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.

Our Island

Drive leading to our camp on the 'island'

I have my own island. Peninsula, rather. And really it is "mine" only for the next few days. For now, though, my mobile office/home is perched in the center of a cul-de-sac of land, a spit that forms the driveway leading up to it. Our view of Copano Bay is almost 360 degrees of waterfront. In the near distance is the fishing bridge and beyond that the bridge connecting to Lamar and Holiday Beach. Apart from whispers of traffic and small aircraft overhead, I am serenaded by fish jumping and birds chirping. Sounds of heavy machinery -- of work getting done -- are there, too. They blend with rather than blast through the music of Nature. Trucks and cars hum across the bridge, now. Equipment is silent for the moment. Great Blue Heron squawked directly above me, flying low. Sage is finally napping after refusing to sleep for several days. I'm recalibrating.

Salute to Sausage!

Last weekend after leaving Cedar Hill we drove to New Braunfels. Our friends, Laura and Daryl, invited us to plug in the rig, then join them at Wurstfest. The 10-day salute to sausage! They ended up going without us because we had a meeting Saturday morning and left later than planned. Then, just as the late-autumn sunset enveloped us like a grey sweater, the lights on the trailer malfunctioned. For 2 teeth-grinding hours I assisted David and burned some of Sage and Folsom's energy. He unspliced and respliced the wires more times than I would have patience to do. In the end, it was the bulbs; they had become loose. Apparently that can happen after faceplanting...Finally we arrived at The Manor long after they had wrapped their night of sausage and Shiner. Still, we spent some time gabbing and catching up. We have an open invite which we will gladly use...and we did make it to Wurstfest, after all, the next day. Festive!

Thank you thank you thank you, Laura and Daryl, for your hospitality.  And thanks to Sam for taking Sage on her first golf cart ride.  :)

sage and sam

Coyotes and Bobcats

The coyotes were hungry early. My brother, Mick, and I constructed a campfire while Sage entertained us with stories and dancing and singing. David was on his way back from meetings and a speaking engagement at a college. It was just after sunset. Folsom's floppy ear stood up straight, and we all heard the symphony of several coyotes singing and yelping. Usually, they begin their song around midnight. Usually, you hear but do not see them. But the next day, mid-morning and just before the weekenders arrived, one coyote emerged from the vegetation that delineates campsite from campsite. He stood in the middle of the road. About 15 minutes later, a bobcat stood in the same spot. Neither approached our camp but looked us over. They were gone as suddenly as they appeared, and before I could pluck my camera from inside El Valor. Now we are in Rockport on Copano Bay. Coyote tracks are sprinkled all over this little peninsula. Raccoon and various bird tracks, too.

The gifted and ever-inspiring Mick Tinsley, fireside at cedar hill sp

Waking up in WalMart

...in the parking lot, that is. Last night we slept comfortably on the backside of the San Marcos WalMart. Boondocking. In other words, we slept in our camper in a parking lot without hookups to electricity or water. No big deal. We have been living this way -- hauling our own water, generating our own energy -- for the past three weeks. Except for the one night we stayed at Americana in Mission, we have been almost entirely self-reliant for all our energy and resource needs...Plus, WalMart has bathrooms! And 24-hour-access to food...Day 2 of our northbound quest has begun. if you notice us on the highway, be sure to wave or shoot us an email. You can't miss us...and we would love to hear from you!

Time to fly

Tomorrow, we will have been camping on the beach for 3 weeks. Astounding. Two weeks we lived gulf-front on Padre Island National Seashore, then we spent one night on the Nueces County beach. For the past week we have been perched on the sweetest spot of Bird Island Basin, a spot within the Seashore on Laguna Madre that is popular with windsurfers and fishermen. Our 'site is but a few feet from the water. Sunsets, moonrises and sunrises have inspired us daily as we continue creating landscape designs that help to restore Texas' natural beauty. Tomorrow we will leave this coastal paradise and start making the familiar trek toward another of Texas' gems: the Blackland Prairie. But first, we have an exciting detour...

The Milk(y) Way

Sage likes to have a glass of milk every couple of days. Hands down, this has been one of our greatest challenges: keeping milk cold. Without access to electricity, our refrigerator will not work. Our cooler keeps things cold enough for a few days, but there are other issues. I started with a plastic half-gallon container. About half of it soured because I don't drink the stuff and David only does with cookies. We haven't been eating many of those, either. I scaled back to smaller packaging, but mostly they are paper-based, and become waterlogged as the ice melts and everything dives into the icy soup. Quickly the paper breaks down, creating a milky frothy mess in the cooler. Then I tried individual sizes in plastic containers. Worked great, except the caps are not water-tight. No matter what, the milk spills or spoils. Not green...or economical. Powdered milk, you're up. Dazzle me.

This is why...

Some days, like today, I look at Sage and worry I've missed something important. One of her developmental milestones, if you will. I find myself rapidly running through first tooth, first steps, first word, desperately clinging to every moment. Then I seem to regain logic and reason; I haven't missed a thing. I have been with her almost every second of her life. David, too. Maybe all mommies (and daddies) experience this memory-panic. Maybe it's because today she is exactly 2-and-3/4-yrs-old and subconsciously I am marking the anniversary. Each day there are new moments to commemorate, new milestones to celebrate. I want to witness every single one...and this is just one reason why we have chosen this lifestyle. There are other reasons -- some I have written or will write about, and others that are private. When I see all the things my 2-almost-3-yr-old is learning and seeing and doing, I do not question my choice. I know all the reasons why we are here, happily celebrating milestones...together.

The Ilfreys have left the National Seashore

If you want to test your child's mettle (and your own), try living outdoors for two weeks. On the beaches near Corpus Christi, under a blazing sun and in the path of some pretty spectacular wind. These are harsh conditions, and that my almost-3-year-old endured them -- no, THRIVED despite them -- impresses me. She has not complained once about the sand or salt or wind...or anything, really. Except maybe naptime; she worries she might miss something exciting. The wind picked up today. Blustery. Tide is high...so we had to move on. Still in Corpus but no longer on Padre Is Nat'l Seashore. Everybody is exhausted. Before now, David and I have never lasted more than 3 days camping on the seashore. This time, we survived a whopping 2 wks. I hear the wind snarling as it pushes and shoves our truck and camper around. I'm smiling, a proud green mommy. We did it. If we are still enthusiastic about our journey after today, and believe me are, we could live like this a long time. Dream realized.

Storage...

Yesterday I donated 5 more bags of clothing. That makes around 20 small bags, or so, of clothing and household items in three separate visits. Every few days we assess a thing's usefulness and versatility. If it is being used, and can fulfill a few different roles, then it stays. Negligible or non-use, or single-purpose items go the way of my paint-splattered Crocs: Goodwill hunting. With more items gone, we are now able to put away all our clothing, shoes, dishes and towels. David and I each have one drawer and our shoes are combined in a space under Sage's bed. Sage has two drawers for clothing; one for dress-up clothes; one for art supplies: two for books and puzzles; and one for miscellaneous dolls and other toys. She also has a crate full of "bouncy balls"...and that's just the stuff in the trailer. Inside the camper, we each have a bin with small sliding doors. Books spill from all three. Toiletries are stored in a basket approximately 12" long x 12" wide x 12" tall in a cabinet under Sage

I have lost so many posts written (typed) on my phone because of an overly sensitive back button. And an overzealous thumb, most likely. Raising those lost treasures from Davy Jones' locker would be an impossible feat. That's right, I just invoked a pirate metaphor. Fitting for the current leg of our journey...Power is almost restored so I should be posting more regularly and coherently soon. Cross every available appendage. Please. We have a lot of designs to do...and intermittent "juice" is just not working out...Also, I have many posts ready to upload. Only 4 wks mobile and already there are wacky stories to share. They may be grouped as a) discoveries in Nature, b) bleep Sage says, c) mishaps, d) people of the road and e) answers to your questions. I'm not sure where to begin. Send me your suggestions; I'll let you guide the next several posts...All is quiet in El Valor except for the faint beeping of me texting and the slightly louder crashing of waves. High tide should peak within the hour..