a sudden increase in jobs in Auburn, California, and the only campground in town is booked solid for months to come. There is one other park in town, but the very name of it kind of cuts our crew right out. Elder's Senior Citizens Park. Yeah. It doesn't exactly call out our name. Overnight RVing in parking lots is generally frowned upon in Auburn, CA, so our hopes were dwindling as evening loomed. After calling half the stores in the town, our inverter quite suddenly failed us. With all computers rather close to shut down, we tried one last phone call, and wonder of wonders, K-mart declared that they welcomed rv's in their lot overnight. So to K-mart we went. We found a nice little place where it was not too bright, and somewhat less noisy (and actually, we wound up in the Rite-Aid lot). We parked, and were pleased to see that we even had the convenience of several restaurants within walking distance (as in, across the parking lot). After some discussion about whether or not it was proper etiquette, we decided that putting down the leveling jacks was acceptable as long as we put down the weight distributing pads to avoid scarring the asphalt. Someone pushed the button on the control panel, and the horrible truth was revealed. The inverter had not died, it had blown a fuse. Now, fuses generally fall into the category of simple fixes. We carry a stash of them at all times. The most difficult part is figuring out which fuse is causing the trouble. So the Admiral began checking. He checked and checked. And checked. There are about five fuse boxes spaced around Tallulah. There was plenty of checking to be done. About three hours later, we went for dinner, without having found the fuse. None of the owners manuals held the answer of the fuse's location. The Admiral and the First Mate kept checking. The meter kept signalling the all well. The Commodore and the Admiral had work on Saturday. In the evening, we finally made it to our current location, a park in a tiny mountain town. Sunday, the Admiral checked again. Monday, the Commodore called a help line, just as she was put through to the correct person, the Admiral came through the door, holding (Tada!) a blown fuse. It was, of course, one that we did not have a replacement for. So, he decided to pull an identical fuse from another place and make sure that it was, indeed, the correct fuse. He did just that, and then we discovered that he had pulled a fuse necessary for starting Tallulah, and a running engine is necessary for the leveling jack control panel to work. Thus, a no go all around. He replaced the critical fuse, and we eventually made Tallulah operate again, but the blown fuse was not the one causing all of our troubles. So the First Mate and the Admiral resumed checking fuses. They continued on and on, through an hour, and in and out of days, checking every fuse that they could find. Whenever the Admiral was home from work the fuse checking began again. On and on.We began to fear that the problem was not a fuse but something else. And then, the Admiral had a scathingly brilliant idea. He declared the METER faulty, and suggested that it was giving false positives. The meter, naturally, was hastily replaced. The First Mate crawled back under the driver's seat to check the fuses there once again, and there, in the 38th slot, he found it. One pesky little mini ten amp fuse. Naturally, it was a fuse that we did not have a replacement for. (But we got one in less than thirty minutes, because the rv park is in the backyard of the town's lone gas station.)

And that pretty much sums up our first days in California.

Transcontinental

2011-10-06T22:53:00.000-07:00

When the Summer is spent with the entire crew sprawled across half a continent, it becomes necessary to regroup before moving on. At rallying time, the Admiral, Commodore, Second Mate, and the Navigator (formerly the 2nd AB) were in Minneapolis. The First Mate, the Dog and I were back at Home Port and the Harbor Master, Her Husband, and The Baby were stationed in Missouri but visiting home for a week.

Saturday morning, the Harbor Master and Her Husband, the First Mate and I began packing. Because of our excellent packing skills, we were actually on the road by 3:41 in the afternoon, only 41 minutes behind schedule according to the Harbor Master's Husband's plan. We drove all night, stopping only when the Baby demanded breaks, and for Mass on Sunday Morning. We reached our destination in Missouri by the middle of the next day. Here the First Mate, the Dog and I jumped ship and joined up with the Commodore and the Admiral. We got to Minneapolis at 1:30 AM Monday morning.

We had to wait for a package to be delivered to our camp in Minneapolis, which afforded the First Mate and I our first chance at a bit of rest. We left around ten on Monday and drove as far as we could, which brought us to Jamestown, ND. We picked a lovely Wal-Mart parking lot to camp in. Boon-docking often requires sacrificed sleeping quarters. By the luck of the draw, I got the passenger chair. Although not very rested, we did at least manage to get an early start. On Tuesday, we made it all the way to Billings, MT where we stopped at the world's first KOA. There are those who say it is also the World's best KOA. It's in our top two. While most of the drive so far was fairly familiar to all of us, Wednesday began the real adventure. After three years of trying to maneuver it, the Admiral finally got us to attempt Yellowstone in Tallulah.

Roosevelt's arch at the entrance of the park.

The super delightful road going in. Note how pleasantly the road twists right out of sight.

The Boardwalk for Mammoth Springs.

Mammoth Springs

The Navigator in front of a hot spring.

A lone Bison.

Nothing says fun like a falling rock sign!

Of all the wildlife we saw in the park, these guys were probably the wildest. It was very close to freezing weather, and there they were, standing in the middle of the river, all to catch a fish.

Because the weather was not very nice, and we were in Tallulah, and we were rather rushed, we managed to do the impossible, and go through Yellowstone without seeing Old Faithful. I suppose that just gives us a reason to go back someday.

Yellowstone took up a huge portion of the day, and we stopped not too far after that in Idaho.

After a decent start this morning (Thursday) we made it to Nevada, and we are now within six hours of our California destination.

Tomorrow we just have to make it through the Donner Pass. Which is currently frozen. It's ok though. We have kitty litter (for traction in the event that we get stuck) food, water, blankets, warm clothes, matches, charcoal, lighter fluid, and, most importantly, we have all read Gary Paulsen's "Guts."

The best vehicle we were behind today "Milky-Way: Drinkamugamilkameal

The canyon at Twin Falls, Idaho

Mountains in the distance. Idaho

Coming out of some bad weather in Nevada

Nevada.

Here in Aurora

2011-05-16T14:21:00.000-07:00

Logistics required us to find a new place to stay in Colorado in the Denver area. So, we are in the Cherry Creek State Park in Aurora. The park features miles and miles of "multi-use" trails, so it has plenty of exploring opportunities. We have no idea how far we actually biked this morning because the maps are about as helpful as a broken compass. It was far enough for me to get a goathead (a burr produced on a plant aptly called a puncture vine) in my tire. The tire is supposed to be a self sealing one, so the situation was not as awful as it might have been, but there was the decidedly unwelcome HISSSSSSSSSS of leaking air when I so stupidly pulled the thing off of the tire. Experience has shown that NOT pulling the burr out is the best way to make it home, but who listens to experience? So I rode home on a not-quite-flat tire, while the 1st A.B. called "Come on already!" Right. (He did graciously offer me his own bike when we were almost home.)
Before the goathead incident though, it was a very pleasant ride. We could not have asked for a better day; brilliantly sunny, seventy degrees, a cool breeze. The perfection of the day was affirmed by the dozens of bikers and hikers we met along the way. They would have been out there even if the day was horrid--this is Colorado--but many of them offered a "Great day, huh?" as they passed. Before we even got out of the campground section, we passed a herd of around twenty-five deer. Several were bucks with their horns just starting to grow in. We did not have a camera with us then. We chose a path and followed it. Getting lost was relatively unlikely, as all of the paths are (I think) connected and somewhat circular. We did not actually discover whether this is true, as we were compelled to seek out the shortest route home, so we left the trails and took the road. We caused one passing cyclist quite a bit of amusement when one of the A.B.'s yelled "There's the campground! The one we belong to!" They were right, and there were only three more hills, and about a mile of biking left to our whole ride.

Before we went biking, we did take the camera out on a trip to find the lake that is shown on the map. The map did not actually help us any at all, but we did find the like, and this time, we have the pictures to prove it.

The view out our front door.

And of course "Adventure is out there!"

The squirrels were watching us all the time.

We were trying to get a good picture of this Magpie...

When he was attacked by a Robin.

But we got the picture anyway.

The crew.

This is one of Robynne's worst nightmares.

Because there were no pets allowed on the beach, we had to find the lake from another direction.

Our first good look at the lake.

Denver out across the lake. There are mountains in the distance, but they aren't very visible today.

This bird is awesome because it has a worm in its mouth.

That pretty much sums up our adventurous morning.

Away to Unknown Lands!

2011-04-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

Or not. Maybe just to Missouri. We set out on Sunday April 10th, after attending the baptism of the Ship's Baby. The drive to Missouri has become curiously routine, and rather than seeing a thousand new sights, we sighted a thousand landmarks. We stopped overnight in West Memphis, and got a halfway decent start in the morning. However, owing to circumstances beyond our control (the need for human beings to eat, and the the very indirect road system of Missouri) it was rather late when we reached our destination.
Bevier is in the middle of nowhere Missouri but it is not unpleasantly so. The campground here is not the best, but it is far from the worst as well. It is owned and operated by mechanics, and that is obvious in all the areas. There is a nice lake (pond) where one can look at, but not catch the fish. The lake is also home to a great many bullfrogs, who are delightfully unafraid of humans. Dan found one sitting next to crayfish pincers. We are supposing that the rest of the crayfish was eaten by the frog.
The lake is connected to the outside world by a creek. The creek is crossed by a rickety old bridge. The bridge is highly appreciated by the crew members, particularly the 2nd A.B. who has become infatuated with the "Redwall" series. The bridge never fails to be completely blocked by savage armies for the A.B. to fight his way through. Tallulah is parked at the top of a hill. The hill provides an excellent slope for the First Mate, the First A.B. and the Second A.B. to charge up while the First A.B. (also known as Basil Stag Hare) cries out "We're going home like a proper army, not a ragamuffin crowd!"(Mattimeo).
So far, they do not seemed to have disturbed any other campers with their antics. This is a good thing, as one of the other ships is marked multiple times with "no trespassing" signs, one of them complete with a diagram of how to properly defend one's territory.
Fortunately, the campground is also equipped with a large, open field, perfect for staging any sort of battle. Pirates vs. Natives. Woodlanders vs. Weasels and Wildcats. Crewman from the Starship Tallulah vs. Aliens From Distant Galaxies....
So, even in the middle of nowhere Missouri, we have managed to entertain ourselves.

The Baby

2011-04-15T08:03:00.000-07:00

The newest member of the crew.

New Adventures

2011-03-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

Our recent activities have primarily involved waiting. Waiting for the right new car to show up, waiting for the next adventures to begin, and most especially, waiting for the baby.

The Harbor Master is expecting her first child very soon, and we have been at home for several weeks in anticipation of the coming of this little one. Of course, in addition to being the Harbor Master and RC's first child, it is also the first grandbaby for the Commodore and the Admiral, and the first niece or nephew for the members of the crew. Needless to say, everyone is quite excited. Things seem to be as ready as they will get, with the majority of things in place for the Baby.

So right now, we are really just waiting, which can be its own adventure.

In the Wagon's Footsteps (Tire tracks?)

2011-03-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

After a prolonged illness aggravated by by improperly qualified old car docs, the Y.S. has met her match. She crawled into the front yard, and breathed her last. Yes, after more than 200,000 miles, the old station wagon has gone belly up.

Perhaps the most interesting part about the Y.S. was not the fact that she made several cross country trips, or that we could load her with enough gear for six people for two weeks (that includes camping gear and a full collection of schoolbooks for five different grades) or that she once went airborne, landed in a water/mud filled ditch and was pulled out by a tractor practically unscathed, or that she could never be mistaken in a parking lot or even any of her other many, many adventures. Rather, the best feature of the Y.S. was her unflagging ability to remind people of good times--or fond times at least. We cannot even count the people who have smiled on our old wagon and chuckled, as they said "We had one just like that when I was a kid...."
Realistically, a car is just chunks of metal and plastic and cloth. However, it is also a mnemonic device, and looking at it tends to trigger memories connected to the time when countless similar cars roamed the streets, though they are now about as common as bison.

This has been very traumatic for some members of the crew, not just because the car that has served us well for the past 8 years is no longer among the living, but also because the death of one car means that another must be brought home. Shopping for a car is an activity that has been avoided like three plagues among our crew. So many factors to consider, and so few vehicles that fit the bill. Also, there is the sad fact that fewer and fewer car dealers are willing to haggle. For instance, one really should be able to argue until a great deal has been made.

Which is precisely what the Commodore did. And after all that bargaining, well, she was sorta obligated to bring the thing home. So, without further ado, I introduce the new station wagon Otherwise known as Freebird.

The Peanut Butter Wars.

2010-10-27T12:19:00.000-07:00

After the October 19th injury of reporter Victoria B. the following articles appeared, charting the growing worries about great and apparently neglected American Foods.

PEANUT BUTTER DECLARES WAR ON UNGRATEFUL AMERICA!

After years of being taken for granted, Peanut Butter is taking action against the casual way it has been treated, particularly by Americans. Jiff spokespersons were unavailable for comment. Peter Pan states that the Peanut Butter is angry that after filling so many roles for so long, Americans really take advantage of it. 'I'm a very important food,' Peanut Butter is quoted as saying. 'I provide countless lunches across America. I make many of the best candies possible. I'm an amazing brain food. And still I get no respect.'
Peanut Butter is really taking matters into its own hands. With the innovative use of such tools as paper covers on its jars, Peanut Butter has acquired the ability to inflict such gory injuries as MASSIVE paper cuts. Peanut Butter claims that it will 'Not [be] stopping these attacks until I get the respect that I deserve. I mean, seriously Cap'n Crunch? SOGGY retro cereal?!'
Until such time as negotiations for peace can be completed, the public is advised to take great care in dealing with the suddenly temperamental favorite sandwich filling of America."
(Reporter Carolynne E.)

PEANUT BUTTER IN THE LIMELIGHT. MULTIPLE FLAVORS OF JELLY, JAM, AND MARMALADE ANGERED, THREATEN REVENGE.
After generations of being the favorite ingredient of the lunch time staple, Peanut Butter and Jelly, Jelly has turned on it's long time patner, Peanut Butter. Last week, Peanut Butter filed a complaint about the ungrateful way Americans have treated it for years. The complaint garnered much interest from the public and threw Jelly into the background until recently. 'I am NOT happy,' Jelly is qouted as saying, 'I was their favorite until HE opened his jar!' Jelly has also recruited it's other long time friends, Jam and Marmalade to it's cause. 'We want revenge!' Smuckers' spokespersons were reached, but declined to comment, Welch's spokesperson was qouted as saying, 'You should see the mess in our factories! Our Jellies, Jams and Marmalades are going on strike as of tomorrow, unless given satisfaction.' Jelly wants it's 'favorite ingredient' status restored to it, otherwise it threatens to make Peanut Butter's paper cuts look preferable to it's pinched fingers and, of course, to jump from your hand and land on your foot. Jelly also demands more respect for it's slightly less popular partners, Jam and Marmalade, who have been in the background for too long. The public is advised to be particularly careful with Grape Jelly, Strawberry Jam and Orange Marmalade, as these are at the front of the movement and are the most hostile.
(Reporter Victoria B.)

PB&J REUNITE, THREAT TO AMERICA GROWS!
We all thought things were going downhill when, two weeks ago Peanut Butter turned into Peanut Bitter. This was followed by more bad news as Jelly, Jam, and Marmalade rebelled against ungrateful humans AND its long time co-worker, Peanut Butter. Indeed, times looked dark then. But life is looking even less tasty for the avid PB&J lovers of America.
Security forces in America refused to negotiate with the out of control food, stating that "We don't negotiate with terrorists, and besides, even Rizzo the Rat knew better than to mess with talking food." In the face of such blatant disregard, PB&J have made some concessions. To each other, that is. Yes, America, Peanut Butter and Jelly are back together, and that is bad news for the rest of us.

The dangers have really increased. Peanut Butter and Jelly lovers all over America have suffered severely from the threatened dangers. Band-aid manufacturers are dealing with major shortages due to exponentially increased numbers of paper cuts from Peanut Butter. Additionally, concussion numbers are also rising, as Jelly has a nasty way of jumping not only on your shoe, but also just far enough under the table or close enough to the counter to make you slam your head into said obstacle. Many Americans are also reporting blisters from being pinched by Jelly's jar lids.

Peanut Butter, Jelly, Marmalade and Jam were unavailable for comment. Their Spokesman, Bread (who has agreed to take a neutral stand, as he believes that his position in the world is not in any way in jeopardy) reported that the Allied Sandwich Fillings will not be offering negotiations much longer. "We are looking at full fledged war if conditions do not improve drastically, and very quickly" he said.

In the face of this turmoil, Americans continue to try their luck with the touchy sandwich fillings. For those of you out there who are paying attention, we advise that Peanut Butter and Jelly as well as their allies are exceedingly dangerous, and the best option is not to deal with them. For those of you who just can't beat that craving, here are a few precautions you can take.

Wear thick gloves when opening jars of Peanut Butter or closing jars of Jelly, Jam, or Marmalade.
Set your jar of J,J,or M soundly in the middle of the table. Wear plastic shoe covers, and aprons, as these guys will cling to clothes if they have no other option.

Hard hats are strongly suggested while dealing with any member of the Allied Sandwich Fillings.

Some reports suggest that Peanut Butter CAN be appeased by anyone willing to make their own, reciting Odes to the greatness of it as the food processor creams the peanuts.
"Just so I know you really care," Peanut Butter said last week when the reports surfaced.
It is unknown whether similar careful treatment will cool down hot Jelly, Jam or Marmalade.
(Carolynne E.)

FOOD REBELLION SPREADING!! PANDEMIC PROPORTIONS POSSIBLE!!
Today brings more bad news on the Allied Sandwich Fillings (ASF) war. Another injured sandwich filling has joined the ranks of plaintive food.
For as long as there have been S'mores, Marshmallows have been there, filling in the middle, melting the chocolate, and adding gooey, roasted goodness. Lately, however, there have been incredible growing reports that Marshmallow is unhappy. A small faction of people have apparently been using Marshmallow's younger cousin Marshmallow Fluff for the fireside treat.
We were able to reach Jet-Puffed spokesman, U.R. Toast, who said "We have a veritable war in our factories. The Jelly guys thought it was bad, but they haven't seen Marshmallow at his worst. Not only is Marshmallow angry at humans, but also at The Fluff, as we call it."
Marshmallow Fluff's personal spokesperson says that "The Fluff" doesn't understand why Marshmallow is so angry." "I'm just trying to keep afloat here. Roll with the times, Marshmallow, or you're done." The Fluff is quoted as saying. The spokesperson then added "Is a S'more even a real sandwich?"
According to the ASF, a S'more is indeed a sandwich (a darned good one at that!) and Marshmallow has every right to be offended. "It is, quite frankly, impossible to recreate a real S'more using Marshmallow Fluff. So give up trying, and use the real hero, Marshmallow." Advises Bread, the spokesman for the ASF.
Marshmallow has shown its displeasure with the violence we have come to expect from renegade food. Marshmallow's tactics include catching fire and then jumping at the person trying to roast it, and oozing burning hot goo all over S'more eaters, then refusing to let go. Some devoted S'more fans have tried warming Marshmallow in the microwave with literally explosive results.
In the face of this catastrophe, The Fluff has assured Americans that it will be here. "Peanut butter bailed, Jelly, Jam and Marmalade bailed, and now the old Marshy has bailed. Don't worry, America, I'll always be here to fill the void."
Unfortunately, even The Fluff's kindness cannot be taken without a grain of salt. Taking the Fluff at his word, American mothers made their children Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches for lunch today, with disastrous results. American children and their families are now dealing with uncontrollable sugar highs.
"This is terrible," says Aneeda Little-Protein, mother of four young children, who once ate balanced meals of PB&J sandwiches, but who have resorted to The Fluff like so many others. "I feel like The Fluff stabbed us in the back. This is it. We need Peanut Butter back!"
In the light of this tragedy, we can only ask ourselves How long will this last?
(Carolynne E.)

PEANUT BUTTER,JELLY,JAM,MARMALADE
& MARSHMALLOW MINIMALLY REDUCE THEIR ASSAULT ON AMERICA.

Today brings some of the first good news this month. At the begining of the month, Peanut Butter rebelled, closely followed by Jelly and it's allies, Jam and Marmalade, and it looked bad last week when Marshmallow entered the fray. However, today the Allied Sandwich Fillings (ASF) released a statement against Mustard and Mayonaisse (or Mayo, as it prefers to be called) for their refusal to enter the war on the American consumer. Mustard and Mayo have actually BENEFITED from the ASF's assault. Consumers everywhere have been turning to Mustard and Mayo as their spread of choice for their childrens' lunches. Aneeda Little-Protein, who was interviewed last week when The Fluff stabbed us in the back, was qouted as saying, "Thank God for Mustard and Mayo! I was at the end of my rope, I was running out of ideas for my kids' lunch when, lo and behold, they came to the rescue! My kids actually love them just as much as PB&J and I'm much more pleased with the results they gave than what The Fluff supplied us with. Who needs a sugar high when you can have a tasty sandwich with Mustard or Mayo?" The ASF is not happy. "They're traitors! They should be on our side!" Until such time as the ASF has made peace with America, consumers are urged to turn to Mustard and Mayo for their lunch time needs.
(Victoria B.)

TOMATOES, THE REGAL FRUIT/VEGETABLE, RISING AGAINST AMERICA. "I'VE BEEN REDUCED TO A CONDIMENT!!!"

More bad news, America. Last month, Peanut Butter began a rebellion that has grown into a nation-wide protest against the ungrateful American consumer. The protest has even aquired a name, the Allied Sandwich Fillings or ASF and now includes Jelly, Jam, Marmalade, Marshmallow and The Fluff. Today, tomatoes were added to the list.

Hunts' spokespersons were unavailable for comment, but Heinz was reached. "This food rebellion is getting out of hand," they said " our tomatoes have taken to flinging themselves at ouor workers every chance they get. Tomatoes are tired of being a condiment."

Yes, America, our beloved hot dog and hamburger companion, ketchup, may be a thing of the past. Tomato growers all across the country are trying to remove the stains left on their clothing by testy tomatoes everywhere. The spokesman for the ASF, Bread, who has remained neutral throughout this ordeal, released a statement today. "Tomatoes have joined the Alliance! Every sandwich filling deserves respect and all of my clients agree no one has gotten less than the poor Tomato. Until such time as a formal, written apology and ode to the greatness of this very versatile fruit/vegetable is in our posession,you can expect it's attacks to continue."

Security Forces in America have continued to refuse to cut a deal with the ASF, stating that they do not make deals with terrorists, but the National Guard has been prepared and briefed on the dangers that Tomatoes are posing all across the country. We will continue to bring you updates as they come in.
(Victoria B.)

Non exploring projects.

2010-09-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

We have not been in places where extended exploration is possible very much this year. While this is unfortunate in that there are far fewer things to write or talk about, it does have an advantage in that there is more time for other interests to be explored. A lack of adventuring also leaves time for important things, like preparing for the fast approaching cold weather.

The Admiral has often mentioned that a good sock is hard to find these days. He tends to make these comments most especially when he notices that I am knitting a pair of socks. Being a very loyal captain, I took the hint. The Admiral's socks have proved an interesting project. He wanted socks that came higher than the tops of his boots. This isn't really a problem, but it is scary to knit socks with long legs. I tried it on a pair for myself once and had to rip out the entire sock and start over because there wasn't enough yarn for the foot. So I knit these toe-up instead of top down. Second, the Admiral does not have really big feet, they are considerably bigger than any feet I had previously made socks for, and I could not find a pattern that catered to his particular foot size, which is really not a big deal, but does require some recalculations. Following some advice that I picked up somewhere or other, I decided to start both socks at the same time. It was excellent advice. When I finally finished the first sock, I really don't know if I would still have had the courage to start on the second if it had not already been halfway through.

This is the Admiral's sock.

This is the Admiral's sock compared with my sock, which

is about the size sock that I usually make.

This is the Admiral's second sock. It is not really benefiting from this post.

My other project is one that I have been planning to work on for a long time. I never was quite brave enough to begin before, but once begun it turned out not to be so difficult, and thus far, has taken less time than the Admiral's socks.

Voila! the top piece for a very small log cabin quilt. Of course, it isn't finished yet, it still needs to be quilted, but it is at least started, which is the hardest part.

Ten things we've learned. Part 2

2010-09-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

#1. It is still a good idea to be ready to dodge when opening the cabinets after a drive. The 1st Mate has really taken beatings over this one.

#2. People honestly think that the summer is hot, wherever they live, and however not hot it is. People in Montana WILL insist on commenting on the heat in July, even if you are standing in front of them wearing a sweater.

#3. When going fishing, it is a good idea not to bring the captain.

#4. The Granary in Norfolk, NE is one of the best places to eat EVER. You can choose from beef that taste like it is from West of the Mississippi River, or chicken that tastes like it is from East of the Mississippi.

#5. People can die from being spiked by a catfish, but usually only if that person is allergic to the venom. Also, it is much better to be spiked by a catfish out of a pond than it is to be spiked by one from either the Mississippi or Des Moines Rivers.

#6. The incredible dumpiness of some campgrounds can be negated by the proximity to an excellent Greek restaurant.

#7. The incredible dumpiness or unfriendliness of some campgrounds cannot be negated at all, by any factor that is present. The only option for these is to get out. Fast.

#8. It is cold in North Dakota. This was proposed by a man wearing shorts in the snow in Minnesota, and confirmed by a Montana track inspector who works in -50 degree weather.

#9. Kitty litter is an excellent deterrent for getting stuck in the winter. It can also come in handy during certain scenarios in the summer. The minute you say "Why are we still carrying a twenty pound bag of kitty litter (in case we get stuck and need traction) when we haven't seen ice or snow in three months" and toss it in the nearest dumpster, you will need it.

#10. Freshly baked cinnamon rolls and a cup of hot chocolate are the best remedy for the day when you wake up freezing cold in September and realize that the first frost date is only a couple weeks away.

A quick list.

2010-09-19T19:55:00.000-07:00

So, since the last post, a long, long time ago, our travels have looked something like this:
Baytown, TX- camping on Galveston Bay. Fishing.
Scotts Bluff, NE.
Douglas, WY. Home of the Jackolope.
Miles City, Montana.
Jamestown, ND. Home of the World's largest Buffalo and three white buffalo.
Detroit Lakes, MN.
Minneapolis, MN. This is where the 2nd Mate jumped ship and headed for the home port to strike out on her own. Sort of.
York, NE.
Brookfield, MO.
Hannibal, MO.
Quincy, IL.
Granite City, IL. Terrible campground, nice people. Awesome Greek restaurant.
Keokuk, IA. No terrible fishing incidents this time.
North Platte, NE. The best ice cream cones in the world are sold at Cody Park.
Wheatland, WY. Where we are now.

Wheatland is a nice town. There isn't a lot to do, but it has a great view of the mountains in the west.

And that is where we've been.

Squashed neighbors and two minute thunderstorms.

2010-07-07T10:06:00.000-07:00

When we first started traveling, the 1st mate spent about a month going through the atlas finding routes to places where we might be going. Every one of them, no matter where it ended, went through Texas. We did manage a weekend trip to Texas for Triduum/Easter two years ago, but this is the first time that we've made it here for more than a few days.
We began noticing "Southern" things in OK. A mimosa tree or pecan tree here or there, grits, 500 degree heat, a little boy named Striker, who was called Bubba...etc. Once we got to Texas, things really hit home. The accents, the fact that it never cools down at all, it's all here, very much like Alabama.

On July 3, we were camped on the shore of Lake Texoma. The campground was exceedingly crowded because of the holiday, and the sites were uncomfortably close together, but that could all be got over when one considered the fishing, or so I am told. Our neighbors on the right where a loud, but friendly group, who accorded us plenty of amusement during our stay.
We decided to have fajitas for supper. Because we were on 30 amp and could not run two air conditioners (the front one and the back one) we decided to cook outside so that we would not heat the house up with our dinner. The Commodore and the crew were down at the lake, fishing, and the Admiral was starting to get really hungry, and so after a bit of discussion, he and I decided to go ahead and cook supper. But we had not the wood for our fire. It had just rained and everything good was soaked.
The commodore returned in time to suggest that rather than building a we fire we should just buy a bundle of wood. I agreed to start a fire while the Commodore and Admiral went for the wood. I was just beginning to light our little fire when the Head of the Neighbors on the Right came over and called out that they had a very hot pile of briquettes that they had finished with, and that we were more than welcome to use. We declined politely, preferring to have a campfire. The Commodore and Admiral left, and I got some small sticks burning steadily. The Head of the Neighbors came again to repeat his offer. I assured him that our fire was well on its way.
Sometime in the next minute or so, something of great importance was spotted by everyone. A great black thunderhead was looming over the campground. About thirty seconds later the winds began to rise. Persons began hauling in awnings and blow-away-able objects to safety. I calmly continued building my fire. The Commodore and the Admiral returned. Another of the neighbors pointed out that we really were welcome to use their fire. As the first drops of rain fell, the Commodore accepted the offer. We dragged our frying pan and our steak over to the fire and let the rain destroy my infant flames. The neighbors' fire was a two foot long, two foot wide bed of red hot coals. The commodore slapped the steaks on just as the skies let loose. I held the umbrella over the food. The neighbors lowered the roof of their little tent and went on eating their supper. One of them noticed us with our umbrella and brought another so that we would have better coverage. We cooked our steaks. The rain poured down and the wind blew. We finished the steaks and returned the umbrella.

We cooked the peppers and onions in Tallulah.

Essay on the Amazingness of my Sister the Harbor Master

2010-07-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

Quite Frankly, I doubt this post even needs to be written. Those who know her know just how amazing she is, and I hesitate to mention her wonderfulness to anyone who doesn't know of it, as they will certainly feel the pain of not knowing her. But I promised her, and so it must be.
I first met the Harbor Master sometime around the time I was born. Her first kindness to me was rendered before my birth; she so thoroughly trained my parents that they had no difficulty whatsoever in looking after me. Later, while the Stowaway was trying to teach me how to fly (an exercise that resulted in my first trip to the emergency room and a concussion) the Harbor Master was helping our mother teach me such important things as How To Clean Up Your Toys So That Mom Will Not Yell At You. Later, when she acquired a tiny, adorable, half Cocker spaniel half Chihuahua puppy, she appointed me to guard the puppy from our then very little, very puppy hugging sister.On our first camping trip, she gently informed me of the many, many dangers that lurk in Alabama forests. Because of this, I (and the Stowaway) wisely moved into the nice safe cabin, leaving her to comfortably defend the tent with the 2nd Mate.
When we were older, the Harbor Master began to pave the way for us. She was the first to cut her hair short, taking the brunt of the Admiral's displeasure (he grumbled for several months) and the first to drive, and the first to go on a date, and the first to get married. These are all difficult things for parents to handle and she was the pioneer for us all.
Most recently, the Harbor Master showed me the kindness of allowing me to spend an entire month in her company. I flew to Florida for her Graduation ceremony (her actual graduation was last December) and from there drove back to Alabama with her and RC (her husband). They have kindly occupied base camp while we are voyaging.
The Harbor Master assured me at once that I was not at all a guest, and should not behave, nor feel like one. While this sounds very blunt when written, it was in fact, very kind in person. One who is not a guest may do as one pleases without bothering to check with one's host. One who is not a guest may eat any food in the kitchen without asking. One who is not a guest may mow the grass and wash the dishes, without any of the awkwardness of the host insisting that it is not necessary. It is absolutely mind boggling how quickly a month can go by when one is not a guest.
So to thank the Harbor Master for her kindness throughout my life, and particularly during the month of May, I have put it here, for ever and ever.
Harbor Master, you are one amazing sister. Thank you.

I will probably now be hounded by my remaining siblings. To them I can only say that when you welcome me into your home for a month and let me rant about everything that ever bothered me, and feed me all of my favorite foods, and introduce me to new favorite foods, and help me get volunteered to help at some dinner thing that I get a free t-shirt for helping with, and just generally give me a totally awesome vacation, I'll write something on how amazing you are too.

Warning: Catfish were harmed in the making of this post.

2010-04-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

Today we returned to the pond. Never fear, we were very careful this time to remove all of the dangerous fins. Here are the pics.

This is the Fish that Dan caught.

Here it is again.

Not much for a noodler, but not too bad for a kid.

This is the Fish that the 2nd Mate caught.

And again.

Getting him off the hook.

Ruler, what ruler?

Back to the pond.

Wait for it....

Got him. Not bad.

The fisherfolk and their catch. From left to right, 1st AB's little one, 2nd Mate's, and the 1st AB's big ones.

AKA, Dinner.

A word over the campfire and concerning Fish.

2010-04-21T21:08:00.000-07:00

Well, Spring is here, and has finally brought some warmth, and greeness, inspiring us to try out the newly opened-for-the-season parks.

Last week, we hit a KOA. These were, at one point in time, anathema, "Hotels without walls" and all that. But sometimes, a hotel without walls is exactly what the doctor ordered and this was one of them. A nice place to ease us out of the winter routine and back into the camping life. A pleasant place to remind ourselves that we are a crew, and a chance to air out the tent, who came away with a new name. That's right. The tent's name is now Peggy. The boys spent the entire stay lounging around reading and fishing. They caught several stringers of chubs out of a creek that no one has ever really caught anything out of.We cooked s'mores every night, and tried out s'mores with chocolate-swirl marshmallows. The Commodore says that they taste like coco puffs, but everyone else liked them.

A fire is a very humanizing thing. almost as humanizing as making bread.

The Setup: Tallulah in the back, Peggy, and then the sewing machine on the table so that the Commodore could make some new curtains.

The First day in the park, we decided to go sightseeing in the nearby town. The Admiral was still at work, and since we had no other mode of transportation, we packed up Tallulah and went to town. We discovered the Starved Rock Lock and Dam and settled in to watch for passing barges. We were wandering around the museum part, when the Commodore's communication device went off. It was the Admiral, wondering where his house had gone. The Commodore calmly informed him that we had left the coordinates on the kitchen table. Hmmm. And then she asked the lady at the desk what the address of the place was. The Admiral's GPS failed him anyway, and he took the very, very long way home.

The next day, we set up Peggy, and went out again. This time, at least, when the Admiral came back to the campground, he had a tent to wait in.

Finally, the night before we left, the crew and I (minus the 2nd Mate, who opted for luxury) slept in the tent in freezing weather for the first time. We had done so for four nights by that time, in steadily lowering temperatures and had discovered that air mattresses are perfectly horrid in cold weather. The best way to keep warm is just to all cram in under as many blankets as possible.
By the time we left, we had gotten back into the swing of camping, or at least kamping, so much so, that we had even recovered the skill of lighting the fire with only one match.
Note: It is very important to use only one match. I do not really know why, only that it is shameful to use more than one. It is kind of like the pegs-in-the-board game, only easier. It does not count if the match doesn't light because you scratched all of the stuff off of the top while trying to light the match on the fire ring. It does not count against you if you subsequently use an entire newspaper shredded into tiny bits to keep the fire going until it decides to catch on the sticks. It does count against you if the wind blows your match out. That first flame is delicate and must be guarded carefully.

So then we departed from that pleasant place and moved on down the road to Keokuk, IA. Here at Hicory Haven campgrounds, we have found the usual conveniences along with a bonus. There is a pond, full, the owner assures us, of large, savory catfish. Catfish is a particular favorite of both the Admiral and the Commodore, and most of the crew members.Fishing, therefore, became not a luxurious pastime, but a race for the delicacy. So it began. The Commodore and the younger crew members fished between their school work hours. The Commodore took every smelly food in the house and threw it together to make bait. At last, she went out to catch a catfish, leaving the crew to clean up supper. The Admiral was stricken by a bout of worry, and insisted that it was not safe for the Commodore to fish alone. I, as Captain, was ordered to go and stay with her, and for that reason, I witnessed what happened. The First Mate came down to ask a question, which the Commodore could not answer from the pond. She left her pole in the care of the first Mate, and went to the house. Dutiful sailor that he is, the Mate became entranced watching fish strike the far off surface of the pond. I, as Captain, was paying somewhat more attention to his line. I knew that it was useless to watch my own line, as the fish had been swimming around it and picking bugs off the surface of the water for at least a quarter of an hour. I saw the Mate's line tighten, and called a warning to him. He responded admirably, and hauled the creature ashore with great skill. Knowing that catfish are extremely good at leaping off of a line, and knowing that they are dangerous to touch, he proceeded to pin the beastie to the ground with his feet. I, as the Captain, called to him to hold on, and ran for the Admiral. It was recently stated by one of his co-workers that there are not many things that will make the Admiral run. I am amused to add that a catfish is on the list of those things. At some point during the First Mate vs. the Catfish struggle, the fishing line got broken, and the fish was once again in the process of escaping, but was held back again by the First Mate's feet. Fortunately, the Admiral arrived in time to secure the fish and we returned to Tallulah triumphant. The Admiral had to leave early in the morning, so he decided to skin the fish at once and have done with it. He was rather in a hurry, and forgot, as anyone might, to cut of the top fin. There was a great deal of banging and fighting the fish, and in the process, the catfish flipped himself off of the table and right onto the commodore's foot. Fin first. There was a great deal of commotion then, as the Commodore was bleeding quite profusely from the wound in her foot, which we imagined must be very severe. Fortunately, I have, for some years been worried about injuring myself and having to create a makeshift bandage. I was ready at once with cloths and a bandanna to staunch the flow of blood. The Admiral hastily rectified his error and removed the dangerous fin, then left the fish to the First Mate to be readied for storage. He then took the Commodore to the closest hospital. The emergency room was very busy at that time. Of course, it was only natural that someone would ask the Commodore what had happened. She admitted that she had been impaled by a catfish. One of the persons waiting then informed the Commodore that he had frequently been spiked by catfish. He caught them by hand, a practice known as catfish noodling. The Emergency room staff were very sympathetic. The doctor googled what to do for catfish spikes, and discovered that although the amount of blood shed looked as though the Commodore had a four inch gash in her foot, she had actually only sustained a puncture wound. Then, the x-ray tech kindly pointed out what a shame it was that she got spiked, because "it's a great night for catching catfish!" And so it was, but we did not care to do any more fishing just then, and we have not got back down to the pond yet. Perhaps Friday, says the Commodore, when she can hobble a bit better.

The First Mate, slightly nervous about his fish.

Just look at that catfish.

And the official measurement is...umm...well, he's longer than the ruler.

Special Post

2010-04-05T11:09:00.000-07:00

A special news alert.
The Commodore has chosen to present her own version of the events of our trip. Her point of view can be found here : Almost by Bread Alone.
The younger members of the crew have decided to offer their opinion on the entertainment available to them while journeying. Their opinions can be found here: 3 Boys and Some Books.

Special note to the Master of Swampwood: All you have to do is click on the colorful words. You will be immediately transported. You really should click, they have some more pictures there.

The First Day of Spring

2010-03-30T21:40:00.000-07:00

Back in Alabama, we know that Spring has really arrived when the Pecan trees bud out. The Pecans are the first to go dormant in the winter, and the last to come out in the spring. After they get leaves, there aren't any more frosts.

For anyone who hasn't noticed, things are done a little differently in Nebraska. The beginning of spring is apparently announced by the movement of snakes, of all things. Snakes. At home, the awakening is a time to be dreaded, requiring the use of extreme caution, sprinkling of sulfur and other snake repellents, and just generally hoping that the snakes stay in their place, away from the people and the chickens. Ninety percent of the snakes I have seen in the wild in my life were venomous, not friendly little creatures who slip through the grass. No. Six foot Diamond Back Rattlers, well, they don't exactly inspire warm, happy thoughts. And of course, there is the alarming takeover of Florida by giant pythons.... This might explain the violence with which this crew often reacts to the news of a snake in the yard.

But that is an Alabama norm. When in Rome and all that. so, the Commodore decided that we should take part in a custom of the natives of these parts. So...

MEET BRANT

Brant is a Western Plains Garter snake. He is about two and a half feet long, which, according to the book that the Commodore dug up is about as large as these guys get. Brant is a very pleasant snake who doesn't mind being handled by a crowd of boys. He proved that he really wasn't bothered too much by eating the worms that they dug up for him.

Although the 1st Mate and the 1st AB look smooth in these shots, it was actually the Commodore who was the first to hold Brant, courageously picking him up off the ground when he escaped from his bowl. Of course, once the Commodore had handled him, the rest of the crew fell in.

Well, except for the 2nd AB who needed a little convincing.

But he got the hang of it.

Only the Ship's dog was really set against handling the snake. She really didn't seem to get the idea that the boys were in no danger, and continued to desire the snakes demise, particularly when he nearly escaped in the house. I suppose there are just some tricks you can't teach an old dog.

Adventures in Doughworld

2010-03-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

Lately all adventures center around bread. A friend of the Commodore's over in the Bonny Glen mentioned a bread book, that after reviewing the Commodore decided that we simply could not manage any longer without. She is tired of the squishy sliced stuff that we have been able to acquire, and yet did not care to fill the galley with the equipment it would take to make bread with the usual method. This book, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day promised that it held the answer within its covers. At this point, most of the crew are willing to believe that it has fulfilled its oath.

We began our adventures with a loaf of bread whose name I cannot now recall. It disappeared rather quickly.
The next morning, as a surprise breakfast for the Admiral, we had cinnamon rolls for breakfast. They were devoured at once, long before a photograph could be taken.

For dinner Ciabatta bread for dipping. Fortunately, this time, I was able to snap a picture before the hordes swept in.

Although it was meant as a side, the bread was not all eaten at once, owing to the fact that there was quite a bit of it, and the Commodore also made crab legs, stromboli, and other feastly items. Of course, it is not all feasting. The next day, the Commodore forced us to eat the leftover bread, this time cooked as sandwiches she called paninis. We, a willing and well trained crew, obeyed her orders.

Of course, as with any adventure worth the time it takes, there have been mishaps. The cinnamon rolls, delicious as they were, might have been even better if...um...Someone hadn't forgotten the eggs. And then there are scenarios like this one.

The truth remains that small disasters can be overlooked when the final results of it look like this:

Or this:

(More Ciabatta.)

Voila! Modern day hardtack and gruel.

After the Admiral begged for days, we gave in and made more cinnamon rolls. The Commodore requested a separate tray of them be made into sticky buns. These are the sticky ones. Once again, the not sticky ones vanished far too quickly to pose for the camera.

The 2nd Mate's New Look.

2010-03-25T08:44:00.000-07:00

After three long years of growing it, the 2nd Mate finally trimmed her hair, with a whopping 18 in for donation. Here's the picture.

Of Vast Importance

2010-03-23T19:23:00.000-07:00

The 2nd AB, after a long and noble struggle, has succeeded in completing a marvelous achievement. He has pulled his tooth out. Well, to be perfectly accurate, the Admiral pulled the tooth, but the 2nd AB very kindly refrained from biting. It was a rather trying effort, with many suggestions of tying the tooth to the front door and letting the lovely Nebraska breeze jerk it out for him. as many a youngster before him, however, the 2nd AB remained steadfast, and allowed his tooth to be pulled out more gently. And his reward, the envy of every child with a loose tooth, and many without, a visit from the tooth fairy, and

A gap.

Something in the Water.

2010-03-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

"Adventure is out there!!"

Early one morning, after we had set the Admiral off on his way to work, the rest of us decided that an adventure was called for.

The only trouble with snowy adventures is that it takes so much work to get ready for them. Consequently, there is less time for the actual adventure.
Especially if the entire crew gets hauled back by the Commodore because they forgot to wash the dishes.

But we finally did get under way. It may be noted that the Commodore was not very happy, but she was still willing to come, and the sight was really worth it. We were all just walking along when we spotted them.

We were simply flabbergasted.

And the 1st AB was just a little bit envious. Back at home base, geese either fly through the air, walk on the grass, or swim. Geese in Nebraska have discovered a different method for walking.

On WATER.

Of course, this being a scientific voyage, we were very curious. Was it some skill that this particular flock had learned? Was it because the geese in Alabama are heavier from their less wintry diet? Or was it something in Nebraska's water? The 1st Mate and the 1st AB decided to get to the bottom of it.

Conclusion Number One: There is something in the water in Nebraska.We believe it is called "ice," a thing that only appears in Alabama freezers.
Conclusion Number Two: Once a great mystery such as this has been solved, it is time to head back to the ship for Hot Chocolate.

Chili Verde

2010-03-17T20:59:00.003-07:00

Good food and good times go together like bread and butter. It is a fact of life that even modern science cannot find grounds to refute. When one is ill, one wants comfort foods, when one is happy one wants party foods, and when one grows just a bit homesick, one wants home food. Yesterday, wandering around in the cold, watching the snow geese, staring at frozen rivers and, looking at the weather report that calls for a week of snow, we began to miss home. And we realized that it had been a long time since we had one of the meals for which the Master and Mistress of Swampwood are famed. As we are separated by more than a thousand miles at the moment, it was necessary to make do with what we could scrounge up. Chili Verde.

After calling up the Master of Swampwood to ensure that the result of our efforts would not be terrible, the Commodore began by burning the skin off of the peppers. This is a fragrant task, to say the least, and within seconds, Tallulah was filled with the spicy smell of burning peppers, after which these same peppers were carefully skinned. Then the Commodore had to taste them. It is not often that the Commodore is outdone by a pepper. She has a fairly heat tolerant mouth, and usually she can at least fake a smile until she gets something to drink. I do not think it is very much to the crew’s disgrace that we had a bit of a chuckle as we hastily handed our bold Commodore the cheese and crackers that she begged for. In went the pepper, which somehow grew tamer during the process. In fact, even the Admiral ate the finished product.

And when the supper was finished, we sat down to eat. The food did not really taste like the food we get when we are at Swampwood, but it was good enough. By the time we finished eating, we were not so homesick, and today, the sun even came out.

Duffers and Owls.

2010-03-09T16:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes while traveling one comes across persons who defy explanation, and whose actions make absolutely no sense. We came across such a person yesterday.

Yesterday we made the move from Pueblo, CO to Junction City, KS. It was a long drive, but not more than we could handle. At lunchtime, we stopped at the Kansas welcome center for sandwiches. We found some advertising booklets with lists of RV parks in them. We narrowed our choices down to two parks, three hours apart. The first was a city park with water and electric, the other a fully equipped campground with the usual amenities. After the Admiral called to check the parks' rates, we decided on the latter. It would make for a long day, but it was advertised as having attractions in the area, and seemed and interesting place.
When we arrived, dusk had faded into dark, and all we could make out of the entrance was a sign.
Covered Wagon RV Park, and underneath the unmistakable and highly unappreciated word:

CLOSED.

So the Admiral called the number he had dialed before, hoping that there had been some mistake, that there was another Covered Wagon RV park in , Abilene, KS, and that we had not just driven three hours longer than we wanted to for nothing. The owner assured us that the park was closed.

"I wish you had told me that before we drove three extra hours to get here," said the Admiral. "Well, goodbye," said the owner, and hung up.

We began a rather depressed search for the next closest campground. For some minutes, we believed it to be 47 miles on down the road, not a cheering prospect after dark in strange territory. Then we found one only twenty-one miles down the road, the Owls Nest Campground. We stopped our hastily begun dinner preparations and headed towards our new destination.Upon arriving, we were...well, not happy. Perhaps even more depressing than the original sign was one that read "overnight sites available now" followed by the words:

Sorry, We're FULL

Here follows another desperate search conducted in the entrance to this park. About twenty minutes later, a little car drive by us. The park was very crowded, and several cars had already gone by, so we did not pay this one much attention. Until there was a knock on the door.

I hope that considering the events of the night, the thoughts of most persons in the bus upon hearing that knock can be forgiven. Fortunately, the Admiral opened the door quite calmly. It was the owner. He very politely explained that he had been gone for a week, and he knew that the sign said full, but if we were still looking for a site, he had some spaces that had been reserved but were still empty, and he would see what he could do. He then removed the picnic table from the middle of a nice pull through.

Friendly campground owners are always nice, but they never seem so nice as at 10:00 at night when there is nowhere else to go.

Letters from home.

2010-03-05T16:42:00.000-08:00

Before we left base camp to begin our exploration of the vast territories of the U.S., we appointed the Harbor Master and the Frog as caretakers. Today along with a package of much needed and inconveniently forgotten items (the 1st A.B.'s favorite tie, the beaters and dough hooks for the Commodore's favorite mixer...) we received a report of their success in keeping the place free of troubles and potential dangers.

The report read as follows.

Dear Everybody,
Thanks for the house. [It is only proper that they should thank us. before we left, we were making them live in the boat shed.] We hope you enjoy the renovations when you return, i.e. the electric purple walls in the living room. [I would imagine that electric purple is a great improvement. At the Admiral's insistence, the walls in the living room were painted toasted marshmallow. Although it sounds warmer and nicer, there is actually no difference between toasted marshmallow and raw marshmallow.] The color reminded us of the Admiral back in his teenage years. [Rumor has it that years ago the Admiral approved of colors that were darker and brighter than toasted marshmallow.] Hopefully, he will appreciate them the most. We put a T.V. in the bathroom, and a skylight in the closets to save on electricity. [We knew we could count on the harbor master for frugality.] The good news is that it only leaks a little. (Don't worry, there's a bucket underneath them all.) [And good sense.]
Well, have fun in the desert. I hope it doesn't turn into a tundra. [Nonsense, all the natives are talking about how nice all this Spring whether is.]

Love,
The Harbor Master and the Frog.

It is so good to know that all is well at home base.

Chain reactions.

2010-02-26T22:04:00.000-08:00

Everyone has heard that if you stand in a crowded place staring up at a fixed point, persons passing by will look up as well. I have done this several times. It works beautifully in a mall when one is with a group of people wearing strange hats. It also works in gas station parking lots.

We were pulling out of the lot to get back on the road. The Commodore was pulling into the first part of a three point turn, when over a concrete wall (thanks to the excellent vantage point provided by our dear Tallulah) we spied a remarkable sight. Probably even more remarkable was that we had time to get the camera taken out and put together in time to get a picture.

We have not yet had time to positively identify this fellow, but it was beautiful, and we really enjoyed the sight of him. (Note: It is not in the fence, the fencing was just there, between us and it.)And as far as we could tell, the guy in line behind us enjoyed the sight as well.

Go Tallulah Go!

2010-02-25T22:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday (Wednesday) morning, we left PA around 5:30-6:00 am. We had some difficulty getting started, mostly because the firefighters were very busy taking care of public roads and things, and could waste no time um... looking after the campground that they run. But we got going, after two or three rollbacks to get some traction. Once we were going though, we made excellent progress. There is something rather fascinating about having been in three different states by 10:00 in the morning.

We ended the day in Montgomery City, MO. All roads lead to Missouri, for us. Still, it was quite cool to be back on the west side of the Mississippi. Exceedingly cool, in fact it was downright cold at a snug little four degrees.
The Admiral had to be in Kansas City, MO by noon today, and all he had was a nice easy three hour drive. A decent start, and nothing to it. Ha. The door of his new truck wouldn't open. Note: When having issues with stuck doors, find a place with a locksmith. We ended up calling service station after service, all of whom were highly sympathetic and totally willing to help, by giving us another phone number. Finally we discovered Frank's Quick Change, and the problem was solved in time to allow the Admiral to reach his destination on time.
We are camped in Bonner Springs, Kansas, for a grand total of six states in forty-eight hours. It's not a record, but it is enough to make one's head spin. "Where are we?" is the question of the day.

So, today, Kansas, tomorrow, on to Colorado. Hopefully, anyway.

Ship's Cooks?

2010-02-23T14:40:00.000-08:00

Saturday the crew, the Admiral and the Commodore took a short voyage to Pittsburgh, PA. There the found a farmer's market, where they purchased farm eggs and apples. The crew preferred these apples over the apples that came from the grocery store. We were then faced with the trouble of what to do with the store apples, as wasting them was certainly not an option. The A.B.s declared that they knew just what to do, as they had a recipe the apples would just suit for. Trusting they that would not make false claims, we let them loose in the galley. After the discovery of a communication malfunction between the Commodore and the Captain, however, A bit of trouble with the ship's new cooks was brought to the light.
Whether or not they actually read the recipe has not yet been ascertained.

Collaboration.

Disaster is creeping in. What do we do?!

Call in the Captain.

The 2nd A.B receives instruction.

The rescued finished product.

Apple Crisp, the umm, vegetable for supper.

From area Eighty-Four.

2010-02-19T21:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this isn't exactly Eighty-Four, and actually, Eighty-Four is a rather boring place, just a little town, nothing particularly interesting, although it sounds like it should be. Our actual town is Jefferson, and our actual campground sounds like it is right behind a firehouse. It is.
We have had a pleasant enough stay here so far. It is the only campground open in five counties or so, and the number of persons here reflects that. For the first time since we came out in January we have neighbors at an uncomfortable lack of distance.
The Admiral's old truck is most definitely finished. It has been turned in and stripped down to provide for the new truck. When the new truck is finished being built, we will high tail it for Colorado, where the Admiral has appointments to make.
Until then, we are enjoying the first twenty-four + hour period with no snow since we left Iowa. It was so warm out that the ice started melting, which resulted in a very wet mess, but the sun was shining so beautifully that we went for a walk anyway, and we spied some sights that might have seemed strange to us a month or two ago.

There used to be a picnic table here, but it made a New Year's resolution to be invisible, and it hasn't been seen since.

My guess is that the owner of this truck was considering a Mohawk haircut, but decided to try it out on the truck first.

I still find the fact that the icicles on the roof are almost the same size as the man on the ground rather disturbing, but it is really not that uncommon here, and I am sure I will grown accustomed to the sight in due time.

There is a snow being standing beside the First A.B. in this picture. Snow beings are very good at camouflage, and this one is particularly well blended with the snow mountain in the background, so one has to look closely.

The crew decided to check out this hill for sliding prospects. It was too steep, and the creek at the bottom was slightly discouraging.

And then we spotted it. The nasty side of snow. The dirty, grimy, snowplowed heap of it.

That was pretty much what our walk looked like. And the funny thing was that we spent most of it commenting on how warm the weather had gotten today.

Pictures From the Visit

2010-02-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

Here are the pictures from the last day of our visit with the Commodore's brother and sister in Pennsylvania and their families.

As mentioned, the Commodore was very happy about seeing her siblings.

And her relatives looked pretty happy too. (Uncle Joseph, Aunt Patti, and their nephew, I.J.)

The Second Mate and Cousin Chris.

The First Mate, Uncle Joe, and me, the Captain. I have no idea what we were watching, but it was clearly fascinating.

Nick, actually smiling!! Sort of.

Vicky and I.J.

Aunt Jen.

Why are all the little kids so excited?

Brayden, the Commodore's very first great-nephew.

And everyone's favorite part.

Apparently the car used to be totally buried.

We Did Arrive,

2010-02-16T07:54:00.000-08:00

Our journey from IL to PA took longer than expected, but we did arrive on Sunday. We left on Friday, and drove until we reached the Heartland Resort in Greenfield, IN. After being exceedingly annoyed by the discovery that 1) the electrical pole was at the wrong end of Tallulah, 2)the water spigot was frozen and 3) the "plowed" site still had to be shoveled out by the First Mate. In the morning, as we were packing up the camper in the morning, the Second Mate spotted a raccoon. When the rest of us managed to see the creature, it was promptly re-identified as a weasel. We were all very excited because none of us had ever seen a weasel before, and it was funny to see the flocks of bird flying away from him after he moved up the river, which was frozen, and beyond the reach of our camera.
We drove as long as we could on Friday, but weather conditions and crazy drivers sent us off the road long before we had reached our desired destination. Of course, there were no open campgrounds where we stopped. We stopped in town and plugged Tallulah into the hotel room so we could run the heater and avoid any freezing.
We then managed the rest of our journey on Sunday. We arrived at he Homestead Campground in Green Lane, PA and found that a place had been cleared especially for us. By the time we finished setting up, our Uncle Joseph had arrived to ferry us to his house to hang out with his family, where the Commodore's sister came to visit with us later on. We stayed the night, and had fun, although no one got nearly as much sleep as might be desired. Yesterday was spent in more visiting.
We thought that we were leaving today to head back West to Eighty Four, Pennsylvania, but three feet of snow fell between here and there last night, and in that part of the country they are experiencing 30 mph winds, so we thought it would be better to wait here and continue our visiting.

Pictures to follow as soon as they are taken, as we forgot all of our cameras in Tallulah when we left her.

Escape

2010-02-11T19:47:00.000-08:00

The crew has been growing crabby of late. Being snowed in, it seems, soon grows a bit old.

But not for long.

The order to sail is in. The Admiral's truck, after meeting with ill fortune on the high seas, was rescued and hauled away for diagnosis by folks who sound awfully like pirates claiming salvage. The truck will, therefore, have to await repair for another day. Meanwhile, another truck, as yet un-outfitted for the task ahead of it. The Admiral's task is to go to Pennsylvania and prepare this new truck for duty. This means a visit with the Pennsylvania relatives, a prospect that the Commodore (and the rest of us) are by no means displeased by.

So, tomorrow we leave IL for the land of even more snow. We rise as early as possible and depart with the first sign of thawing. Fortunately, the Admiral swept off the roof and the over-the-slide awnings yesterday. Otherwise, we would have that job to deal with in the morning. (The slides will not pull in correctly if the awnings get heavy with snow and ice.) We are also very happy that tomorrow morning will be considerably warmer than this morning was - we woke up to -4 F and frozen waterlines. The Commodore's sister claims that it is warmer in PA. Whether the weather will hold remains to be seen.

Snowed In

2010-02-09T19:56:00.000-08:00

Our travels brought us to the middle of nowhere in IL and the sudden breakdown of the Admiral's truck has left us stranded here. The snow that began yesterday afternoon has not yet stopped, so besides being stranded we are also, for the first time ever in the lives of the majority of the crew, snowed in.

We did not begin our snow adventures very well. Last night after supper, the Commodore made the unpleasant discovery that the gray tank was full. The Admiral and I had no choice but to go outside into
the cold and empty it.

Just the thought of it was enough to make us shiver, but we survived.

This morning, we were a bit more cheerful about our situation. Being snowed in is very like being hurricaned in. Only colder. The only thing for it is to wait the whole thing out, and try to have a little fun.

Since the Admiral did not have to leave at the break of day, he and the Commodore cooked breakfast for the crew. We were lucky enough to have farm fresh eggs from a nearby Abbey that we visited on Sunday. Believe it or not, there is a very big difference.

Farm Eggs

Store Eggs

After breakfast, the younger crew members decided to go sledding. The floats that they were sliding on are wearing thin, but there is still enough slippery left to slide on. After a while, they even managed to convince their captain to join in.

Their first order of business was to give me a lengthy lecture on proper technique.

After that, there was a demonstration. It was not a successful demonstration.

So my instructors decided I could just try the hill, under close supervision.

And that was at least a better idea.

.

We still had to try again.

Finally, we did get down. A crew ought always go through with what they attempt, after all.

Even if that means that all there is left is walking back up the hill to Tallulah to eat soup, lounge around, and nurse whopping bruises on knees for the rest of the day.

Snow Day

2010-02-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

We made it all the way back east across the frozen Mississippi River to Illinois. Although our previous time in IL did not inspire any fondness for the state, we were compelled to change our minds when we accidentally stumbled across a Dick Blick outlet store in Galesburg. After two hours that went by terribly quickly, we moved on to the only open campground in this part of IL.

Today, the crew enjoyed the thrills that can only arise with the combination of snow, a great hill, two year old inflatable rafts and and a day off from swabbing the deck can deliver.

We've spent hours trying to find appropriate sledding gear, but it would seem that the natives snagged them first. We finally realized however, that what's good for the water is good for the ice.

Of course, I would say that the best part is that it is not even necessary to inflate the rafts. They did begin with them inflated, but that didn't last long.

And of course, this was followed up by a snowball fight, but there are no pictures of that because the First Mate required chastising for conspiring against the Captain.

Neighbors

2010-02-02T09:16:00.000-08:00

One of the interesting things about living in an RV is the neighbors that one runs into. Sometimes they are nice, and sometimes they are not. Once, we were even camped next a very loud group of ogres. Another time, we were neighbors with a family with an extremely pleasant boy about the about the same age as the 1st AB. And, of course, there were our Alabama neighbors in Wyoming, who gave us antelope meat. Whether nice neighbors or not nice neighbors, however, they are usually at least a little bit interesting.

We were parked beside the RV in the above photo for three days. It looks like a perfectly average Class C. There were no people in it during our stay; empty RVs are not often terribly interesting.Last night I took a new route home from walking the dog. I noticed some writing on the back of the RV. I stopped to read it.

The Amazon.com "about the author" says

"Life story of an Iowa farm boy who grew up during the great depression and with no high school or formal education went on to become a pilot , prisoner of war in World War II. A leading farmer, business man and entrepreneur in Iowa.A father of six children and other acomplishments."

Despite having never met this person, I am inclined to believe he may have been very interesting.

A day at the Indian Hills Inn

2010-01-30T21:53:00.000-08:00

When traveling, it is easy to find a nice place to stay. One can find something nice to say about even unpleasant parks (At the worst, there is the pleasant moment of bidding the place farewell.) Places that exactly match the whims of an entire crew, however, are few and far between. The Indian Hill Inn and RV park has made it onto the small list of campgrounds that have all of the most important things.

First off, friendly people. Being welcomed to a camp always makes it better. Only having to connect one end of the hose because a campground person has already taken care of the other end, is a very nice perk as well. Also, pull through sites. There is nothing like not having to back up in the snow and ice.

And of course...

Ice skating.

Or rather, ice sliding.

Hmmm. Ice tumbling maybe?

Well, whatever it was, it made for a very happy crew.

The 2nd AB.

The 1st AB.

And the 1st Mate.

Oh Yeah!

Whilst the crew was gone ashore, the Commodore decided to ready a large piece of venison for eating. The ship's dog offered to help, but the Commodore declined assistance.

After the crew returned to the ship, we drank some hot chocolate, and then decided that it would be nice to go swimming in the Inn's indoor pool. It turns out that the best place to get warm around these parts is in the swimming pool's building.

The 1st Mate and the 1st AB.

The 1st Mate, 2nd Mate, 1st AB, and 2nd AB.

The 2nd Mate.

The 1st Mate, 1st AB, and 2nd AB.

Of course, the day did begin and end at about 4 degrees, we did have a slight problem involving a frozen black tank valve, and there is the terribly annoying and messy combination of gravel snow and boots, as well as the aggravation of having to add six layers of clothing in order to go outside for even a minute, but overall, we really are finding the Indian Hills Inn in Albia, IA to be a delightful place to spend the weekend.

Welcome To Iowa

2010-01-29T21:48:00.000-08:00

After packing late into the evening on Wednesday, we were preparing for an early departure on Thursday when we made a most unwelcome discovery. The slides that make living in a thirty-five foot long space with six other people possible refused to move. Not in and not out. The motor for them made not a sound, and the button only gave us a very, very disheartening "click." After a meltdown or two, we decided to plug in the camper and wait until morning. Morning came and offered only the revelation that the slides are run by the same motor as the leveling jacks. The leveling jacks being the persnickety beasts that they are, this was not exactly comforting news, especially since the breaker that the jacks pop wasn't popped. Fuses. How many fuses are there in an RV? Dozens, and all in different locations. And what are the odds that the bad fuse would be exactly the one that the Commodore pulled out? I don't know, but that's what happened, and that is why we were only a few hours late getting out of the yard of Thursday morning.
Those few hours, however, were critical. As anyone who watches the weather knows, there is a fairly horrible storm threatening the south. Terrible Winter Storms are not things that one desires to drive through. Especially not in a thirty-five ft long thirteen ft high bus. No indeed. Winter Storms are things to be raced and circled around and avoided. Fortunately, despite our late start, we made it north of Tennessee by mid afternoon and just at nightfall we pulled into camp in Mt. Vernon, IL.
We started alright this morning, but immediately after pulling out of camp, we realized that all of the stores we needed to stop at for supplies existed in the very town that we were in. Nowhere else in Illinois would this unprecedented phenomenon repeat itself. We stopped, of course, and completed all of our errands at once before heading on to Albia, IA.
We have never been to Iowa in the winter. Quite honestly, we have never been in winter. I cannot actually recall ever seeing temperatures drop below 10 F. in AL. We did experience 9 F. weather, back in Douglas, WY, but somehow, 9 just seems so much warmer than 1. I think that that 1 degree has completely changed my outlook on the weather. Really, what IS that degree thinking? Why is it still holding on? Why can it not summon eighty or so of its brethren? I do not know.
Actually, right now, it is much warmer than that. It is a full 10 F. So we're good. It isn't supposed to get down to 1 degree until around 2:30 AM. Whew! Am I glad to hear that!

Not-a-Plan B

2010-01-24T18:31:00.000-08:00

Well, it is Sunday evening and here we are, sitting at base camp. The crew has caught a really horrible case of landlubberiness and is fighting being whipped back into shape. So now it is time for not-a-plan B. Not-a-plan B will probably play out something like this:
1. Panic
2. Destroy any semblance of order. Begin digging through the mountains of stuff that has somehow migrated to the living room and attempt to convince it to exit to the camper in an orderly fashion.
3. Scream. A lot.
4. Spend the entirety of Monday night completing the process that is called packing, but which should be called something that sounds much more menacing. Chaucer would know a word for it.
5. Go to sleep at 5 am on Monday. Leave at six.
That's the new not-a-plan. Our crew is done with planning.

Packing Again

2010-01-22T12:03:00.000-08:00

Take off has been set for 11:00 am tomorrow, Saturday the 23 of January. This, of course, means that by that time we will have clothes, books, toys, cooking ware, cleaning ware, maps, computers and cameras and cords, (oh my!) shoes, food, blankets, more blankets because we are going to IOWA, a dog, and (most difficult of all) people, loaded into Tallulah. Preferably without any casualties.

The Wedding Story.

2010-01-06T21:02:00.000-08:00

Nearly five years ago the Harbor Master, whom I will call Christina for the purposes of this story, walked into a restaurant called Waffles & Cream.

Her car had broken down in the middle of the city near our base camp. She had called in the Admiral, who had come accompanied by the Commodore. He determined that the problem was not one that could be swiftly or easily fixed and in an attempt to console Christina, he and the Commodore took her out to lunch.

It happened that working away at Waffles & Cream was a young man who went by the name of RC. It also happened that upon seeing the beautiful Christina he was completely awestruck.

He began speaking to her, and soon discovered that her birthday was not very far off. He promised to have a birthday card ready if only the fair Christina would return then.
Christina, being in an amiable mood and being encouraged by the Commodore, agreed to come again on her birthday. She did, and much to her embarrassment, RC was nowhere to be found. Feeling very foolish, Christina had no choice. She knew that she could never again set foot in Waffles & Cream, no matter how good their milkshakes were.
A few days later, with her decision to steer clear of Waffles & Cream still fresh on her mind, Christina walked into a restaurant called Larry's for a bite to eat. As it happened, working away waiting tables at Larry's was a young man who went by the name of RC. It seemed that he had abandoned Waffles & Cream and with little hope of encountering Christina again, he had taken the birthday card out of his car. Once again, he begged her to return, and once again, Christina agreed.
When she came back the next day, Christina received the birthday card she had been waiting for. Here, RC made his first near fatal blunder. He spelled her name Christy. How could he!? She didn't even look like a Christy!
After apologizing, RC invited Christina back any time she wanted lunch. To this Christina replied "Why do I have to do all the work?" and RC cleverly asked for her phone number. Nonetheless, Christina insisted on driving herself to her first date.
A week or so later, RC made his second near fatal slip. Christina had been unable to find a mechanic to fix her car. Being an independent sort of person, she had decided to take automotive mechanic classes and fix it herself. When she mentioned this to RC over lunch, he answered, "But you're so delicate."
Christina did not believe herself to be delicate, but she did like RC and after he wrote her a poem about being a frog prince, she got over it, and let him drive her home from their next date. When he came to the house, one of Christina's sisters was so nervous that she tripped over a large glass jar and broke it, but he brought pizza and instantly won over Christina's brothers.

A year passed and Christina left for school. When she returned at Christmas break, RC was waiting still.

When RC proposed, he truly took Christina by surprise, so much so that her first thought was "Well he won't surprise me next time." Fortunately, there was no need for a next time. RC had become such a normal fixture in Christina's life that he was even permitted to come along when Christina and her sisters declared a girls' night out. By doing this, he earned himself the title of sister-like-figure. Though he objected to the title, he never offered to relinquish the privileges that it provided him.

Years passed by, and as the day of Christina's graduation drew closer, she and RC finally chose a date and the day drew nearer for the happy couple.

Finally, all was ready. Four and a half years, a four foot tall frog, and a cake topper that had come all the way from Manitou Springs, CO and there we were, at the day of the wedding.

Getting ready.

There he is.

And there she is.

Altogether now.

First Dance.

Another Dance.

The cake.

The cake topper.

Cutting the cake.

Eating the cake.

Aim carefully.

Or ask for assistance.

When all else fails, call in the Marines.

All's well that ends well.

A Trip to PA

2010-01-04T14:43:00.000-08:00

Our plan was to journey to the southern tip of Florida to accompany the Stowaway and the Harbor Master on their trip back up to base camp. These plans, like nearly all of our plans, were interrupted. The interruption came in the form of a catastrophe in the Commodore’s homeland, the tragic death of her nephew, our cousin Joey. We were forced to almost exactly reverse our course, and point our bows North to the State of Pennsylvania.

Our northward voyage was relatively uneventful. We stopped in Staunton, (Stan-ton) VA, where we stayed in a camp that charged nearly three times the promised rate. As we were already in Pennsylvania when we discovered this, there was very little that we could do besides solemnly vow never to set foot on the grounds again.

In Pennsylvania, the Commodore’s first act was to acquire an object oft scorned by her. She is in the habit of rudely referring to them as “the princess” and “mind melting machines.” The Global Pinpointing system, however, served its purpose well in the crowded streets of the Pennsylvanian countryside.

We reached our destination on a cold winter’s day, and found our camp to be a most hospitable place, with only a few faults and some very pleasant people. Our aunt, the Commodore’s sister Jennifer met us at the campsite. Although the meeting was tempered somewhat by the sad reason for our voyage, it was only a little less than a joyous reunion. Still, it may be noted that the first member of our crew greeted by Aunt Jen was none other than Robynne, the ship’s dog.

After a long battle with an overly cheerful car rental man, the Commodore accepted the fact that there were no small vessels to be had in our area. There were no larger ones either. We intended to attend the wake of our cousin, and then I would return to camp with the crew, and the Commodore and her sister would go into the great city of Philadelphia to find and retrieve the Commodore’s youngest brother, our infirm Uncle Jerrold who had gone and landed himself there. Instead, the Commodore and Aunt Jen went alone, both to the wake and the city.

The day of the funeral dawned, and we all faced the most difficult part of our voyage. Despite the obvious unpleasant purpose for the gathering, we were happy to see our relatives. Some of them we (the crew) met for the first time, for instance, some of the Commodore’s cousins, a very pleasant trio.

The Commodore, the Infirm Uncle, their Uncle, and their cousins.

Saturday we abandoned ship. There was a winter storm warning, and our Aunt Jennifer and the Commodore did not want to spend the day in driving back and forth through the snowy city. We fled to Aunt Jen’s house, where the crew spent the day in a new and wonderful task- snow shoveling.

On Sunday, after digging out our vehicles and climbing through mountains of snow to get to Mass on time, we stopped to check on Tallulah and found that our campground hosts had shoveled a path to her for us. Relieved of that worry, we returned to Aunt Jen’s, where we threw a brunch party that lasted well into the supper hour. The day was very pleasant and went well, including a very long game of Change-the-rules-in-the-middle Uno.

Monday came with fond farewells, and we headed for home with our infirm Uncle Jerrold aboard. We stopped briefly in Virginia so that the dog could stretch her legs. While the rest of the crew walked the freshly cleared paths the rest area, Robynne and I waded through the two feet deep snow to the doggie rest area located at the top of a steep hill.

We thought that we would stop overnight, but we did not find a satisfactory location. When we stopped for fuel in Tennessee around 2 in the morning, our infirm uncle requested a “breffixed” stop. The only thing open at the time was a McDonald’s, and that only had the drive through open. We all know that it would have been perfectly impossible to take Tallulah through the drive through. So, the bravest members of the crew along with the ship’s dog and the infirm uncle were chosen to go where few pedestrians have gone before.

We stepped into the empty drive through. Unfortunately, you have to have a car to set off the sensor, and the infirm Uncle was determined to order through the microphone. After only a few minutes, a car full of Tennessee Hooligans pulled up behind us. We could see them laughing a bit through the window, and after only a few more moments, the infirm uncle called to them bid them pull up and set off the sensor so that we could order. Like the Tennessee Hooligans they were, they obliged at once. After the lady inside the building had asked us to wait a moment, the Hooligans backed up and returned to their place. After another few minutes, the driver asked our infirm uncle to come over and see his hair. When our uncle approached him, the Hooligan explained that he had just had some blue dye put in it. The infirm uncle replied that there were only two streaks of blue. “That’s just what I wanted,” replied the Hooligan. “Then I guess it looks fine,” answered the uncle. Clearly overcome with gratitude, the Hooligan pulled up again, as it was apparent that the lady in the building believed we had gone away. This time the driver, with admiration in his voice said, “I went through backwards once, but never on foot.” Our conversation was cut short by the lady inside the building, who was finally ready to take our order. We did so and then left the Hooligans to their own ordering and went around to meet the lady inside the building. After giving us a few baffled questions to determine which order was ours and with a smile the likes of which can only be found in the south, the lady inside the building explained that waiting at the microphone had not been necessary, we could have just come around to the window.

We arrived home with no further incident.

Invisible (12/14/09)

2009-12-21T09:22:00.000-08:00

The Andalusia Ballet has just finished with this season's edition of The Nutcracker. For the past five years I have been working on ballet performances I began playing music during the last week of rehearsals and working backstage during the performance, but with the coming of the new sound and light boards to the control booth, I was shifted to the control booth even during performances. Although I like backstage work better, the humorous, "do your best and leave the rest:" atmosphere of the control booth is much more pleasant than the scuffling backstage intensity. Example:

Stage Manager: Wait! Marzipan is BEFORE Gingersnaps?!!
Ballet Mistress: Yes.
Lights and Sound Guy: It's been like that since the 1800's. Except for that year she [the Ballet Mistress] swapped it because of a quick-change.

My role in either position, however has really not been very different. A stage hand should not be seen or heard, in fact, it should be perfectly invisible. If a stage hand is noticed at all, either by presence or absence, then that person has failed. The epitome of perfection is to be absolutely undetectable, except, perhaps, by directors or other stagehands.

Roses are red...

2009-12-05T19:24:00.000-08:00

And very hard to grow. The Glory of the Garden, and the triumph of successful gardeners.
In the front garden of our "base camp" we have two kinds of roses. One is a hearty, indigenous variety. It makes cute fluffy little pink roses in the spring and all through the summer. Nothing really hurts it and it is capable of growing about twenty feet in a year. Literally. We know because we tried really hard to get rid of it. We dug it up and dumped it on the dirt bank across the road three years in a row. There are now cute little fluffy roses the entire length of our road, and we still have the mother plant in our front garden.

The other rose plant is much more delicate. We planted it, pruned it, fed it banana peels, carried water to it, coated it with organic bug repellent and generally gave it everything that it might need. We've had a few pretty flowers from it, but more often than not the buds come to grief somehow or other.

Until now. We came home after three months to find a little bud, which has bloomed into a most magnificent rose. I wonder if that indicates anything about our gardening skills?

A Fowl Post

2009-12-01T22:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, after wandering forlornly about the house for a while, walking two miles in the rain to make the dog happy and wishing that town was a nine mile round trip instead of eighteen, I decided to do something about the box of hollow eggshells that has been sitting on a shelf for about two years. The eggshells were waiting to be stuffed full of confetti and painted, so that they could fulfill their mission in life: being busted over some unsuspecting person's head.
I shredded some brightly colored newspaper pages into confetti and picked up an eggshell and laughed a little as I thought, Oh, this one was Andy's. Why did I ever know which of my ducks laid which egg, and why do I remember now, when that duck mysteriously vanished two years ago? I have no idea.

Andy belonged with a group of fifteen ducklings that my dad bought as an experiment. They were all supposed to be eaten. The eight that lived to adulthood all ended up with names, trained to come when I whistled.
So the Admiral tried again. He brought home two geese. He wisely gave them to my brothers, not me. Haha! they were instantly named: Jack and Fiona. Fiona died of unknown causes. Jack was given to me. I also had, at that time, a chicken and a duckling named Fred and Charlie. Charlie had been the sole duckling to emerge from an incubator full of eggs. I stole Fred from a batch of chicks that were passing through on their way to the livestock sale in town because baby birds can die of loneliness. They also make a lot more noise when they're alone. Though an odd looking trio, Charlie, Fred and Jack all got along tremendously until the tragic deaths of both Charlie and Fred.

Left to right: Jack, Fred, Charlie.

Alone once again, Jack was moved in with the regular chickens, where he made himself at home. And a nest. And laid some eggs. We took pity on him, and replaced his eggs with good ones. Jack Frost only had kittens, Jack the goose had ducklings!

Jack and Flit

And that's where leaving the shells on the shelf for two years gets me.

Can't Trees revised and revisited for English class.

2009-11-29T23:17:00.000-08:00

I have, quite often lately, neglected blogging for my more strict-about-time Studies. So as proof that I have not been off gallivanting (a pass time I have been accused of indulging in) and as a celebration of my passing the course, I offer a sample of the writing that I have done for my English class.

The only real trail through our forest was made years ago by someone with a bush hog. It is a very crude trail that takes one to the heart of the forest and then dead ends atop a culvert over the largest creek in our forest, abandoning walkers exactly at the miniature clearing that is the home of the Can't Trees. It is a tiny place, just large enough for a ten year old to consider it a clearing. It begins on top of the culvert and land bridge over the creek, and slides down to the creek bank. It smells of rotting wood and leaves, moss, mud and water all woven with the very faint smell of wild animal. In summer, the trees meet overhead in a light filtering canopy that turns the clearing pale green. During the Winter, the trees become skeletons, draped with robes of half inch thick thorn vines that rip at clothes and skin in a vain attempt to dissuade the intruder.
I can remember the first time that I saw the Can't Trees, hidden by wild tree-bushes and blackberry thickets. I stood on top of the grassy culvert bridge and tried to see what my mother was pointing at. It was two trees, water oaks, growing side by side on the creek bank. Once upon a time they were straight, as trees ought to be. The collapse of the creek bank, who knows how long ago, ruined that for them. The trees grow almost horizontally over the creek for about three feet, then turn sharply and continue to grow upward, tall and skinny to the top of the forest roof. The third Can't Tree was added a few days later when I visited the place again. It is a pine, perfectly normal for the bottom two thirds and then bowed and twisted into a large and magnificent loop the loop.

My mother found the Can't Trees. She showed them to any of us who would make the trek down the creek to see. She dragged my dad down there. "If those trees can grow like that," she said, "there isn't anything you can't do." At the time, my dad was working all night, going to school during the day, and paying what attention he could to his six going on seven kids in his spare time. It was a hard time for all of us. The trees provided a bit of encouraging comedic relief. "Just think about the Can't Trees" became a common saying whenever anyone said they could not do something.
My dad and I made the clearing. For him, it was just a necessary step to taming the forest. For me, it was the creation of a special hideaway too far from the house to hear my name being called. It was the place I could go when I needed to pull myself together, or let myself fall apart. Whether I was happy or frightened or furious, the clearing, though it went through phases of growing over and dying back, was always the same. It was simply imperturbably calmed.
I could always find courage in the clearing. I was a dreadfully introverted child, and was always in need of courage. One year I was forced to enter a 4-H public speaking contest and wrote much of my speech sitting in the bend of one of the water oaks. I spent days pacing around the clearing at the base of the pine tree trying to memorize that speech. Before the contest, I went down for a last rehearsal. I was ready to vomit, but there stood the trees, as serene as ever. I came in second place in the contest. My faith in the clearing intensified tenfold.
It was not that I attributed magical or supernatural powers to the Can't Trees or the clearing. I always knew that I had the strength somewhere inside me. The wonder of the clearing was that it helped me find and bring out the courage that I could not find on my own.
I went down to the creek a few months ago, after more than a year of absence. The trail was so over grown that I had to give up my first attempt and return to the barn for a pair of loppers. Deer had crossed the trail in muddy places, leaving tracks that never appeared there when I haunted the place. A bushy tree blown over by some big storm or other lay like a final wall across the clearing entrance. I cleared it away to enter, and found that my clearing was mine no longer.
One of the Water Oak Can't Trees is rotting. The section over the bend will break off sooner or later. The pine has sprawled out, and is growing into a new loop the loop. It is covered in passion flower vines. The blackberry bushes and the thorn vines are creeping back into and constricting the clearing. Once, I could cartwheel across my clearing. The surrounding trees and I have grown too much for that. I can only just stand without my hair tangling in a branch. The calmness that I associated with the clearing has passed away. It takes effort to recall it. The clearing is still a beautiful place, but it is not the place I knew before.
At first, I did not know whether to blame myself or the clearing. If I had continued my regular visits, would the clearing have retained its allure? I think not. I will always wonder at the trees, and they will continue to inspire me. The tranquility of the clearing is something that I hold dear. The clearing lost nothing. I lost my need for it. It served its purpose.
As children, persons attach special qualities to places and things. Maybe it is a book or a blanket or a special pillowcase, a quiet dreamy window seat or clearing in the forest. A child needs such anchors in a wild and tumultuous world. Such anchors require utter trust in an object or place though, and one ought to move on from that phase of life. A person cannot go through life holding onto a stuffed dog or hiding away in a tiny clearing in the forest. There comes a time when one must stop admiring, leave the clearing and strive to be as remarkable as a Can't Tree.

Homecoming

2009-11-25T20:21:00.000-08:00

We have survived the trip home, and the first couple of days back.
The drive was uneventful enough. We drove until 3:30 AM on Saturday, then navigated some very very tiny roads to the park where we planned to spend the night. At $5.00 a night, the park was a bargain. It also closed at 11:00, so I don't know anything else about it. We re-navigated the very very tiny streets and slept in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
Sunday we visited with our former pastor, who left us (his parish) for the Benedictines. We also had a tour of the church there, and heard Brother Joseph's tales of the the less somber side of a monk's life. We drove until a little past one in the morning.
The Admiral's phone unexpectedly went off at five.
We reached home Tuesday at 1:00 AM. Because the idea of spending what was left of the night unpacking and sleeping in a house that had been empty for three months was not very appealing, we ended up camping in our own yard.

Once we got home, of course, we had to go to town. Although we had just survived for almost three months without an errand vehicle, we needed the Y.S. immediately.
The Y.S. was not happy that we had left her, however, and threw a temper tantrum. She was trembling with rage as we left the yard. snorting and sputtering we drove on down the road. We had finished at one grocery store and were on our way to the post office, were almost there, when the Y.S. bailed completely. She died in the middle of the road. The Admiral wrangled her into the post office parking lot, where he gave her a once over while the Commodore and I went in. We returned to a very aggravated Admiral. The engine wasn't getting any gas, and he couldn't figure out why. Perhaps the fuel pump had gone out. It had been sitting for three months after all.
The Commodore made a suggestion.
The Admiral made a phone call.
A friend made the drive over with a gas can.
Turns out the problem has a lot to do with the gas gauge.

Going Home

2009-11-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

I've seen a frozen river and fallen into a snowdrift. I've climbed a mountain (a small one) and wrestled with a frozen stiff RV electrical cord. I've seen a sheepdog trial where I learned that there is nothing unusual about my dog at all. I've seen so many antelope that they don't even seem strange anymore. I've also eaten antelope. We've come more than 5542 miles through 12 states.
And now the westerlies have come roaring in to blow us back to Alabama.

The Superiority of Southern Buffets Or Why Alabama is the 3rd least healthy State.

2009-11-18T22:40:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, we lost the 2nd Mate to the shore. She flew back to Alabama after the death of a most beloved friend of ours.
We are currently becalmed in Gillette, WY, waiting for the Westerlies that will blow us back east.
Today, after several days of being trapped in a rather dreary campground, we were driven to town by a lack of provisions and severe cases of cabin fever. We decided that after the four mile walk to town, we would reward ourselves with a pizza buffet. We miscalculated our departure time, though, and were forced to reconsider our destination in order to assure ourselves adequate time to enjoy our meal. We chose the Golden Corral, otherwise known as the Golden Pig's trough. Inside, we found a measly three food bars (that count includes the dessert bar and the salad bar) and received puny glasses (a mere 16 oz!) and a single smallish basket of rolls.
However, there was a dish of "Southern Style Cabbage." I do not eat boiled cabbage, but I had to look. What was in that pan was most definitely NOT Southern Style cabbage. The first clue was that it was still recognizable as cabbage. That cabbage would have crunched. And there was absolutely no sign of any pork whatsoever.

Southern Style indeed!

In Alabama, buffets are an art. I have never seen an Alabama Golden Corral with fewer than two food bars not counting the dessert and salad bars. There are no blue plates, and they are not less than eight inch circles. The glasses are generally at least 22oz. The glass size is to benefit waiters and waitresses who lose a dollar off their tip every time the sweet tea runs out. And on the dessert bar, one can be sure that the cheesecake will not be inedible.
Also, the cabbage will not appear appear to be cabbage at all, but mushy green stuff with ham or bacon in it. It will not crunch.
Perhaps this clears up the reason that Alabama is 48th on the Most Healthy State list, followed only by Oklahoma and Mississippi.

I offer to the Golden Corral of Gillette, WY (whose cooks are clearly worried about destroying the vitamins in the Cabbage) the words of Mark Lowry "Take a pill and cook the vegetables!"

I bet the buffets in Mississippi are really great.

The Marias Pass Revisited.

2009-11-13T16:35:00.000-08:00

What goes in must come out again. On our way out of Columbia Falls, MT, we had to go back through the Marias pass, this time during the daytime.Of course, we did have the advantage of having been over this road before, but it looks a little different when you can see what is or isn't on the other side of the guardrail.
Here's an idea of what it looked like from the passenger seat.

We begin with a little bit of a curve.

Then we go for a little slope.

A little more curve.

Back the other way.

Shall we add some fog?

Sure. Let's add some fog.
The Commodore can handle it.

Then came the dark.

Aww, we drove this in the dark already, remember?

The sky looks cool reflected in the road.

Sometimes, you just have to look at the scenery.

The effect is kind of like stepping into one of Bob Ross's paintings.

One last little slope...

A little bit of traffic...

And civilization finally appears.

And then, just when we thought we were safe!

Finally, a challenge!

2009-11-11T13:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we traveled along the Lewis and Clark trail, through the Marias Pass, and through Glacier National Park. We don't really know what any of it looked like though, because we drove through there at night.
We've seen plenty of RVers come into a park after dark, with icicles hanging off of them and snow piled on their roofs. We've pitied them, wished them well, and wondered whether their resting campsite was really their destination or were they just too tired to go on. Thankfully, we did not have it quite as bad as that, but our experience did teach us how easy it is to miscalculate the time that a journey will take and come to that very situation.

Our trip began in Glasgow, MT and ended in Columbia Falls, MT. Between these two city lie some 403 miles and approximately 18 other towns. The road was good and we had daylight, until we reached Cutbank, MT. Shortly after we passed through that town, we spotted a truly chilling sight: a frozen pond. After we passed through Browning, things got a little scary. Browning is 84 miles from Columbia Falls. Once begun, the 84 miles must be traversed in their entirety. There really is nowhere to turn around, particularly if it is after nightfall, icy, and you are in a bus. It is kind of like watching a really good scary movie. No matter how much you want to get out of it, you know that you will not be able to rest until you've seen it through to a good solid ending.
In East Glacier Park, 71 miles to go, the road got icy. The signs got scary too. Fortunately, we had no idea, and still have no idea what the scenery looked like, so we were not unnerved by the sheer cliff sides that we were driving along. The several inches of snow up the sides of the mountain appeared to us as sand dunes on the beach road from Gulf Shores to Pensacola. And no, we were not at all cold, because it is not cold in south Alabama right now. The sand that seemed to fill the trees must have been blown there by the tropical storm that just hit. No big deal. Right. One hour down, 40 miles to go.
OK, so, what's that rumbling sound? Avalanche? Crumbling Bridge? Is the rock that the signs have been warning us about finally falling? Oh wait, we're just crossing a bridge over the train tracks and there's a train underneath. Laugh it off. Until the next happy little signs appear.
Ice On Road
Fallen Rock
Watch For Ice On Bridge
Falling Rock
Steep Grades
Sharp Turns
Deer X-ing
Sharp Turns and Steep Grades
Watch For Wildlife On Road
Icy Spots Next 27 Miles

We finally reached West Glacier,at about 7:35 and we finally had enough phone service to call the Admiral, who, had gone on ahead He assured us that the road got better and the snow went away. It did, after a while and we were all so ecstatic that we had to sing our own version of Jim Croce's Speedball Tucker. We left Browning at 31 degrees at 5:30 and arrived in Columbia Falls at 41 degrees at 8:15.Speedball alright!

We settled down into the Mountainview RV park, happily oblivious of exactly what we had come through. Then, we woke up this morning, and looked over and shoulders.

Danger? We laugh at Danger!

Corned Beef Chicken, Only at Albertsons!

2009-11-08T19:53:00.000-08:00

The Commodore and the Admiral recently returned from a provisioning venture with the following story.

Upon checking out of the marketplace, the Commodore realized that she had been charged rather more than she expected. Upon examining her receipt, she noticed a charge for corned beef. We do not usually eat corned beef, and the Commodore was completely lost for the appearance of this item on her receipt. Interrogation proved that the Admiral was not to blame. Intense investigation revealed the problem. A package of chicken had been marked "Corned Beef."Although the Admiral and the Commodore half expected this problem to result in a bit of consternation, the actual result of the persons in the store was to laugh, knock off the extra charges, and say,
"Corned Beef Chicken, only at Albertsons!"

Room at this Inn

2009-11-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

I was talking to the Harbor Master last night and mentioned that the Commodore went down to see her aunt in Minneapolis. Her reply to that was "Mom went DOWN to Minneapolis!??"
That was when it hit me. The Commodore and the Admiral had to go SOUTH to get to Minneapolis.
That should have occurred to me earlier. Perhaps when we arrived and found that nearly all of the campgrounds had been closed for the season. After leaving a park with no water, sewer or bathroom, we landed in a town that appeared to have absolutely no lodging for RVers. Further inspection uncovered a nearby town, Randall, Minnesota where we found the Innsbrook Motel and RV park. Fortunately for us, the closing of the Innsbrook has been delayed by other travelers.
The Innsbrook in the summer is said to be a bustling place, full of RVs and with a common fire every night. It is cold and wet now, so there are not many people here. In fact we are the only people here. The owners have been no less accommodating for that, though. We have not a single complaint to make about this delightful little place. We must offer our profound thanks to these folks. They kept the RV hookups open for us (they are closing What kind of an adventure doesn't have the characters saved from the cold and the rain and snow by kindly natives in the midst of an endless wilderness.

Tomorrow we leave for North Dakota. I have always wanted to see North Dakota, but now that the moment is upon us, I am a bit apprehensive.
When the owner of the Innsbrook asked where we were going next, I told him, and he replied "Oh, it's cold there."
The info page of a campground website has only the following poem. (after clicking the link, you still have to click on the info button in the side bar of the page that comes up.)

When it's springtime in North Dakota
And the gentle breezes blow,
About seventy miles an hour
And it's fifty-two below.
You can tell you're in North Dakota
'Cause the snow's up to your butt,
And you take a breath of springtime air
And your nose holes both freeze shut.
The weather here is wonderful
So I guess I'll hang around,
I could never leave North Dakota,
My feet are frozen to the ground!

Yes, I am beginning to be rather concerned about this leg of the journey. I guess that's what makes it an adventure.

Geese

2009-11-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

I love Canada Geese. I very much prefer them over swans. In my perfectly honest opinion, I think that swans look like dinosaurs. Their necks are too long. Canada Geese are so much more practical looking.
And they are smart. Every day, we see scores of these beautiful birds overhead flying south for the winter. Some of them will go as far as Alabama. They will then realize just how nice year round warm weather is. They will crash the Montgomery zoo and stay forever. I've seen it happen.
So if a goose with a brain that is smaller than a bean knows to go south in the winter, can someone please tell me why we are currently north of Minneapolis and heading for North Dakota?

Not that I'm complaining or anything.

2009-10-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to the 2nd Mate and the 1st AB.

The 2nd Mate.

The 1st AB.

Today we are moving to somewhere. We know the general direction but not the exact destination. Adventure.

Yesterday, we went for a walk to look at the snow along the creek that runs all through Manitou Springs. Some of us did not know that snow glitters. We did enjoy looking at the snow, but the highlight of our walk looked like this.

A very long word about Manitou Springs.

2009-10-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

The Campground in Pueblo having proven unsatisfactory, we talked the Admiral into moving along to Colorado Springs, Colorado. We actually ended up moving to Manitou Springs, Colorado, which is very close to Colorado Springs, but is entirely separate. With a town motto of "Keep it Weird!" you know you're in for an interesting visit. We arrived on Thursday, and went exploring downtown. The street is lined with delightful little shops including the Maitou Outpost and Gallery, where we were offered free samples of fudge. It is not often that a salesperson calls a group as large as ours back for free samples, so we were obliged to like the place and buy post cards. There is also a glassblower shop, fine dining establishments, arts and crafts places and much more. After we had perused the shops, we halted at the park. One thing that the younger crew members have missed out on whilst the Admiral has not been at home, is having the Admiral at a park. Though his true specialty is tire swings, he manipulated the strange flying disks that the park offered quite well. Then the crew decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. The Admiral has a long and glorious history of riding rides, but the crew pushing the flying saucer really almost did him in. And of course, in true Admiral fashion, the ride emptied his pockets. (Among the more famous "pocket emptying ride" stories is the time that the Admiral went on a "caged" ferris wheel. He rode the Ferris wheel four times, once with each of us girls. On the fourth ride, he finally figured out the perfect formula for rocking the cage. This resulted in the loss of some change among the crowd below.) After his cell phone, the car keys (we had a rental van) and his work truck keys had been dug out of the wood chips, we decided that it was time to move on. The Admiral challenged the 2nd AB to a (small) rock climbing contest, then discovered a strange spinning wheel thingy at the other end of the park and sent the boys for a ride. After that, it really was time to go home. Except that when we reached the van, we discovered that the Admiral did not have the keys. Or his cellphone. We walked back to the park, and were immediately waved down by a youth with the keys. Fortunately, cellphones can be helpful in the process of locating themselves. Particularly when they are buried underneath a hefty layer of fall leaves.

Manitou Springs, Day 2.

After contemplating a drive to the top of Pikes Peak, we looked at the thick layer of snow up there and immediately came to our senses. (Actually, 8 of the 19 miles were closed because of the snow, so driving to the top wasn't even an option.) We changed our path and headed for the Garden of the Gods. Words really cannot do the scenery justice, so I will not even attempt a description. That's why God invented cameras.

Note: This picture was the result of my figuring out the new button I found on my camera.

I will, however, give a description of our visit to this park. Ahhahem!

Lured from the van like bugs to a zapper light, we walked along the cement pathway. So transfixed were we that even the sign reading "Caution Falling Rock! Stay on the Sidewalk!" was not enough to dampen our adventurous spirits. We moved along, stunned by the wondrous pulchritude of the rock formations. Then, we came to a road. The Commodore believed that the visitor center was near. The 2nd AB just really wanted to walk on that road. The Admiral saw, but thought that the others knew where we were going. I was trying to figure out a button I had just found on my camera, so I was only following the others. Like fools we followed the road through the unknown land, naively believing that it would lead us to the Visitor Center, or at least to the van. After about a mile, the Commodore spotted a path that seemed to lead over what would be a mountain in Alabama, but here it is a mere rock. The 1st AB and I volunteered to scout the path. It moved in the right direction to take us to the van. Just as I was about to call down from my lofty height atop the rock, the path dead ended. For an instant only did the 1st AB and I despair. We had come so far, only to be let down. Despair never helped anyone though, and within a few seconds, we had come to appreciate the value of our climb. There are really excellent photo opportunities atop big rocks. We then descended to the others. Rather sensibly, we then turned around the way we had come. After a few hills, one of which might be mistaken for Kanchenjunga if it were moved to Alabama, we found the cement path again. Then the 2nd Mate happened to turn around. She gasped and wordless dismay and pointed to where the road forked behind us, to the road we hadn't taken, to the Visitor Center. Wearily, we made our way back to the van, where we had stashed semi-refreshing drink. Then, we drove to the Visitor Center.
THE END.
Actually, not. The Visitor Center/Museum was quite interesting, and the younger crew members, in addition to the tasks they already carry, assumed the roles of Junior Rangers, and had their accomplishment announced over the loud speaker. HAHA.
Before they could become Junior Rangers, though they had to answer a question.

Ranger: What was your favorite thing that you learned today?
1st A.B.: Ummm. That Colorado is prettier.
R: Can you give me a comparison? What is it prettier than?
AB: Uhhhhhhh. I know! Alabama.

R: What was your favorite thing that you learned today?
2nd AB: About the Kissing Camels.
R: Oh! Can you tell me where they are? (the rock is due north, and visible out the window)
2nd AB: East. (He'd read earlier that the rock was on the East Side of the park.)
(Confusion)
2nd AB: Uh, West? North?
R: There you go!

R: What was your favorite thing that you learned today?
1st Mate: That Colorado rattlesnakes are small.
R: Hmm? Maybe compared to Alabama snakes...
1st Mate: Yeah. My dad had to kill a six foot rattle snake that got in our backyard.

Maybe we need to work on the conservation conversation! Granted, the ranger did appear more disturbed at the idea of six feet of venomous snake in the backyard than she did about its death.

Manitou Springs, Day 3.
We had noticed flyers around town announcing the race. We had spoken to a fellow in a shop who was going to be in it. We had looked it up online, and we had decided that we could not miss the 15th Annual Emma Crawford Coffin Race.
The story of Emma Crawford is not one for the faint of heart. For those who can stand to hear it chanted, click here.
Basically, it is this.
Emma Crawford came to Colorado in search of the "cure" for tuberculosis. Apparently this was quite common, and those who did were called "lungers." Emma climbed to the top of Red Mountain, and loved it so much that she wished to be buried there. She seemed to recover though, and was to be married to a young man called Hildebrand. A few weeks before her wedding however, she suffered a relapse and died. Twelve pall bearers carried her to the top of the mountain in a coffin with a silver plate bearing her name (the plate is important.) and she was buried there. Twenty years later though, she was exumed for the purpose of building a railroad. She was moved to another place on the mountain, but apparently didn't like it there, because during a big rainstorm, Emma returned to Manitou Springs, along with the plate with her name, which was her only form of identification. Although Emma was once again buried, this time safely in the city cemetary, where she has remained ever since, a local business owner thought that it would be a shame to let Emma fade away into history. For this reason he instated the Emma Crawford Coffin race.

The Champions in Motion.
The race was hilarious, and was won by the Crystal Hillbillies for the seventh year in a row. The award for best entourage went to a team dressed as cannibals. They really deserved it too. For the parade, in addition to pushing their coffin, they carried a poor guy tied to a pine tree.

Emma and Hildebrand in the front, Cannibals in the back.
That wraps upthe first three days.

2009-10-20T10:38:00.000-07:00

We have once again moved house. This time, we have fled from the icy cold of Northern Wyoming, and taken to the sunny plains of Colorado. We are staying in Pueblo, which is on the edge of the dessert. At the campground we were originally staying at, all of the water had to be trucked in. This was also a KOA, but it fell far below the standard set in Douglas, WY, and so we decided to forgo the convenience of the KOA for a cheaper campground. With all that extra dough, we decided to have some fun. So today we drove two hours to Denver, and spent the day at the Denver Museum of Natural Science. Actually, we did not intend to spend the entire day there. We were a bit surprised when the guy came through, announcing that the museum was closing in twenty minutes. We had a good time, laughed long and hard at the "Life Begins With Lightening" videos and learned a little. Both AB's got to make Mongolian hats, but the 2nd AB was so heartbroken at the sight of a little girl who didn't get one that he handed his over. The 2nd Mate got to play a Morin Khuur or horse head fiddle. She rather enjoyed the experience, I think. Unfortunately, there are no pictures of this, because no photography was allowed in the exhibit. I might have chanced stealing a shot, but there were about five guards standing around us. I got some other pictures though.

The Commodore's favorite, a big carnivorous pig that used to roam Nebraska, back when Nebraska was a forest. You can't tell from the picture, but this thing was the size of a Buffalo.

A mammoth Skull. According to the Commodore, a Volkswagon bug could fit between the tusks.

North American Camels. We thought they look kind of like Pronghorn Antelope. The Museum says that they evolved into lhamas and Alpacas.

The Boys all really enjoyed the Dinosaurs.

The 2nd Mate really liked the mummies. Unfortunately, once again, there are no pictures. This is, once again, entirely my fault. I do not like mummies, therefore, I skipped the ancient Egypt exhibit, and I did not think to give her the camera.

Knitting

2009-10-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

The Admiral has gone North alone. The weather was not inviting to travel, and moving Tallulah in ice and snow seemed unwise. Especially since the trip to Gillette was supposed to be an overnight one, and we are so comfortable here in Douglas. Besides that, the projected temperature was 0 for Gillette, and 16 for Douglas. Hmmm. That's a hard one.
Nasty RV park with nasty signs all over, 16 fewer degrees, and an icy journey North or a posh KOA with every RVing convenience, and 16 more degrees. The only trouble is that the trip to Gillette has turned out NOT to be overnight, and we are pretty neatly stranded until Thursday. Oh well.

We actually got quite a bit of snow here anyway. There was eight inches to a foot, with three to four foot mounds, thanks to the snowplow. The ABs and the dog seemed to be happiest about the weather.

The cold weather that we have been enduring has resulted in a resurgence of knitting and crocheting projects. The entire family (minus the Admiral) learned to knit this year. During the Spring, we knitted extensively, creating hats, scarves (with pockets!) and a sweater.
The Summer heat of Alabama rather curbed the desire to knit, however.
Now a week of sub-freezing temperatures, the reluctance of the 2nd AB to wear socks, and an unused ball of wool yarn have joined forces to fashion one very cute pair of socks, which the Viking boy will actually wear.

The 2nd AB shows off his socks.

Antelope Birthday.

2009-10-09T21:11:00.001-07:00

The Admiral's birthday was today. Birthday's, of course, require special treatment.
We spent an hour in the gift shop here at the campground looking for a birthday card. We finally decide on two, which were then made over to suit the occasion. The 1st AB remade the envelope of his pick with cut out pictures, the 2nd AB included a poem.
For a birthday dinner, we actually managed to pull a surprise on the Admiral. (The Admiral has a long history of surprising people, and unveiling surprises before they are ready.) We procured two antelope shoulders, a mule deer shoulder and an antelope ham from a couple from Alabama who were hunting in Wyoming. Because the weather has been so cold, it was not necessary to stash the meat in the freezer. It was perfectly fine outside in the Ice Guzzler, which made it possible to hide this considerable amount of meat for two days.

The Admiral has wanted to try antelope for some time. It seems that the experience agreed with him.

The 1st AB likes antelope too.

Of course there was cake.But the Admiral had to battle the 2nd AB for the first slice. The 2nd AB got three in a row first

From Douglas, WY

2009-10-08T19:41:00.000-07:00

We pulled into the Douglas KOA on Tuesday solidly frozen and expecting to find ourselves in yet another unpleasant RV park. We'd read reviews that warned against going there with anything longer than 25 Ft. Our options, however, were extremely limited, because the only other open camp in Douglas, WY has no hook-ups and pets are not allowed.
On principle, we usually avoid KOAs. (Kampgrounds of America) The Commodore's father referred to them as "hotels without walls." This is niether an unfair nor inaccurate description. Also against KOAs is the fact that they are expensive. Besides the nightly rate, which covers two persons, they often charge as much as $3 a night for each extra person over the age of 7.With a nice "winter rate" and nowhere else to go however we were lured to this KOA.
In Gillette, WY, we stayed in a park where we had about ten feet between us and the next camper. The water hook-up was on the wrong side, and the park was plastered with threatening "If this doesn't stop..." and "You had better not be caught..." signs. Somehow, such negative signs can have a very negative overall effect.
In Sheridan, we intended to stay in a park that had really great reviews, was totally cool, and included four acres of land for exercising pets (and, simultaneously, boys) on. Unfortunately, we missed the review that mentioned the owner's dislike of construction (and railroad) workers and we discovered upon arrival that he also dislikes children. So we stayed in the RV section of the Bramble Motel. It was tiny, 30 amp (we have a 50 amp RV) and we were sick, snowed in, and had no way of doing laundry. The owner was nice, the boys built their first really big snowman, and there was a flock of turkeys that came by everyday, but we were not sorry to leave.
Turns out, a hotel without walls was just what we needed. We've given up roughing it and become Kampers for a few days. The people who run the place are the first really nice Wyomingites we've come across. We played miniature golf. There is a playground with covered wagon monkey bars. There's a laundry room. There is a dog run with carefully tended grass and no sandspurs or cacti to pull out of the dog's feet.

And did I mention that Douglas, WY is the home of the Jackalope?
And snow. Lots of snow.

Wyoming

2009-10-04T20:33:00.000-07:00

I have recovered (mostly) from the triple blow of a head cold, mid-terms, and a stomach virus that has kept me from more pleasant tasks than studying Geography and coughing up my lungs. My sincere apologies.

We are now in Sheridan, WY. "The West at its best." If this is the best though, I'm certainly glad we got here before the place deteriorated any further.
Wyoming has not proven to be the spectacular and pleasant place that we expected. Not that I thought everywhere would measure up to Nebraska's standards, but I did not expect the disparity that we have found. Honestly, a person running a history museum should not say "We don't want any lost little boys. I had three of my own and I didn't even want them." As though we'd leave a crew member behind!
Also, with Winter here, the campground pickings are very slim. It seems that pets or children, but not both are permissible. As we are traveling with children and a pet, finding a place to park has become a little challenging. Particularly annoying are the parks who do not post these restrictions, thus requiring a post arrival change of destination.

But the really big news of the day is...
6 inches of snow.

Must...Build...Snowman!

Hmm. There was grass here yesterday.

Snowbirds.

We saw a sign here in town that showed the temperature as +40 F. It was the first time I have ever seen one that had to point out the +/-.
Despite the fact that the amount of snow on the ground would have closed Alabama down for a month, the Wyoming weather forecasters insist on calling it a "dusting of snow."
Talk about culture shock.

2009-09-30T18:25:00.000-07:00

I've made up a poem about Alabama.
Nice warm days has September
April, May, and November.
All the rest are quite warm too,
except for January, which is sometimes blustery.

Not so in lovely, frozen Gillette, WY. In fact, the forecast is calling for snow tonight. SNOW. In SEPTEMBER.
I think that the following accurately sums up our feelings toward the weather.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6mbrycXMd4&feature=related

Gillette's view almost makes up for its weather. The view goes on so long that one can see the earth curving away under the sky. There are no illusions about a flat world here. The people are not as friendly as those in Nebraska. We did meet a very nice man in Newcastle, Wyoming, but he was from Wisconsin. (He also had a very cool collection of old firetrucks. There was one from 1949 that his father had sold brand new, and another from 1959 that he had sold brand new. Years later, his son bought them, and they drove them to Newcastle. Unfortunately, I somehow came away without the name of the shop, or a picture of the firetrucks.) I have a theory about the Wyomingites lack of friendliness. They just don't have enough oxygen. The air here is too thin. There is a big difference between 338 ft. and 4500 ft. 338 is better. A person can really breathe there.

Ten things we've learned here on the Road.

2009-09-22T13:40:00.000-07:00

#1. It is wise to stand back a little when opening cabinets after bumpy drives.

#2. The best way to get the Commodore to replace a thing is to allow her to experience the malfunction. This is not because the Commodore is mean or stingy, but she does remember better if she sees the product failure. It is more likely to be fresh on her mind. For instance, if the water hose that I said needed to be replaced flies off the black tank cleaning wand's handle and soaks the Commodore and the bathroom, (Don't worry, it's just hose water, perfectly clean.) I can count on the hose being replaced.

#3.When cleaning the black tank, have someone outside and ready to shut off the water. And prepare for the possibility of getting wet.

#4. Get the Admiral, not the Captain, to check the tire pressure.

#5. Get the Captain, not the Admiral, to put the little cap things back on the tires.

#6. Walking through a small Nebraskan town with a pretty Border Collie creates a reaction among the local ranchers that is similar to walking through a college town with a pretty blond. The difference is that no one honks. That might scare the dog.

#7. When grocery shopping for seven people with no vehicular transportation, carry a cloth bag to put the groceries in. Plastic grocery bags split, (sometimes depositing a jar spaghetti sauce on the roadside, where no one but the grasshoppers can enjoy it) and split grocery bags are no fun at all. Paper bags are either hard to carry or the handles fall off.

#8. Supercilious does not mean something that is very funny. (This was something that the younger crew members learned.)

#9. When in Nebraska, do as the Nebraskans do and eat ice cream. However, when one walks to the store in the cold and drizzling rain to get the ice cream, one should remove one's hat and gloves during purchase. Otherwise, one should be prepared for the ridicule of the cashier.
Also, the best place to get ice cream is Cody Park in North Platte, NE.

#10. The underpasses and bridges over the interstates are high enough, and everyone knows it. Just for fun though, we like to discuss these hazards. The conversations sound like this.
Commodore: 13'11? Can we get under that?
Captain: Yes. We can. We're 12'6. Besides, we went under 13'6 yesterday.
Commodore: That's right. I just like 14'2 so much better.
Pause.
Commodore: What about the air conditioners?
Captain: That Tractor Trailer Truck just went under. He's taller than us.
Commodore: Oh. Right. Okay.
The underpass is safely navigated, but both the Commodore and the Captain duck.
Commodore: You ducked.
Captain: You ducked.
Commodore: Reflex.

Promotions, Crab Claws and Travels.

2009-09-20T20:19:00.000-07:00

Before we left AL, the Boy began a fierce and cheerful campaign to be promoted to Able Seaman. His efforts involved learning to swim under water, doing all things without murmuring or complaining, and hardest of all for our Boy, laughing at himself. His smiles, and "I will gladly do that for you!s" have paid off. The Boy is a Boy no more. He is officially A.B. 2.

The A.B.2 takes a moment to reflect on his years as the Boy.

Then he is overcome by the joy of it.

It has often been noted amongst the crew that we are fed much better when we are "roughing it" out on the road. The Admiral has superior tastes, and when we are traveling with him, we attempt to satiate his delicate appetite. Naturally, most of the crew does not object to this. Sadly, there are times when my tastes do not coincide with the Admiral's, and I have to recourse to Peanut Butter sandwiches and bread and cheese dinners. Which leaves me plenty of time for picture taking.

The Admiral's first home cooked meal since...um...his last home cooked meal.
A.B. 1 defending his crab claws. The crab claws were requested by the Admiral.

Did I mention that the 1st Mate really loves crab claws?

The Admiral demonstrates proper crab dissecting techniques.

Now on to travels.
We have left Thedford behind and moved our camp on to Alliance, NE, 120 miles down Highway 2. Both Alliance and the drive we made today are familiar to us, but it never gets boring. The Sandhills of Nebraska offer so much to look at. Today, the crew and the Commodore are convinced that a bird we saw was a golden eagle. Maybe it really was an eagle. The Highway-2 Scenic Byway cd narrator claims that it is possible. Maybe it wasn't an eagle. Quite frankly, it doesn't really matter what it was. It might have been a hawk. It was beautiful, and we were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the beauty. That's all we're really looking for on this journey.

Trees, a rare sight in NE.

Trains. Not a rare sight at all and On and On and On....
the whole reason we are out here.

A.B.2 got this picture of the cows grazing.
And a great shot of the windshield wipers.

Thedford, NE

2009-09-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

As we drive across the vast expanse of America, we gaze out of our windows, interested, but growing more and more detached. The sights are splendid and awesome, but so much at once can become overwhelming. It becomes difficult to recall towns or cities, or even what state we are in.
Then, through the fog of a thousand and more miles, there appears on the horizon a clear speck, beckoning like a lighthouse. Nearly 1500 miles from home, we come across a familiar harbor; a place of friends in an indifferent territory.
Two years ago, we knew of Thedford, NE only as it was reported to us: "the most boring place in the world." It is true that Thedford is sixty miles from the nearest town with a Wal-mart, and that it lacks some of the attractions of larger cities, but it is a far cry from dull. During our first three week stay, our time was stretched between the Art Gallery, the historical museum, the county fair (which included a parade, a root beer float social and a bull riding competition besides the usual fair fare) Nebraska National Forest Bessey Division .We didn't have a dull moment.
The inhabitants of Thedford are far more welcoming than we have found almost anywhere else in our travels. The city has only 243 residents, so they make up for it by being incredibly memorable. The Sheriff, for instance, can be found patrolling the highways, or he might be found waiting tables in the Arrowhead Cafe, working as a paramedic at a local bull riding competition, helping locals out with water pressure issues, or helping out in the grocery store.
Athough it's been two years since our three week stay in Thedford, and our visits back have been few and far between, the owners of the Arrowhead Lodge, the hotel where we stayed that summer, have welcomed us back every time, whether we are staying over or just dropping in for lunch.
The Boys and the dog and the Arrowhead Sign.

The art gallery is a small building, but it is chock full of beautiful paintings, drawings, sculptures, and photographs. The volunteers who run, as well as contribute to the gallery are generally ready to chat about the Sandhills, the art in the gallery, and whatever else, as long as they receive a signature in their guest book in return. I attended an art workshop there, and the Commodore, after spending two and a half weeks looking for a painting that she wanted to buy, fell in love with a painting that another artist, Dawn E. Bryant was working on and bought it on the spot. It was a rare experience, so she remembered us when we saw her in the gallery on Wednesday and mentioned it . This is the painting the Commodore has.

The Art Gallery

The museum is a similar endeavor, with plenty of information and history rolled up in a very tiny exterior. The museum includes some very unique items and collections, such as their display of all of the few hundred types of barbed wire. Before we visited the museum, we didn't even know that there was more than one type of barbed wire.
The Museum

Then there's the library, where the boys were welcomed into children's hour, and got to make kaleidoscopes.
.The Library
And of course, there are the miscellaneous attractions and plagues.
.
Above: Horses we spotted while walking to the store.
Below: A locust the compared to a tennis ball. Sandspurs stuck to my feet.

Thedford does have a major drawback. Pizza. It seems a little absurd that that should even matter. When one really, really wants pizza, however, and there is no oven available, and no place to get pizza for sixty miles....
We have discovered 2 fail fail proof solutions: the cheap way, and the expensive way.
Expensive= Buy an RV. Then, you can make your own pizza whenever you want.
Cheap= Buy a frozen pizza. Go to the Thedford City Park, where they have grills and plenty of trees that provide wood for a fire. Build a fire and let the flames die down and the wood begin to smolder. Place pizza on the grill. Wrap everything up with aluminum foil. When it is finished, the result is very close to a brick oven pizza. Thus, the only major fault to be found in Thedford is negated.

We think that we will be moving westward tomorrow or the day after. We will move on to Alliance, where we have been, and then on to Wyoming. I can't wait to see what actually happens.

Mansfield, MO

2009-09-15T08:12:00.000-07:00

Monday September 14, 2009

Yesterday, when the Commodore wanted to know which of two routes to choose through Missouri, I foolishly opened my mouth. She listened to me, and followed my chosen route. The drive is along state roads and US highways, not interstates, so there are some disadvantages, slower speeds, roads that aren't quite as good, and the real kicker, the exits are not listed in The Next Exit. BUT there is one enormous bonus in that it cuts down on the distance we travel through Missouri. Missouri is the unfortunate State that, way back on our first voyage, we hit just as we were getting really tired. And we apparently hit it just as every skunk in Missouri decided to cross the road and get hit, and all of the hog farmers decided to move their livestock. (By the way, the smells of hog and skunk combined are the only thing I have ever smelled that rivaled the smell of exploded rotten egg mixed with Lysol as the worst combination of smells.) The 2nd Mate found a note that I wrote in the The Next Exit book that sums it up "The landscape does its best to be romantic but the perfume of the air foils its attempt." Add to that the fact that it took us the better part of two days to get through Missouri, and you have the boys' nickname for the state "The Show Me How to Get Out of Here State."
Obviously, I picked the route with the fewest Missouri miles. It is also the route that winds through hundreds of miles of mountain roads through Arkansas and Missouri. I was afraid that the Commodore would never forgive me, or allow me to navigate again, but there was a surprise that saved me. The road passes within two miles of Rocky Ridge Farm, where Laura Ingalls Wilder lived, and wrote her Little House Books. The Commodore and I had been on the road before, and we had steeled our hearts and driven on, for the crew was at home, desperately awaiting our return (and Tallulah's arrival, as that was when we had gone to fetch her) and we had no time to spare. Not this time. We could not pass the place by twice.
So we went in. There is a little museum near the farm house that Almanzo and Laura built, and their "Rock House," which Rose had built for them, was up the road a little. We did not see the Rock House. The museum and the farmhouse were all we had time for.
Immediately inside the museum, so that it is almost the first thing that one sees is a large glass display case with the words "Pa's Fiddle" written across the top. I was simply enraptured, but very quietly. The kind where you can't say anything because it would ruin everything, because no one else could feel quite the same, and it's no use trying to explain because words don't cover it. Pa's fiddle, Laura's lapdesk and sewing box and Ma's books. All truly amazing. There were also newspaper clippings that were quite thrilling. It is one thing to read in The Long Winter about Almanzo driving forty miles to get food for the town, but it feels entirely different to read in a newspaper that he saved the whole town from starving. And of course, there is the glass bread plate that survived the fire, sitting in a display case looking just as it does in the picture in the book. And pictures of all of the people.
Then we moved on to the tour of the house. The first room one sees is the kitchen. It is miniscule, even for a kitchen, but it was originally the one room log house that they lived in for a year after moving to Missouri. In the next room, is the collection that rescued me from the realm of the Commodore's wrath, the thing that she was apparently most looking forward to, whether or not she knew it. Laura's Blue Willow China. It is all set out on a table, looking magnificent. I was more excited about Laura's favorite chair, standing beside the table, and a chair made by Almanzo in the opposite corner. To each his own.
Everyone else had their favorite bits. The Boy was just excited to be there, but I think the gift shop was his favorite. The 1st Mate liked the fiddle and the wagon that Almanzo, Laura, and Rose traveled in. The 2nd Mate and the A.B. liked a cypress table that Almazo built. The A.B. was also highly impressed by the chicken coop fastened to the back of the wagon. He has suggested creating a similar contraption for Tallulah. I don't think that that will happen, but who knows. He can be very perservering when he gets an idea in his head.
My favorite part was being in the same place as the person who wrote the books that I have loved for so long. Although I detested most of them until I was about thirteen, I did love Farmer Boy the very first time I read it when I was about eight.
So there is one dream accomplished. Time to move on. To Nebraska, where we finally are. We arrived last night around ten thirty. The Admiral already had a hotel room, so we parked Tallulah outside and crashed. Lo and behold, the parking lot was about a hundred feet from the railroad tracks. Ah the dulcet sound of freight trains thundering past in the night, blasting their horns. There is no lullaby like it. Nor are there any less effective ones known to Man or Border Collie. But we are in NEBRASKA! so the trains are forgiven, as is the early morning cold-enough-to-see-your-breath weather. And the smell of the Broken Bow feedlot. At least there are no skunks yet. If there were though, I would probably forgive them too.

Bridges

2009-09-13T17:52:00.000-07:00

Today started out pretty early. We got out of Clanton enthusiastically, and acceptably early, although it was definitely not one of our most stellar take offs. We drove happily along singing Jim Croce songs and Irish drinking songs as loudly and off key as we could manage. (Q. How do you know you are traveling with Catholics? A. The song Moonshiner is casually paused to say a prayer for a passing ambulance.) On we went, as happily as larks until we reached good old Memphis. We have, in past voyages, discovered various ways of getting through Memphis. (Going through at rush hour is not advised.) Today we thought that we would slip through without any trouble at all, since it's Sunday, and beach season is mostly over. We got stuck in traffic at the on ramp to I-55 N. We inched along the ramp up onto the interstate to find (gasp) three police cars blocking the way. Oh Joy. I am very grateful for all of the good that cops do, but standing on the interstate laughing at the baffled look on poor lost RVer's faces as they are forced onto the SOUTHBOUND ramp is not a public service.
The part of Memphis we were driving through is not at all RV friendly, being filled with 11 ft overpasses and other such beautiful things. In fact, we were back in Mississippi before we could turn around.
So the day was seriously delayed as we plotted our alternate route (which was a better road anyway) and ran into road work on the I-40 bridge as well. We were well into Arkansas before the road cleared.
There's really no excuse for me to complain. This is traveling. There are going to be setbacks and traffic jams and closed bridges. Our job is simply to get past them all without ripping each other to shreds.

Crrreewww!!!! Start your Engines!

2009-09-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

Here I am, back from a lovely vacation full of bright sunny days and cheerful people and...Not.
We did not leave Tuesday Sept. 6 as planned. Instead, we packed, and I was forced to make telephone calls (I detest telephones. I mean I really loathe them. Unless I need to call a family member.) to my school to straighten out a crazy "miscommunication" problem that resulted in my being four days late for the beginning of my classes.
We are now officially underway though. We packed the necessities of the entire house into a thirty-four foot space in a week. (We took longer than that for the books, but the rest was done in a week.) We even squeezed in time to do some visiting and redecorating. Tallulah is now officially Named. (Picture to follow.)

We left today, Sept. 13 (Good thing none of us suffer from Triscadecaphobia) at around 3:15. We stopped in Montgomery for Mass and supper (Gyros. Thanks Admiral!) and then made it all the way to the Peach Park in Clanton, AL. We plan to drive all day tomorrow and see where that lands us.
It is hard to believe that after 2 years we are actually going through with this. But the camper feels like home (except that certain persons are not here) and the excitement is building.
Maybe it will seem real tomorrow.

The Y.S. Wagon

2009-09-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

The Boy, the Dog and the Y.S. Wagon. That's Tallulah in the background.

In a few days the Y.S. will be placed on yard duty. She will be cranked regularly by my grandmother, or the Harbor Master's fiance or the Admiral's friend, or whoever is enlisted for the job. As she will not be mentioned again for a while, I am giving her her full share now.
The Y.S., a 1985 Pontiac Station Wagon was acquired shortly after the birth of the Boy. She sported several undeniably wonderful features. 1) Nine seats. Everyone could fit into one car. 2)Decent gas mileage. 3) Low actual mileage, and only two previous owners. 4) A truly remarkable air conditioner. The Commodore could freeze us out. Anyone who has driven though the south jammed in a car with as many other people as can fit and no air conditioning will understand what a boon being a little cold can be. We drove to New Orleans to get the Y.S.. She had a dent on one side in the front, just behind the bumper. The interior was beautiful, considering that it was an almost twenty year old car.
She does not look like that any more. Seven years of us really shows.

On December 6, four or five years ago, we were driving home from town. It had been raining. A cat ran in front of the car and the Harbor Master swerved. We ended up in the ditch on the side of the road. The car was straddling a huge mud puddle. She was sitting longways neatly between a telephone pole and a signpost. Nobody was hurt. A couple stopped to help and the guy borrowed a tractor from across the road to pull the car out. We drove her home, and the Admiral beat most of the dents out of her that weekend.

We've blown a few tires in the Y.S.'s many miled career. Once, we lost a hubcap beside the interstate. We saw it lying there in the median for a long time after that. Another time, when the Admiral was not with us, a kindly police officer stopped to help us change the tire. Now, the Admiral can change a tire. It doesn't usually take much longer than ten minutes. The Admiral's children are not accustomed to being stressed out by a tire change. It took the cop 3 hours. Yet another time, it took a DOT guy and a truck driver 45 minutes. What lesson did we learn from this? If one does not keep good tires on one's car, one ought to travel with a mechanic.

Three years ago we took our first major trip in the Y.S. We drove to Staunton, VA. That trip went so well that we went on another the next summer.

We decided to go on the trip on July 4, and left for Nebraska, where the Admiral was working, on July 8. We jammed six people, clothes for two weeks, school books, reading books, drawing things, games, and camping gear in and on the Y.S. and drove 1,304 miles to Thedford, NE (pop. 248). Somewhere in the cornfields of Missouri, the headliner gave out and collapsed on our heads. We stuck it back up with tacks and drove on. We stayed in Nebraska for two weeks and a few days. During the two weeks, the Y.S. visited a garage to have her brakes fixed. (This was mostly thanks to Kansas City, MO, where we did not hit the gas truck in front of us.) Then she visited again to have her starter replaced. (This was thanks to some very touchy behavior when the Admiral was starting her) We stayed an extra day because the Admiral stuck her keys in his pocket when he went to work. (We have a thing with keys. The Admiral compulsively pockets them and the Commodore looses them. On a side note, I am pleased to report that we finally did find the Commodore's spare key after she lost it a few days ago. It was locked in the car along with the regular set.) No one was upset about our extra day. Thedford, Nebraska is a really great place with wonderful people, even if it is sixty miles to the nearest pizza place.

In St. Louis, MO which is on the way home from Nebraska, there lives a perfect match to our dear Y.S.. The twin makes the same rattly noise that the Y.S. does, and also has some damage to the front end. We know all this because we were in the St. Louis Zoo when we saw the Y.S.'s double. This was, of course, the same day we locked the keys in the car. We knew exactly how easy it was to break in, because we had just done it. Enough said.

We returned to Nebraska in October of the same year. This time, we really pushed our luck and went 1,428 miles away to Alliance, NE. Alliance, Nebraska is the home of Carhenge and the lady who brought art to western Nebraska. She has a beautiful little art gallery downtown. It is just down the street from a shop that sells the absolute best fudge that we have yet found. There is also a gorgeous library that has a reading room complete with a fireplace. And a pond where a Canada Goose lover can see all the geese she wants. There is also the playground where the Boy got a mild concussion.

We went to Memphis in the Y.S. and visited Graceland, where the Boy became an Elvis fan.

On Holy Thursday of 2007 I convinced the crew that there was a chance for us to go to Texas to meet the Admiral for Easter. The Crew had an obsession with Texas. We cleaned and packed and got ready while the Commodore was out. She called around noon and ordered us to be ready to leave that afternoon. We drove to Dallas, Texas that night. We were traveling with another family, and we all stopped for a rest somewhere near the eastern border of Texas. We alloted exactly one half hour for the stop, but at the end of the half hour, the drivers voted for another half hour. When we pulled out of the rest area, there was a wreck on the interstate. Using the crude evidence that we gleaned in passing, we pegged the wreck at about a half hour old. Divine Intervention is a beautiful thing.

Since we acquired Tallulah, the Y.S has mostly been retired from long voyages. The last great voyage of the Y.S. was when we went to see the Leonardo DaVinci exhibit in Birmingham, AL. The day started off beautifully with a horn malfunction. The horn just blew itself at random, with no prompting from the Commodore. Not good. An hour and half a dozen disconnected wires later, we found the one that killed the horn. We then faced the much easier task of returning all of the other wires to their proper places. Over the phone, the Admiral assured us that none of the wires were connected to things that work anyway. Either he was right, or we put the wires back correctly. Then we left town. The exhibit was great. It is very cool to look at five hundred year old sketches. We had a picnic lunch in front of the museum, and then made the unexciting drive back to Montgomery where we planned to spend the night. There, we went to a drivethrough for our supper. The Y.S. has some window problems. We knew about them, but decided to chance it anyway. It was a bad day to chance things. The Commodore's window did not go back up. We gave up after we had exhausted the list of ingenious ways to fix a reluctant window button without tools. We went to our hotel and cleared the Y.S. of all valuables (ha!) and perishables (Leonardo DaVinci posters) and left her to her own devices. It rained that night. In the morning, the Y.S. retaliated by refusing to start until the Commodore threatened her. Then she started, allowed us to back up into the middle of the parking lot and stalled. Eventually, she did start and run as she should. Then the window went up. We have stayed away from drivethroughs since then.

These are the adventures that created the Y.S..

For Medicinal Purposes

2009-09-04T06:37:00.000-07:00

The crew has recovered from the flu. There is a little lingering cough, and we are still watching the A.B., who had the worst case of it, but he seems to be okay. Everyone's good, except me. It is lonely to be sick after everyone else gets better.
I am employing a combination of my family's most trusted methods of recovery for this flu.
Method 1 (the Admiral's method): Ignore it. Keep working. Sweat it off. Take Airborne. Get Over it.
Method 2 (the crew's method) : Collapse somewhere and wait for someone to bring you pudding or soup or vitamin c drops. I don't like soup though, so they usually don't bring me any of that.
Method 3 (the Commodore's method) Take that stuff that starts with an O. Rest. Megadose on vitamin c. Drink orange juice.

Besides these things though, isn't laughter the best medicine? On the off chance that it works, here are a few things that make me laugh.

Rudolph Nuryev dancing with Miss Piggy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NjMsBHELh8

The Commodore stranded herself by locking her keys in her car.
The Boy: Where's Mom?
Me: In the Rite Aid Parking lot.
The Boy: Yeah, but where's the right parking lot?

We never did find the key that would unstrand the Commodore. Instead, we sent her the A.B. He has long, skinny arms. The back window of the Y.S. is broken. It can be pushed down a little, with very little trouble, but only a person with long skinny arms can get in. We know this because the Commodore is terrible with keys. Two years ago, we locked the keys in the car in the St. Louis Zoo parking lot. The Commodore pried the window open, and the A.B. unlocked the door. When we got to the hotel that night, I found the spare key in my pocket.
Which reminds me of the time that the door of Tallulah jammed in Arkansas. We assumed that since the door wouldn't open, we had locked it. We had one set of keys with us, but the other was inside. I had had some trouble with the keys that we had, so we figured it just wouldn't work. The window was open, because the dog was inside, so all we had to do was push back the screen and hoist the Boy in. HA! The bottom of the window is six feet in the air. Then the Boy couldn't get the door open. So we put the A.B. in, but he couldn't get it either. Finally someone just pulled really hard on the handle and it opened. After that, we learned that if you slam the door, it jams.

I think I feel better already.

Pack Rat

2009-09-01T19:58:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I decided to have a shot at packing my room. I've found out something interesting about myself. I am a Pack Rat. Somehow, in the 19 years I've known me, I've missed that little fact. It would have been nice to know.
I've decided that the source of my pack ratism is that I have a habit of attaching too much history to too much stuff. I wouldn't have a problem if it was just stuff. I could get rid of that. The trouble is that the stuff reminds me of things I would prefer not to forget. I have a plastic cone about six inches tall that came from Wiregrass Catholic Youth Day 2006. It is covered in signatures of friends as well as persons I don't even know. It was a great day though. I have a golden colored feather from Matilda, a very talented chicken; the last of the Golden laying hens. She came when she was called, caught tiny pieces of bread, stole food from the dog's dish, beat up the cats when they tried to steal from her, and survived multiple attacks from hawks and dogs. We found the feather the day she was tragically murdered by a neighborhood dog. I have a rabies tag that belonged to my first dog. I have a dragon puppet I helped my mom make for my brothers. Sadly, the dragon was slain the first time he faced a knight. He was slain very thoroughly indeed.
I thought I was doing really well after I finished mercilessly going through my wardrobe. Throwing away holey t-shirts and worn out shoes is one thing. Tossing Matilda's feather is entirely different. So I'll keep the feather on the off chance that I remember where it came from when I have finished traveling the world. The great thing about feathers and rabies tags is that they don't take up much room. I'll stash the cone somewhere, and decide what to do with it another day. I'll throw away something else instead. Something that doesn't make me remember anything. I'll throw it away just as soon as I come across it.

August 29, the antepenultimate day of the Month.

2009-08-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

The Stowaway's cake. I'll have to get a picture of the Boy's cake from the Stowaway.
I made the Stowaway a birthday cake yesterday (the 29th). Making anything a surprise for the Stowaway is easier said than done. Making a surprise in the kitchen is impossible. She claimed medical reasons for needing food (remember, she has a weak constitution) so the surprise wasn't nearly as good as the Boy's birthday cake was. (He turned seven on the 25th) He is a total NASCAR fan and a Lowes (Jimmie Johnson) fan. I managed to convince him that I was decorating his cake like the Home Depot (Joey Logano) car. I tried really hard to make his cake look like Jimmie Johnson's car, but there was a food coloring malfunction (the food coloring turned out to be light blue, not navy) and that failed in the first step. Just as I had decided that half the tube was as much color as I could add without bad aftertaste setting in, I realized that the color was exactly right for The King from Cars. Fortunately, the Admiral is a fan of Richard Petty, so the Boy is also a fan of The King. So that's the cake he got.
The Stowaway got a much more simple cake, since a) she wouldn't stay out of the kitchen, b)she is 21, so the outside of the cake isn't so important and c) she has a weak constitution and too much sugar is bad for her, so it's okay if the icing layer is a bit thin. Really though, it was a pretty cake, according to the Harbor Master it was "Happy and Sunshiney like the Stowaway when she is in a good mood." It also tasted good, which is important as well. Persons well enough to leave the house went to Mass last night, so that the girls could get an early start on their drive to FL (they didn't) and so that we didn't have to leave the sick ones during the day.

Today, the penultimate day of the month, was a day for resting and recovering. It was also the day that I realized we have nine days before the day we plan to leave. There is so much to do between now and then that it is really ridiculous. We are old hands at packing on a moment's notice. No big deal. We'll be fine. Piece of cake. All we have to do is finish packing up all of the books, clothes, things we won't need etc., find homes for three cats, some chickens and a tankful of guppies, pack the camper, and find out where we're going. And I start school on the day before we leave. Wahoo!
It's gonna be great.

Growing up

2009-08-28T19:21:00.000-07:00

Above: The Harbor Master's thrifty tip. Reuse the same Ziploc Bag for four years.
Below: The Stowaway prefers to dig out lost baggies of quarters.

Sunday, the college girls are leaving for college. The day after tomorrow the Harbor Master and the Stowaway are departing for the sunny tropics of south Florida. The house will be quieter. I will have an uncontested right to the front seat in the car. My dog will be able to eat without the Stowaway fussing that she's in the way. Their belongings, which have threatened to completely smother the house since the day they came home will be packed into the Harbor Master's little car and drive away. The girls have driven me crazy for three months. Not a day has passed that I couldn't find some reason to complain about them. Now, with only a single day left I know that I'll miss them.

This, to me, marks the end of the summer more definitely than fall ever could. It is an end to middle-of-the-night-no-boys-allowed (excepting, of course, the Harbor Master's fiance) movies. It's the end of sitting up half the night joking about how crazy Mom can be or how loopy Dad is getting in his old age. It's the end of the summer do-you-remembers and time for the fall split up. The last one. The next time the girls come home, the Harbor Master will get married. So this year it isn't just the end of summer, it's the end of all of us being kids. It's good bye to pretending that being grown up is a long way away. It's hello to Oh My Gosh I'm Going to Be Twenty in SIX MONTHS. Which, I guess is the reason that this parting is at as hard as the first time they left.
Fortunately, tomorrow is the Stowaway's birthday, so we'll have a reason to party. Ha! Take that back to school!

Cardinal Lessons

2009-08-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

The 2nd Mate and the A.B. officially have the Swine flu. The 1st Mate seems to be going down as well, and I don't think the Boy will make it through unscathed. Now that we know we have the Swine flu it is actualy a lot less scary than when it was a mystery disease. According to the doc, the best thing for everyone but the Stowaway (she has a weak constitution) is to get it and have immunity to it.

Anyway, while I was making supper for all of these flu victims, I happened to look out the window and spot a cardinal sitting in a tree. This particular cardinal, Fred, is marked by extraordinarily bright plumage. He is also surprisingly tame. Fred and his mate, Mrs. Peppering built a nest in the rosebush outside a bedroom window. The nest had been abandoned earlier in the summer by some other bird, presumably because they couldn't stand the noise. Mr. and Mrs. Peppering didn't mind the noise, which was good because the boys spent the entire thirteen days of incubation, and even more, the ten days of the chicks growing up with their faces mashed against the window. During the twenty-three days that they lived there, we all became closely acquainted with the chicks. We watched Mrs. Peppering and Fred slave to keep the chicks' stomachs filled. The A.B. took pity on the poor overworked parents and dropped an occasional bug into the nest. This was strictly against orders.
On day ten the chicks began to bail, with some help from Fred. Within two hours the chicks were flying awkwardly around in the clump of trees in front of our house. Mrs. Peppering was the only one who looked distressed. While she seemed to approve of the chicks' leaps out of the nest, she also seemed determined to herd them back in again. By the end of the day they had disappeared, never to return again to the home of their youth. Fred and Mrs. Peppering also became rare sights.
It was strange that Fred showed up today. This morning the Commodore mentioned my being an "adult child living at home." Although I realize that she's right, and that I have to be careful about "sucking up all of the air" that is needed for the younger guys, it was still a little frustrating. Seeing Fred gave me a mental image that gave me an idea that led to understanding. I am perched on the edge of the nest. It isn't big enough for me to fit in all the way, but I'm not ready to jump quite yet. My mom is trying to look after the little guys on the inside, and trying to shove me out of the nest and herd me back into it at the same time while I am also trying to jump and balance on the ledge at the same time. It makes for some prickly moments to work through. We'll get over them I think, as long as God keeps sending cardinal messages.

Introducing the Crew...and Co.

2009-08-25T19:33:00.000-07:00

The crew is the result of reading Arthur Ransome's Swallows and Amazons. It has been in existence for a little over 2 years, and most of the persons in my immediate family are regularly referred to by their titles. My dad is the Admiral, or, occasionally the Dadmiral. Mom is the Commodore. The looks that persons give a kid when he yells "Wait up, Commodore!" across a crowded parking lot are really funny. I was elected Captain in the early days of the crew, and at the same time my brothers (12, 10. and 7) were appointed 1st Mate, Able Seaman and Ship's Boy according to age. My younger sister joined the crew at a later date (just before our first voyage) so she is the 2nd Mate, even though she is older than the other crew members. The crew has had to learn to work very closely together. Literally. We've spent quite a lot of time in seriously cramped quarters.
My older sisters, both away at college, were also noticed. We have the Harbor Master, responsible for finding places to anchor for the night while we are traveling, and the Stowaway, who slipped aboard on an Easter Voyage. Last, and yes, probably least, is the Ship's Dog, Robynne, who protects the crew from the dangers of wild dogs, potentially rabid squirrels, and staying inside all day. She is also Guardian of Tallulah when the crew goes ashore.
We named a little tin rowboat the Silver Star and have had quite a few adventures in her. Our beat up station wagon was christened the Y.S. Wagon.(Y.S. for yellow station wagon. Technically, it's a beige station wagon, but that doesn't work nearly as well.) We have since nevigated several 1000+ mile voyages in her. When we acquired a 35ft. R.V. it was understood that she would also need a name. There was some talk of calling her the Silver Star II after our "actual boat" but only the Commodore was really in favor of that. We loaded up the crew and went for a test drive. "How about we call her Tallulah," the Boy said. (Cool Runnings 1993) The vote was unanimous. Tallulah she is.
The Master and Mistress of Swampwood are not crew members, but they were instrumental in the formation of the crew. They provided our first chance for adventure are so enmeshed in all of the doings of the crew that no account could be complete without them.

So the crew: Admiral, Commodore, Captain, 1st Mate, 2nd Mate, A.B., Boy, and Dog.
And Co: Master and Mistress of Swampwood, Harbor Master and Stowaway.
And the Vessels: The Y.S. and Tallulah.

Also, please pray for the A.B., who is going to be checked for the flu tomorrow morning, and the 2nd Mate, who is also sick.