GIVING OF THANKS

Grand Junction

originally written December 5, 09

For many years I've had to work around Thanksgiving, so traveling the 200 miles to be with my family for one day did not generally happen. Instead Dave and I spent it by ourselves, or an evening with friends. This year was different, we spent it with Dave's brother Mark, and his family Shelley and the girls.

With Shelley and I not working this year we had fun checking the Sunset Magazine website for tips, planning the entire meal together and sticking the menu and schedule to the fridge in preparation of the big day. Then Thursday morning, armed with coffee/tea in one hand and purses in the other, we headed out the door for those early Christmas sales. Both of us having worked retail in the past and never bothering with these crazy sale days we decided to check it off our Bucket List, just to say we'd done it! Upon our return, overstuffed bags in toe, we stashed the goods and switched on the parade. The rest of the day we shared the kitchen preparing the grand feast, while the kids played and the men napped. This was a home bursting with love, laughter, and life. Later after dinner, with all of us settled around the TV watching Angels and Demons, I felt I was in a Norman Rockwell painting. Eating homemade pumpkin pie, snuggled up on the couch with Dave, while the kids were stretched out on the floor with giant pillows, it just felt right. It was the cozy comfy feeling I was familiar with but times ten. Family can't be together all the time, but a day like this is a memory worth having.

When I was 28 I spent my summer up in Alaska trolling for salmon along the southern panhandle. I lived on a 30 foot boat, chasing salmon who were staying farther off shore than previous years, and competing with fleets of other trollers and seiners for these same fish. Every morning we'd leave our homemade dock at 4:00 am and head out into the choppy seas to reach our special fishing spot. "Thank You" became my mantra, thank you for the fish, thank you for keeping us safe, thank you for the experiences I was gleaning. Following that summer I continued the habit, finding something to be thankful for everyday, often more than one thing, and voicing it aloud. It's funny how today Dave and I still continue to practice this habit, whether it's the truck starting on a cold morning, having family around us, our health, work, or just each other, a day doesn't go by without me saying "Thank You". We don't need one special day a year to remind us of all the things we have to be thankful for. Instead that one day is reserved for extra special together time and it doesn't matter if it's with lots of family or just us. We don't even care if we have all the trimmings or a large pizza (we've done that one year). This year we've been blessed to have the time to spend it with our family and in such a traditional manner.

Life was never meant to be stumbled through only to wake up on the "special" days marked on a calendar. We whiz through the day with our head down, and then wonder where the time went. It didn't go any faster than other days, we just don't notice what was going on around us. We don't live in the NOW. Remember that old adage, "Don't forget to stop and smell the roses?", well it's true. Noticing the insignificant and finding joy in the simple things are the building blocks of our lives. Life is unexpected, and no matter how hard we would like to know what the future holds for us isn't it more exciting not knowing, being in awe of the magic that is before us? Make everyday a celebration? Live in the NOW! Be thankful everyday for all that it brings, for tomorrow is a different day and brings new joys and wonderment with it.

Whispers in the Wind...

Originally written October 12, 2009

Grand Junction, Colorado

LAST NIGHT the wind raged, shaking the trailer, rocking us to sleep. The leaves in the trees rustling like the waves crashing at the ocean. It's nice to return from Oklahoma and be back in the trailer. This morning the energy in the sky is still there setting the evergreen and deciduous trees waving to and fro, like a couple in an all night dance off. The clouds are dark and menacing with the threat of rain, but like a teasing younger sibling end up being more show than action and by 9 am, with full light in the sky, the dreary color has changed to a bright blue with white puffy highlights. Fall is definitely here, with winter closing in on its heals. I don't think Dave and I really anticipated still being in Grand Junction for October. We were hoping to be in Rico, south of here, working on the family mine and doing a bit of hunting and fishing... but once again the truck has left us somewhat stranded and we are found changing our schedule to meet Hers. Although family is pleased to have us around, this truck's tantrums are getting more than a bit tiring and expensive and are wearing our patience thin. The sooner we can get the truck's issues resolved the sooner we can be on our way again. Dave has an appointment to take her in to the Ford Diesel shop. They will do a diagnostic and find out why she has no humph. In the meantime we visit with family and continue to work on the little things around our home.

Friday October 16

Grand Junction to Rico Colorado

8:30 am- Thanks be to Heaven above we are on our way and faster than we had anticipated. With the truck's timing adjusted we have our fingers crossed. Our home is packed, our co-captain is hiding under the covers, and we are excited to be off. Earlier this morning we had breakfast with Bob, so with full bellies and light hearts we are off to see what we can see.

9:45 am- I cannot believe this is happening. We turned off the exit to Moab and the trailer burst her 4th tire. Will this ever end? Dave changed it and we got into Moab with the GPS finding a tire place. Thankfully the new tire was only $100, however we discovered the spare we were using was bulging and on the verge of erupting. CHA-CHING $$$. Two hundred dollars later with more time spent off the road we are now on our way again. Rico here we come, and then, all things willing onto Arizona.

2:00 pm- Arrive in Rico and park the "house" at the mine. We are here! The sun is out and it feels like Fall, smells like Fall, and even sounds like Fall. Driving through Dolores and outside Rico there are lots of hunting camps staked out along the river. Occasionally a shot rings out and I wonder if another tag has been filled or did the big one get away? Right now it is not too cold, however the weather report says snow is on its way.

Sometime During the Week

Rico, Colorado

RICO IS one of those towns that are small, blink and you've missed it. I grew up in one of these towns, Dave grew up in this one. Shaped by its mining history the main street is lined with buildings showing their age... their architectural style, worn stone work, fading advertisements form a time long ago. It is these same characteristics that give the street its charm and these structures a new lease on life. The furniture shop has become an antique boutique, the old firehouse now houses the Rico Historical Museum, the state bank building transformed into the current real estate office, and it continues like this down Glasgow Ave, aka Highway 145. Tucked away among the canyons of the San Juan Forest Rico once was a booming gold and silver mining town, boasting a population of 5000 residence, with the Rio Grand Southern Railroad running through its backyard. Now these same scarred and pock-marked mountains from Rico's colorful past form the backdrop for the town's present source of revenue, tourism.

Dave and I have been lucky to visit here twice this year, once during the summer for two weeks and then again this fall for seven days. In early August we had Ty, Dave's teenage daughter, with us. It looked very different then, flowers were in bloom, everything was green and warm, little black bugs were biting in force and the bears were out having picnics in the neighbors garbage. That first night we jumped in the jeep and drove along the back roads and up into the mountains searching for bears. We didn't see any that evening, but bears were definitely in the area as the evidence the next morning was proof of the pudding. A neighbors hatchback had been broken into via the side window. Bear tracks all over the ground, even Ursus americanus hair caught in the glass as he had climbed in and out of the window in search of some

tasty snacks. The previous night he had left behind a huge poo. The game warden came out and investigated the incident. upon his findings a living trap was laid with day old danishes as bait. The next morning the culprit had been caught and apparently this had not been his first internment. Bears get "two strikes and your out" rule. Upon misbehaving the first time they get tagged and relocated. If they are stubborn, find their way back and misbehave a second time, managing to get caught again, then they are sadly put down. This bear's fate was sealed.

Note: important to use bear proof garbage cans to dissuade the critters from finding easy food in human habitations. Fortunately this bear did not go to waste. The meat was cut up and distributed. The Jones's received a portion of it, and mighty tasty he was too.

Although we love visiting family, one of the biggest reasons Dave wanted to come back to his home was to mine. His face lights up like a little kid when he recounts tales of his boyhood, mining with his dad and finding quartz veins that would lead to nuggets of gold. With pan in hand he would take off on the four wheeler to the lands he'd explored as a kid. Sometimes I would go along and at other times it'd be just him, the mountain, and the mines. Much of those first weeks in August were spent showing Ty and I around his old stomping grounds. Other days Dave would hang around his dad's mining buildings. Old wood was burned, various metals salvaged, and the Grand Junction bomb squad called in to manage the boxed caps that were still stored there. All in all it was very exciting. We did a bit of camping with the family, celebrated Wyatt's birthday, and had a really terrific time meeting old friends. When the two weeks were up it was hard to say good-bye, but Dave and I knew we'd be back later.

We thought we'd have the entire Month of October in Rico, however as we have learned over and over on this trip one must be flexible with their time. We spent an extra week in

Oklahoma, and then the truck misbehaved, so now it's the middle of October and we have finally returned. The evenings are cooler and there are no annoying gnats or mosquitoes. Instead the river's water level has dropped dramatically and the Aspens have turned color and dropped their leaves, only the most stubborn are holding onto their yellow cloaks of Autumn. Dave and I have parked the trailer down at the mine and enjoy the privacy the woods and river provide. At night we can hear the coyotes, and in the quiet of the morning watch the juncos and chicadees forage for those last remaining seeds before the storms arrive. It is nice here, it feels familiar and comforting like the old quilt we snuggle under while reading a favorite book. With the last rays of Indian Summer I sit outside and draw the surrounding landscapes, or walk the dirt roads threading passed collapsed wealth of the past. Dave continues to dig, sifting through

snap shots of mining memories, excavating bits of remembered conversations with his father, and panning soil samples in anticipation of a little color. No hunting or fishing this October. In the eveni

ng we gather at the Jones's sharing a meal and the days adventures.

Saturday October 24

WE HAVE decided to take our leave. The weather is getting much colder. The last couple of mornings we've woken with ice on the inside of the windows. Todd's small generator has been keeping the trailer warm as the sun is only out for such a sort period of time during the day, and some days not at all. Yesterday morning Dave and I walked the river toward the cemetery. We could see our words as frozen condensation as we spoke of alternative travel plans. At times we would pause and watch the trickle of the

river break through the thin ice of a new winter. Small icicles have begun forming along eroded banks where the water has washed the soil away, leaving exposed roots and rocks. We walked and walked realizing we would need to find a way across. There were no bridges. With shoes and socks flung over our shoulders we slowly entered the freezing cold water, picking our path while trying not to fall in. It was a funny site, and neither of us thought to take a photo of the other until we were both on the opposite shore, feet warming in wool socks once again. The walk was enjoyable and took us all morning and part of the afternoon. We spied new spots for the trailer for future visits and watched hawks circling in the updraft searching for meaty morsels. The season is definitely changing. It has become a tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwich kinda day.

The truck continues to have issues, now it's the starter. Dave fixed it, but we don't know how long it will last and with the small amount of savings left we cannot risk a bigger problem out in the middle of nowhere. We talked about heading south, but the jobs that were available have been filled. Now it's Plan B- back to Grand Junction. We'll drive the 5 hours without stopping, as we have no confidence in Gutless restarting if we stop. Everything is packed, tied down and ready to go. We leave before 9:00 am.

We are back in Grand Junction now and plan to spend the holidays here. We hope you are all well this winter and we look forward seeing many of you in the coming spring.

Dave and I would like to take this moment and thank a very special lady for a precious gift she made us before we left on this adventure. Dixie knitted each of us a pair of woolen slipper socks and they are one of our most treasured belongs we have. They have saved our feet on some very cold nights and have been a comfort on those days when you just want to fluff around. Thank you Dixie, we love you and look forward to seeing you at Barnes & Noble upon our return. Keep up the knitting!!

Huggs to everyone.

V, D and the cat!

Back To Basics

Rico, Colorado

I WAS CLEANING out my pantry a couple of days ago, trying to get it better organized, and I discovered a tiny treasure trove hidden back behind the pasta. In the far right corner of the top shelf a little grey metallic box sat. Upon pulling it out and opening it I found it was filled with recipes of all sorts, hand written on well worn index cards. Some of them had headings such as From The Kitchen Of... or Here's What's Cooking...

There were cookies, cakes, casseroles, sauces and soups, main meals and mayonnaise. A time capsule from the 50's, 60's and 70's. Family recipes passed down from mother to daughter. I went through them all and put aside a few I wanted to make in the coming weeks. The first being a chocolate chip combination different than my own.

I remember one of the first times I attempted to cook. The butter turned black, both from the burning of it and the melting of the plastic spatula. Later I attempted steak, but not before calling my neighbor to find out how to cook it. College had been all about Ramen and the 101 ways to serve it. It wasn't really until I headed off to Alaska to do some commercial fishing that my culinary skills took a 180 degree turn for the better. I had to learn quickly how to turn a wholesome meal from nothing into something. Have you ever seen tinned bacon? When you open the top the fatty rinds are swirled together with bits of wax paper. With the steering set on auto pilot I was often seen peeling potatoes, while muffins baked, and the fish marinated.

My old ratty copy of Irma Rombauer's Joy of Cooking says one should always keep onions, carrots, celery and potatoes on hand. You can make anything with those ingredients, and it's true. More so now than ever before my cupboards are stocked with those very same items along with flour, sugar, baking powder, and other standard basics. What's in my pantry, although small as it is, is not far off to what woman like my great, great, grandmother Mears would have had in theirs. Just like any good pioneer we pick up fresh veggies, keep the freezer stocked with hamburger and steaks, and always have bacon and coffee on hand for mornings with eggs and pancakes. And if I'm really lucky Dave will catch a few fresh fish that we can serve up with a slice of lemon and basil.

Traveling around has given me opportunities to improve my kitchen skills. Where $5 will get you an already pre-cooked meal of very little, for the same amount I can make a dinner that will last several days. Instead of buying the prepackaged cookies for $3, I can buy the chocolate chips and have warm, gooey, chewy homemade ones in less than an hour. They eat just as quickly and I can drop more per batch. the other night I threw together a meatloaf and later this week I'll sacrifice the black bananas turning them into bread. With the holidays coming my skills will be tested on the propane stove as I whip up pumpkin pies, green bean casserole, and later fudge. I know there is a bit of June Cleaver in me just trying to get out.

THERE IS SOMETHING to be said about having such a skill. We live in a society where speed is the thing, fast food, pre-heated dinners, right to your door deliveries. We justify this speed as our ability to save time in the kitchen in order to spend more quality time with our families. Cooking today isn't the same as when I was growing up. I remember my mom having us stir the gravy after the roast came out of the oven. Explaining how to add the potato water to the drippings, stirring slowly as the beefy juice got thicker and glossy in color. I think she said stir it until the color looks like melted chocolate. Another time we made gingerbread cookies for the church's Christmas bazaar. Hundreds of little men and women were decorated in bikinis, muscles, fig leaves, Elvis jumpsuits and other non traditional cookie men outfits. My brother and I took turns mixing and rolling out the dough, using the cookie cutters and competing to see who made the perfect cookie. We laughed the entire time we were doing it and ate a few broken bits along the way. It is scientific, it's fun, and it's yummy, and like everything else in life it just takes practice.

It is through cooking that I have found a way to connect to the women in my life; my mother, my aunt, my grandmothers, and even those pioneer woman, who traveled in tiny wagons with only core ingredients and what they harvested along the way. Cooking with its simple methods and complex combinations, without electric mixer, food processor or microwave, armed with my whisk and wooden spoon, allows me a freedom to express myself in a way I never could have imagined. I once loathed the kitchen and the idea of cooking up my next meal, but now I look forward to the challenge. Finding a recipe in the box, or cookbook, or magazine and regardless of the skill level knowing I can do it and it will taste fabulous when I am through. It also helps when you have someone who will eat pretty much whatever you put in front of him.

Try it, start with something simple, but try it one night at week for a month. See what happens. You might find you like getting back to basics, you may even uncover a bit of June Cleaver in you.

Sending you all warm thoughts.

Happy Cooking!

Dave, Vanessa and Sackett

Jurassic Moments

WHAT IF I told you the Colorado River was originally called the Grand River? Would you believe that the T. Rex once walked the streets of downtown Grand Junction? Were you aware that over 150 Million Years Ago this entire area was a giant plateau? It's like something out of Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth or better yet Arthur Conan Doyle's Lost World. It seems I can't go anywhere without closing my eyes and transporting myself back in time, blocking out the modern world and visualizing only what was. It almost feels a little "Wellsian".

The Grand River, now known as the Colorado River, swept through the Colorado territory and merged with the Gunnison River. Where these two bodies of water

met a junction was created. People moved in, built habitations, planted crops, raised stock... this place became known as Grand Junction. (Bonanza theme playing in background) Grand Junction is now the home to over 40,000 individuals. It's the same size as Bend when I moved there over ten years ago. It is actually not much different to Bend. Resting at a similar elevation around 4000 feet, it's within driving distance to deserts, mountains, and streams & rivers. There's plenty to do outdoors year round. Their summers are hot and their winters mild. While hiking the many trails and paths carved from the layers of sedimentary rocks, metamorphic rocks and igneous rocks it would be no surprise to find oneself bumping into Will, Holly and Chaka rounding a corner, chased by Grumpy , a very large Tyrannasaurus rex. This entire area feels

very Land of the Lost. Who would have guessed that this Jurassic wonderland once had an atmosphere of 3x the CO2 rate of today. Could it be that all Global Warming is, is a means to return to that swampy tropical environment of overgrown lizards?

I LOOK OUT over the Grand Valley. The redness of the Mesa and the Monument, which make up part of the greater Colorado Plateau, remind me very much of my trip to Australia's Red Center. The bright aquamarine sky contrasting against the deep reddish orange of iron in the soil, Uluru and Kata Tjuta's bulbous formations, the short scrub of arid desert. And although the Aussie center is at a much lower elevation than Grand Junction Colorado, it too was created by the brutal forces of erosion. The old stirrings of earlier adventures come back. I can smell the eucalyptus of the backcountry, hear the Galas, see the touch of haze on the horizon. This earth is deeply connected in many different ways and even here in Colorado I find examples of shared geologic features, representative of a time when the earth was once one giant piece of land, Pangea (Greek for Entire Earth). This may or may not be true, however my scientific self asks how can two things so geologically

uniform; in color, texture, mineral makeup, and genesis be in two different places? Did they originate from an identical experience? Were they once physically part of similar environments? I wonder.

Here in the semi desert pinyon pines, mountain mahogany and junipers cover the landscape. The songs of ravens, jays, and wrens echo off the canyon walls, while desert bighorns, coyotes, mountain lions and even collared lizards and rattlesnakes find niches for themselves in the scrub and rock work. This immense piece of terra firma holds its secrets close to its breast. Each season reaps its own surprises. Spring rains bring cascading waterfalls and overflowing river outlets. Summer paints a carpet of blooms of Indian paintbrush, a variety of cacti, Yucca and sages. When the snow falls in Winter it collects in the cracks and crevices of the Monument, the Bookcliffs, and the Mesa. The white frozen water accentuates the ornamental beauty of this landscape. Then when the evening sun readies itself for bed, its last rays of the day radiate hues of sunset golds, copper reds, and fire oranges, a kodachrome of color across the expansive plateaus and canyons. It is this last image that conjures up the memory of Fall for me.

AS DAVE and I cycle the Connecting Lakes of the larger Audubon Loop we are reminded of the diversity of this area. Along the Banks of the Colorado River, which the trails follow, Cottonwoods (Populus sp.) still have a bit of bright green mixed with their new Fall fashions of yellows and oranges. A Blue Heron stands at attention watching the fish circle between his long greenish legs. Not a muscle moves...then BLAM! His sharp bill spears dinner. We stop often to watch birds. Dave has taken an interest in learning the different birds and over the past three month he has identified over 50 different species. It's AWESOME. It is only as we pause to watch two Corvus caurinus fight over a meal that Dave discovers his two flat tires. The latest victim of goat heads. It had been me earlier in the month. We will eventually solve this problem with green slime and tire liners. These wetland areas along the Colorado River are lush and very different to the higher canyons and mesas. The tall reeds of cattails, the invasive thorny Russian Olive and feathery Tamarisk, even the willow makes its home here. Together they create a riparian habitat for many birds, mammals and retiles. Beavers log the surrounding area for timber for their woodland homes, Killdeer, Redwing Blackbirds, and Mallards build their nests along the grassy shore. I have been lucky and the only snakes I've seen have been the garden variety, with a number of lizards mixed in for good measure. There is so much to discover and in our short time here have only just scratched the surface. We are already compiling a list of places we'd like to visit on our return next summer.

One of those places we'd like to revisit is the Grand Mesa. We had the opportunity to camp at Mesa's Jumbo campground in September. We headed up on a Friday and had two glorious days of Fall weather before the storm blew in. That Sunday morning Dave and I were hiking along one of the many ridges of the mesa, looking for letterboxes. There is a Lord of the Rings series containing 41 boxes close to where we were camping. Two hours into our adventure the rain came pouring down, so after finding 15 boxes we headed back. By the time we arrived at the campsite Dave's brother's family were all huddled into their camper keeping dry and

playing a game of Sorry. Shedding our wet outerwear we settled in and waited for the calm. By noon Mark and his family headed back into town, leaving Dave and I to weather out the storm. We had some lunch, read a little and by 2:00 pm the rain and wind had stopped and blue sky was once more above us. Agreeing to head back to the ridge we donned our gear. The views from the top of the ridge were magnificent. We had four boxes left when the clouds moved in. Dave watched the weather while I stamped and logged our finds. It was as if Saruman had called the storm in himself, the lightening and thunder hit so close, the rain pouring down and the clouds low and enveloping us. Even the umbrella we carried was not enough to keep us dry. With final stamp in the book, and the boxes re-hid we headed down the mountain to the truck. It was like a line from Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, "Thunderbolts and lightening, very, very frightening me". Wow what a rush! Once again we pealed our wet things off and couldn't stop laughing. It is moments like this that one never forgets and the telling only gets better as one gets older, sitting on the porch in our rocking chairs sipping sweet tea and lemonade.

WESTERN COLORADO has some of the best sites in the West. If you have not visited this area already it is a must on your places to visit before you die! The history, environment, people and art are spectacular. Although we certainly never planned on being here for as long as we have, we are blessed to have been able to keep our calendar open and our time frame flexible for these opportunities. It seemed only appropriate during our visit that we should read Sue Henry's book Serpent's Trail, a mystery set in Grand Junction, where the sleuth is traveling in her Winnebago. A definite fun read for those mystery buffs.

Soon we will be pointing our rig south and making a stop in Rico, one final time before the snow really comes down. No dinosaurs, no Colorado or Gunnison Rivers. Here it is the Dolores River running through a town built on the side of a mountain and pock-marked by gold and silver mines. It is a town surrounded by the San Juan National Forest, not bordered by semi desert plateaus and home to ancient sea beds. Instead it harbors large game, cold winters and a population of 250 year rounders.

We do not know what is around the next bend, or what the next surprise the truck has install for us. We don't even know where we will find our next job. What we do know is that we are together having fun and making the best of the situations that are presented to us. We do not question our past choices or decisions, those are past. We do not play "what if"s" as it is those "do's" that shape our future. We can only look forward finding the joy and love in each other and those around us. It is because of friends and family that we have came as far as we have. Winter is on our heels and though we hope to be somewhere warm for these next four months, we know wherever we are we will be safe and warm and happy.

Life is a miracle and living it happens only once in a lifetime, so why not make the best of both!

We wish you all good health, and a Happy Halloween.

Dave, Vanessa & Sackett.

A Brief History Lesson 101

"At their marriage they headed westward as did all adventurous spirits and homeseekers of that time. They crossed the northern part of Missouri with ox team and covered wagon."

-my great grandfather Benjamin Mears speaking of his parents, Harrison Cheaton Mears and Mary Cathern Price. From his memoir My Oklahoma.

SETTING OUT Dave and I chose a route most conducive to our destinations, it just happens a good portion of that planning followed a course that had been used for almost 200 years. Sure towns have popped up and asphalt laid, but as we drive through valleys, over mountains, and along side rivers, it occurs to me how much this part of the country hasn't changed. The West has always been rugged and raw, ranches and homesteads, wide expanses both above and below. It is Absolutely Beautiful!
The route we used was discovered in 1812 by a team of furriers returning East from Astoria, Oregon. Sadly war broke out that same year and all thoughts of travel along the Snake, Bear & Green Rivers, via South Pass to the Platte River was forgotten. Twenty years later a young captain in the US Army took a leave of absence from his frontier post, of plains and Indian country, to explore the western outback. Captain Benjamin Bonneville, you may recognize the last name... hint: it's a dam in Oregon, believed the Continental Divide coub be safely crossed using wagons to reach the Columbia River. Following a similar route as the fur traders, only in reverse, Bonneville successfully reached the Columbia River with wagons in toe opening up new possibilities for adventurers and settlers. Familiar with this region out of work fur trappers and mountain men now hired themselves out as trail guides, escorting emigrants West as early as 1836. Men such as Kit Carson and Jim Bridger.
At first only a few families chanced the crossing, but by the mid 1840's the "Great Migration" was on as thousands of steadfast missionaries, settlers, gold hounds, and explorers followed their dreams West into Oregon, California, and Utah. It wasn't until the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad, in 1896, that transportation West changed. The wagon trains slowed to a trickle as more travelers favored the "Iron Horse" to convey them to their western destinations.

BOTH US30 and Interstate 80 are descendants of the dusty Oregon-California Trail, often laying directly on or near the original wagon ruts. Passing the "Point of No Return" Dave and I rolled into Soda Springs Idaho elated the repairs on Gutless Wonder had held. Soda Springs had been part of a shortcut off the main route to Fort Hall, now located a little ways out of Pocetello Idaho. The springs were something of a phenomenon to the emigrants having never seen geysers, gushing water over 150 feet in the air or bubbling pools of effervescent water popping CO2. It was said that travelers added sugar to the water making frontier soda pop. The only "frontier soda" Dave and I picked up was the kind we found at the local grocery store when we stopped for supper supplies.

Idaho's historic byways are clearly marked on their state road map. Little dotted lines, broken by X's and O's and the occasional dash indicate the variety of routes taken through what was once considered Oregon Territory. Despite our earlier setbacks I was excited we'd chosen to follow the Bear River Valley route eastward. Running between Soda Springs and the Wyoming border everything about this area is seeped in history, from the roadside "points of interest" to ranches, farms and small communities that freckle this underpopulated country representing the true rural West of America.

It is easy to imaagine ourselves as young settlers, a farm wagon loaded with our small cache of belongings plodding along the well worn dusty trail. To the right Bear River sparkling and welcoming in the afternoon sun, surrounded by Quaking Aspen and vinilla scented Ponderosa Pine. All around open fields lush with wild grasses of Blue, Indian, and Rye dance in the soft summer breeze, while Monkshood, Columbine, and Larkspur dot the hillsides. Yellow spears of Verbascum thapsus, mixed with pinks and blues of Epilabium angutifolium, and Linm usitatissimum (Mullen, Fireweed and Flax) become roadside indicators, marking the passage of wooden wheels and later well traveled byways. To be a bird looking down across the mountains onto the patch-worked land would be a glorious thing. once again I reflected why emigrants continued West. Everything they needed was here, fresh water, grazing land, and timber. By this time these travelers had already walked over 1000 miles, why not stop? Would we given the choice?

CROSSING THE valley was easy for Gutless, we left the steep climb behind us and now the road had become relatively level. It is along this tributary that Dave and I discover Clover Creek, outside Georgetown. Here travelers watered themselves and their cattle, gathered plants for both healing and seasoning and rested their tired bones. For us we just pulled a cold a cold water bottle from the cooler and continued along our way. It is not far from Clover Creek that we pass a wooden plaque with "Smith Trading Post" carved into its header. Established in 1848 by former mountain man Thomas L. "Pegleg" Smith the historical marker points to the area where the short lived rustic outpost possibly stood. Built beside the river shaded by Cottonwoods, Alders, and Willows this would have been prime real estate for an ambitious business man. Drawing closer to the Wyoming border the grade begins to increase and the river pulls away from the highway. Dave points out a huge prominent hill seen silhouetted against a broad blue of sky. It is later we learn this ridge was a wagon's nightmare. Big Hill was journaled to be one of the steepest and longest hurdles the slow moving oxen had encountered after leaving Missouri.

Sometime after 3:30 pm we crossed into Wyoming, finally out of Idaho and closer to Colorado. The more I read and experience the westward movement I realize the motivation and spirit of the adventure still drives the passion to be off exploring and discovering today. The early settlers wanted a better life for themselves and their families, to begin fresh in new territories where opportunities were for the taking and not for the faint of heart. These were people willing to weigh their faith, determination and hard work against countless dangers, uncertainties and even their lives. I am proud to have their blood run through my veins.

Wishing you all well
D & V and Sackett too.

GET ME OUT OF IDAHO!

Do you remember the story of the Little Engine That Could? The circus had to get over the mountain and their transportation had broken down. All the engines strong enough to do the job refused to help, and then came along a little blue engine...



We headed South leaving Pocatello behind us. We'd had a crappy breakfast at Denny's and were looking forward to Wyoming and Colorado. To continue South into Salt Lake City would mean testing "Gutless" at elevations we weren't sure she could handle.

Instead we cut East along US 30, continuing to follow the Oregon Trail, this time to Soda Springs. This route of the OT was one of the busiest during the frontier days, used by trappers exploring the mountains and valleys for furs, pioneers heading West towards the Snake River and Mormon settlers looking to establish farming communities. This stretch of road, between Lava Springs and Montpelier, is designated a scenic byway and justly so, mountain meadows dotted with yellows, blues and reds bunched beside clear streams filled with fish, evident by the fly fishermen along the banks. Outside lava Springs billboards advertise the new waterpark. Its colorful tubes and platforms echo the giggles and screams of young fun as we pass by. Other signs remind us of the historical significance of the hot springs found throughout the area.


Not far out of Lava Springs we begin the ascent, slowly climbing, aware of the thermostat gauge. Our speed slows to 30 mph...25 mph...20 mph. The engine's temperature increasing a little each time. At mile marker 19 the thermostat reading shoots into the red zone! Dave pulls over as we watch a semi-hauler creep pass. We process our options, verbalizing alternatives to heading back. In the end our best solution is to return to Pocetello and do the repairs. From a local petrol station, allowing Gutless to cool down, Dave orders a new clutch fan and thermostat from Checkers, who assures us the parts would be in the next day by 10a.

What a way for Dave to spend his birthday, a bad breakfast, a blown thermostat, and another night in Pocettello Idaho. However, all was not lost! Retrieving the Red Lobster gift card from its hidy-hole (thanks to John back in Bend) I informed Davey we'd be eating out, so get showered and put on a good shirt!
What a wonderful way to end the day. A romantic quiet meal out, I had the trout and he had the lobster, then home curled up with the cat, together on the bed watching a movie. Outside the rain fell and the lightening lit up the sky. Tomorrow would be a new day with new challenges and new surprises. Besides isn't this what life is all about, tackling the hurdles and embracing the achievments together?


We awoke with overcast skies, but no rain, and a promise of sunshine. The parts we needed came in earlier than expected and so Dave rode his bicycle the mile to the shop to pick them up. With his head under the hood Dave methodically tore down the area he was working in and then carefully put it back together. As he was nearing the end of the process I heard some strange #%*& coming from the front of the truck.


"I didn't get a replacement casket, Honey will you go back and pick one up for me?"

Dave called a head to Checkers to make sure they had one. I then ran/walked/ran to the part shop. The woman there couldn't find where they had been moved the caskets, then she couldn't find the right casket, and when she did find them she had to double check the type number with the other fellow there. They were kind enough to not charge me, but after all that and running back to the truck it turned out NOT to be the correct casket after all. Dave was not a happy camper. He put the part he was working with in his backpack, got on his bicycle and rode back to Checkers. I got a call to tell me that they never had that part to begin with and when he finally got back to the truck almost 2 hours had past. He had had to ride to the other end of town. With the part in hand it did not take him long to get the rest of the project together.

We got the trailer hooked back up, filled the fuel tanks and headed out, following the way we had started the day before. We started up the infamous hill, everything appeared to be okay. The thermostate gauge was registering normal...traveling at a steady 35 mph we got closer to the original turn-around point. Fingers crossed we dropped to 25 mph, still going good... We reached the 19 mile marker, no indications of a problem.

Now do you remember the Little Engine that Could? All the way up that mountain the little blue engine kept saying "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..." and so we were saying the same thing only Gutless was saying with us "I know I can, I know I can, I know I can..." and sure enough we made it to the top and rolled easily into Soda Springs without anymore problems.


"We thought we could, we thought we could, we thought we could..."

Love to you all,
D&V, and Sackett too

1,2,3,4... part 2

"And now Harry let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress adventure."

- Prof. Albus Dumbledore

Pretty country with pockets of willows, sage, and pine... Eastern Oregon is much greener than anticipated or remembered. I wonder why more settlers didn't stay? Dave reminds me that they had greater dreams in mind, which meant greater risks and further distances to travel. Dreams are important and although some level of risk is involved with everything we do, it is with faith that we are able to set the process in motion. You can't really have one without the other; all three- dreams, risk, and faith, are essential elements for adventuring.



Nineteen miles out of Pendleton we stop at Deadman's Pass. Banana's, juice, and donuts constitute our breakfast break, allowing "Gutless Wonder" a well deserved rest. We have entered the Blue Mountains, steep and exciting, a landscape that strikes fear into the hearts of many travelers. "Their lofty peaks seemed a resting place for clouds", one emigrant noted in their personal journal. It is here that the settlers looked towards the west believing the next big obstacle would be the Cascade Range. Sadly this would not be the case as the arid desert of eastern and central Oregon awaited them.

Traveling the Oregon Trail backward we reach Baker City, leaving the Far Blue Mountains behind us...
In 1861 gold was discovered just sw of Baker City, altering the migration pattern of the eastern emigrant, Pioneericus oregonidae. Eastern Oregon now became the new destination of choice. With plenty of water, grassland, and now gold many pioneers, who had earlier passed through on their way to the Willamette Valley, retraced their wagon ruts and returned to the Powder River Valley. New emigrants seeing the rich fertile land for the first time stopped no longer wishing to continue further West. As we passed through Burnt Water Valley on our way to Idaho territory we looked for the legendary landmark, "The Lone Pine Stump", once a large singular tall pine that stood in the midst of an immense plain. This landmark symbolized an unending determination for trappers, Indians, missionaries and settlers, and their ability to survive against unsurmountable odds. In 1843 this sentinel of the eastern plain was chopped down.

We crossed into idaho without much incident. My first impressions of this state imprinted on my mind from an earlier trip almost thirty years ago. I still remember the brown crusty Christmas tree on top of a single wide trailer, large multicolored lights adorning dead branches in the middle of Summer. And the woman in a luncheon cafe, nonchalantly picking her nose, rolling the contents into a ball and then dropping it in her coffee, which she proceeded to drink with sweetener. I was hoping this latest visit would dispel past memories.

Southern Idaho is flat, flat, flat and deathly dry. Between the discovery of gold, silver and thw Carey Act of 1894 Idaho became populated. With the establishment of dams all along the Snake River the desert land was reclaimed for agriculture and now produces one-third of the nations potatoes, peas, and onions. Driving with the windows down my olfactory is filled with the hint of fresh mint and moist soil. Two hundred plus miles of Harry Potter passed the morning away. Not far out of Mountain Home (no mountains in sight) we heard a familiar BANG! Same side different tire tread. Potter goes off, Jones jumps out "destined to be dirty". Les Schawb here we come! Now I must say this may seem an inconvenience, however it turned out to be a real blessing. Apparently our rig was getting tired of the mundane flatness and needed a change of scenery. Leaving the interstate behind, we found ourselves driving towards Buhl, a small town on US30, and as it turns out the most beautiful country in southern Idaho.

Hagerman Valley, an oasis stretching along the Snake River, is known for its thousand springs. Channels of under ground rivers cascade off cliffsides forming frothing waterfalls, hot springs and lush landscapes. Journeying down one hillside a sign indicates dinosaur digging and fossil excavation. LAND OF THE LOST is all I can think about. Having replaced two tires on the road Dave decided to place this third spare on the trailer, using one of the original remaing tires as backup. One of the great things we have been doing as we drive, when not listening to HP, is learning about the areas we pass through. Using Lonely Planet as our guide I read the history and fascinating facts aloud. In this way the places we drive through come to life and is more than just a name on a milage marker. Thus we find ourselves eating a picnic lunch, while overlooking Shoshone Falls. Not eager to return to the hot asphalt of I-84 Dave made an executive decision to hang out until late afternnon when it'd be cooler to drive. We plugged the point of interest into the navigational system and away we went.

Oh My Gosh, we are so glad we stopped!!! Like something out of a Tarzan movie this 212 foot waterfall was magnificent. Saving the $3 we hiked down, down, down to the picnic lookout and laid on the green velvety grass, Dave napping and I sketching. It's amazing to think this is part of the Snake River. Historical kiosks tell the story of this once impressive fall that due to damming and irrigation is reduced to a mere essence of its former self, although still very awesome. After a long rest and ready to get back on the road we made our way to the trailer.Upon reaching the the parking lot Dave exclaims, "Oh S--- where are the Keys?" Leaving me at the truck he ran all the way back down, frantic to find our means out of here. Minutes passed and I get a call,
"I can't find them, I checked where I was laying last but only found some quarters!"
"What about where you were calling Mark?"
"Where was that?"
And like a reward challenge on a reality show for couples I had to direct Dave back to the first spot we had been, without any visual references. "Found them!", came a relieved reply.

That evening, in Pocatello, we slept under the infamous halogen lights. I reflected on the past 800 miles wondering what the next leg of the journey would hold for us. Sackett curled at my feet, Dave snoring at my side. Adventuring sure can be rough.



Wonder Woman welcomes you to Shoshone Falls!






Thinking of you all fondly- D&V



Please forgive the long stretches in between postings, we are not always in internet friendly territory.

1,2,3,4...

ONE wild ride for TWO crazy wandering adventurers, who managed to change THREE tires during FOUR half-baked days of travel.

On a sunny Friday morning, after checking out the local Russian Orthodox Church's yard sale, Dave and I pulled out of Port Townsend. On our left the Hoods Canal, a branch of the Puget Sound, sparkled in the early days sunshine. Ahead of us highway 101 paved the path to the South. If you ever have a chance to spend time on this road there is a reason it is designated a scenic byway. We passed large spans of estuary scanning the flats for Great Blue Herons, wound round romantic inlets and coves harboring small sailing boats and fishing skiffs and crossed an occasional river destined for the Sound. As we "trolled" over the Dosewallips River we were presented with a magnificent vision, a large Roosevelt Bull Elk was taking his breakfast surrounded by his harem of ladies. Neither cows nor bull was bothered that the road was no more than twenty feet away, as they slowly made their way along the river heading for higher ground in the Dosewallips State Park. Roosevelt Elk (for those who don't know) were named for Teddy Roosevelt. Our 26th president created the Olympic National Monument, now the Olympic National Forest, in an attempt to preserve the habitat of these native herds. What a great way to begin this trip!!

But the unexpected comes in all forms...

"Gutless Wonder", as we affectionally call our Ford, was driving smoothly making excellent time on the wavy road to Olympia. With the coordinates for our next destination programed into the new GPS I watched Olympia come and go, then Tumwater passed without incident. "That's tire rubber", I thought as we rambled along the Interstate. A car passed us by with a little boy in the front seat starring at us, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Honey, I saw rubber fly did we pop a tire?"

Sure enough one of the trailer's tires had shed its tread. While Dave was getting us up and rolling I searched for the closest Les Schwab on our handy dandy global positioning system. In no time the static female voice was issuing directions towards a new spare tire and lunch in Chehalis. It's just a shame the unsettling new technology we've incorporated into the truck couldn't come with the voice of Majel Barrett Roddenberry.

Our new helpful navigational system has no idea we are pulling our home along with us, so when I programmed in MULTNOMAH FALLS, for a letterboxing detour, instead of directing us to the oversize parking off I-84 (which I later learned was available) she kindly took us off the interstate and along the old historical gorge road - gorgeous, romantic, but narrow to very narrow, especially over a few bridges. As we approached the Falls we quickly discovered there was no parking for our giant snail. Stopping was not an option, we had to continue moving forward. A large sigh of relief passed across Dave's lips as we reached the entrance to the freeway. Lesson Learned: Not all routes chosen by little black box are appropriate for large vehicles. Stay off thin grey lines found on physical map.

"Well it was a pretty detour", observed Viewing Vanessa

"Yah, pretty scary", replied Driver Dave

With misfortune behind us we pointed the rig into the wind and headed for Pendleton. The flat of the gorge however was misleading and instead of making up for time lost we tacked on more hours and ate up more fuel. The Columbia River Gorge is in actuality a long gradual up hill climb that never really ends. The voice from the dash directed us to our evening abode. To unwind I read, Dave watched a movie and Sackett snaked out from under the covers to join us for dinner. With the fan blowing on low we fell asleep under the city stars. Now it really feels like we are on our way.

Good Night Dave,

Good Night Sackett,

Good Night Moon.

The moonbeams shine through the window resting their star light on our quilt...But wait! That's no moon, that's the halogen lighting of the Wal-Mart parking lot!

To Be Continued...

photo is of my grandparents Bill & Winnifred Pow (1920's)

Birth Days...

Picking peas my hands mingle in the tangles of tendrils sprawled across hanging fishing nets. I seek out the slim green crescent pods, some the length of my middle finger, sometimes longer sometimes shorter. While picking I spy the fairies of the pea patch. Their tiny wings fluttering like those of hummingbirds stationed at a feeder, their heads crowned with the purplish blue hues of the flowering pea, giggling among the rounded leaves hiding my harvest from me. Behind me the Reds cluck and churkle as they scratch the ground for groceries. In the morning there will be an egg or two for breakfast.

Dave is in Blaine Washington working on the new Peace Arch, between the Canadian/US border. This is his second week up there- tarring, roofing, building through the sun and rain. I have stayed behind in Port Townsend catching up with friends I would not have been able to see except for Dave's exodus. His work is an unexpected blessing for both our friends and our coffers.

It is hard to believe we have only been traveling for 14 days, having left Bend on the 23rd of June, it feels longer. Having stored our past in boxes and chosen the minimum for our future life has become uncomplicated, back to the basics, and fun. It feels natural as if this has always been our lifestyle. I am reminded of Henry David Thoreau and the simplicity of his life at Walden. He once said,

"As you simlify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude; poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness."

Dave and I spent our July 4th weekend with my mother at her timeshare in Discovery Bay, Washington. Originally the three of us were to be together all week (June 28 - July 5) celebrating Mom's 75th birthday and the Nation's 233rd, but as plans go life got in the way and Dave left for the border as I stayed with Mom and the trailer. It was the longest we had ever been apart and yet, with modern technology, we were able to text and talk every morning and each evening before bed, sharing our days adventures with each other. I have always been a person that desires solitude, my "me time", and now I had been given five days of it. After always being around each other in the trailer Dave was gone. I used my time, but always he was tugging at my thoughts, and what I realized was it wasn't my solitude I craved, I got that even when he was around. I missed the together time, the walking- talking- holding hands times when he wanted to know what kind of bird he just saw or the identity of a plant we passed, snuggling while watching movies, or just being in the same space with him even if we're doing our own things. I never understood how much a person could be a part of me until now.

This of course made his return and the holiday weekend so much better! By lunch on Friday we were doing errands in Sequim and then took off for Port Angeles for a "Twilight Tour". Parts of Stephanie Meyer's book takes place in this port town and we visited each location sending photos back to Tyler. We even tried to eat at the same restaurant Bella and Edward had their first date in, Bella Italia, sadly it wasn't open. On our way back to Discovery Bay we blew a tire...more like an EXPOSION! We limped to an open area off the road and with the assistance from an officer and a park ranger we were able to get the spare on and head back to Sequim for a new pair of front traction tires. Better now than on the road hooked to the trailer.

Saturday saw us up early watching the otters play in the bay over breakfast, caught the women's Wimbletdon Championships Williams vs. Williams, and then head into Port Townsend for a historical walking tour and a letterbox! Fiddle Tunes were in full jam at Fort Worden as we walked through the forest toward North Beach. We even checked out the farmers market making our way home with the taste of fresh Washington strawberries in our mouths and the sounds of summer ringing in our ears. The rest of this glorious day was spent on Indian Island searching for treasure and exploring the beaches. Absolutely beautiful, and the hottest Independence Day in 31 years to boot. We would never have discovered this lovely area had it not been for letterboxing :) That evening we laid in bed listening to the BOOMs of the fireworks as they rained down over the bay. I got up and stood on the balcony watching red, silver, blue and green sparkles fall like stars from the sky, while below on the docks little voices mingled with big voices caught up in the ageless excitement of the night.

Wagons Ho!

In 3rd grade I made a covered wagon out of an oatmeal box and traveled the Oregon Trail. I kept a journal with a green burlap cover and pink yarn stitching, the words "Oregon Trail" sewn on the front cover. Inside its burnt pages (to make it look old) tell a story of a young boy, I was a huge tomboy in those days, traveling from Independence Missouri to the new Oregon Territory. The assignment was to outfit your wagon with items you would need for the journey and your new home. It is amusing to read the journal now, the funny little cursive handwriting with the spelling errors, expressing my imaginative interpretation of history.

" I have brought with me my dog, hourse, sawing kit, 5 blankets (to make a sleeping bag), 4 oxen (to bull the covered wagon), food and a trunk of clothes".

No mention of a gun or furniture. I assume food would also include the oxen however, I am sure at 8 years old, I was only thinking of enough for myself.

This memory comes to me as I begin my own process of getting ready for a 2400+ mile road trip. It is funny how the roles Dave and I have taken on, during this process, are not so different from the husband and wife teams of 150 years ago. Like early settlers I find myself sorting through years of "stuff" and determining what goes with us and what stays behind. Dave works on the Ford "horses" and gets the "wagon" in shape and ready to roll. Where my job lies with making the Cari-Light 28 ft 5th wheel a home, organized and user friendly, with some uncamp-like amenities, Dave concerns himself with supplies; 2 months worth of food (including military rations), plenty of water, his tools, movies and of course the Playstation 2.

The packing is sometimes difficult, do I take the glass Pyrex mixing bowls or stick with the light weight plastic? In the end the Pyrex goes into storage. Clothes are at a minimum, 4 small drawers and one tiny closet, books are basically nil, and linens are vacuumed sealed to save space. Those pioneering women were courageous, leaving behind most everything knowing they would not be back, unsure of what lay ahead. I pick up embroidered linen sewn by my great-grandmother and place it in the box headed for storage, grandma's tablecloth goes in the box for the trailer, and other bedding goes into a pile for Goodwill. I process each room, closet and cupboard until the house becomes a hollow shell, echoing the sounds of my footfalls in the empty rooms. There is a cleansing in this, relieving myself of accumulated things, determining what truly is of value and what is just stuff. And although the items I put away for a later time seem important now, in a year or two of living with less, that will change. What were those women's thoughts as they processed their lives into piles? What preparations did they make for themselves- mentally, physically, and spiritually?

I have a much easier journey. Todays technology has allowed me to bring the modern home on the road. The internet, flat screen TV, indoor plumbing, refrigeration, electricity... oh and plants. What more does one need?

During a time when fifteen miles was a full day of traveling there were a few individuals inventive enough to add luxuries to their wagons. Often farm wagons were used instead of the large conestoga wagons, for their size and handling. The front wheels were designed smaller than the rear wheels, the axle pivoted for getting around corners, and the rigs were equipped with hardwood brakes. (The Oregon Trail, "Jumping Off", M. Trinklein, 2003) Women would sometimes line their wagons with cloth sewn with pockets for their "special" items they could not live without. The colorful material created a cheerful feeling of home, during those long days on the trail. In many westward diaries 'India Rubber water bottles' were often mentioned as a means of carrying water. One pioneering woman, Margaret Frink, had a mattress made out of the India Rubber, "allowing for convenient water storage as well as a comfortable sleeping pad". (eSsortment, Inside a Pioneer Covered Wagon, Robin Flinchum, 2002 pagewise)

As Dave and I arranged our route we discovered many of the highways and byways we would be traveling on were the same trails, although now paved, that our early predecessors once trekked across. By following the Oregon Trail backwards we found an easier route through the Rocky Mts, heading into Wyoming toward Fort Bridger, instead of traveling south into Utah and Salt Lake City. While Oregon celebrates its sesquicentennial birthday, these history buffs look forward to the retracing of wheel ruts that have gone before us. We may not know where our roads will lead us, but with the pioneering spirit and joy of adventure in our veins we are sure to have some stories to tell at the end of our journey.

Shrinking Shoe Sizes

This past week as Dave and I continue to clean and clear out the house and move into our "shell" I am very aware of the changes that I have made in such a short period of time.  Two years ago this was only an imaginary idea concocted on a drive back from Alfalfa.  Six months ago it was a serious discussion with a plan on paper and today it is a reality.  

I have traded in house and yard for a 28 ft/single pop out 5th wheel. 

I have retired my car and replaced it with a bicycle.

I have gone paperless with my bills and run the computer off of the sun and wind. 

We have removed our water based toilet and replaced it with one more "green". 

And although our vehicle is still carbon based, we are working on the option of using bio fuel.

These are big changes for me, life choice changes, healthy changes!

Today in the New York Times there's an article regarding Texas ranches as places for wind harnessing power towers.  Closer to home Oregon's Department of Transportation has reported their new solar panel project for Interstate 5 & Interstate 205.  The words "Carbon Footprint" have become synonymous with change, both globally and personally. Our choices do leave impressions behind.

I am reminded daily, sitting on my bicycle, checking solar amp input, turning the drum in the toilet, that my shoe is a size 5 and getting smaller. 

I understand that not everyone goes to this length.  When I began this new journey the decisions I made were done for travel ease and gained an added benefit along the way. I do however believe that everyone can do something, and it no longer is a case of can't do, but must do.  We are long past waiting for the government to act first, they are slow to act and must debate each nuance of the idea. It is in our best interests to take the initiative and personally make an investment in our future.  

• Take cloth bags to the grocery store.
• Don't drive your car once a week, use a different means of transportation/carpool
• Pay your bills on line and slow the paper flow to your mailbox.
• Use earth friendly products.
• Challenge your family/self to turning the TV off for a day and find alternative ways to entertain yourselves- games, museum trip, letterboxing...
• Come up with your own ideas.

The wind blows outside and the steady rhythm of the blades whirl, humming like a giant Trochilidae hovering.

Welcome To Snail Trails

Hi!

Snail Trails is Dave and my way of keeping everyone in the loop,  allowing you the opportunity to come along, while sitting in your easy chair.  We heard from so many people how they wished they could tag along, so we thought we'd make your wishes come true "virtually".  

Why Snail Trails?

Snails travel with their homes on their backs, are self contained (no hookups), and always leave a bit of themselves behind as they explore.  We are basically doing the same thing.  With the 5th wheel hooked up to the Ford we have a totally mobil living space, powered via the sun and the wind, using a composting toilet (so no nasty dumping is necessary)!  The third element is obvious, if you know us, we make friends wherever we are and hope a little of ourselves rub off. 

We look forward sharing the good, the bad, and the totally awesome with you.

The adventure begins Now!

Wagons Ho!