Days 24th & 25th - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Days 24 & 25 - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee

I’m writing this on the 25th since I was not able to get a signal last night. And though I was able to upload the 23rd on the proper day I couldn’t access Yahoo or Facebook to let anyone know. Some of you might have already popped over and have read it, but for those who didn’t, the 23rd is there, in all its glory.

But on the 24th I was ensconced in the lovely Elkhorn Campground which was, I was assured, on the beautiful Elkhorn Creek. Since I could see a creek from my rear window, and it was lovely from what I could see between raindrops, I was inclined to believe them. This campground was outside of Frankfort proper, which is the capital of Kentucky. For those of you who didn’t know this (and that probably means most of you, including me even though I lived here for five years), this is where Senator Mitch McConnell reigns over his conservative constituency. And does a pretty good job of taking care of his constituents, I have to admit.

I hopefully have only two more days on the road where I plan to stop near Knoxville, Tennessee (that would be Sweetwater, where I am now), and after that I should be able to make the drive to Blairsville, Georgia, in one day. It’s so lovely here in this area! Kentucky has been a beautiful state in my mind from the first time I moved here, and after being raised primarily in Tucson, was the second state to awaken me to the incredible beauty of the spring season. In Tucson, if we had enough rains, than we would see umpteen flowers in the wilderness around us come the spring season. And the desert was and always has been lovely to me, no matter what the season, but spring was always the best, at least in my mind.

However, spring also meant the coming of higher temperatures which is something I have always struggled with physically. But Kentucky and Salt Lake City, Utah, the first area, actually, were the areas that made me most aware that the spring season could be lovely, because both offered the flowering trees and shrubs in a display that reminded me anew each year that I could rejoice in the sun's rays and not hide from them in fear. I had not felt that before in my memory and how I grew to love spring after a winter of snow and ice.

Maine also added to my perspective of how the sun gave life instead of wilting everything in it. After a long winter of snow and ice and extreme cold temperatures, even the resulting 'mud season' and "black flies" which proclaimed the melting of the ice-clogged rivers, did not dampen my rejoicing in the increasing rays of the sun as its brightness gave life to the fields once again.

And now it’s autumn, which has always been my favorite season, because I have seen it as no less beautiful or necessary than spring. Because I have always been deeply introspective and because my soul has always gone 'within' to sort things out and to lay fallow for awhile until I've rested and healed and have then become fruitful once more and could share my joy and my love... Because this season has always reflected the natural cycles of the earth and of we, the inhabitants, who are the farmers and the protectors, and who have become as much the natural 'product' of the earth as much as the corn, the hay and the soybeans... This is the season that I have loved most of all.

On this journey, I’ve seen reddish-orange vines changing, and a multitude of trees shifting from dusky green to red/brown as they have entered the season of their change. But there has still been plenty of green around me, and lots of yellow still, especially in the ripening soybean fields and the odd tree that has only begun to change with the tips of its branches. Kentucky has always been a lovely state, in my mind, there has never a question about it. And Tennessee is just as lovely.

And now segue to a different subject. I stopped in Frankfort, KY at the Chamber of Commerce/Tourist Information site to get some information regarding local campsites, there being no KOA‘s in the area. The restored house in which this business was installed was an old Victorian with lots of scroll work and tall windows and tin ceilings. If you have a mind to admire such architectural oddities, than you would have loved this house!

Still known as the “Gooch House,” it was constructed during the 1890’s by merchant John T. Buckley. So where is the Gooch tie-in, you might ask (as I did). Well, George and Sarah Gooch purchased the building in 1919 and it remained in their family until 1978. George died shortly after purchasing the house but his wife continued to reside there and operated a boarding house called the ‘Green Hedges Tourist Home.’ This lasted well into the twentieth century and established the building as a local landmark.

The house, which I greatly admired, is a restored Queen Anne style with the “irregular massing and asymmetrical façade typical of the period.” I put these words in quotes because, even though I’ve taken art history and have studied architectural developments, I mean, really, do you think that I would talk this way? I don't think so!

It’s now painted in an overall color of colonial blue (at least as I perceived it) with a lighter blue and a dark burgundy highlighting the scroll work. There is a lovely wooden veranda which wraps around the front and sides of the house and there are bay windows and scrolled trim with brackets and elaborately decorated posts everywhere. It’s perfectly charming and the tall windows have long, lacey curtains drawn back with complementing tie-backs. Really lovely, if you like this particular period.

Whenever I see how small the rooms are from any time periods from the past, I have to remember just how small we as a people were at that time. I’m an Amazon when compared to the ladies of this time, who grew usually no more than 5 feet tall, perhaps a few inches taller, though there were actually some who grew quite tall when compared to their sisters. They were not the norm at that time, naturally. I would like to be able to equate height with extraordinary independence and individual thinking, and that of great creative minds, but that has not necessarily been the truth. Some of our female leaders in the past were very petite though their bodies housed personalities that were giant in nature. I’m speaking of Lucy Staton and Susan B. Anthony, as I write, both who were ladies with a huge involvement in our womens' rights development and who led the way to what we take for granted today. And they were both of average height with feet so much smaller than mine that I wonder where my height and foot size came from. Huh.

Anyway, back to the Gooch House. Inside you would find the original woodwork, which dropped my jaw with its ornate polished beauty, and included molded trim, chair-rail, wainscoting and lincrusta-treated walls. I had to look this last word up and I found one definition. By the way, we’re referring to wallpaper in this particular context - who knew? And this is from Wikipedia: “Lincrusta is made from totally natural materials, the primary ingredients being gelled linseed oil and wood flour.” Well, of course I had to go look up ’wood flour,’ never having heard of that before.

Likewise from Wikipedia: Wood flour is finely pulverized wood that has a consistency fairly equal to sand, but can vary considerably, with particles ranging in size from a fine powder to roughly the size of a grain of rice. Most wood flour manufacturers are able to create batches of wood flour that have the same consistency throughout. All high quality wood flour is made from hardwoods because of its durability and strength. Very low grade wood flour is occasionally made from sapless softwoods such as pine or fir. Wood flour is commonly used as a filler in thermosetting resins such as Polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride (you pronounce this first!), also known as Bakelite; and in Linoleum floor coverings. Wood flour is also the main ingredient in wood/plastic composite building products such as decks and roofs.

Well, I'll be darned. You learn something new every day!

To continue, lincrusta was originally manufactured in Sunbury-on-Thames until 1918 when it moved to Darwen, Lancashire. It is now produced in Morecambe, Lancashire using traditional methods and many of the original rollers, with the same care and attention to detail as when it was first produced.

Ok, so this is pretty useless information unless you want to restore your house to its pristine original, but at least here’s the source you should begin with.

Some of the gas light fixtures I saw were original to the house and there were, and still are, two double parlors located off of the entrance hall (both now being used to disseminate information). The second floor still contains four bedrooms and a bathroom but they have been changed to offices - well, all except for the bathroom.

The lady with whom I spoke told me that Rebecca Gooch, who founded the popular (?) Rebecca-Ruth Candies, did this in partnership with Ruth Hanly Booe. What they made was bourbon-based candies. The thought did not instill in me a wild desire to run out and taste one of these treats. I had rum balls when I was a child and I did not find them very palatable. In fact, they knocked me flat with their high concentration of rum. And they didn’t taste very good, either. However, these two lovely ladies apparently sold bourbon-balls (and you may assume the level of bourbon was VERY high), among other confections, and the lady with whom I spoke yesterday afternoon confided in me with a whisper that, oh my gawd, she didn’t like bourbon! I assured her this secret was safe with me (yeah, right) but I had to agree with her. The thought of bourbon-balls just did not make me salivate in anticipation. I mean, eew.

Anyway, she gave me information as to where I could find a reputable campground and so now I’m set up in Elkhorn Campground, not far outside of Frankfort. I think one more night on the road should get me to Knoxville, possibly Cleveland, Tennessee, and then I should be able to make it easily to Blairsville.

I had trouble, as usual, getting a signal for both wifi and phone, but I managed to get a connection with Sharon yesterday afternoon and we had our usual marathon phone call before my phone died from lack of a battery charge. The phone was then set to 'recharge" but at least she knows I will be there the day after tomorrow. Yaaaayyy!

I need a break, the kitties need a break, and Le Van Gogh requires a thorough scrubbing, inside and out. While at Sharon’s I need to see to minor repairs (the windshield and two upper windows have minor leaks somewhere and there are other tidbits to be attended to) and it needs to just dry out. And because I’ll be staying in it while everyone gathers at Sharon's, this won’t occur until after everyone has departed. Once everyone’s gone I can move EVERYthing out and let Sharon’s cleaning ladies take over and get it detailed, and possibly acquire a new paint job. At the least it requires a massive outer cleaning and a wax job and I’m quite willing to pay someone else to do this. My body needs a break, so I'm very happy to let someone else do it.

The kitties also need to dry out and their fur has been taking on a slight greenish tinge since we've entered humidity central. Fluffbutt has never experienced this level of water in the air before and she is presently flat out in the front passenger seat and panting, poor thing. Even though she will look a site, I’ve actually been thinking of having her, um, “trimmed’ during the summer months. She suffers so with her long fur, ya know. Then again, she does have her dignity and I will spend my summer months far, far north. We shall see on this subject...

Chopper, who has lived in Maine, Kentucky and now Washington, has been pretty tolerant to the changes in climate. That and her fur is much, much shorter than Fluffbutt’s so she has dealt with the changes a wee bit better. But neither kitties are comfortable, and neither am I, as far as that goes. I’ve never liked humid weather and although Washington was really mildly humid as compared to Kentucky, Maryland, Florida and Puerto Rico, but I could still feel it. And now that I’m back in the south I’m reminded all over again why I have never liked living in humid weather. Yuck.

Perhaps it's the necessity of having a washcloth in reach constantly so I can wipe my brow and neck. Or most likely it was because I was raised from age 4 to 23 such a very dry climate that my body has permanently decided that it's 'inner humidity scale' is set to that of a required dry climate. I can’t remember NOT suffering physical health problems whenever I've been stationed in humid areas. Just one more pointer for me to ultimately stay in the West. Not that I don’t appreciate the beauties of the areas that are more humid, it's just that I don't know that I can live there and make my body happy. And hence, with an unhappy body, I can’t be happy. So, Westward Ho!

Anyway, I have not taken any new photos since it was drizzling all day from Santa Claus, Indiana to Frankfort, Kentucky. And now I’m in Sweetwater, Tennessee and though it's not raining it’s so humid out that just stepping outside the van induces a flood of perspiration that threatens to drown me. I’ll see what I can find in the ‘free photo’ section of both states. If not, you’re stuck with the ones from Santa Claus, Indiana. Oh, well.

Lessons Learned:

That I keep forgetting how sensitive the steering wheel is to the slightest movement.

That if my head turns left, the van will likely follow.

That it’s that sensitive.

That when I combine the lightness of its weight, its height and its width along with the sensitivity of its steering wheel, it’s really a pain in the butt to drive.

Oh, well.

That when Chopper gets bored with lying around waiting for me to finally stop and park some place, she will come up to be cuddled by me.

That this generally poses a problem because it’s really hard to cuddle a cat in your lap when you can’t keep your legs together for her to get comfortable on and she ends up wandering around the front area and generally heads for the dashboard where she’s sure to get your attention. Namely, blocking your vision so you can’t see over her, which means I must take one hand from the steering wheel and lift her up and to the back. And then the cycle begins all over again.

Heavy sigh.

Observations:

I had missed breakfast and stopped at a Burger King to use their facilities and hopefully get a breakfast meal. Unfortunately, I had not moved my watch forward so I did not know that they were now serving lunch. Phooey. And when I ordered a combo meal, the young lady didn’t quite hear me and kept asking me if I wanted the “mill.” “Mill?” I asked, repeatedly, until finally I understood that she was referring to meal! Oooohhh! Yeah, that’s what I wanted!

Yep, I’m back in the south, fer shur!

And speaking of southern, everyone’s accent has shifted (no kidding, Lea). And that I have to remember this and reacquaint myself with the accent. And understand that they might not understand me as well. Interesting.

And déjà vu!

At the last campground in which I stayed, there were more ‘residents’ installed but one really drew my interest. This gentleman had a log cabin which had been raised on blocks (it was never meant to move around, I could see) and was now a definitely permanent resident. I think it was the large propane tank installed outside his cabin, and the permanent sewer connection that convinced me. Interesting.

I figured out where St. Meinrad Abbey is. It was just down the road from Santa Claus. I’ll go visit it when I come back.

That I’ve always had real problems keeping my ‘time’ sense correct when I write. Has that been because I have often shifted between past, present and future in what I have seen and have forgotten to catch myself up? Or has it just meant I'm a lousy writer. Whatever the reason, I no longer have a copy editor to help me, so when you see me shifting in time I hope you will have patience. I try to catch it but I just don’t always see it. Having a really strongly developed imagination makes it difficult sometimes to figure out which time sense I have been actually writing in. Heck, if I've been confused, how could you not be?

That I finally found the button that will shift the speakers from the back to the front. And, I blush to admit it, it was a button right under my nose but was hidden under different uses. I hope you’ll forgive me (blush blush). Larry, I thank you for your generous offer to install a new system for me but apparently it won’t be needed. But I do thank you with all of my heart!

And since I discovered this ‘hidden’ button after fiddling around with the danged radio for the umpteenth time, I have used this 'discovery' to listen to some of the cassette tapes given to me by my friend, Marilyn, and they have referred to development of the spirit, cultural creativity and Donna Eden’s methods of energy healing. What a gift to listen to these while I drive! Thank you, Marilyn!!!

As I think of what I wish to do with my life for the rest of my days, it always comes back to living a life of spirituality, simplicity and one that engages with others in a meaningful way. This mad dash to Sharon’s has been an example of exactly what I don’t want to experience. I don’t want to just stay one night in one place only to wave at the folks and engage them in a very short conversation of who they are and where they have been and where they believe they are going. I want to stay in one place so I can get to meet others, get to know them at a deeper level, whether of like mind or not, and to go on vision quests with them and of my own and explore the sociological and anthropological history and the heart of the people with whom I share a space for a time.

It has occurred to me that I’m something like a sociological anthropological mystical explorer. That I not only want to see the history of a place, I want to feel it. And I want to see and feel how it has impacted the people who still live in this area and I want to know how their culture and old traditions have transcended these times and helped them to adjust. Or not adjust. And I want to know what is not right about today and how we can learn to live in a right-mind thinking, if we put our hearts and our souls to it.

I want to experience on my own the feeling tones of the places I visit. I have been given the gift of sensitivity to the past and present and future, and I want to use this gift in a way that helps others in some kind of worthwhile way. Or not, as I can hear one teacher say. LOL! I have no idea at this time how this will play out - it is simply my intent. We shall see what, as many folks I’ve met describe it, that Spirit decides I shall encounter. And yet beneath it all, I remember that I still create my own reality and it is a joyful one regardless of the limited perspective which I sometimes inflict on it.

Although the journey has already begun, it took this introduction to help me carve out a direction for my own life. I have no desire to view the casinos, the schlock, the souvenirs, the tawdry, and yet I can’t forget that within these sites are people, my people, who are longing and yearning for something more than just the daily drudge. They want something beautiful in their lives and I can't help but agree. And though I know it is futile to seek for beauty in money, drugs, material goods or one-night stands, I sympathize with their journey. Because this has been my journey, and are we not all brethren under the skin?

Day 23 - Santa Claus, Indiana

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Day 23 - Santa Claus, Indiana

No kidding. That’s where I am tonight. I remember seeing this town a couple of times when Jim and I drove this route to go somewhere - probably not back to Owensboro, Kentucky since from Louisville there was a shorter route, kind of, that could get us there quicker. I’m not really sure why we took this route, but whatever the reason, I remember the town of Santa Claus.

The campground I’m in (Lake Rudolph, lord help me) is related to the whole Christmas theme and there are all kinds of cutsie roads in this area named “Santa Lane,” and “Comet Boulevard,” and “Donder Driver.” Just how precious can we get here? Anyway, it’s definitely in the off season because the associated Holiday World is closed. And this fun city of roller-coasters and other assorted rides was always open and doing a booming business whenever we drove by it in the past. Now, however, the entire thing has been shut down for the winter, which is ironic considering we're talking about Santa Claus and all.

At any rate, the campground reflects the off-season mentality because although there were over 200 sites for me to be stuck in, I was given a very nice place near the restrooms (which meant showers, as far as I was concerned) and the laundry facilities, because I asked for them. Otherwise, my little bitty van would have been exiled to outer Mongolia where there were no signs of life anywhere. Still, though I greatly appreciated the close proximity to the showers and laundry facilities, the campground store was closed and I barely had enough change to do two loads of laundry. And when I got back from my shower and laundry visit, I discovered that the air conditioning unit was leaking onto my couch/bed so I had to strip the linens and blankets and hope that I could find some place where I could get more quarters. Alas, this was not to be. The campground store was completely closed and there were no change machines in the laundry facilities. And I had no neighbors, so there was no one in this HUGE campground to whom I could appeal for more quarters. Heavy sigh. Hence, the towels/rags/socks load, which required the hottest setting, had its time cut in half so I could dump in the sheets and blankets in hopes that they might dry a little bit.

Wellllll… They didn’t dry much at all, frankly, so I’m left with using only a sheet tonight on a couch with no memory foam cushion underneath because everything else is still quite damp. Yuck. And because it has been sprinkling all day off and on, the humidity is way up there. Even after I showered I felt as slimy as I did before. The air conditioner has been set to just ‘fan’ so it won't leak some more on my bed and I have a separate battery-operated fan blowing right on my face. I might go through the batteries for this fan all in one night’s usage. Oh, well. I have more.

Tomorrow I’m headed for a KOA just outside of Louisville where I know I can get quarters and properly wash and dry my linens and even if I haven’t gone the requisite 100 miles to get there, I don’t care. I need to get the moisture out of the van before it turns into one giant mold-bearing vehicle. Bleh.

From Louisville I’ll continue east on I-64 toward Lexington and from there down south on I-75 to Cleveland, Tennessee. From there I’ll just be a hop and a skip from Blairsville, but it’s over windey roads and “scenic” drives that generally translates into “longer.” Still, this drive I’m very familiar with as Jim and I have driven it a number of times in the past to reach Sharon’s at earlier gatherings. And then I’ll be there! Yaaaayyy!!!!

Lessons Learned:

That neither I nor the kitties nor the van like really humid weather.

That I’ve known this about myself, at any rate, since I was stationed in Puerto Rico where I felt like I was living in Jello.

That no matter how many times I bathe or how many fans I have blowing on me, in humid weather I still feel slimy.

Ew.

That on the good side, my cuticles have ceased drying up and splitting.

That I have to drink HUGE amounts of water to keep up with the loss through, um, ‘deweyness’ (that’s plain ol’ sweating for those still lost in the good old days).

Yuck.

Observations:

That in Santa Claus, Indiana, there are the following businesses to browse, and some are even open all year long: “The Silent Night Café,” the “Blitzen Kitchen,” the “Holly Tree Christmas and Seasonal Shop,” the “St. Nick’s Restaurant,” the “Frosty’s Fun Center,” the “Santa’s Candy Castle,” and the “Santa Claus Museum.” There’s also an Abbey Press Gift Shop, which is a Catholic gift shop, for those not in the know. Excuse me - this last is in St. Meinrad, Indiana. Wonder where that is?

I was in a line following trucks with lights and flags signaling a ‘wide load’ ahead. I’m not really sure what the ‘wide load’ was, actually. From afar it looked like the biggest bed I’ve ever seen viewed from the broadside. After passing it, which took over half an hour of one car after another braving the left side of the road and even the shoulder to get by, I still couldn't figure out what it was. Except that it was really big and really wide. Interesting.

While driving along on I-64, I saw on the other side of the road going west four huge trucks pulling what looked like the biggest washing machine chuggers of all time. I mean that these were spiral in nature and resembled the central section of a top-loading washer that would swish and churn your clothes to cleanliness. Only these looked like they were four stories high in length. What on earth...?

More loveliness on all sides. The corn fields were laced with a blending of gold, brown, dusky green and orange where they had ripened unevenly. And the soybeans continued their swaths of green in the midst of brown and gold. Such beauty!

And the wildflowers continued with the Goldenrod, the Queen Anne’s Lace, an unknown purple flower and a lovely yellow daisy. Thank the gods that I have not been cursed with allergies, because this land at this time of year would be a disaster. Instead it is a scene of beauty for me and I greatly appreciate it!

Days 21 & 22 - Somewhere east of Columbia, Missouri and now at Mt. Vernon, Illinois

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Days 21 & 22 - Somewhere east of Columbia, Missouri and now Mt. Vernon, Illinois

I added photos from the free stock offered on St. Louis web sites. There wasn't anyplace for me to pull over safely to take my own pictures, so I faked it. I did keep the photo of Fluffbutt just because these were the only two photos I could find that accurately represented what I had seen. Oh, well.

I didn't see the arch of St. Louis until I was headed towards the turn-off to I-64. I hadn't seen any sign of it up to then and I wondered if I would see it at all as I passed by. I shouldn't have despaired because there, over a hill, it rose up before me and shone brightly in the mid-day sun. I'll be back in the future to actually go up to the top and experience what it's like to be inside such an historic site. I also plan to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty - how could I not?

Segue to another subject. The previous night when I stayed in a campground just east of Kansas City (no city proper was around), I noticed that there were several RV’s, mostly trailers, that had appeared to grown roots and were there for the long haul. I think it was the very large gas grills set up outside the side doors, the planters of flowers that bordered the ‘patio’ area, the awnings that were out and looked like they had been out for awhile, and the lawn art. No one puts out lawn art if they’re just hanging around for a couple of days. I think. And yes, there was even a pink flamingo. My old buddy.

I asked the manager, a very young man who looked to be no older than 21, 22, somewhere in there, if folks were living in the campground. He said, yes, there were many who stayed here for long periods since they rented sites by the month, and there was one man who had lived there for years. Huh.

I wondered to myself if this were by choice or more a matter of convenience. I’ve always studied the sociological and economical patterns I’ve seen as I have moved around and this pattern intrigued me. Considering the state of the economy, I’d hazard a guess that this might not have been a choice for some. Perhaps having lost their homes to foreclosure, their trailers were now their sole residence. There were children here, as well as young and older couples, but there were also those who, like me, were just traveling through. Lots of dogs, some on leash, as they have always supposed to be. and some not. No roaming for the kitties here!

Anyway, on I traveled to just a bit beyond Columbia, Missouri, to a little campground called “Lazy Day.” It was a nice campground, well tended, and there were no permanent residents in evidence. And the owner was glad that I was only staying for one night. I hadn't made a reservation since the two I made when I first started out over the Labor Day Weekend. It simply had not been necessary and my little bitty van has always been able to be squeezed in somewhere. As long as I signed up for just one night, I was welcome. Beyond that the campgrounds were always anxious about getting me out of there, and the earlier the better. Ok, I got the hint, and thanks for letting me stay!

In the future, when I probably will rent a site by the month so I can stay in an area to explore, I will definitely make reservations before I do so. Since just using electric and water is very different from a site that also has a sewer hookup, I’d have to specify that as a necessity. Full hookups have included these three offerings as well as cable, satellite and wifi. Wifi has usually been free, however, and I’ve always asked for it when it has been made available. I have not been able to log on with their code to their service, but I have been able to sometimes glom on to their network by picking up their ‘roaming’ signal. Whatever they have wanted to call it, as long as I could access the dratted thing, I have not cared.

Tonight I’m just east of Mt. Vernon, Illinois and this campground is the only one in the area. If I wanted to go on I’d find another one in 19 miles, but I’m too tired to go that far. This campground isn’t as well tended as the ones I’ve stayed in previously. The KOA’s have always been well groomed and most of the independent campgrounds have been ok, especially if they were Good Sam Club members.

But here I’ve only asked for water and electric (I’m going to have to dump at the next stop, wherever that is...) and I’m parked between two trailers (How come the ‘residents’ always seem to be living in trailers? Is it because their vehicles always seem to be pickups?) and neither of the occupants are very tidy. But I keep to myself and my doors are locked and unfortunately the kitties won’t be able to wander today. Right across from me is yet another resident and two sweet doggies - well, they’re sweet to me, anyway - are pegged out on lines. Fluffbutt climbed up on the dashboard to her usual perch and immediately hissed when she saw these pups. I really hope the next campground is nicer and I can let the kitties out for a slink. They’ve been cooped up for three days now and I’d like for them to get more exercise and entertainment value, but until I’m in an area in which I feel safer for myself and for them, no one goes out.

I just checked my phone for the time (I haven’t yet set my computer to the Central time zone) and realized that my danged radio clock was off again by an hour. Heavy sigh. I’ve tried every method I know to reset the time on that danged clock and I haven’t hit the right combination yet. Either I’m going to have to order a copy of the Owner’s Manual for this radio - assuming one still exists, that is - or install a newer and more modern system. Since I loaded up with cassette tapes before I left so I could use the existing system, I’m not inclined to get a new one. How many vehicles do you know that still play cassette tapes? Denise gave me many of hers, a friend, Marilyn, gave me many educational tapes to listen to, and I had a few of my own since I had found a tiny cassette player in the Exchange at the VA Hospital in Seattle. I haven’t invested a HUGH amount of money into cassette tapes but still - while I have the opportunity to play them, why not?

Anyway, I stopped at a Wal-Mart this afternoon and picked up another extra four feet of head phone extension cord so now I have plenty of room to reach from the back speakers to the front. I also picked up a better set of headphones that actually encloses my ears. I was playing my MP3 and listening with the headphones that came with it but they plugged into my ears and my ears were growing weary of this. Hence, the higher-cost-but-easier-on-the-ears headphones I purchased.

And what’s so frustrating about all of this is that I have speakers mounted in the driver and passenger doors up front, BUT I CAN’T FIND THE SWITCH! I have looked everywhere I could think of looking and I simply can’t find where I can turn it from back to front. I’d most likely still have to use headphones even if I did since the van is noisy when I’m driving, but still. The only thing I’ve seen that just might be what I’m looking for is a broken off dial-kind-of-thingie that I can’t budge on my own and is located under the back speaker panel. This is where I plug in headphones and there’s a switch to dial so I am no longer on speakers. But this broken-off-thingie is the only thing I’ve seen. Whatever! At least now I have a long enough headphone cord to read and can comfortably listen to the cassette tapes. About bloody time, don’t you think?

Tomorrow I continue on towards Louisville (pronounced ‘Loo’vill’, ‘Loo-uh-vill’, ‘Looey-vill,’ and frankly however you wish to pronounce it). I don’t think I’ll make it to ‘Loo-vill,” but I’ll make a dent in the mileage. I’ve been able to drive about 150 miles a day before I’ve felt the need to find a campground, which is pretty good. I’m tired when I pull in but feel okay after a good night’s sleep. By the way, last night I was treated to a very nice, small thunderstorm and light rain. It put me to sleep just like that! What a pleasure to hear...

Lessons Learned:

That the Indicator Panel sometimes gives me a false reading on how much more I can go before I need to a) get propane; b) dump the holding tanks; and c) take on fresh water. It has something to do with how level the ground is where I park for the night.

That I’m not sure if it’s just my city water hose or the strength of my hands, which granted, aren’t very strong, but every time I hook up to a faucet I have to use a wrench to tighten the connector.

That the hose has a reverse-screwing-on pattern.

Which means that “leftie-loosey-rightey-tighty,” which I learned in the military, has gone out the window.

At least for the fresh water hose, that is.

Sigh.

Observations (albeit lengthy observations):

While driving through Missouri I spotted two Circle K convenience stores (which I haven’t seen since I was last in Tucson, Arizona), five Hooters (which might have been in the states I have already passed through and I just didn’t see them), and Larry Flynt’s Hustler’s Club. No comment on this last one.

For the first time I’ve seen red leaves in addition to the yellow, gold and brown leaves I’ve passed so far on my drive. Red leaves are so beautiful, don’t you think?

I drove by another one of those “Vending Machine” road signs and again there was no turn-off in sight. Is this just someone’s idea of a bad joke?

That Missouri is another state just cram-jammed full of history all over the place! Mark Twain, one of my favoritists authors, was born here, and Daniel Boone and his wife, Rebecca Bryant Boone, moved here in 1799. There’s a community here that I passed by called Boonville, and guess who it’s named after? No cheating!

I stopped yesterday at a very large ‘country’ store called “Ozarksland” because I was curious to see what they would sell that would reflect the Ozarks area and the folks who had lived there. Perhaps even traditional offerings would be there for me to see and enjoy and appreciate. Alas, I was to be greatly disappointed, I’m sorry to say. The store had nothing for sale that I hadn’t already seen at many ‘country stores’ since I left Washington. Phooey. They just had a bigger selection of them. The same freakish dolls that wore overly ornamented in Victorian dress (see below for comments on this) - these dolls gave me the creeps, by the way, especially the ones that were almost 5 feet tall! Ack! Who wants an unresponsive short person or tall child staring at you all day? And an overdressed small adult or tall child, mind you, but still! Just too creepy.

Anyway, they also had the same crappy wood carvings, the same too-cute-sayings on anything that would hold still for it, the same shot glass collections, the same “Native American” junk that I feel certain would have embarrassed any reasonable Indian man or woman who became aware of how they were being represented - in short, this was your basic generic souvenir shop but with a larger selection. They did have salt water taffy for sale, which surprised me. I had crossed the Missouri River, not once, but twice, and I had not been aware that this was a salt-water river. Perhaps it could be if we were closer to the coast, but here? Nah.

Back to my comments on the Victorian dress of the dolls. Being an amateur (extremely amateur) history buff, I’ve always been fascinated by the Industrial Era and the incredible sociological and economical changes in the population from agricultural to a more urban focus. Hence, I have been more aware of the huge changes that occurred in the lives of the basic middle-class-in-the-making population in England and Europe and I’ve always wondered why “The Good Old Days” was something that we would want to return to.

Mind you, I enjoy knowing how to raise my own vegetable and herb garden, and since I haven’t been able to keep goats or cows, I still enjoy knowing how to make my own yogurt from milk I‘ve purchased from folks who raise their own goats and cows. And I enjoy learning how to cook from scratch and learning how to use simple, old-fashioned remedies to take the place of more modern, but ecologically-harmful store-bought remedies.

But all of this requires WORK, and TIME, and very few folks I know have that kind of existence where they can pursue a lifestyle that makes putting food in their mouths and clothes on their backs such a time-consuming and physically demanding effort. The 'Good Old Days' meant back-breaking work, and in the middle-to-upper-class ladies, wearing such finery meant giving up a whole lot of freedoms that women today take for granted. But don't get me going on that - I'll wear your ear off with the subjects of women's liberation!

But one subject has long made me wonder how and why we could ever think the ‘olden’ days were wonderful, and that has been the subject of hygiene. We, as Americans, at least in the last couple of generations, have mostly been raised to bathe daily, or at least frequently, and to use underarm deodorant and to keep our ‘private parts’ shaved, clean and dry. Commercials in this day are not shy about referring to what would previously have been considered scandalous in the ‘personal hygiene’ area.

So, from everything I’ve read about the ‘olden days,’ we must have been not so clean and really, really whiff! Women were expected to wear not one, but two and even sometimes, three petticoats to maintain their ‘purity,’ and this had to be hotter than heck to wear! Even if all you had to do was consult with the cook to determine the day's menu or go out to the opera at night, it had to be hot! And the amazing number of underclothes worn before the overdress was finally put on, not to mention the corsets that confined womens' organs, including their diaphragms and lungs, would have made it absolutely necessary to always have with them some kind of 'smelling salts' because they would have passed out routinely from a lack of oxygen. How fun was that??!!

And the gentlemen might have sloshed their head and shoulders at the end of a day of working, whether they were in agriculture or in one of the ‘finer’ employments in town. Daily bathing was not considered a requirement until the early years of the 1900’s (and, of course, I could be wrong about this), and might not have been considered an everyday event. Even the ‘aristocracy’ only bathed on an ‘as-needed’ schedule, and ladies did not begin shaving their armpits or legs until the ‘flapper‘ era.

I really don’t give a hang about the leg shaving part, but the armpit shaving has gone a long way towards increasing the hygiene in that area. And since deodorants have been a relatively new market concept, I have to conclude that in the ‘good old days,’ we stank. A lot. A whole lot. And I don’t even need to go farther into how women coped with monthly menstruation (rags strapped to their hips that were afterwards set to soak in a chamber pot for further cleaning).

And while we’re on the subject, has anyone ever asked themselves what using a ‘chamber pot’ meant? I doubt it. We all, men and women alike, had to squat, set aside our pants, skirts, and petticoats, to sit on the danged pot while we used it, and I’m still not sure how we wiped ourselves, or even if we did. No mention has been made in the literature that I’ve read so I’m left wondering if we ever wiped at all. I mean, eew. Again, our hygiene wasn’t wonderful, especially since the chamber pot was generally emptied out by the maids through the bedroom window and into the streets below and woe be unto the innocent passerby who just happened to be strolling below at that time. Yuck.

Some wealthier families actually had the beginnings of a sewer system dug in their estates but this was by no means common. Small wonder that the streets and rivers of London and Europe reeked with the effluvia of the masses. It would not be until the plagues that decimated the population that modern man began to wonder about the connection between the open sewers of the cities and the spread of diseases that could be passed on by the local water systems.

So you see now why I view these Victorian dolls, which are so overtly and opulently decorated, with an amazement and derision for the folks who prefer to see this era as nothing more than an elegant and mannerly time? Phooey!

But enough of that. If I go on I’ll start waxing on the political and sociological place of women in the overall structure of the Victorian society. And you really don’t want to go there. Not with me, at least.

Days 18, 19 & 20 - Onawa, Iowa and Rock Port and Kansas City, Missouri

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Days 18, 19 & 20 - Onaha, Iowa; Rock Port and just east of Kansas City, Missouri

Day 18 - Here I am once again ensconced in a KOA just outside Onaha (emphasis on the first syllable), Iowa. I left South Dakota this morning and I’m now in Iowa which continues the beautiful autumn colors I’ve seen in the long fields of corn and soybeans. What a blessing to be traveling at this time of year! Such browns and yellows and oranges and dusky greens surround me on all sides. How lovely!

Did you know that one of Onawa’s claims to fame is the Eskimo Pie? I didn’t either. But yep, it was created right here in Onawa by Mr. Chris Nelson. There’s even a museum here that features an Eskimo Pie display with one of the original dipping machines. It also has a copy of the contract between Mr. Nelson and Russell Stover; yes, that Russell Stover. I’m not sure what the connection is except perhaps Mr. Stover provided the chocolate for the dipping - the flier doesn’t say. But there sure was a contract and you can sure 'nuff see it at the museum! Too bad I won’t be able to view this historical document, however. Perhaps later...

I had a lovely chat with a husband and wife who were a wee bit older than me while I was staying at the Onawa KOA. They were retired, lived in Prescott, Arizona, and were out traveling and enjoying themselves. They were amazed when I told them what it was like when I lived in Phoenix so many years ago. Prescott was just a hole-in-the-wall tiny town famous only for being one of the filming sites for the 'Billy Jack' movie. And the town claimed that it was the most western town that saw Civil War action. I never investigated exactly what action this was, but I'll go back and check this out in the future. Interesting, though, ya?

Anyway, at the time I lived in Phoenix, which was between 1973 and 1977, around Phoenix itself there was only Sun City for older folks to retire to. Now, however, there are countless subdivisions of both Phoenix and Prescott that have been turned into retirement areas and even Sedona has undergone a tremendous growth (sadly,in my humble opinion). I long for the tiny artsy-fartsy town that I recall. Now it is filled with silly stuff and all kinds of tours that would take you out to where the "energy centers" could be felt and you can experience the 'energy of the cosmos.' I'm not denying that any of this can be felt if you're sensitive enough, but did we have to turn this beautiful red rock country into such a commercial enterprise? Sigh...

This lovely couple had been all over the country and beyond and we compared notes on places we’d been to. They had friends who lived up on one of the San Juan Islands above the Northwest Peninsula but they had never been to Port Angeles. I’m not sure what ferry they took to get to their friends but they had never been to Port Angeles or anywhere else on the Peninsula. They wanted to go back and see more of Washington and I encouraged them to do so because the state is so beautiful.

Other than chatting with this lovely couple, there wasn’t really a whole lot to say about Onaha, so I transitioned on to Rock Port, Missouri, which is in the far upper left of Missouri. It’s so far upper left and I-29 is so close to the border that at times I wasn’t sure if I was in Nebraska, Kansas or still in Missouri. Wherever I was, it was still tornado country and the weather forecast predicted that I was heading into thunderstorms, which would actually be rather nice. As long as the storms didn’t get any stronger than that, that is...

This KOA outside of Rock Port, I had discovered, was really not opened for business yet since the owners just bought it and were still cleaning up. The previous owners had walked away from it and had left $40,000 in debt and no taxes paid for three years. Oops. It had also been left to weather and neglect for over a year so they had been slowly rebuilding it and filling in potholes and repainting and cleaning, etc. I spoke with the lady half of the couple who bought the place and she reminded me very much of Katherine Hepburn in her final years. Same elegant cheekbones, same beautiful features, and even the same palsy and somewhat jerky voice. She assured me that they had been able to hook up the center area where water, electric and sewer were turned on and she was very gracious about letting me spend the night there. When I asked her how much I could pay her for the space, she replied that $10 would be nice if I could spare it.

Well, heck, I was very happy with that since their showers and bathrooms were now clean and open so what more could I have asked for? Ok, so their laundry facilities weren’t quite ready yet, and their store wasn’t open and neither was their pool, but that didn’t matter to me. I could wait on the laundry and I didn’t need anything at the store and didn’t generally use the pool, so that meant little to me. I thanked her for her generosity and wished her well in her endeavors. Her husband had not yet retired and was still working as an electrical engineer in St. Louis. This meant that the couple had quite a commute up on the weekends to work on the site. He would retire before next April when it would be officially opened and until then they would just plug away and be as ready as they could be by the time the next big camping season opened. I told her that I hoped that their business would be a big success once they got it all squared away. They should, frankly, since they were it as far as KOA’s went in this area. In fact there was one on the west side of Kansas City and one just east of the same and you wouldn't find another for miles and miles. Business should be good once they get back open. Such a lovely, gracious lady...

On the way down to Kansas City I stopped at a turnoff for gas and after filling the van (which is getting about 22 mph on the highway, 18 in the city) I went inside to hunt for cat food that I knew Chopper and Fluffbutt would eat. They are very picky and would rather starve than eat what they don’t like. Well, they might just have to starve until I found a store that carried the food they like but I wasn't willing to test them on that. Ergo, I hunted, but, alas, in vain. I also asked where the heck I was since Charmagne had no answer for me and this turnoff had not shown up on either the Rand-McNally map or my KOA directory. The lady in the gas/grocery/crap-I-mean-souvenir shop told me that I was in Percival, Missouri and that I wouldn’t find the kind of cat food I wanted until I got to St. Joseph’s, about 90 miles down the road. Who knew?

Well, I made it to St. Joseph’s and found a Wy-Vee grocery store (that was a new chain of stores in my experience) and filled up on everything either I or my kitties could want, and then I noticed something. It was Sunday, I could tell, because my computer told me or otherwise I wouldn’t know, and I thought everything would be open to cater to the weekend shoppers. Nope. A “Worlds of Fun - Oceans of Fun” amusement park was on my left as I passed and it was completely closed. And this was after 12:00 pm, at which time I thought there might have been a few stores open for the shoppers, but alas. Nothing was open. Does Missouri, or at least this part of Missouri, shut down on Sundays? Indeed, the only shops I saw open were the grocery stores, gas stations and fast food take-outs. Malls were closed, specialty stores were closed, everything was closed. I wondered what the Blue Laws in this area were. Obviously they were still in place, I gather. I had not seen cities of this size that dead on Sundays for a long while. Another ‘huh.’

But, thank heavens, campgrounds were still open for business regardless of the day of the week. And now tonight I’m east of Kansas City on I-70 and I think the closest town is Blue Springs. Actually I’m past Blue Springs and this is just a little campground sitting out in the middle of nowhere. There’s still plenty of stores around me, however, even if they are closed. Just no city proper.

I’ve noticed that I’ve been seeing fewer signs with Indian names and more that have reflected a southern tendency, like 'Savanna Road' and 'Lee’s Point.' I’ve seen many more Cracker Barrel restaurants and I saw my first Bob Evans this morning! May the good lord save me because I don’t stand a chance in either of those restaurants! I haven’t yet stopped at either but I’m very fond of breakfast at Bob Evans because their sausage was made in heaven where all good pigs go when they die. I’ve actually taken sausage back with me to eat at home in the past when I’ve visited one because it was so good. Never mind the fat content, I don’t want to talk about that. And I’m losing weight, so I must be doing something right in my eating habits. If you disregard what I eat for breakfast, that is. That’s the heaviest meal of the day and usually I’m too tired to eat much by the time I arrive at my next campground. Hence, I don’t feel too bad about a little (oh, heck, make it more than a little) fat in my diet. I’m still walking and eating very lightly in the evening, sometimes foregoing lunch altogether. Hence, I will stop at either Cracker Barrel or Bob Evans on one of these mornings and I don’t want to hear a word about it. Riiiight. Like I would. Y’all would simply join me and wonder why I would even question it.

I also saw a billboard advertising my old friend, Dave Ramsey, and his daily radio broadcast. Now that’s southern! And I'm constantly reminded that this is the state where Mark Twain, one of my most favoritist writers, was born. I won't be anywhere near his birthplace in Hannibal, but I'll be sure to visit when I come back.

And that’s enough out of me. Tomorrow I head for St. Louis. Don’t know if I’ll make it, but I’ll try. If not, I’ll try to find a wifi connection somewhere, although that doesn't automatically mean I can access Blogger.com. Last night I could get a signal but I couldn't access anything. Tell me again why I'm paying $90 a month for an internet connection I can't access...

Lessons Learned:

That Fluffbutt likes to go outside and explore while I’m setting up or tearing down.

That she doesn’t like to go out with her harness on. She hates it, in fact.

That as long as I leave the door open where she can see it and can get back in she won’t go far and is just fine.

That maybe I’ll leave the harness off of her and see how that goes.

Except I can’t let Chopper do this.

She likes to go everywhere and definitely is NOT ok without a harness. She might run into the corn fields and get lost.

So she’s got bad luck.

Poor kitty.

That Chopper likes to be cuddled during the long driving day.

That she will not be denied when she wants to be cuddled.

That I’ve learned that if I can coax her to my lap and make her sit I can handle the wheel with just one hand while I stroke her with the other.

That she still wants to climb up on the dashboard exactly in front of me while I’m driving.

That this won’t work. At all.

That as hard as I try I cannot see through kitties, even skinny white ones.

But if I spend time cuddling her in my lap she will sometimes accept only this and allow me, after an appropriate period of stroking, to be dumped behind me so I can drive with two hands.

So, I cuddle.

Observations:

My first sighting of a flock of geese in V-formation near Onawa, only the geese weren’t heading south. In fact they appeared to be going east to west. Is there some other route I’m not familiar with that the geese are taking? Heck, what do I know about southern routes for geese?

A small reminder that we are in tornado country: A sign near the KOA pool in Onawa that says it’s heavily reinforced concrete and in case of ‘inclement’ weather we should take refuge in the pool. Well, that’s fine and dandy except the pool is filled with water and still in use. And there’s no diving board so except for the one ladder which would most likely just break off in a really good storm, what are we to hold on to? Personally, I’d just detach my van from the water and electric and get the heck out of there. The pool idea just doesn’t make me feel that secure…

Lots and lots of road construction going on wherever I have been. Looks like several states have been taking advantage of the Stimulus Package.

Either I’m still in recession country or it’s just a reminder that I’m in the “off season” because most of the “information areas” have been closed two/thirds of the week, as are the museums, so I can’t go in and peruse. And they always seem to be closed on The Day I come through. Sigh. Even several KOA’s have had only partial hours leaving we travelers to select a place on our own, hook up and then come back and tell the employees when they get in the office around 4:00 p.m. Apparently we are an honest lot because no one has reported being taken advantage of, and for that I'm glad.

Road sign out in the middle of nowhere that says ‘Vending Machines.’ There’s no turn-off for at least ten more miles so I’m wondering if I should be looking in the soybean fields on my right or left for this wonder.

An ecologically and business-friendly way to use old transport cargo storage containers - turn them into highway advertising billboards, which several folks have apparently done along this road. Makes sense - the containers are large, very cheap, easy to paint and I doubt that the rental fee they might have to pay to park them there is larger than a billboard sign would cost.

Beautiful goldenrod, cornflowers, Queen Anne's Lace and unknown purple flowers follow the highway on both sides. I have always loved this combination of flowers and colors and if I thought I could take a photo that would show their beauty, I would. And the prairie grasses grow tall between the road and the fields of crops! How lovely, and it doesn’t take much imagination to see what the hills would have looked like with only the grasses stretching as far as the horizon or the bison or buffalo that once grazed upon the prairies in such huge numbers. Oh, how lovely!

Days 15, 16 & 17 - Belvidere, Wall, Chamberlain and Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Days 15, 16 & 17 - Belvidere, Wall, Chamberlain and Sioux Falls, SD

I’m writing this from the KOA just north of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I would have posted sooner except I’m still having problems finding a local signal. Heck, I couldn’t even get a cell phone signal there for a bit. I do really love these out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere places, but I pay the price with no communication ability. Oh, well.

I stayed near Belvidere after leaving Rapid City and lessee, what can I say about the area? Well, it’s as lovely as any place I’ve seen since leaving with long, wide open fields and crops at the harvest stages on both sides. And cattle, cattle everywhere! These don’t look like they might be dairy cattle, more like the raised-for-beef kind. But what do I know about cattle? Oh, about as much as I know about horses, which is squat.

I did see one odd cow-related happening - most of the cows in this field I was passing were lying down and placidly chewing their cud. The others were standing around, hanging out, you know, doing cow things, being cool. But this one cow was sitting on her haunches, just gazing off into the horizon and looking for all the world like a Gary Larson cartoon come to life. I’ve only seen one other cow/bull do this and that was in the movie, “Michael,” with John Travolta as Michael, the Archangel. He had gone head-to-head with a bull and after impact he was lying flat out in the field with a smile on his face and the bull was just sitting there on its haunches and shaking its head. Well, this cow was doing the same only it wasn’t shaking its head - just gazing off into the distance thinking its cow thoughts and feeling mellow. I guess. Are there any cattle experts out there who can tell me how often this happens? Inquiring minds would like to know!

The campground in Belvidere had no shade whatsoever and the high was 80 and I’m so thankful this van has an air conditioner in the back! It gets sweltering in here without it. Ugh! And my hair just doesn’t know what to do. The curl begins to loosen in dry weather but in high (well, it's high to me…) temperatures where I’m sweating and regardless of the humidity in the area, it frizzes. So I’m Miss Frizzball with loose curls and very glad that no one is around to take my picture. And no, I’m not having anyone else take one either. You’ll just have to wait until Georgia when the humidity is higher and my hair is still frizzy but back in its curly stage.

After leaving Kadoka I passed a blitzkrieg of Burma Shave-type signs telling me to come see Wall Drug Store. They advertised free ice water, and so much more stuff you would never expect to see in a drug store that I had to stop off and see what this was all about. It was worth the stop just for the sheer, um, tackiness involved with the whole production.

The story behind this is that the first little bitty Wall Drug Store began in 1939 while the Depression was still doing its best to, well, depress people. The owner, Ted Hustead, a pharmacist, and his wife, Dorothy, and their son, Billy, had just purchased the store and business was slow. Real slow. Although Ted did get some business from the tiny town of Wall (323 people) by filling prescriptions, for the most part people weren’t buying and and Ted and Dorothy were beginning to wonder about the wisdom of owning a store in such an isolated area. Days went by when perhaps one customer came in and there were plenty of days when no one came by.

Well, eventually Dorothy came up with the idea of putting out the Burma-Shave-like signs near the highway that with a little rhyming ditty - Get a soda… Get root beer... Turn next corner... Just as near... Highway 16 & 14... Free Ice Water... Wall Drug.

Ok, so it doesn’t rhyme very well, but it worked. The first day they put out the signs they were deluged with people seeking water, sodas, ice cream cones, directions and some place just to be cool for a bit. They haven’t lacked for business ever since. And they claim to now have over 20,000 customers a day! I can believe it since the parking lot itself rivaled one of the Busch Gardens lots in numbers of slots and number filled. There were lots of places for the big guy RV’s to park but I chose the more humble car lot where I could just pull through when I left. This meant I walked for about ten minutes before I got to the actual, um, selling-to-suckers area. Excuse me, the retail area.

The humble Wall Drug Store had morphed into a giant old-fashioned western town including the buildings with the facade fronts and any kind of crap, I mean, souvenirs that you could ever wish for. They did have an art gallery with some pretty famous artists including N.C. Wyeth (that was kind of weird...), and that was at least one worthy place to visit. And they had the t-shirt shops (note the plural) and the country stores (likewise plural) and a café where I had some pretty darned good cherry pie and, of course, free ice water and $0.05 coffee (I couldn’t find a ‘cent’ symbol). There was more, much more, and I took some pictures of a couple of stuffed ‘wild’ animals, including a 6-foot rabbit (one of Harvey’s cousins?) and a buffalo, both looking like they wondered how the heck they ended up in this circus.

I stopped in a rock shop and found an amethyst crystal who called out to me so I purchased the little guy. I also played with a collection of polished minerals from the area and picked out the ones who asked to be picked and bought a collection for a very low price. I also found a shark’s tooth that wanted to be loved but the bigger fossils of any of the countless found in the Badlands area were beyond my budget. Another time, ok?

I did buy a Pralines ‘n Cream ice cream cone and loved every dripping bit of it. I got back on the road, finally, and drove on to Chamberlain. On the way I saw a metal sculpture of a T-Rex following a human (see photo) and after I left Chamberlain I saw yet another. This one was of a giant head of a steer with very long horns jutting up so that this was the first thing you saw coming over a hill. There was no safe place to pull over and take a photo, alas, so you’ll just have to imagine it. It was huge, I’ll tell you that.

No shade in Chamberlain, either, but the wind was blowing and as the day wound down the breeze actually became a cooling system that helped my little van stay tolerable. And before the dawn came I had to turn on the furnace because it was down to 45 from 80 and I could see Chopper was shivering, even in her warm bed. That’s what it’s been like since I left Rapid City. High temps during the day, low enough to be cold at night. No rain, but clouds everywhere that cover the surrounding fields in the most glorious shadows. The fields change their colors frequently depending on where the clouds drift, the type of crops grown, if any, and how the hills rise and sink on the horizon. The closer I got to Sioux Falls, the more beauty I saw in the close-to-harvesting fields. The colors ranged from grey-brown to green to yellow to gold as the corn and soy beans ripened in uneven waves. I saw other crops that I didn’t recognize that added a deep brown to the mix. If I could reach South Dakota’s web site I could probably find out what this crop is, but for now it’s a beautiful mystery. Until then, I continue to enjoy the colors of autumn in all its brown’s and gold’s and oranges and grays. What a lovely season!

And now I’m in Sioux Falls, or I should say, just north of the city at another KOA. This one has shade, thank you to all the gods! And it’s still warm enough to welcome thoroughly the showers and laundry facilities and the opportunity to plug into electricity so I can use the air conditioner.

Here I turn south on I-29 until I hit an area east of Topeka, Kansas, where I turn east again on I-64 until I hit Lexington, Kentucky. There I turn south on I-75 until it’s time to turn off to Blairsville, Georgia. I was going to keep on going east on I-90 but I need to cut my trip to the shortest time and since I’ll see Friend Mark at Sharon’s house I’ll forego the visit with him in Wisconsin.

As for Sioux Falls, it’s the largest city in South Dakota, which isn’t saying a whole lot considering the population is just above 154,000 people. That’s still a fairly small-sized city to me but for this state, that’s huge! If you like areas with fewer people, this is the state for you! And yes, it’s gorgeous. I think it’s a special kind of person attracted to this area of the nation because there’s still so much of the past here. I passed De Smet, South Dakota, where Laura Ingalls Wilder spent her early life and lord knows, her pa and both she and her husband, Alonzo Wilder, were of the independent types who thrived on being out on their own and as far removed as possible from other people. I would have enjoyed visiting the museum dedicated to Laura and her family but again, that will have to wait until later. Oh, well.

I can still see that even now there are houses few and far between and the land is low and mostly flat with gently rolling hills and soybeans and corn and hay as far as the eye can perceive. Pa was a restless kind of guy as was Laura, and perhaps I share their desire to see new places and explore yet again the next hill over there. Except for the hardships that men and women endured as pioneers in this area (the good old days pretty much sucked as far as hard work went) I would have loved to have been one of the ones who ventured out this way just to see what was there. Considering that my genetic heritage is mostly Gaelic in nature I’m not surprised. Lord knows the Scottish have always been intensely independent and the Irish as stubborn as they come. Not sure how the Welsh and the English are involved with my independent nature since I’ve never desired to own or rule over an area. Just the opposite, actually. Perhaps I have more of the Scotch and Irish in me, then. I wouldn’t be surprised…

Lessons Learned:

That there is an art to dumping your holding tanks.

That I’m getting the hang of it but I’m still far from great.

But I have much, MUCH less spillage than I used to.

And that’s always good, you know.

Observations:

A young mother with four (count them, 4!!!!) boys under the age of 7 came down to have breakfast at the Belvidere KOA. Here they offered All-You-Can-Eat-Pancakes-for-$1.00 breakfasts though anything else you wanted was an additional $2 for each item. One of her boys, the second eldest, was an obvious ADD-sociopath-in-the-making who thrived on tormenting his younger brother. While the poor mother hefted her youngest boy, still a baby in a pack on her back, the second youngest was constantly being abused and taunted by this boy who stared at me without any contrition or concern as I stared back at him with a my worst frown on my face. He simply could care less what I felt about his successful attempts to make his younger brother cry. I said a prayer for this poor young woman who’s husband (I’m assuming there was a husband...?) was no where in sight. If there was, he deserved to rot in hell for making his wife cope with all four with no assistance.

A passing and HUGE motor coach who clearly could care less about costs and any ecological impact of its position on earth passed me and was dragging a Hummer behind it.

By the way, these giant motor coaches come in three different sizes - merely HUGE, ridiculously GIGANTIC, and scarily COLOSSAL. Even the smallest caused me to hold on tightly to the steering wheel as its draft made every effort to blow me off the road.

A soybean field that was truly lovely because part had turned yellow and was almost ready for harvest and parts were still green and the melding of the two was just beautiful!

Snow fences. Have I mentioned snow fences? They are everywhere there is a road to protect from obviously deep snow drifts. I'd really rather not know how deep it gets here. It's obvious from a two-story outhouse I saw as I drove. The top was clearly for the winter time and it was much, much higher than the bottom story.

A large sign proclaiming Olivia's ADULT Supercenter was open for business. This was followed much further down the line by another sign that proclaimed Annabelle's ADULT Supercenter was likewise open for business. Considering that both names end in large-breast-sexy-image-producing vowels, I'm guessing that this is a site I can forego visiting...

Days 13 & 14 - Gillette, WY and Rapid City, SD

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Days 13 & 14 - Gillette, WY and Rapid City, SD

Whoooeee! You can’t turn your head in this area without seeing some kind of natural beauty or some location immersed in history. As I was leaving Gillette I realized I was in Close-Encounters-of-a-Third-Kind territory and I was kind of hoping I’d see my very own spaceship come swooping down from the sky. It didn’t happen, but I saw the turn-off for Devil’s Tower and whimpered a little to myself. Whine. Later, Lea, later.

I also passed through Sundance, yes, the Sundance from whence the Sundance Kid received his name and he and Butch Cassidy and their gang hid out in the Hole-in-the-Wall cave from local (and not-so-local) lawmen. That cave and all the land around it are now a part of privately owned land but the owner will graciously give tours for those who wish. I wished but needed to push on, so I just whimpered a little more and kept my eyes on the road.

And in the little town of Buffalo, there is a really lovely building called the Occidental (“Western”) Hotel which is still in use as such. It was restored in the 1980’s and looks like it most likely did when it was first built in the early 1900’s. Before the building you see today existed came first the original hotel which started with a tent in 1880. This became a log building and didn’t emerge as the brick building you now see until 1901. It’s a pretty famous hotel and hosted the likes of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Teddy Roosevelt, Calamity Jane, “Buffalo Bill” Cody and Owen Wister, author of ‘ The Virginian.” I haven’t read that particular book but I’m told it’s one of the most famous Western novels ever written. I’ll just have to take that on faith.

And then moving on into South Dakota comes the turnoff for Mount Rushmore (whiiinnne) and the Museum of Geology (Sharon in Georgia, you’d love this one!) which I longed to pull off for. All kinds of dinosaurs, and rocks and minerals from the Black Hills area and archaeological sites and, and… everything! I could spend hours exploring this museum and the local digs that are open to viewing for the public. And there’s also the Museum at Black Hills Institute which focuses primarily on fossil hunting and restoration of the dinosaurs they find. You’ll see Stan T. Rex at the museum, a fully restored and assembled skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and many other kinds of dinosaurs, fossil fishes, reptiles, mammals, birds, and plants and a collection of invertebrates local to the area and meteorites and, and… Well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing I didn’t stop or I’d never make it to Georgia!

And there’s the beauty of the land on both sides of me as I drive. The colors are fantastic! You can’t really tell where one ends and the next one begins because they are all just blurred into each other. But the red of the mountains and the greens and yellows of northeast Wyoming change only a little as you enter South Dakota. There the mountains appear very far off and do look black from a distance; hence, the Black Hills description which is very apt for the view.

And there are the Badlands, an area of incredible geological changes that have resulted in the incredible shapes and colors now visible. The fossil beds are immense and of course there is a museum open to the public (well, let’s hope so!) and a fossil exhibit trail you can walk and lots of educators there to explain the Oligocene era which produced all these beautiful geological formations.

Lord, I could spend six months in this area and just barely dip into the history, culture and geological events that I enjoy so much. And when I come back, I’ll pretty much just camp out in the area for the non-snow months and explore to my heart’s content. Yippee! And that’s just this area! Throughout America there are natural beauties, and geological cultural history settings that I find so fascinating. If I’m bored at all it will be my own danged fault.

To segue into a different subject, I am still having difficulty picking up a wireless signal. Here in Rapid City I can’t even get a cell phone signal. Perhaps it’s just AT&T, with whom I have my account. (Actually, I met another man yesterday who likewise has AT&T and has problems logging on and using his cell phone, so I’m not alone.) And even if I do pick up a signal and even though it says the signal is strong, I frequently can’t access either Blogspot.com or Yahoo or Facebook so I’m simply not available to reach at certain times. My apologies for seeming to be just lazy about posting, but I’m writing as I go and uploading as I can.

Anyway, I’d better quit writing about the area before I just abandon my trip to Georgia and just camp out until the snow starts to fly.

Lessons Learned:

That Chopper likes cashews.

That is, she likes to lick them.

So I share.

That last night I didn’t have to turn on the furnace for the first time.

That I did have the air conditioner cranked from the time I hooked up until bedtime.

That this will likely continue as I head further south.

I’m not sure which is better - hot or cold.

Both have their goods and not-so-goods.

Oh, well.

That I actually passed someone on the highway yesterday!

That I’m not the slowest driver on I-90.

That my arms and hands ache from wrestling the steering wheel during gusty winds from Sheridan to Gillette.

That the topical ointment I bought to help relieve muscle pain doesn’t work worth a darn.

Ow.

Observations:

Three deer, two skunks and numerous unrecognizable heaps on the ground from being hit by cars. Sad.

Very alive antelope grazing right inside the town of Gillette on a grassy common.

A scattering of horses, possibly six in all, that were quite lovely. I asked a local man if those were Palomino’s and from my description, brown spots on white, he said yes. Only out here they were called “Painted” horses. Friend Jeanne, you’re the horse whisperer. Perhaps you can shed more enlightenment regarding these beautiful animals!

The same friend, Jeanne, also informed me that a pirogue is a hallowed out tree used for a canoe, which greatly clarifies why an area out west would be called Pirogue Hill. I was having a difficult time reconciling Italian potato-based dumplings with the local history. Since I more often than not can’t get an online signal to check this out for myself, I appreciate the input from friends.

Day 12 - Sheridan, Wyoming

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Day 12 - Sheridan, Wyoming

I crossed into Wyoming today - or yesterday, I should say because it’s 1:53 a.m. on the 13th as I write this. I also couldn't get a signal so this will be late. Sigh.

On the way to Sheridan I couldn’t help but stop at the Custer Museum where they had all kinds of artifacts on display from the Battle of Little Bighorn and in general from that era. Fascinating! There was an Indian war shirt and an Indian spirit shirt, the first being of tanned leather and embroidered heavily with beads, quills, and human hair. The spirit shirt was hand-sewn of some kind of textile that sure did last well! It looked like either cotton or linen and there were no tears or shredded areas. Pretty amazing. There were beads on this shirt also but on the front in faded dyes were faint outlines of spirit animals seen as guides to this particular warrior.

There were beaded moccasins for both men, women and children, all heavily and beautifully beaded on the top and bottom of the shoes. And beaded bags for everything from sewing quills to tee-pee skin holders. Gorgeous pipe bags and a lovely Sioux woman’s dress for ceremonial wear. This latter was also tanned leather and heavily and intricately beaded with fringe. Fantastic! There was also an arrow holder with a skunk skin on the front. I would not have wanted to be the woman who had to skin that baby!

Did you know that bull elk each have two ivory teeth in the back of their mouths? I didn’t either. These teeth were highly prized for wear by the Sioux and since it could be years before enough could be gathered to make a decent necklace, they came up with a way to dye regular elk teeth to look like the ivory teeth. These were also carved and shaped to the same form of the ivory teeth and voila! A fine looking ivory tooth necklace for both the Sioux warrior and his wife.

There were several large paintings by artists of that time depicting the battle in which Custer lost his life (as well as the lives of all of his men). One was pretty accurate and based on the account of Curly, an Indian scout who worked for Custer and his guys (I‘m not sure which tribe Curly was from). He witnessed Custer’s death and described it as thusly: Chief ...(heck, I just whited out the name of this Chief) was wrestling with Custer for his gun since Custer was earnestly trying to shoot him with it and finally got it away from him. He then bashed Custer on the head three times with the gun and shot him with it in the head and the heart. I can well imagine that Custer would have died from those wounds. Anyway, Curly, the scout, managed to slip out of the crowd, “borrow” a Sioux horse and get the heck out of Dodge. He was the only one of Custer’s group to survive.

One of the paintings was by artist who had taken great poetic license with the facts of the battle and had come up with a pretty hilarious version of what happened. The painting shows the vain Custer with golden locks tousled by the gentle breeze and standing nonchalantly in his officer’s dress uniform with a natty red cravat (which was not what he wore into battle) at the top of the hill, one hand on his hip, one leg bent with the shiny booted foot on a rock. He appears to be shooting every so often as the opportunity arises just for sport before he walks back to the Officer’s Mess to have a spot of lunch. Around him are his soldiers shooting poorly armed Indians who wield only hatchets and knives (not so, the Indians were shooting repeating Winchester rifles or the outcome would have been different). All of the Indians are bare-chested in the painting when in truth they were wearing their warrior shirts because of their belief that these provided a spiritual protection from the soldiers’ bullets. This wasn’t true either since a large number of Indians perished or were injured that day but it made the painting very, um, typical of the white man’s general lack of understanding then (and sometimes now) of the Indians’ culture and customs.

To polish off this rather silly painting, there is a chicken wandering around in the bottom right corner and looking rather confused, as it should, since no self-respecting chicken would have wandered that far from its coop which was waaaaaayyyyy far away from the battle scene. I doubt that the chicken survived that day either, especially since it was looking pretty healthy and appetizing. It was most likely dinner that night for one of the celebrating and victorious Indians. Not that there were any chickens of any kind any where near the battle scene, which makes it all the more silly for one to be there and adds nothing aesthetic to the painting except as a compositional balance, I suppose. Who knows what the artist was thinking but since very little else was accurate in the painting, why not throw in a chicken? Why gum up the work with accuracy, for cryin’ out loud!

Anyway, I tore myself out of the museum after an hour or so of examining all kinds of fun stuff and moved on toward Sheridan, leaving Montana behind me and a strong desire to return and visit the state in its entirety. Wyoming is just as beautiful and, of course, has the Yosemite National Park which I will return to later. The land is just plain gorgeous in this area and words are a poor substitute for the scenic wonders around me. And this is just around I-90. Just think of how much more beautiful it is off the beaten track!

Tomorrow I’ll be in Gillette, Wyoming, and then on to South Dakota. Too brief of a stop but indeed, if I stayed longer I might never leave. Onward I push, however, still planning the day when I can return and explore to my little heart’s content.

Lessons Learned:

That when you lean over the bed in the night to pour more water into the kitties’ bowl, make sure that it’s the water bowl you’re pouring into.

That the kitties won’t drink kitty food soup.

That I don’t blame them.

Yuck.

Observations:

Wyoming has roads that are a deep reddish-purple that matches the red in the hills on both sides of the highway. Coincidence? I think not. I hope not, anyhow.

While passing a field with many beautiful horses grazing, I see one lone mule standing in the middle of the herd and smiling at the sun.

A prairie dog up on the shoulder of the road sniffing around and just begging to be turned into road kill. Just like the scattering of smished bodies of his brethren seen periodically along the route.

What I thought were odd looking deer grazing were actually some kind of antelope from around these parts. I didn’t think deer came in that shape and color…

An older couple whom I have seen off and on throughout my voyage smile and wave to me as we pass each other in the campground. They are heading to Minnesota so we take the same path for a ways.

Day 11 - Billings, Montana

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Day 11 - Billings, Montana

I’m presently ensconced at the KOA outside of Billings, Montana. For those who give a rat’s fanny, and I’m sure there are very few, myself included, this is the first KOA ever, the beginning to the great chain that now rules the highways and byways of America’s campgrounds. And its prices reflect this - to now I’ve paid an average of $30 a night for water, electricity and sewer hookups. In this place I pay $45 a night and campgrounds charge by the person, not the size of the rig. So even with my discounts this is a primo campground and not one I would spend an inordinate amount of time in. But it is nice. Very, very nice. My little van is nestled beneath a grove of quaking aspen (one of my favorite trees!) and off in the outer parameters of the grounds where it is quiet and peaceful. The land around me is beautiful and green and yellow with a lovely breeze blowing and no touch of autumn has yet appeared to turn the leaves to gold.

And the area is rife with history! Oh, my gawd! This place REEKS of history! Custer, that megalomaniac fool (my personal opinion), made his last stand with 210 soldiers against over 3,000 of the Teton Sioux and Northern Cheyenne Indians who easily wiped them slick. What a twit Custer was! And if you’re a history buff, as I am, albeit an amateur buff, you will swoon over the memorials in the area to the likes of Chief Joseph, who led the Nez Perce Indians from Oregon through Yellowstone Park into Montana to the Laurel area where yet another battle was fought at Canyon Creek just north of the town. And there’s more, with petroglyphs and carvings and so much that my mind boggles. I don’t dare take the time to see any of them or I will never get to Georgia. But I’ll be back; oh, yes, I’ll be back…

On August 12, 2009, Dr. Joseph Medicine Crow was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama. Dr. Medicine Crow, who is a native of this area and a member of the Crow tribe, is 97 years old and honored for his many published works on Native American history and reservation culture. (And yes, I’m quoting from a local hand-me-out on the subject) He has a masters degree in Anthropology from the University of Southern California (USC) in 2003. He has also been awarded two honorary doctorate degrees, likewise from the USC and the Rocky Mountain College in 1999. He is probably best known (though I’ve never read his work but plan on doing so in the future) for his writings about the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

He’s amazing for his accomplishments and his personal history. He served in WW II in the Army and his ‘war deeds’ include hand-to-hand combat with an enemy German soldier and leading troops into enemy territory where they captured enemy horses. Medicine Crow alone captured 50 horses from a Nazi camp. I find this ironic and fitting because the diary of Sgt. Pryor’s group of men (one of the groups who met up with Lewis and Clark along their passage) includes notes about having every single horse he and his soldiers brought stolen from them along the Sacajawea trail. I suspect it was one of Dr. Medicine Crow’s ancestors who was involved with that theft. And all power to them (can you tell I‘m a wee bit sympathetic to the Indians‘ side of the story?).

There is a map of the trail that Lewis and Clark followed, led by the intrepid Sacajawea who finally recognized Beaverhead Rock in 1805. There’s a memorial sign of this and I’m not sure what the significance of this means other than it must have been a tremendous relief to her to know that she wasn’t hopelessly lost. There’s an intriguing note of a Private George Gibson who fell on a stick (owwww…?) and had to be carried on a litter until canoe-size trees could be found. I presume at that point that he would have been tossed in the canoe and floated downstream until either help was found or he died, whichever came first. The local history doesn’t say.

And then there is the ongoing saga of the stolen horses. This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic for the men involved. Everywhere there are notes from Clark (and Pryor) about crossing this and that river and fording this and that stream and every time they stopped to camp more horses disappeared in the night. And then there’s an interesting note that on July 29, 1805, they camped on Pirogue Island just east of Miles City. Pirogue Island???!!! What the…??? For those who don’t know, a pirogue is a wonderful Italian potato pasta which was probably a very cheap and easy way to fill the stomachs of hungry men. It’s just weird to see it in the context of unexplored western territory…

Anyway, I want to stay and explore and see and retrace the steps of the Sacajawea-led path through Montana. I yearn to do so but must wait until I fulfill the bonds of friendship and love and meet with my beloved friends in Blairsville, Georgia. Speaking of which, I had a hilarious chat with Sharon last night, the friend who’s house I’m heading for in Blairsville. We chatted for a bit and then I said I had to go beddy by and sleep and there commenced a ridiculous and much-longer-than-it-should-have-taken attempt to quit talking and just shut up. We went back and forth with an “ignore that I’ve answered you” and “I’ll pretend that I’m not answering this,” etc, before, in desperation, I finally clicked off my connection to the internet. We would have kept this up all night, I know, because Sharon and I have had marathon phone conversations before but I was too tired to do so then. But I wanted to, oh, yes, but I heard my body calling to me to sleep, sleep… We’ll stay up all night and chat when I get there, ok, Sharon? LOL!

I must keep my blinders on in this area and ignore the signs pointing to the Yellowstone Park and any other wonderful stops along the way that I will have to explore further and much later down the road. Tomorrow I’m headed towards Buffalo, Wyoming who’s path will lead me by the Little Big Horn monument. Sigh. Later, later. And I will keep on until I get to Georgia where beloved friends await me and who’s faces I long to see. And history will have to wait until I come by again. It won’t go away soon, I know. It lives on in the hearts of those who’s ancestors lived through the events that today we can only surmise and wonder about. And that’s ok, too.

Lessons Learned:

That I’m really not supposed to dump my holding tanks at the site where I’m set up but it’s too irresistible not to.

That it saves me time and energy expenditure to do so which is why I sign up for sewer hook-ups.

That I’m probably not the only one who does this.

So sue me.

That it’s wonderful to be traveling in the so-called “off season.”

That the only folks I see are those who have no children, children too young to be in school, or those who’s children are all grown up.

So it’s really, really quiet.

And quiet is a good thing.

That though I’ve lived in the four corners of the United States and lots of places in between that I love the western states probably better than all the rest.

Even the New England states which I love devotedly.

That my heart seems glued to the west in some unfathomable way.

That I accept this and will keep coming back, and back, and back.

Observations:

All kinds of deer to my right off the highway between Bozeman and Billings.

What appears to be a small herd of bison grazing in an enclosed area on my right as I head towards Billings. Is this the herd spoken of on NPR this morning during the local news segment? If so, this herd somehow found its way out of Yellowstone and into this area and now they’re trying to figure out what to do with them. Ted Turner of Turner Broadcasting Network has offered to let them roam on his 130,000 acre ranch but he wants to keep their offspring. For what? To star in a reality show? The Wildlife Management folks in charge of such decisions have demurred and delayed their decision until November because others have offered to take in the wandering herd without desiring the offspring and there are apparently other decisions to be examined. Whatever the outcome may be, I hope they don’t end up ‘euthanizing’ the herd because they simply don’t know what to do with them. This is, amazingly, one of the outcomes if they can’t find a suitable place for these bison. Truly amazing.

The stench of wildfires close by, and in fact less than 300 feet from the road on which I am driving. These are very recent fires with areas still smoking and smoldering. The ground is black and the trees reduced to wizened skeletons, but it’s a patchy job of burning. There are entire copses of trees and bushes that remain untouched in the midst of destruction all around. I see a water truck heading towards an unknown destination where possibly the fire remains unchecked. It’s hard to tell with all the smoke in the area. I’m just glad I wasn’t here when the fire came so close to the road.

I also passed areas where long ago forest fires have now given birth to a new generation of trees and scrubs. The ground underneath is presently covered in soft wheat-colored grasses and small seedlings can be seen sprouting from the ash-enriched ground. And so the cycle moves on, burning and clearing and making room for the young, and sprouting and growing and maturing and seeding until the services of the fires are required once more. And so it goes.

Days 8, 9 and 10 - Bozeman, Montana

Earthship Le Van Gogh diary

Days 8, 9, & 10 - Bozeman, Montana

I’m tired so I took a rest for a couple of days. My body dictates how far I can go at a time so I respect its request. I rest. I think the kitties appreciate the break from driving as much as I do. Fluffbutt is up front nodding off in the sun with a smile on her face and Chopper is purring because she gets more cuddling when I’m lying down with her. So here I am, 11:04 a.m. and I’m still in p.j.’s, sipping my horrible Folder’s coffee-bag coffee, my hair uncombed and pulled up and out of my way, the heating pad under my back and warm and a nice piano concerto weaving out of NPR. I’m too lazy to brew some proper coffee in my French Press so this will do for now. Later, perhaps, but now? Nah. I’m too comfortable.

You know, I’ve noticed that I’ve really stepped out of time. I know that today is the 10th of September because I asked a friend this morning with whom I was chatting by phone what the day was. I write where I am each day on my calendar because if I don’t I have no idea where I was even two days ago. I can see the time on any number of clocks around the van (the radio clock matches up with Mountain Standard Time and is actually accurate for a bit) so I’m clued in to that, if I so desire. But mostly I don’t.

I get up when I feel like I’ve had enough sleep and hit the road (or not) some time before 11:00 a.m., checkout time for most campgrounds. I have a general guideline of driving about 100 miles each day (or not) and generally aim for a KOA camp… (Excuse me. Kampground) …ground just because they’re good at what they do and provide all the necessary requirements of civilized living. If no KOA’s are available than I aim for the next one on the list that has similar offerings and set up camp.

While on the road I have found that driving with no music, no radio or cassette tapes playing has been surprisingly soothing. It’s peaceful, and I like it. I’ve discovered that this means that I’m at ease in my own mind. Gone, or at least mostly, are the insecurities and terrors that followed me out of childhood and what’s left are only concerns that something with the van will go wrong that I can’t fix myself. Of course, that’s what repair shops are for and why I’ve subscribed to RV Coachnet, the RV version of AAA that hops to it when you call them and cry HAAAAAYYYUUUUULLP! But knowing that I’ve made provisions for getting such services eases even that concern. So my biggest worry now is that I get to my friend, Sharon’s, place in Georgia by October 1st and yet even if I’m a couple of days late that will be ok, too. The gathering of friends will be there until the 5th and as long as I get to see them all together, be it only for one day, I will be happy. They won’t, but I will (grin). I’ll be seeing them individually in my travels, of course, but as a group we are special and produce a gestalt energy that is undeniably strong.

I hear no news, except for what I hear on NPR. No TV, though at first I thought I’d miss the Travel Channel, National Geographic, Discovery, etc., until I realized that I was living those channels and that all around me was beauty and discovery and, of course, travel. And though I’ve been a news hound for most of my life and especially since I turned journalist in the Navy, I’m finding that it’s just fine knowing only what NPR decides is worth mentioning. I realize that even that is expendable because, after all, I love this country and everything within it, the good, the bad and the ridiculous, and the small, piddly stuff in the news never really seems to change. I’m aware, however, that we’re entering a new time of multititudinous changes from within as a country and as a people, but those I keep track of within my dreams. Being precognitive and clairvoyant has its advantages sometimes, ya know?

I think perhaps detaching myself from the usual distractions of every day life was necessary for this trip. It’s not only a travelogue kind of trip, it’s a journey within, and a freeing of most of the restrictions I’ve placed on myself in the past. I pay my bills, oh, yes, but these are all automatically withdrawn online with only one check going out each month to the Humane Society back in Port Angeles, WA. So I’m still attached to reality, of course, and I keep track of my expenses so I can set up a budget for how much I can spend each day and still save money for repairs, etc. The “J-ness” of my Myers-Briggs personality type (INFJ) is still functioning fully and indeed I believe is a necessity for keeping this journey manageable and do-able. I’m an artist and a psychic and a flake in the eyes of some, but hey, I still know how to manage my affairs. LOL!

All in all, it’s a journey within as much as a journey without across America to meet and visit old and new friends and see the wonders of this nation in all its glory. Such a marvelous place, our country is, and for those who have never traveled outside of our borders and don’t know, a place where the general lifestyle is far and above better than just about any other nation on earth. I’m speaking of middle-class America here, but as my friend pointed out this morning in our talk, that even our poor enjoy a standard of living better than the poor of other nations. Sad, but true. I remember that even in Puerto Rico, where I was stationed for 3 years while in the Navy, the poor had poverty levels unheard of here in the states. Oh, San Juan and other touristy places showed happy, smiling ‘natives’ and all the amenities of home, but live off of the Roosevelt Roads Naval Base and up in the rain forest as I did and you saw that few in that area had electricity and that living conditions were more like what you’d see in Bombay, India. And Puerto Rico is a part of our country! Hopefully that has changed and it is more developed in those areas but who knows? Perhaps they liked it that way.

I’m not blind to the defects of our country, but I love it just the same. And I’m proud of the 14 years I gave in service and know that this is a special sacrifice for all who wear our uniform, even if only for a short time. Until you have served yourself you have no idea of what the life is like and how much of yourself you have to give. Oh, our families do, of course, but even they cannot fully comprehend the tremendous amount of energy that goes into giving yourself to your country. So my heart goes out for those who die or have died or have been injured while giving their service, especially in a time of war and even in a time of peace. And to their families I can only offer the strength and faith I’ve developed over the years. Until Melissa and Brian joined the service (my niece and nephew) I’ve never been the one who has had to stay behind and wait for them to come home safely and hopefully in one piece, both physically and mentally. I think I like being the one gone better. But again I rely on my ability to sense what is going on far away from me and that keeps me from excessive anxiety until Brian returns. Melissa has been back for awhile and is in college now and enjoying a happy relationship and all that so I have less to be concerned about there. Brian, on the other hand, is still in harms way and until he gets back in December I’ll stay in touch and make sure I know he’s safe. And that Mary, his wife, doesn’t get too sad and lonely without him.

Ok. Enough of the waxing philosophical. The downtime has been helpful and has given me space to sort out what I’m experiencing and share that with you. If you’ve been bored with this monologue, sorry ‘bout that. This blog records the boring as well as the funny and interesting. Philosophical won’t happen all the time, just at times when I can reflect.

Lessons Learned:

That the headphone extension cord I bought is just beautiful and works fine…if only it were about 8” longer.

That I see another Wal-Mart visit in my future where I can go get yet another extension.

That I don’t have to be psychic to see that.

Oh, well.

Good thing I’ve enjoyed the quiet, ya?

That I need to get screens for the van.

That little midges of some kind enjoy flying in and out when I leave the door open at sundown and tippety-type on the computer while sitting at a nearby picnic table.

That they’re cute and don’t bite but can be distracting when I’m trying to type.

Fluffbutt likes them too because they’re fun to chase.

But they really need to be outside where they will be happier.

I think.

Observations:

Two elderly, grizzled old ranch wranglers sitting across from each other in a café and downing a hearty breakfast with a baby in a high chair perched at the table between them.

A long chat with the owner of a fine art gallery. She confessed to still feeling guilty after 18 years of suffering after once telling an artist her work wasn’t quite good enough when presented for showing in her gallery. She knew that she hurt the artist‘s feelings and had felt bad about it ever since. I absolved her of her sin and told her that artists won’t grow without this kind of feedback, though it could always be given in a kindly way. She felt better about it and was glad to have chatted with me. Hooray!

A button seen in a funky music store: “This just in - Elvis is still dead.”

T-shirt in the same store: “Green Coalition of Gay Loggers for Jesus.” I’d say that this pretty much about covers it.

Sculpture seen in gallery window of a rodeo girl perched on her horse’s back in full shiny regalia and a tiara and wings and titled, “The Good Queen.”

On NPR this morning, a segment I haven’t heard since I left Maine - Guess this song! A perfectly ordinary song from either a Broadway show or general pop music or even a child’s nursery rhyme is translated into a particular composer’s style of music and at a much slower beat. The challenge: Guess the style, the composer who might have crafted such a style and the actual piece that has been translated. I confess that though I picked up on the style (some kind of nocturne, possibly) I couldn’t quite nail the composer (Beethoven) and the melody was beyond me. It turned out to be “Summertime,” from Porgy and Bess. The melody had been slowed down so much that all I could pick up on was the left-handed-piano bass chords and the present composer had confused that by adding harmony after harmony to the melody. The guy who called in got it all correct, the jerk, but then he was a music teacher at some university so it would have been embarrassing if he hadn’t. I felt better since I’m no music history person though I can still read music. I just like to listen to the sounds of the old composers.

That it takes about 1,000 years for each photo to upload to Blogger.com. At least it feels that way. I do the dishes between each one, or tidy the van or what have you. Annoying but only mildly so and I get alot done at the same time. Oh, well.