La Luna

Biladeau Rd, Bend Oregon

Written early April.

MOONBEAMS SHINE THROUGH the window resting on my face. La Luna woke me. Without my glasses she looks large, soft, and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Her silver light fills the tiny bedroom reflecting off dust mites, floating in the air. It feels magical. Dave's arm drapes across my body, his shallow breathing quiet for now. I lay still, afraid to break the spell. Fuzzy Four Paws joins us, it must be close to 5 am. "BREAKFAST NOW!", he purrs in my ear, treading over my head and onto Dave's torso, to the window and back to me again. Each heavy step leaves a new bruise. The clock reads 4:45 am, no chance returning to a dreamy slumber. I am wide awake. Getting out of bed the sheets shift inviting the chill of the morning under the covers. Dave turns away from me, mumbles something and burrows deeper for warmth.

The trailer is cold, out the window the blues of predawn mingle with Luna's silver shimmers. It has snowed in the night leaving a shifting of powdered sugar on the ground and sage bushes. Jack Frost has followed us, not content to leave us be. More cold weather... will it ever be warm? Sackett has shadowed me into the kitchen, rubbing figure 8's between my legs and the cupboard, where his food is kept. One wonders if he is really a giant tapeworm in disguise. once fed he's content for awhile. I make myself a cup of tea and sit down to write, only my mind is drawn back to the moon and her mystery.

Soon She will be full, her pull stronger, her ascendancy dominant over us. Our moods change when her face is well rounded, our rhythms rise and fall like tides in the Spring. She tells us when to plant and when to harvest, She moves us to love and to grieve. The Moon is alive and always changing, a beautiful woman cursed to only be seen between dusk and dawn. Somehow there is comfort knowing that she is above, watching over me while I sleep. The mug is warm in my hands. As I sip the green tea sweetened with honey its steam rises clouding my glasses like the cold air against the window. I hear the whoosh of propane, a promising sound of a warm room on the way.

IT IS HARD to believe sometimes that I am 43. I remember turning 30 and thinking back on all I had done up to that point and wishing, on the the candles of a coffin cake, that my next thirty years would be as exciting and full. The phases of the moon bring to mind the changes I have gone through. Gaining fifteen pounds and establishing the ability to "Flame On" have been a personal challenge for me on this trip. During the winter in Grand Junction Colorado my newly adapted mutation came in handy on those below zero nights. While I was shedding sheets Dave was cuddling closer... "Who needs an electric blanket Honey, when I've got you". Placing my hand against the trailer paneling was all I needed to cool down before retrieving blankets from the hibernating bear beside me. It is strange to be placing myself into this new category of WOMAN. It is like being 10 years old and thinking 25 years is a long way off. Before you know it BANG your there. Now it's like a tsunami, wondering when the next wave will hit. In the meantime I continue to eat my vegges, take my multivitamin, and drink my soy... oh and now we're back in Bend, walk the Butte. Soon the warm weather will be here, Bob the weatherman reports this, so it must be true, and with that comes more outdoor exercise; biking, hiking, letterboxing. Old muscles finding new uses and the smell of sports cream, the downing of Aleve, a happy hypothalamus and hopefully the shedding of a few pounds.

I feel very settled. Not stuck in a rut, complaisant settled, but more comfortable in my own skin settled. I'm becoming more flexible, definitely not physically bendable, that comes with stretching. If I were to chose between the Tortoise or the Hare I would say today I a m the Tortoise. Go at my own speed, enjoy things around me, taking life as it comes while still being willing to meet the challenges at hand. Sometimes it works and at other times it doesn't. I have discovered approaching life with humor and a little Hakuna Matata is really the best medicine for me. Especially since I don't anticipate a call from the X-Men anytime soon ("Flame On!"). Life, I am finding out is a process that is constantly evolving. That's the exciting part- THE ADVENTURE! Getting up and not knowing what the day will bring... "Where does the trail lead today?"

One night I got back to the trailer close to midnight. As I pulled into the driveway off Biladeau Road the song "Sweet Home Alabama" started playing on the radio. I left the car running and laid down on the hood of the Subaru, starring up at the stars. It was chilly and even a bit windy, but so nice out. I watched a satellite tumble across the night sky, while the music played in the background. I played dot-to-dot as I pieced together star clusters, drawing constellations I knew, with my finger. Another day I hiked up Pilot Butte and saw a Rosey Boa. Normally snakes make me shudder and squeal. This viewing I did neither. Instead I just stood and watched it as it made its way across the trail and under a rock near a juniper tree. I wondered at the time if he was an indication of warmer weather to come. I am enjoying these changes. Seeing life at a different angle. It is like being in a special effect where I'm moving at normal speed and everyone around me is in slow motion, giving me the opportunity to notice all the details and take my time doing it.

EACH NIGHT THERE is a new face on La Luna, as she phases through her stages, some darker than others. Sometimes life is like that, but finding goodness and staying optimistic enriches and keeps me happy. Full Moons are bright and enchanting, lighting up areas that are often missed in the darkness of night. A Dark, or New Moon, exposes secrets of the universe. Stars shine brighter and more plentiful, meteorites showers fall more brilliantly, and I swear I see more satellites and space junk orbiting the Earth. One face enhances the terrestrial and the other brings to life the celestial. I could view my new phase of womanhood as a pain, an inconvenience, a disruption, OR I embrace it and realize the power of possibilities it introduces.

Hope you are all enjoying the start to your summer.

All our best from Us to You

Vanessa

There's No Place Like Home!

Bend, Oregon

Originally written April 3, 2010

Blonde is stuck in my head and I can't get her out. You know when you get a tune stuck in your brain and you can't seem to rid yourself of it, no matter how hard you try? Well after dropping Dave off at work I turned on the radio and Blonde was playing... what does it mean?

Dave and I are finally home! We left Grand Junction on a Tuesday and pulled into Bend around 8 pm the following Thursday evening. No blown tires. No truck episodes. There were a couple of tall peaks (7800 feet elevation) in Utah and Nevada, but that was all on the first day of driving. The truck ran an average of 44 mph. She doesn't like the peaks and down hill was fun for her, much like a roller coaster. Tuesday night we parked at a truck stop in Ely Nevada, and Wednesday we rested our heads under the halogens of Winnemucca's Wal-mart. We had a good trip stopping along the way for a letterbox or two, food and fuel, and a pee.

There is so much open land out there. Land not fenced, or built on. Land flat, curved, and pointy. Sometimes we'd drive hours without seeing anyone and at other times there would be one car after another. I remember driving through the desert, in Western Utah, and thinking how much it reminds me of Alfalfa, Oregon. The iron enriched soil, the color of a summer sunset, dotted with dwarf junipers and sage brush. Tucked into the surrounding plateaus were small mining outposts, skeletal remains of a time long gone. Their only inhabitants a few jack rabbits and lizards, with the occasional snake curled up in a mud cracked wall. The sounds of the whispering wind swirling through open rafters is the only voice heard. It's a bit eery, a lot of

untamed territory, and absolutely breath taking views. "We" cram ourselves together like sardines in a tin, never stepping outside the safety of the security, which technology has created for us. And living this way "We" never see what is in our backyard, or just down the street, or in the next county over. When "We" do walk outside it is with our heads down, dark glasses shaded over our eyes and plugged into the latest gadget. Am I the only one who knows the pine forests smell sweetest after a spring shower? Maybe not, but sometimes it sure feels like it.

It is good to be home! Dave and I have been staying on some property outside of Bend. Like the desert in Utah, we are surrounded by iron-rich earth, junipers, with cottontails crossing from one sage bush to the next. The white peaks of Bachelor, Faith, Hope, Charity and Broken Top spread wide along the horizon welcoming us back. A friend expressed to me the other day, "I feel like I have my right arm back again". It is the familiarity of knowing a place, its people, its roads, its ways, that is a comfort to me. Dorothy had it right when clicking her heals she repeated, "There's no place like Home, there's no place like Home". Knowing you have someone and someplace to return to always makes the leaving that much easier.

It's good to be Home, so watch out everyone WE'RE BACK!

photos are as follows:

Dave and I in the Deschutes Badlands.

The desert along Utah's route 21.

Rest stop outside Winnemucca, stopped for a LB

Home

Her-Story

written January 12, 2010 Grand Junction, Co.

"I never eat December snowflakes, I always wait until January"

-Lucy Van Pelt, Peanuts

It's cold here! Today I watched the clouds drop low and cloak my view of the Grand Mesa. One minute the looming plateau was there, it's flat top and sharp ridges holding remnants of crusty snow, like scabs on old wounds. Then as if by magic a thick veil of cloud enveloped the mass of rock obscuring its shape and dissolving it into the gloomy gray backdrop of overcast skies. An illusion performed by the Great Illusionist. Occasionally the sun puts in an appearance.

Then I hear the dripping of snow and ice from the trailer's top and the brown crusty grass

softens into small swampy patches where the snow has disappeared. But I am NOT fooled by this mirage of Spring and am glad for my knitted wool booties and the full tanks of propane. Today the few degrees of "warm" comes only in drops of small fragile flakes of precipitation descending from the sky, leaving more white stuff on the ground. Each day Dave and I tell ourselves soon, soon we will return to Oregon, but that time has not yet come. It is still snowing.

So instead with cup of tea in hand I hunker down with a long book to pass the winter with. I sit against the trailer window, an attempt to absorb warm rays of heat penetrating the glass, Sackett curled upon my lap, much like a cub curled against his mama as they hibernate through the cold together. I am reading Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, and have nearly reached the end. This is a book I have often sold time and time again to high schoolers for their advanced reading classes, to women in local book groups, and to those who just want to read an American classic. I never thought to pick it up and read it myself, until I found it on a dusty shelf in a shed at an estate sale. "For $1 it would be worth it" I thought. It is absolutely fabulous! The movie was made only three years after the book was first published (1936),

big names, big sets, lots of Oscars. I'll watch it as soon as I have finished the book.

Reading about the American Civil War has jump started my eagerness to learn more about this turbulent period in our history, especially once I discovered the local library had history lessons on DVD. I checked the series out and now have spent an hour or two each day, sometimes more, learning from the best instructors. It is presented in a lecture format, creating the appearance of sitting in on a college class. The gentleman lecturing is a professor of History at the University of Virginia and Civil War is his specialty. This, on top of the first edition of Harper's Illustrated History of the Civil War , that Dave picked up at a garage sale, has kept me up to my eyebrows in the 1860's. I have been absorbed to the point that this bit of history learning has lead me back into the pages of my family's past. I have two relatives who fought in the war, one was a Captain, the other a Private, both for the Confederate States of America. My educational project has brought these men to life for me. Through a letter my Uncle discovered and some of my own investigating I've been able to trace some of their journey and have a better understanding of the time they lived in. I've turned into a History Detective. I have a few pieces of information (clues), and from additional research, interviews, and puzzle solving (leads) I stitch the bits together, creating a bigger picture of my lineage.

Events of the past often effect things in the Now, and can be felt long into the future. I liken it to a spider's web, with its threads all interlaced. When one strand is plucked in the network the vibrations, or effects, can be felt throughout the entire web, creating a reaction.

More often than not it is the story of success we hear about. Remembering that this is only one side of what has happened, what of the unsuccessful? Who tells their side? Perspective thus plays an important roll in the "story", and the telling of the tale. Each of us has a different frame of reference, incorporating our feelings, prejudices, and in-sites. Possibly if enough of these points of view have been examined we may gain a greater understanding of the actual event(s). The Civil War is an example of this. This is at least something to give us pause and ponder upon.

Only a few chapter to go and I can close this book forever. However, the thoughts it has provoked for me will linger for some time. Refilling my cup of tea, I realize I may possibly have more time on my hands than is good for me.

A Happy New Year to you all.

Dave & Vanessa

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.