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.

Day 7 - Butte, Montana

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

Day 7 - Butte, Montana

I’m in Butte today, where the slogan is “a mile high, a mile deep and everyone’s on the level.” Interesting. A collection of local pronunciations includes the following:

Howshegoin? A term used as a salutation.
Jeetyet? A term used to ask the question, “Did you eat yet?”
Jou? In answer to jeetyet?,“Did you?”
Gweet. To “go eat” if you haven’t.
Howzyermomandthem? Exactly what you think it says.
Ya’s Plural of ya. Most likely a contraction of “all of you” as in “How youse guys doin’?”

All good to know information, I’m sure. There is another tradition with a long history here of everyone having a nickname. This supposedly came from the early miners who were immigrants from all over the place and nicknames were easier to pronounce then their actual names. In face most folks didn’t usually know a person’s real name until his/her obituary was published. Examples include:

Dutch McCrea, Ears Holland, Hula Kalafatich, Moose Pavlovich, Nichel Annie, Chicken Liz, Blonde Patrick and Booba Powers. Some of these obviously give a hint as to their ethnic background and how they got their nickname, but some just make you wonder where the heck that came from. Like Booba Powers. Wha…?

Anyway, mining is the game around here and there’s a huge, and I mean HUGE population of Irish in Butte. I haven’t seen so many Irish bars since I last visited Boston. And there’s an annual festival here which I will unfortunately miss called An Ri Ra with international Irish music performers and other Irish cultural activities celebrated for the next two days. I’m not happy that I will miss it but I will be back to this area in the future and will definitely stay for the festival. Being part Irish and all that I love to hear the music and traditions of the Old Home.

I wandered through a shop filled with more Irish stuff than I’ve seen in a long time. I spoke with the owner, who, like me, was a mutt of Gaelic extraction. She was Welsh, Irish and Scotch and I’m all that and a wee bit of English and French, to boot. She had black hair and fair skin and I have red hair with fair skin and freckles and we laughed about family histories with such a United Kingdom mishmash. Not unusual, of course, though combining English with anything Scottish and Irish must have been an interesting get-together.

You know, whether I use the last name of Cox (Irish), Tenn (Welsh), Clunie (Scotch), or Welborn (likewise Welsh), I’d be covered in this town. These are all last names I’ve had before for those who don’t know. I’m still using Cox, obviously.

Another local phenomenon was a colossal 90 ft statue of Mary, Jesus’ mum, high above Butte on the mountain marking the Continental Divide. Named “Our Lady of the Rockies,” the project to build it began in 1979 and both men and women of all walks of life and almost every religion worked to pave the way for the statue. It was dedicated to women everywhere, especially to mothers. (I’m relating this from a pamphlet in case you didn’t pick up on that.) Volunteers worked every day to blast a path for a road to the top of the Rockies. Must have seemed like it would take forever to get up there because sometimes they only got 10 feet in a day. Lordy!

The information I had didn’t name the person or persons who actually designed and forged the statue, amazingly, but it was the Nevada Air National Guard who lifted the four sections to the site with a Ch-54 Sikorsky Sky Crane. The Montana National Guard, the U.S. Army Reserve from Butte and lots and lots of civilians helped placed the final head-section atop the statue on December 20, 1985. Man, I sure would liked to have seen that! And I’ll bet they cleared the area below the mountain for miles while they were lifting these sections. Woe be unto the poor helicopter pilot who dropped that puppy!

The statue is lit at night and was beautiful to see in the twilight. It was visible from my little campground and I took a picture of it but again, without a zoom lens all I could get was this tiny white and glowing thing off in the distance. I took another picture at night but it just looked like a large star very close to the ground. Very pretty, actually, but it doesn’t give you the scale of this monolith.

I leave Butte with regret because there is so much to see here but I’ll be back - oh, yes, I’ll be back…

Lessons Learned:

That I can’t use my heating pad and Chopper’s heating pad at the same time on a 12V system.

That Chopper is much older than me, at least in kitty years.

That I respect my elders so her needs trump mine.

Which is why I like campgrounds with electrical hook-ups.

That I finally figured out how to join the sewage hose on the van and the extension I bought so it will extend to the sewer hook-up.

That I did this all by myself without the help of, indeed, in spite of the advice from several folks from the RV stores.

That it’s good to know that I can figure out these little problems.

As long as I don’t have to do this too often.

Observations:

A friend of mine kindly reminded me that Debussy did not write "Pavane for a Dead Princess." Ravel did. Dang. I knew that and brain cramped, but I sure sounded impressive there for a bit, huh?

A sign at a local restaurant advertising the future “Testicle Festival.” Not too unhappy I’ll miss that.

I’ve found my ‘tiger balm’ and have been rubbing it on my cracked thumb cuticles with tremendous relief. How am I going to get used to a different weather when I’m traveling so often between different kinds? I guess I’ll lay in lots of lotion, sun screen, light clothes, heavy clothes (both of which I already have), drink lots of water and hope for the best.

Since I entered Idaho and throughout Montana I’ve seen Clark Fords, Clark Rivers, Clark Forks, Clark Streams, Clark Lakes - Clark! Clark! Clark! Just who is this Clark guy, anyway?

Oh, wait. This is Lewis and Clark territory.

Duh.

So what does that make Lewis?

Chopped liver?

Fluffbutt was doing her squirm of joy on the passenger seat up front when I got up this morning, her signal that she’s happy and wants a belly rub. I was delighted to see that she was getting used to her new environment so I rubbed and played with her for a bit. She was feeling rambunctious and I had to pull out a cloth for her to snag and chew and kick instead of my hand and arm. I’ve been hit before with her “let’s see how many scars I can leave on you" mood and have learned to substitute something other than me.

I’ve seen three mountain silhouettes that look like Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona. Is this some kind of basic template for a range design?

T-shirt on motorcycle rider passing me on the left: “Fighting Solves Everything.” (???)

A Sinclair gas station with bright, colorful and obviously fake and how-did-they-get-here palms surrounding it. Besides buying gas you can apparently play at a casino inside. In fact, just about every local town has its own casino and liquor store. I forget I’m no longer in Washington where only the state sells anything beyond wine and beer. Now you can get anything anywhere. Weird.

Day 3 - Moses Lake

Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary

09.03.09

Well, I wildly overestimated how far I could get today. I had planned to spend the night in Coeur d’Alene in Idaho but only made it as far as Moses Lake in Washington. That was not quite 200 miles which is pretty darned good for me, if I do say so myself. But I had not anticipated driving into a stiff head wind into the mountains, silly me. Le Van Gogh is a good little camper guy but it doesn’t drive well in windy areas. It pretty much felt like I was steering a derelict old scow that was wallowing through a deep trough. In other words, not good. The van skittered back and forth across the lane leaving both me and the other drivers with a few hair-raising episodes of ‘too close for comfort’ driving. I shouldn’t wonder if they thought I had been drinking before I left this morning. I hadn’t, of course, but any policeman would have been justified in pulling me over and giving me a breathalyzer test. All he’d get would be coffee breath but I’d still look suspicious.

And even though the speed limit was often 70 mph through Snoqualmie Pass, I retreated to the far right with the trucks who were required to go no faster than 60. In that lane I at least felt like I might have a bit more control when a good blast of air came at me. And if I did lose control I could aim towards the mountain side instead of other drivers. A small consolation, but it meant something to me.

So all in all I think I did pretty good going uphill against winds with a wandering van that couldn’t decide which side of the lane to stay in. I don’t know yet what my mileage was for today but I’ll bet it wasn’t worth a tinker’s darn.

My night in the Walmart parking lot was interesting but amazingly quiet once I moved away from the guy with the noisy generator. When I closed the curtains there was only two other gonzo RV’s outside besides the generator-run small van. When I woke up this morning I was surrounded by seven more vans of a variety of sizes in addition to the two I started with, plus three pickup trucks, numerous assorted cars and one cab. Walmart is a very popular boon docking site, I’m beginning to see. It’s sure good for my budget though I noted that this Walmart stayed open all night. Perhaps that’s their way of getting money back from the free parking they provide.

After deciding that I would stay in Moses Lake tonight, I pulled over in a parking lot in town and googled any campgrounds in the area. There was only one listed right here in Moses Lake and since I didn’t want to drive any farther I called them up desperately hoping they might have something open for one little bitty RV. To my delight I could have one night for $25 if I got the heck out in the morning. The camp was full from tomorrow through next Tuesday with last-weekend families out for one last huzzah before school began. I restrained my tears and tried not to look too pathetically grateful as I handed over the cash. I was assigned to a site down away from the already full row of RV’s and tents in the upper level. I was happy with that because there was only one camper down below and up here there were multitudes with loud country music blaring. I’ll take peace and quiet with fewer neighbors any day.

Before I found the campground, I had programmed the address into Charmagne (who had kept her tone of voice distinctly civil today in spite of my frequent ignoring of her advice) and got back onto the proper street to lead me just a wee bit out of town. As I neared what I assumed would bring me a big sign saying “Cascadia Campgrounds,” Charmagne piped up and declared I had arrived at my destination. Well, heck, I was still in the middle of a road with no sign in sight indicating where the campground could be. I saw just down the road a little mom n’ pop grocery store and I pulled in there to ask for directions. I asked the man if he could tell me where the campgrounds were because my GPS unit had told me it was right back there in the middle of the road. The nice man laughed and said that I wasn’t alone - there apparently was a constant stream of people coming in, all claiming their GPS unit was drunk or had vertigo or something was wrong. Oh, goodie, I thought. If Charmagne is as mentally defective as she appears to be, then at least she’s not alone. The man gave me the rest of the directions and off I went to check in.

My site was by the lake (I presume THE lake) and under a tree. I successfully backed in with only a couple of attempts (I’m getting better!) and hooked up the water and electricity. I then fed and watered the kitties, tidied up the stray items that were apparently left out and rolled around, and let the cats out on their leashes and harnesses. They couldn’t go out last night in the parking lot because it was dangerous and they both would have been scared silly. But here the sun was shining though we were parked under a large shady tree and the wind was lightly blowing through the grass. Beautiful! Chopper, being a formerly in-and-outdoor cat, immediately went out to explore and just sat in the sun for several minutes, enjoying the moment. It’s been a while since she could do that.

Fluffbutt, on the other hand, made a beeline towards the van and hid behind the rear tire. I had looped their extended leashes around the picnic table close by and she had reached the end of the leash under there. She stayed in that area for a bit, slowly peeking her little white nose around the corner and sniffing the air like a dog. I left her sniffing and peeking for a bit and walked over to say hi to my only neighbors.

I introduced myself to Ruth and Mark and their two sons, Levi and Zac, who had got there that morning and were staying through Tuesday. Both Levi and Zac were in wheelchairs, both appearing to have cerebal palsy. Zac had more control over his body and could crawl to his wheelchair and get in himself. He waved happily at me and said howdy. Levi, on the other hand, was severely physically challenged with the condition. Although there was nothing wrong with his smarts, he was held captive by his body and could only make distorted sounds and jerky, uncontrolled movements. It was obvious, however, that in spite of his challenges he was your basic teenager and wore his hair in wildly unkempt dreadlocks and the latest in what passes for fashion in that age group. Zac’s hair was much shorter but his clothingwas similar in nature and both he and Levi looked just like what they were: Happy young men who liked to laugh and clearly enjoyed camping by the side of the lake.

We all chatted for a bit and Mark said he’d keep Daisy, his beautiful, goofily affectionate golden lab on a leash since she was a confirmed cat hater. I told him the kitties would be going back inside in a bit and then if he wanted to let her go, feel free. I then asked him if he had seen the folks who had been in my spot prior to me because it looked like large herd of small dogs came stampeding through and offloaded every place they could. The area was a virtual minefield of poo and I stepped very carefully around the van when I went out to hook up the utilities. Mark replied that it wasn’t small dogs, those were goose droppings. Lots of goose droppings. Although there weren’t any in sight at the moment, there was apparently a flock of geese who spent time there and had made it kinda tough to get around safely. I immediately thought of my sister, Laureen’s, ordeal when she had to march through goose droppings in Officer Candidate School. So much for having a spit-shine on your shoes!

I wished a wonderful time and a good night to all and returned to my little camper. Time for dinner, a little reading, and beginning of tonight’s blog. With the heating pad on under my back and the laptop perched on my belly, I sit in a relaxed and soothing atmosphere with a little light classical music in the background and some icy water at hand. What more could I ask for?

I’ve added a section called Observations in addition to Lessons Learned. It seems appropriate.

Lessons Learned:

That the sound of rain on the camper roof is nice.

That it’s good to have a furnace that runs off of 12V.

But electricity is better.

That I should never have bought blankets that snag.

That Chopper requires untangling even as I write.

That I need to find a local charity drop-off so I can get rid of these ‘gently snagged’ blankies.

That I see yet another trip to Walmart in my future.

After I find Goodwill.

That I found a tiny screw on the floor and I can’t figure out where it fell from and it’s driving me as buggy as the unknown item that is still rollicking around in the cabinet.

That the sink no longer leaks leaving me wondering where the water came from which is driving me even buggier.

That my windshield wipers flap in the wind.

That I have no windshield wiper fluid.

That I need to go get some and soon.

That seeing out of my front windows in rain is a little tough with flapping wipers.

That this adds to the ‘interesting’ factor of driving into the wind.

That I can do without any more ‘interesting’ factors right now.

That my radio speakers are in the rear of the van.

That I can’t hear them very well when I’m driving.

That there is no place to plug in a headphone except in the rear.

That perhaps I’d better get a long extension to my headphone wires.

That my portable radio/DVD player has a headphone jack.

That the sound won’t come on when the headphones are plugged in.

That I can’t hear it playing aloud much better even though it’s sitting right beside me in the passenger seat.

That I’m now listening to instrumentals played low (and still coming from the rear) that give me a little background music because they’re the only music I can hear that doesn’t require me to understand what they are saying.

That I’m going to have to regroup and rethink this whole playing music thing while I’m on the road.

Goose poop.

Obervations:

A teensy, tiny elderly lady working in a Burger King where I stopped to pee told me she liked my shirt. I’m wearing a Monty Python design of the armless, legless knight yelling that it’s only a flesh wound.

I caught only part of a story on NPR this morning in which they were discussing a herd of goats that had been trained to dance together to a Scottish jig. The goats were so good that they were being compared to the Rockettes. Where is this happening and when because seeing this has just gone on my ’see before I die’ list.

Eastern Washington doesn’t look anything like the northern peninsula. Where there are forests and beaches and dampness (when we’re not in a drought, that is), here there are long, sloping hills that resemble something out of the four corners territory of Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico, only without the red rock. More like a subtle variation in browns, grays and greens with scrub brush and grasses thrown in for good measure. In fact, I drove by the Ginko Petrified Forest, something else that can be found in the four corners area. The petrified forest, not the ginko. Very cool. I stopped at one of those ‘scenic view’ pull offs and grabbed my camera. There were brownish-grayish canyons overlooking a beautiful lake with a gorgeous blue sky overhead. Fantastic!

And then I looked up on the hillside and there was a herd of horses galloping across the hilltop. Or I thought they were galloping. Actually, they were this life size metal sculpture that I’d heard about but had never seen and they were beautiful!! I snapped a couple of pictures but in the sunlight I couldn’t see if they turned out ok. If so, they’ll be posted. If not, maybe I can find an internet photo I could swipe and post here. We shall see.

I couldn’t remember the name of this installation so I asked a couple standing near me if they knew and the man said he thought it was “Advantages.” Odd name for a bunch of metal horses so I think I’ll look it up. I don’t remember the name of the artist either (I’m doing really great here for someone who has taken several art history classes) so I guess I’ll look that up, too.

A car passed me on 405 with “got cornbread?’ scrawled on the rear window.

I saw several cows in a meadow on my right today, lying down and chewing their cud. Over many years I’ve heard the meaning of my name, “Lea,” given as “weary,” “wild cow (feral cows?”, and “a meadow.” That means that today I saw a bunch of lea leas in a lea.

Tomorrow I will most definitely make it to Coeur d’Alene where I was confounded to discover that I could switch tonight’s reservation at the Wolf Lodge Campground to then. I guess because Le Van Gogh is such a little guy that he can squeeze into more spots. Otherwise, I’d be screwed looking for any open site at the beginning of a long weekend. The next night might very well be another Walmart parking lot, but at least I’ll have had a hot shower two nights in a row!

And on that note, the hot shower has done its job and it’s time for beddy. Until tomorrow, adieu. And may you all have wonderful, hot showers!