After two months of kicking around north Dallas, we left around the first of August for a beach adventure. So long, Dallas. We're going home...When we moved from Plano to Corpus Christi (N. Padre Island, specifically) in 2008, our plan was to live at the beach and work in DFW. After all, we had built a solid clientele who eagerly referred us, and we had enough of a workload to support our family year-round. Then the recession or contraction or whatever you want to call it that bombarded the global economy that fall spoiled our plans a bit. Design work was scarce but we still found enough to eke out a very modest existence. 2009 was even worse, then 2010 showed signs of recovering. Already we were preparing to become 100% mobile, so when 2011 began with a kaboom of business activity, we were thrilled that our original plan to be beachside most of the time with brief business trips to DFW was getting back on track.
Then came The Crash. But also a windfall of design projects. We were implanted into the vortex of a DFW landscape maelstrom for five months. FIVE MONTHS. That's almost 1/2 a year without seeing, even smelling, the beach. To say that we "missed" it is an understatement. As we drove over the JFK Causeway that first time in such a very long time I broke down. Yes, blubbered. It wasn't just because I yearned for the beach, our beach. It was an emotional release of all the pent-up tension I had stored for nearly half a year...the crash...rebuilding our trailer...chronic downsizing...a lot of changes professionally and personally...reconnecting with loved ones...losing touch with others...so much I can't even begin to describe here. That first look in a very long time of a place I once loved stirred many emotions and allowed me to let go, finally.
We picked up mail and dinner, and then hurried out to Padre Balli Park to set up camp. Within moments I kicked what felt like a rock and felt a sudden explosion of pain in my foot. I continued with our set-up procedures until I noticed moisture on my toes. Blood. A.lot.of.it. A huge gash on my big toe. When I looked more closely I noticed that about half of the top of my toe had been cut deeply and peeled back, the layers underneath pushed up and over the gash. Twisted, bloody, packed with sand: yep, it was disgusting. And throbbing. I thought I might need stitches...I cleaned my wound and wrapped my foot, then returned to the spot where I had unfortunately collided with the rock. I found it...it wasn't a rock at all. It was a huge glob of molten glass. Some fools had thrown a bunch of beer bottles on their campfire...I was furious because this kind of thing happens much too often. Immediately I began questioning why I even come to this stupid place, this lovely beach that a bunch of idiots camp on and melt glass and drive like maniacs, "cutting doughnuts" and plowing through fragile dune ecosystems. This lovely, wild place that is being ruined by people who just don't get it. My pain subsided, eventually, and my mind calmed. Waves whispered my name. Pelicans, oystercatchers, willets: so many bird species welcomed me back I forgot my frustration...and pain. That's part of why I love North Padre Island. It is always an odd culmination of pristine nature and reckless humans. Somehow nature always prevails so I probably should not fret so much. Just enjoy the beauty...
A few days went by and we were enjoying all the best that beach has to offer. Birds, fish, calm and clear water. Campfires and "study tank". Our last day there, little girl and doggie went inside the trailer to cool off in the generator-powered air conditioning. They even napped! David and I hung out in the sun and waded into the water now and then to cool off. But of course it being our last day on the beach, we must have been feeling a little invincible because neither of us applied sunblock. Nice move. By the end of the day, we both had a nasty sunburn. Awesome ending to our beach adventure. The beach mishaps behind us, we looked ahead to refreshing cold showers and shade trees in Goose Island State Park.
Well, we did get a break from the sun underneath all those trees. But the water was HOT HOT HOT. All day, anytime of day. Our sunburns blistered and bubbled, and itched and peeled. Sage, fortunately, had escaped the wrath of the mid-day sun on the beach. David and I were miserable! Argh! We did have fun visiting the Big Tree and playing in the park, though, which erased any trace of misery brought on by the 'burn. After about a week we moved on to our next location: Copano Bay.
Recently I've started calling it our Rockport Retreat. There we set up camp under a canopy of windswept Live Oaks underplanted with American Beautyberry, Turk's Cap, Red Bay, and more native plant species. Hummingbirds and butterflies hung around the vegetation like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Mockingbirds, cardinals and some other smaller birds I have yet to identify tweeted and flitted about all day and much of the evening. Other wildlife stopped by, too. Raccoons rummaged through our trash, snakes slithered past, deer leaped and frolicked. Any time of day, Nature's soundtrack played on and on...Dolphins greeted us every morning and evening. Nature dazzled us at sunset with vibrant colors splattered in random patterns across the sky. I love that place; I can't wait to go back.
Just before we left the Texas Coast -- we are back in DFW now for a presentation to the Dallas Organic Garden Club -- we visited our storage room on North Padre Island. Talk about peering into a time capsule! It seems so long ago that we were packing our belongings into bins and placing them into that room. In a couple of weeks, we will have been on this mobile odyssey for a full year. Incredible. I remember moving, and I remember the excitement we all felt about the adventures we would share. But I don't remember much of what is in that room. David pulled down an unmarked bin (at first we were meticulous packers and labelers but by the end of the moving process we were just slinging stuff around) and popped off the lid. Inside were some of Sage's stuffed animals. She just stared, vaguely recognizing them. The faraway look in her eyes rocked me. In one short year she has changed dramatically: she began the journey in diapers and Mommy feeding and dressing her. Now, she is fully potty-trained, feeds herself with utensils (even knows what a spork is!) and dresses/undresses herself effortlessly. I watched her as she picked through the bin of forgotten toys. Memories rushed back, punctuated with Ohs and Look-at-this,-Mommys. The past year has been filled to the point of overflowing with moments, profound moments. Adventures. Chapters in this mobile odyssey. For David and me, over-40-somethings, the life we have packed into that storage room on North Padre Island seems so long ago. For Sage, that life disappeared a year ago, equal to one-third of her life. None of us felt saddened by this experience; we were bewildered. These are our things but strangely they seem to belong to someone else. We have scaled back our day-to-day operations to favor simplicity over convenience, and the thought of returning to a life that would reincorporate those belongings causes me alarm. That's right, alarm. I still have much to do on this journey; I'm not ready to quit yet. There will be an endpoint but I don't want to pin it on a map or write it on an agenda. I don't want to know where or when it will arrive, exactly. Part of the beauty of this journey is that, outside of meetings and presentations, we do not follow a structured schedule. We do not wander aimlessly, pointlessly. But we do allow for spontaneity to savor the varied textures and flavors of life's feast.
Showing posts with label mobile. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mobile. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Running with the Devil
Running with the Devil
Finally I have laced up my running shoes again. David, too. We do not run together -- Sage could never keep up and her BOB jogger was demolished in The Crash -- so we take turns. Scheduling around work and packing (and this month, Le Tour de France) makes getting a little running time in difficult. Mid-day seems to be the only time I can get to myself, and you can probably guess what running at that time of day is like. Brutal, right. Like running with the devil in hell itself.
Believe me, it's miserable sometimes but when I finish my daily 5K -- despite the heat, gallons of sweat pouring from every pore -- I feel almost invincible. One tough chick: yep, that's me. And spiritually I'm connected to Nature and its creator. It is always a beautiful experience and there is no such thing as a 'bad run.'
I love music. Growing up in a family of well-seasoned as well as aspiring musicians introduced me to all sorts of genres, artists, and songs. My grandmother wrote poetry and music and was a talented guitarist and singer. Her favorites were Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra, but she also loved Eric Clapton. She requested that "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas be played at her funeral...and it was, along with an old country tune "The Face of Jesus", or something like that. My grandma was the coolest...My grandfather sang gospel and was music director at his church in more recent years. Whenever I listen to Elvis' recording of "Peace in the Valley", I hear my Papaw's voice. He does not perform any longer but he still has an ear for all things music. My dad and many of my uncles play guitar and sing. Everybody would come to our house to jam Rick Derringer, Grand Funk Railroad, the Eagles, Vanilla Fudge, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and others. My mom was really into the Motown sound, the Beatles and, of course, Elvis, so I spent a lot of time learning the lyrics to her favorite songs. My brother is a very gifted musician, too. He can sing, play drums, pluck around on a piano, and get along on a bass, but his true talent is playing guitar. As kids we listened to all the music our parents and grandparents shared with us, but we also discovered our own stuff. Together we rocked out to Kiss and Van Halen. Then disco took over my brain and we went our separate ways. He found old school hip-hop and rap, then Ozzy and Judas Priest, and bunch of other speedy-metally stuff that I didn't really 'get'. In high school we reconnected by way of Guns 'n Roses, The Cult, a bunch of poppy hair-swinging glam bands. Then he left home to tour with an up-and-coming hair-swinging band...Over the years we swapped suggestions about grunge, alternative, new alternative, soul, R&B, rap, hip-hop, blues, Americana, Texana and, most recently, Texas Country Blues. At least that's what I'm calling it...it's storytelling like country but without the Nashville twang, bluesy but with more than 3 chords, and all about Texas or Texans.
So when I run, I like to listen to music. Deciding WHAT to listen to is the hard part. Black Crowes is one of my favorite soundtracks because their music is mellow enough that I feel relaxed despite the stress I'm putting on my body. It also has great lyrics, so my mind has something better to do than think about work or family or whatever else is wearing on me that day. And Chris' voice is so bluesy, so passionate and eery and sexy, I forget that my brand new trail shoes are making my heels bleed.
No matter the brilliance of the lyrics, driving bassline or drum beat, haunting vocals or 'danceability' of my running soundtrack, my mind still tries to solve the world's problems. Not really. Just my own, but sometimes my little worries seem large enough to affect the entire world. We as a family have endured some huge life stresses this year. Business was fabulously frenetic, so we had very little time to resolve our personal issues. Now that spring has concluded and we are running again, we have clarity and time to agree on some solutions. Our world changed in an instant, and it has taken us four months to reach a point where we could regroup to continue our odyssey. If you or someone you know has ever entertained the fantasy of leading a more simple life, I'm your go-to girl for information.
David Lee Roth was spot-on when he crooned that he found the simple life "ain't so simple." It can be, with a lot of experimentation, patience, and perseverance. You have to know going into this transition that it takes a while to get used to certain things, like using bathhouses at state parks. Only a handful of your fellow campers are long-termers like you, which means most of the people camping around you are weekend warriors. This is their vacation, not their way of life. Often they are loud, they trash the place, and somehow they miss the toilet. Dodging poop-mines stinks...literally. They drop their kids' dirty diapers everywhere, they get scared of snakes and spiders and scream or, worse, frantically bludgeon the poor creatures to death. When you live among Nature full-time you become absorbed back into the natural order and processes of life; you respect it and all the creatures because they are your neighbors. But when you interact with Nature only a few times per year, you forget that you do not have dominion over it. You do not always respect your creature-neighbors.
Moving your stuff around also takes some getting used to. Most of our stuff is stored in bins and is shuffled in and out of the truck. At first, it's frustrating when you are looking for a lighter to start the fire or the sole surviving dish towel. Eventually, though, you choreograph this dance to coincide with your normal daily rituals and organize your belongings accordingly. If you will be in one place for longer than a night, you can use the bins to create extra seating or a privacy wall between you and the critter-killers. You won't have to shuffle bins around all the time, but you still have to remember what's in which bin. It takes some time, and when you finally figure it all out, circumstances seem to change. Patience.
Probably the two greatest lessons I've learned are that size does matter and privacy issues abound. I still espouse the values of the tiny house movement, but our needs with regard to space have changed. Sage is growing like a weed, and she would like to have her own area to sleep and play. Maybe even have a friend over! Impossible in our current tiny-home-on-wheels. We can make modifications and are currently looking into the feasibility of adding a rooftop tent to the trailer or to the truck camper. Not necessarily the monetary feasibility...what we need to know is, will it really improve our living conditions? Or do we need to start looking for or planning to build another tiny-home-on-wheels? For the moment, we are choosing to use a tent in addition to our trailer. Making drastic changes in our living quarters will need to wait until winter when business activity will go into hibernation.
Privacy is a HUGE concern now. David and I have no time together alone. Anytime of day, there are at least two sets of eyes watching us and two sets of ears listening to our conversations. Private discussions about work, money, US, or other topics unsuitable for tiny ears rarely happen. Consequently, our dates consist of putting the kiddos to bed and spending about an hour star-gazing and sipping a few beers. Any longer than an hour and we are worthless the next day. Fortunately we are both committed to stealing moments whenever we can, even if it's just a quick "I miss you." We acknowledge the burden this odyssey is putting on our marriage and are working hard to find a solution that both allows us to continue our journey and nurture our relationship. From the beginning, we agreed that if at any point any of us became uncomfortable or felt unsafe, the journey would stop immediately. So far, we are all still all-in. We must reconfigure, that's all, before we jump out on that road and continue living at a pace that kills.
Finally I have laced up my running shoes again. David, too. We do not run together -- Sage could never keep up and her BOB jogger was demolished in The Crash -- so we take turns. Scheduling around work and packing (and this month, Le Tour de France) makes getting a little running time in difficult. Mid-day seems to be the only time I can get to myself, and you can probably guess what running at that time of day is like. Brutal, right. Like running with the devil in hell itself.
Believe me, it's miserable sometimes but when I finish my daily 5K -- despite the heat, gallons of sweat pouring from every pore -- I feel almost invincible. One tough chick: yep, that's me. And spiritually I'm connected to Nature and its creator. It is always a beautiful experience and there is no such thing as a 'bad run.'
I love music. Growing up in a family of well-seasoned as well as aspiring musicians introduced me to all sorts of genres, artists, and songs. My grandmother wrote poetry and music and was a talented guitarist and singer. Her favorites were Billie Holiday and Frank Sinatra, but she also loved Eric Clapton. She requested that "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas be played at her funeral...and it was, along with an old country tune "The Face of Jesus", or something like that. My grandma was the coolest...My grandfather sang gospel and was music director at his church in more recent years. Whenever I listen to Elvis' recording of "Peace in the Valley", I hear my Papaw's voice. He does not perform any longer but he still has an ear for all things music. My dad and many of my uncles play guitar and sing. Everybody would come to our house to jam Rick Derringer, Grand Funk Railroad, the Eagles, Vanilla Fudge, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and others. My mom was really into the Motown sound, the Beatles and, of course, Elvis, so I spent a lot of time learning the lyrics to her favorite songs. My brother is a very gifted musician, too. He can sing, play drums, pluck around on a piano, and get along on a bass, but his true talent is playing guitar. As kids we listened to all the music our parents and grandparents shared with us, but we also discovered our own stuff. Together we rocked out to Kiss and Van Halen. Then disco took over my brain and we went our separate ways. He found old school hip-hop and rap, then Ozzy and Judas Priest, and bunch of other speedy-metally stuff that I didn't really 'get'. In high school we reconnected by way of Guns 'n Roses, The Cult, a bunch of poppy hair-swinging glam bands. Then he left home to tour with an up-and-coming hair-swinging band...Over the years we swapped suggestions about grunge, alternative, new alternative, soul, R&B, rap, hip-hop, blues, Americana, Texana and, most recently, Texas Country Blues. At least that's what I'm calling it...it's storytelling like country but without the Nashville twang, bluesy but with more than 3 chords, and all about Texas or Texans.
So when I run, I like to listen to music. Deciding WHAT to listen to is the hard part. Black Crowes is one of my favorite soundtracks because their music is mellow enough that I feel relaxed despite the stress I'm putting on my body. It also has great lyrics, so my mind has something better to do than think about work or family or whatever else is wearing on me that day. And Chris' voice is so bluesy, so passionate and eery and sexy, I forget that my brand new trail shoes are making my heels bleed.
No matter the brilliance of the lyrics, driving bassline or drum beat, haunting vocals or 'danceability' of my running soundtrack, my mind still tries to solve the world's problems. Not really. Just my own, but sometimes my little worries seem large enough to affect the entire world. We as a family have endured some huge life stresses this year. Business was fabulously frenetic, so we had very little time to resolve our personal issues. Now that spring has concluded and we are running again, we have clarity and time to agree on some solutions. Our world changed in an instant, and it has taken us four months to reach a point where we could regroup to continue our odyssey. If you or someone you know has ever entertained the fantasy of leading a more simple life, I'm your go-to girl for information.
David Lee Roth was spot-on when he crooned that he found the simple life "ain't so simple." It can be, with a lot of experimentation, patience, and perseverance. You have to know going into this transition that it takes a while to get used to certain things, like using bathhouses at state parks. Only a handful of your fellow campers are long-termers like you, which means most of the people camping around you are weekend warriors. This is their vacation, not their way of life. Often they are loud, they trash the place, and somehow they miss the toilet. Dodging poop-mines stinks...literally. They drop their kids' dirty diapers everywhere, they get scared of snakes and spiders and scream or, worse, frantically bludgeon the poor creatures to death. When you live among Nature full-time you become absorbed back into the natural order and processes of life; you respect it and all the creatures because they are your neighbors. But when you interact with Nature only a few times per year, you forget that you do not have dominion over it. You do not always respect your creature-neighbors.
Moving your stuff around also takes some getting used to. Most of our stuff is stored in bins and is shuffled in and out of the truck. At first, it's frustrating when you are looking for a lighter to start the fire or the sole surviving dish towel. Eventually, though, you choreograph this dance to coincide with your normal daily rituals and organize your belongings accordingly. If you will be in one place for longer than a night, you can use the bins to create extra seating or a privacy wall between you and the critter-killers. You won't have to shuffle bins around all the time, but you still have to remember what's in which bin. It takes some time, and when you finally figure it all out, circumstances seem to change. Patience.
Probably the two greatest lessons I've learned are that size does matter and privacy issues abound. I still espouse the values of the tiny house movement, but our needs with regard to space have changed. Sage is growing like a weed, and she would like to have her own area to sleep and play. Maybe even have a friend over! Impossible in our current tiny-home-on-wheels. We can make modifications and are currently looking into the feasibility of adding a rooftop tent to the trailer or to the truck camper. Not necessarily the monetary feasibility...what we need to know is, will it really improve our living conditions? Or do we need to start looking for or planning to build another tiny-home-on-wheels? For the moment, we are choosing to use a tent in addition to our trailer. Making drastic changes in our living quarters will need to wait until winter when business activity will go into hibernation.
Privacy is a HUGE concern now. David and I have no time together alone. Anytime of day, there are at least two sets of eyes watching us and two sets of ears listening to our conversations. Private discussions about work, money, US, or other topics unsuitable for tiny ears rarely happen. Consequently, our dates consist of putting the kiddos to bed and spending about an hour star-gazing and sipping a few beers. Any longer than an hour and we are worthless the next day. Fortunately we are both committed to stealing moments whenever we can, even if it's just a quick "I miss you." We acknowledge the burden this odyssey is putting on our marriage and are working hard to find a solution that both allows us to continue our journey and nurture our relationship. From the beginning, we agreed that if at any point any of us became uncomfortable or felt unsafe, the journey would stop immediately. So far, we are all still all-in. We must reconfigure, that's all, before we jump out on that road and continue living at a pace that kills.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Giving More than Thanks
For six weeks after The Crash, we squatted with family in their new home. Unless you have experienced an event that completely wipes out your home, vehicle, office and most of your personal belongings, you probably cannot comprehend all that we dealt with those first six weeks. Most of the damaged items were just stuff to me -- things to which I had no real emotional ties. In fact, I only lamented the loss of Sage's BOB stroller and the trailer. Fortunately we were able to salvage the trailer, at least. Sentimental piece.
But the rest of the stuff didn't bother me. Losing the truck and El Valor were not that stressful, really, except that we found ourselves without a vehicle and home and no time to replace them. Most of the time we maintained a positive attitude and counted our blessings that nobody was hurt nor was our livelihood destroyed. Still, there were days when we were uncertain about our future. Not just as a mobile family and business, but a family in general. There were times we considered ending our odyssey and renting a place temporarily while we reconfigured our life. We shopped online for truck and camper combos, then motorhomes, then vans. Nothing within our budget seemed to improve upon our previous rig. Eventually we decided to take our old beach truck out of storage and rebuild the tattered trailer. These would hold us over until summer. Well, summer is here, and still we have no time to upgrade our rig. Upgrade is now officially tabled until fall, or winter. Or perhaps indefinitely! At the moment it doesn't seem as important.
When the trailer was finally ready to roll we moved it to Cedar Hill State Park. After six weeks there, we feel part of the park family. New friends. Duck Pond hiking tour. Full moon tour of the Penn family farm. Hiking to the remnant prairie to shoot perennials and grasses dancing in the setting sun. Innumerable sightings of Eastern Bluebird, Painted Bunting and an array of butterfly species. Treacherous storms. Rain, rain; mud everywhere and inside everything. Sunsets that remind us we are alive! Nature reminding us why we do what we do. Yes, our six-week camping trip healed our hearts after our catastrophic moment.
Looking back over the past three months, I feel proud. Despite losing nearly everything, despite scary moments worrying about my dad's health, my computer crashing, more truck problems, changes to business, and downsizing our home, again; we managed to survive. Maybe not at first, but with each setback we found opportunities to streamline or otherwise improve our lifestyle or livelihood. To be sure, these three months took an emotional toll on all of us. Sage ramped up the tantrums (because she is three AND picking up on our soaring stress levels.) David and I couldn't be in the same room without erupting into an argument. I called my mom on more than one occasion just to cry and have somebody reassure me that everything would be just fine. Oh, and these are just the highlights. Ha ha ha. While in the throes of this life-changing event, I could not speak or write about my feelings. Too heavy. Now, though, I am able to put the pain in its proper place...in the past. I've moved on...we all have.
So, moving on...we left Cedar Hill to stay with family again. This time, to express our gratitude, to give more than thanks. This time, we are working hard to landscape their backyard that was a gigantic blank slate. Bermuda turf has been eliminated and replaced with sweeping, curvaceous beds brimming with perennials, such as Beebalm, Four Nerve Daisy, Blackfoot Daisy, Purple Skullcap, Snake Herb, and Mealy Cup Sage; Gamagrass, Indiangrass and Buffalograss turf; and trees, such as Cedar Elm, Possumhaw, Mexican Plum, and Roughleaf Dogwood. And more. No matter the heat, and the fact that I haven't installed a landscape in many years: this project is fun and truly rewarding. When it is finished, we will leave once again. Time to continue our journey...
But the rest of the stuff didn't bother me. Losing the truck and El Valor were not that stressful, really, except that we found ourselves without a vehicle and home and no time to replace them. Most of the time we maintained a positive attitude and counted our blessings that nobody was hurt nor was our livelihood destroyed. Still, there were days when we were uncertain about our future. Not just as a mobile family and business, but a family in general. There were times we considered ending our odyssey and renting a place temporarily while we reconfigured our life. We shopped online for truck and camper combos, then motorhomes, then vans. Nothing within our budget seemed to improve upon our previous rig. Eventually we decided to take our old beach truck out of storage and rebuild the tattered trailer. These would hold us over until summer. Well, summer is here, and still we have no time to upgrade our rig. Upgrade is now officially tabled until fall, or winter. Or perhaps indefinitely! At the moment it doesn't seem as important.
When the trailer was finally ready to roll we moved it to Cedar Hill State Park. After six weeks there, we feel part of the park family. New friends. Duck Pond hiking tour. Full moon tour of the Penn family farm. Hiking to the remnant prairie to shoot perennials and grasses dancing in the setting sun. Innumerable sightings of Eastern Bluebird, Painted Bunting and an array of butterfly species. Treacherous storms. Rain, rain; mud everywhere and inside everything. Sunsets that remind us we are alive! Nature reminding us why we do what we do. Yes, our six-week camping trip healed our hearts after our catastrophic moment.
Looking back over the past three months, I feel proud. Despite losing nearly everything, despite scary moments worrying about my dad's health, my computer crashing, more truck problems, changes to business, and downsizing our home, again; we managed to survive. Maybe not at first, but with each setback we found opportunities to streamline or otherwise improve our lifestyle or livelihood. To be sure, these three months took an emotional toll on all of us. Sage ramped up the tantrums (because she is three AND picking up on our soaring stress levels.) David and I couldn't be in the same room without erupting into an argument. I called my mom on more than one occasion just to cry and have somebody reassure me that everything would be just fine. Oh, and these are just the highlights. Ha ha ha. While in the throes of this life-changing event, I could not speak or write about my feelings. Too heavy. Now, though, I am able to put the pain in its proper place...in the past. I've moved on...we all have.
So, moving on...we left Cedar Hill to stay with family again. This time, to express our gratitude, to give more than thanks. This time, we are working hard to landscape their backyard that was a gigantic blank slate. Bermuda turf has been eliminated and replaced with sweeping, curvaceous beds brimming with perennials, such as Beebalm, Four Nerve Daisy, Blackfoot Daisy, Purple Skullcap, Snake Herb, and Mealy Cup Sage; Gamagrass, Indiangrass and Buffalograss turf; and trees, such as Cedar Elm, Possumhaw, Mexican Plum, and Roughleaf Dogwood. And more. No matter the heat, and the fact that I haven't installed a landscape in many years: this project is fun and truly rewarding. When it is finished, we will leave once again. Time to continue our journey...
Thursday, June 2, 2011
What's in a name?
I started this blog to document our adventures along this mobile odyssey. I named it "4x4elvalor" because a) it rhymes and might be easy to remember and b) our vehicle-of-choice could take us to remote places (hence the "4x4" part) and with bravery (umm, yes. That's where "el valor" comes in.) Sadly, neither the 4-wheel-drive diesel truck we thought was (almost) invincible nor the slide-in truck camper, aka El Valor, survived our frightening crash in Austin this past March. Our trailer -- that rolled and looked the worst post-accident -- actually was salvageable and has become our tiny-home-on-wheels. Digressing here...surprising, eh? (Insert sounds of dripping sarcasm.)
Our blog no longer represents our current means of living.working.traveling together. It is now a tribute to our fallen friends, Daisy the Diesel 4x4 and El Valor the camper. Our odyssey will continue, and our story will remain here, under 4x4elvalor, despite losing this blog's namesake.
Besides, where's the sexiness in a blog dubbed "truckwagon" or, simply, "trailer"? Or any of the other names we have attempted to bestow on our beloved tiny home? A rose is a rose is a rose...
Our blog no longer represents our current means of living.working.traveling together. It is now a tribute to our fallen friends, Daisy the Diesel 4x4 and El Valor the camper. Our odyssey will continue, and our story will remain here, under 4x4elvalor, despite losing this blog's namesake.
Besides, where's the sexiness in a blog dubbed "truckwagon" or, simply, "trailer"? Or any of the other names we have attempted to bestow on our beloved tiny home? A rose is a rose is a rose...
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