This will be somewhat of a collaborative post. It is late (by our standards) but we have meetings in Dallas starting tomorrow and for the next several days. We must drive tonight until we are at least within 2 hours of our destination. David spent a lot of time photographing and reveling in the progress of the Rockport project today. He was not really needed onsite, and we were scheduled to leave early. But if you know him or his work, you know he could not leave until the last boulder was placed. Keith and the Appealing Gardens crew still had about two hours of hard labor today and will work a half-day tomorrow cleaning up. We will all be back very soon to plant and continue working on the homage to the Appian Way. The project is jaw-dropping, truly. I will let David add to this post later his thoughts and pics of this magazine-worthy masterpiece.
So David is dictating to me, reminding me that more than 100 tons of stone were laid in 6 days...and there is more to set when we return. Amazing is an understated description of the transformation of this one section of the property. The home and the view are priceless, and the vegetation was beautiful as it was. But this little "enhancement" has seamlessly connected the architecture with the million-dollar view of Copano Bay; and the native plantings to come will render the place undeniably stunning. This is a once-in-a-lifetime creation for any artisan, and we cast members are grateful for our roles. So many blessings...
Tomorrow will mark 9 weeks since this journey began. Our energy issues will be resolved soon -- work-wise, our plate has been too full to settle in one place long enough so that we may address each weak link in the energy chain. We know the problems, now we have to fix them. We also want to reconfigure the trailer to be more like a tiny house on wheels. That is the heart of our camp, we have discovered. Change is constant when you live a mobile lifestyle, and if you embrace the beauty of change your journey will be richer. If you resist it, a magical moment can be lost in a soup of struggle. A lesson that reveals the first step down a new path of opportunity and enlightenment might be ignored. Sometimes, like when I wake up stoked about breaking camp and changing my perspective (literally), I find that I actually thrive on change. Sometimes I have difficulty letting go of people, places and possessions steeped in nostalgic value. After 12 years, I finally set Grandma's gowns free...but not her scarves or her books about poetry...El Valor, as sentimental as we feel about her, might also be liberated. As "truckwagon the trailer" (gets a new name and) becomes more central to our rolling homestead, we might not need the camper. We have other ideas that would further simplify our set-up, and would enrich our experiences as we live.work.travel together. Bluebonnet aka Hula Girl -- my truck -- might also be allowed to find a new home. In nearly ten years, she has paid for herself at least a hundred times, and has continued to be dependable in landscape "retirement." It seems shameful and disrespectful to stow her in a sandy lot, exposed to the brutal coastal conditions. Nobody is ready to say goodbye to her yet, but we are preparing ourselves. Change is good, and sometimes very good.
Nearing Austin. I don't think David can keep going much longer. Maybe this is a good time to just do a quick summary of our journey so far:
One night in Austin, three nights in Plano, then two weeks in Cedar Hill.
Three nights in Lockhart, then three weeks on the beach.
One night in Mission for the Texas Butterfly Festival, then one week in DFW.
One night in New Braunfels, then to Wurstfest for the afternoon and one night in Mathis.
One week in Rockport.
So many memories, already. So many lessons...about energy, portable food, water, precious value of TIME...and priorities that allow you to savor the deliciousness of Now. Too often, we fill our mind-bellies with thoughts of Yesterday or plans for Tomorrow that we can not fully appreciate Today, and more specifically, Now. This.very.moment.
At this moment, my little butterfly girl is snoozing alongside her furry brother, Folsom. Like most days, she has played in her playhouse (aka truckwagon...we really really need a new name for it...) and sung songs and made up stories about her dolls with Mommy. She practiced writing letters and pretended to read her books. As we said goodbye to the Rockport folks, she kissed Keith on the cheek and thanked Damion for taking her for a ride on "the tractor." She picked up her mail and squealed with delight when she opened her new Dora shoes. She told the cashier at the gas station she is not allowed to have cookies anymore because sugar turns her "into a monster." After a huge glass of milk and much more singing and dancing in her carseat, she finally called it a (long) day. Precious girl lives every moment, every day, as if it's her best, not her last. Just like Mommy and Daddy are teaching her.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Our Island
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| Drive leading to our camp on the 'island' |
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. :)
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. :)
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| 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.
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| The gifted and ever-inspiring Mick Tinsley, fireside at cedar hill sp |
Monday, November 1, 2010
Trailer Tragedy
Any story that begins with "Everybody is fine" usually takes you on a few twists and turns, right? For starters, "everybody is fine..."
If you have been following our story recently you know that Friday night and Saturday morning we spent in Mission, just a couple of miles from the US-Mexico border. We took Sage to the Texas Butterfly Festival in Mission and then headed north for a week's worth of meetings in the DFW/Denton area. Initially we had planned to stay at Ray Roberts State Park, but as we approached DFW, we decided to stay in Cedar Hill. We hoped to find a car wash to hose off our truck/camper/trailer configuration before checking into the state park there. Three weeks on the beach have left a thick film of salt, sand and who-knows-what-else on the siding, the windows and everywhere in between. By the time we arrived in CH, we chucked that idea and decided to go directly to the park and check in, then dress Sage for trick-or-treating and head out for an early and quick Halloween celebration. Good thing we had a sudden change in plans...Sometimes all the best-laid plans fall apart. Have I not written about this, ad nauseum? And recently?
We checked in without incident. I asked the reservations clerk about neighborhoods close to the park that might be suitable for t-or-t with a 2-year-old. She drew a map for me and even told me where she lives. Armed with a fistful of useful information, and happy that Sage was napping before the Big Night, I suggested to David that we quickly set up our campsite first, then rifle through Sage's dress-up clothes to pull together a unique handmade costume before hitting the nearby neighborhood. I was recounting some of my favorite childhood costumes -- the gypsy, the year I was Pete Rose (before he was dishonored) -- and the virtues of creating something spectacular from everyday items lying around the house. I think I was mid-sentence describing the map Stella had drawn for me, and thinking aloud about the materials I needed to pull together Sage's trick-or-treat bag costume, as she had requested. Suddenly, I heard metal crunch and an awful grinding sound -- it sounded like the truck's transmission was falling off a cliff and hitting every boulder. Sage continued to nap peacefully.
"What's wrong with the truck?" I shrieked.
And then everything shifted into slow...motion...
Nothing was wrong with the truck. I looked into the rearview mirror in time to watch -- again, in slow motion -- a chasm between the trailer and the truck develop then widen. The trailer pitched forward and made an awful, pitiful moaning sound as it skidded to stop. The truck kept lurching forward -- faster, faster. The trailer faceplanted onto the road. Everything inside surely had been destroyed, because the heaviest item -- the 88-lb. generator -- was at the back of the trailer. And everything in its path forward is flimsy, plastic drawers filled with tiny toys, books and puzzles, and clothing. Surely none of these items escaped the destruction of the flying dead-weight, gas-leaking generator.
The trailer did not become unhitched. The hitch and about half the towing arm were still attached to the truck. Metal fatigue is how a few people on the scene as well as on facebook have explained the 'tragedy.' Basically, the arm broke off at the trailer. Here are some of the weird and wonderful details of our catastrophe:
1. None of us were injured.
2. The incident occurred inside Cedar Hill State Park, not on the highway.
3. We were moving at 15 mph, no more but most likely less, on an uphill section of park road.
4. The park is nearly empty so we did not cause any serious traffic problems.
5. The trailer pitched itself forward, tumbling very slowly uphill, instead of rolling backwards and downhill into the trees. Or worse, into the few cars that did follow us uphill.
6. When the trailer landed on its nose, the gas cans mounted on either side were facing upward and did not leak.
7. The generator fell "up", sort-of, so no gas leaked. Only a few knicks in one of the sets of plastic drawers, the generator did not destroy anything, surprisingly. And it was being stored at the rear of the trailer. When it went on its nose, I was certain the generator pulverized everything in its path. Aside from the minor knicks, there is no damage to anything. Miraculous.
8. The generator started on the first test-pull. We might not need it for another few months but at least we know it still works.
The failure of the metalworks is easier to understand than rationalizing the minimal nature of the damage to our belongings. Logically, everything should be completely useless now. Quite the opposite. Everything but the 'tongue' is intact.
Park police were on the scene within seconds. The officer tried not to laugh but eventually he could not help himself. The sight of our bicycles dangling into the sky alone was comical. He remained with us as we tried to assess what went wrong, photographed the 'carnage' (ha), and even assisted us by calling a wrecker service to turn our trailer upright. He continued to stay with us as the tow truck picked up the trailer, towed her, and deposited her onto our site inside the park. Wonderful guy -- thank you, if you are reading this! The trailer was on our site but we still needed to prop her up so we could access the contents -- namely, Sage's clothing so that we could assemble a creative and suitable Halloween costume. First, we needed to open the front end door. When the trailer landed on it, we were certain that all the contents had also landed there. David asked me to stand back while he opened the door. He pried it open...and stood back to the side of the trailer...and out tumbled Sage's tricycle, slightly bent, and one beer. That was all. A few taps of a hammer and the trike was good as new. The beer was still cold...
Apparently when the trailer fell forward the cooler spilled ice, beer and food we had purchased the night before. The beer and food fell INTO the ice, so when we were ready to imbibe, our beverages were cold and ripe for the drinking. Thank you, army of angels. ;-) Feverishly and frantically, we worked to empty the trailer (and an ice cold beer or two) so that we could lift the trailer high enough to stabilize it on blocks. By the time we finished that, and found enough elements to create a Dora costume (the bag idea was not to be...) it was almost 9pm. Who takes their 2-yr-old trick-or-treating at 9pm???
We did. Despite the near-miss-tragedy, and the potential for all of our clothing, Sage's toys and some of our business supplies (e.g. printer and laminator) being destroyed, David and I were adamant about taking our little girl out to celebrate Halloween. Just in case we could not remedy the situation in time, I prepared her for the worst. She started to whine a little. Then she said she understood...my heart crumbled. There was no way I was going to let her down. She was going out, no matter what.
In her drawers I found a pair of orange shorts, a pink sweater (not a pink t-shirt as Dora is known to wear), white and pink (instead of white and yellow) ruffled socks, tennis shoes, and an official Dora backpack with Map hanging out the side. I pulled back her hair -- c'mon, there was no way I was going to find a brunette bobbed wig at that late hour -- and painted flowers and "Dora" on her tiny cheeks. She carried her monkey doll -- Boots -- that she has had since before birth. Maybe it was a half-ass costume, pulled together two hours past the eleventh hour -- but it worked. We made sure we complimented her incessantly and treated her as if she were the 'real' Dora. Smiles galore.
We don't know the neighborhoods well enough but I had that map from Stella, the park employee. In all the chaos, the map fell between other papers and possibly under the seat. I don't know. I couldn't find the darned thing. As of this moment, I still have not excavated it from the rubble inside the truck. So I relied on my memory and we found an area nearby that still had revelers going door-to-door. As you might imagine, there were not many homes receiving trick-or-treaters at 9:30pm. Actually, we found only two homes. I'm sure there were more but there was no way I was keeping her up any later for such slim possibilities. My grand idea was to take her to WalMart (it's almost next door to the park) and buy candy and holiday decor. When we returned to our site, I could decorate the camper and then let her t-o-t for the candy we picked out. She seemed to love the idea, or maybe she felt really sorry about all that we had been through, and decided to be grateful for David's and my effort to make the holiday special.
In my family, we call this the Easter Basket Incident. When I was younger than Sage my mom totally freaked out on my dad because they did not have a basket for me on Easter. She wigged. Seriously. I don't remember the incident but I've heard about it my entire life. There was a time that I rolled my eyes..."oh Mommmmm." Now I'm that mommy. My little girl was looking forward to dressing up, getting candy, and celebrating spookiness. Two of her favorite books are Halloween-themed Dora the Explorer tomes. No way I was going to disappoint her. No way I was going to let something like a trailer flipping over and breaking off our truck ruin her holiday. So we emptied the contents of the trailer all around our site and pulled something together, last-minute. I cried while we worked, because I was concerned we might not be able to get to her things in time to dress her and celebrate. I cried because although I had no direct responsibility for anything that had happened, I felt guilty that her holiday might be ruined. No way that was happening. No way was my little girl going to bed without even a hint of the Halloween spirit.
Everything we dragged out of the trailer was left disorganized and strewn around our site. Doors were left open. We hit the town and had a great time. Although she only got a few treats, she enjoyed the experience. She got it. We celebrated together at home briefly before everybody collapsed into bed around midnight. Today, we organized the mess as best we could. A welder repaired our trailer, so now we are back in the mobile lifestyle business. And Sage's fondest memory of Halloween is "driving to go trick-or-treating." Tragedy (somewhat) resolved.
If you have been following our story recently you know that Friday night and Saturday morning we spent in Mission, just a couple of miles from the US-Mexico border. We took Sage to the Texas Butterfly Festival in Mission and then headed north for a week's worth of meetings in the DFW/Denton area. Initially we had planned to stay at Ray Roberts State Park, but as we approached DFW, we decided to stay in Cedar Hill. We hoped to find a car wash to hose off our truck/camper/trailer configuration before checking into the state park there. Three weeks on the beach have left a thick film of salt, sand and who-knows-what-else on the siding, the windows and everywhere in between. By the time we arrived in CH, we chucked that idea and decided to go directly to the park and check in, then dress Sage for trick-or-treating and head out for an early and quick Halloween celebration. Good thing we had a sudden change in plans...Sometimes all the best-laid plans fall apart. Have I not written about this, ad nauseum? And recently?
We checked in without incident. I asked the reservations clerk about neighborhoods close to the park that might be suitable for t-or-t with a 2-year-old. She drew a map for me and even told me where she lives. Armed with a fistful of useful information, and happy that Sage was napping before the Big Night, I suggested to David that we quickly set up our campsite first, then rifle through Sage's dress-up clothes to pull together a unique handmade costume before hitting the nearby neighborhood. I was recounting some of my favorite childhood costumes -- the gypsy, the year I was Pete Rose (before he was dishonored) -- and the virtues of creating something spectacular from everyday items lying around the house. I think I was mid-sentence describing the map Stella had drawn for me, and thinking aloud about the materials I needed to pull together Sage's trick-or-treat bag costume, as she had requested. Suddenly, I heard metal crunch and an awful grinding sound -- it sounded like the truck's transmission was falling off a cliff and hitting every boulder. Sage continued to nap peacefully.
"What's wrong with the truck?" I shrieked.
And then everything shifted into slow...motion...
Nothing was wrong with the truck. I looked into the rearview mirror in time to watch -- again, in slow motion -- a chasm between the trailer and the truck develop then widen. The trailer pitched forward and made an awful, pitiful moaning sound as it skidded to stop. The truck kept lurching forward -- faster, faster. The trailer faceplanted onto the road. Everything inside surely had been destroyed, because the heaviest item -- the 88-lb. generator -- was at the back of the trailer. And everything in its path forward is flimsy, plastic drawers filled with tiny toys, books and puzzles, and clothing. Surely none of these items escaped the destruction of the flying dead-weight, gas-leaking generator.
 |
| sheared metal |
The trailer did not become unhitched. The hitch and about half the towing arm were still attached to the truck. Metal fatigue is how a few people on the scene as well as on facebook have explained the 'tragedy.' Basically, the arm broke off at the trailer. Here are some of the weird and wonderful details of our catastrophe:
1. None of us were injured.
2. The incident occurred inside Cedar Hill State Park, not on the highway.
3. We were moving at 15 mph, no more but most likely less, on an uphill section of park road.
4. The park is nearly empty so we did not cause any serious traffic problems.
5. The trailer pitched itself forward, tumbling very slowly uphill, instead of rolling backwards and downhill into the trees. Or worse, into the few cars that did follow us uphill.
6. When the trailer landed on its nose, the gas cans mounted on either side were facing upward and did not leak.
7. The generator fell "up", sort-of, so no gas leaked. Only a few knicks in one of the sets of plastic drawers, the generator did not destroy anything, surprisingly. And it was being stored at the rear of the trailer. When it went on its nose, I was certain the generator pulverized everything in its path. Aside from the minor knicks, there is no damage to anything. Miraculous.
8. The generator started on the first test-pull. We might not need it for another few months but at least we know it still works.
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| showing sage the scene..."mommy, i don't think sticky tape will fix this." |
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| my kitchen! |
The failure of the metalworks is easier to understand than rationalizing the minimal nature of the damage to our belongings. Logically, everything should be completely useless now. Quite the opposite. Everything but the 'tongue' is intact.
Park police were on the scene within seconds. The officer tried not to laugh but eventually he could not help himself. The sight of our bicycles dangling into the sky alone was comical. He remained with us as we tried to assess what went wrong, photographed the 'carnage' (ha), and even assisted us by calling a wrecker service to turn our trailer upright. He continued to stay with us as the tow truck picked up the trailer, towed her, and deposited her onto our site inside the park. Wonderful guy -- thank you, if you are reading this! The trailer was on our site but we still needed to prop her up so we could access the contents -- namely, Sage's clothing so that we could assemble a creative and suitable Halloween costume. First, we needed to open the front end door. When the trailer landed on it, we were certain that all the contents had also landed there. David asked me to stand back while he opened the door. He pried it open...and stood back to the side of the trailer...and out tumbled Sage's tricycle, slightly bent, and one beer. That was all. A few taps of a hammer and the trike was good as new. The beer was still cold...
Apparently when the trailer fell forward the cooler spilled ice, beer and food we had purchased the night before. The beer and food fell INTO the ice, so when we were ready to imbibe, our beverages were cold and ripe for the drinking. Thank you, army of angels. ;-) Feverishly and frantically, we worked to empty the trailer (and an ice cold beer or two) so that we could lift the trailer high enough to stabilize it on blocks. By the time we finished that, and found enough elements to create a Dora costume (the bag idea was not to be...) it was almost 9pm. Who takes their 2-yr-old trick-or-treating at 9pm???
We did. Despite the near-miss-tragedy, and the potential for all of our clothing, Sage's toys and some of our business supplies (e.g. printer and laminator) being destroyed, David and I were adamant about taking our little girl out to celebrate Halloween. Just in case we could not remedy the situation in time, I prepared her for the worst. She started to whine a little. Then she said she understood...my heart crumbled. There was no way I was going to let her down. She was going out, no matter what.
In her drawers I found a pair of orange shorts, a pink sweater (not a pink t-shirt as Dora is known to wear), white and pink (instead of white and yellow) ruffled socks, tennis shoes, and an official Dora backpack with Map hanging out the side. I pulled back her hair -- c'mon, there was no way I was going to find a brunette bobbed wig at that late hour -- and painted flowers and "Dora" on her tiny cheeks. She carried her monkey doll -- Boots -- that she has had since before birth. Maybe it was a half-ass costume, pulled together two hours past the eleventh hour -- but it worked. We made sure we complimented her incessantly and treated her as if she were the 'real' Dora. Smiles galore.
We don't know the neighborhoods well enough but I had that map from Stella, the park employee. In all the chaos, the map fell between other papers and possibly under the seat. I don't know. I couldn't find the darned thing. As of this moment, I still have not excavated it from the rubble inside the truck. So I relied on my memory and we found an area nearby that still had revelers going door-to-door. As you might imagine, there were not many homes receiving trick-or-treaters at 9:30pm. Actually, we found only two homes. I'm sure there were more but there was no way I was keeping her up any later for such slim possibilities. My grand idea was to take her to WalMart (it's almost next door to the park) and buy candy and holiday decor. When we returned to our site, I could decorate the camper and then let her t-o-t for the candy we picked out. She seemed to love the idea, or maybe she felt really sorry about all that we had been through, and decided to be grateful for David's and my effort to make the holiday special.
 |
| oh noooooo |
 |
| ready to tilt |
 |
| almost up now |
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| quick and professional, and personal, service...love this company |
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| ilfrey ladies in total shock |
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| oh look, i found a book under all this mess |
In my family, we call this the Easter Basket Incident. When I was younger than Sage my mom totally freaked out on my dad because they did not have a basket for me on Easter. She wigged. Seriously. I don't remember the incident but I've heard about it my entire life. There was a time that I rolled my eyes..."oh Mommmmm." Now I'm that mommy. My little girl was looking forward to dressing up, getting candy, and celebrating spookiness. Two of her favorite books are Halloween-themed Dora the Explorer tomes. No way I was going to disappoint her. No way I was going to let something like a trailer flipping over and breaking off our truck ruin her holiday. So we emptied the contents of the trailer all around our site and pulled something together, last-minute. I cried while we worked, because I was concerned we might not be able to get to her things in time to dress her and celebrate. I cried because although I had no direct responsibility for anything that had happened, I felt guilty that her holiday might be ruined. No way that was happening. No way was my little girl going to bed without even a hint of the Halloween spirit.
Everything we dragged out of the trailer was left disorganized and strewn around our site. Doors were left open. We hit the town and had a great time. Although she only got a few treats, she enjoyed the experience. She got it. We celebrated together at home briefly before everybody collapsed into bed around midnight. Today, we organized the mess as best we could. A welder repaired our trailer, so now we are back in the mobile lifestyle business. And Sage's fondest memory of Halloween is "driving to go trick-or-treating." Tragedy (somewhat) resolved.
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| exhausted but ecstatic about being dora |
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| boots? oh yes, boots. my best friend. right. |
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Mission to Butterflies
There is nothing quite like listening to Willie Nelson as you drive across acres and acres of rustic Texas terrain. And if you are sucking on a fresh-picked grapefruit or orange, only moments off the tree, then you must be travelling through the Rio Grande Valley. Like many of you, I have visited South Padre Island and Brownsville -- even backpacked across the border into Matamoros, Mexico, and two months' worth of points beyond. But I had never been to McAllen, Edinburg or Mission until yesterday. I don't know the Valley, really. The past 24 hours have been filled with the kind of experiences that make you wonder what wizard is behind the curtain orchestrating them. Sometimes, when you stop forcing life to follow some arbitrary plan, stop trying to dictate or predict outcomes, you are treated to tiny treats. You are treated to surprises that sweeten your journey more than any sugary delight wrapped in shiny paper.
Yesterday I hung up my bikini for the season. We left Corpus Christi to take Sage to the 15th Annual Texas Butterfly Festival in Mission, and by the time we return to the beach in a few weeks, the water will be too cold to swim. (Dang.) We have been planning to attend this festival for months. As I always do, I searched online to map the quickest route, to search for lodging, and information about the festival. I called an RV park located next door to the state park. Everything was arranged...but then life happened and we did not leave Corpus Christi until much later than anticipated. Long story, but for some reason our phones would not connect to service ANYWHERE yesterday. Not even in places in our old neighborhood where we have had a strong, reliable signal for two years! This inexplicable technical mishap delayed the start of a design presentation, pushing back the rest of the morning's activities. That meant we would not be able to stay in the park I had called because they close at 4pm and gates lock at 5pm. We arrived in Mission around 5:30pm with no reservations and no clear idea of the layout of the town. The plan had failed.
In another lifetime, this would make my head spin (and, yes, my mouth would spew pea soup.) Yesterday, though, I saw this quandry as more of an opportunity than a 'failure'. We could explore the city a bit, find the state park and feel our way around the place before deciding on a place to stay. The drive south was spectacular. I was blogging so I did not see as much of the changing plant palette as David, yet I picked up enough from quick glances that I knew I had been transported to a very different place. Different in terms of flora and fauna, climate, culture -- so much. I stopped typing and started observing. I took my time...I breathed slowly and deeply. Needed that. Drove around the state park grounds briefly before setting out to find a place to park for the night. We had decided to find WalMart and 'boondock' (google that). On the way, we noticed an Anglo couple in their 50s, maybe early-60s, walking with several yellow bags from Dollar General. I watched them turn into a cozy RV park. Parks line both sides of this road for miles. This park, Americana, is smaller, older, and seemed more...friendly, I guess, than the others. In the other parks we passed, nobody was outside. All the streets were wide and swept perfectly clean, but nobody mingled. Apart from site-after-site filled with rigs, there were no signs of life anywhere. Except at the Americana. Curious. That looks like a place we might stay, I told David.
Immediately after we pulled in we met the folks who run the place. Residents waved as they walked toward the game room where the men were playing pool and the women were playing dominoes. The roads are narrower but still very clean. Most of the sites have natural-looking vegetation. Whether or not it's native, most of the plants and decor appear to have always been part of the landscape. Other places were too manicured and resort-like for us. Americana has character, genuine style that must evolve naturally. It can not be forced, taught or bought; it is authentic...so are its residents.
We found a little site directly next to the bathrooms and showers, pool and sauna, and game room. While we were unpacking and setting up, Mr. Jim (the man-in-charge) showed up to introduce himself. He introduced us to his Boston Terrier, Ollie. What a coincidence, I told him. Our little girl is somewhat fixated on that name. She names all our new toys, shells and imaginary friends 'Ollie.' We put Ollie and Sage together; Folsom pouted and growled from inside the truck. But now she has a real friend named Ollie! Bliss! We explained we were only staying one night because we had brought Sage to see the butterflies, but that we have to get back to Dallas by Sunday night. Why, we have a butterfly expert right here in the park, he exclaimed. She has written 6 books about butterflies and gives presentations about them. Let's go!
Mr. Jim invited Sage and me to ride up front on his golf cart with him and Ollie, and David rode on the back. We drove over to Miss Kim's house. She was out for a walk so we tracked her down. We chatted briefly and then David asked where we might buy her books. She had some in her house! So after we took care of a little shopping (Folsom needed food) we stopped by her house to buy Butterflies of Northeastern Mexico. She even autographed it for Sage! Although she was leaving this morning for a one-week trip to Oaxaca, Kim spent about an hour talking with us about travelling in Latin America, living simply, living thisclose to the U.S.-Mexico border. Funny, we didn't talk much about butterflies. We all leafed through the book together after we returned 'home'. Dreamy, vivid photographs of skippers and swallowtails, hairstreaks and metalmarks, and more. Instantly I knew I wanted to visit with Kim again. Maybe we will be back soon, and maybe she will be interested and available to swap more travel stories. THAT is my kind of girls' night out.
Today we rushed through breakfast, through getting ready, through packing up. We were eager to get to the butterfly festival. Sage painted butterflies made out of coffee filters and clothes pins. She colored pictures of butterflies. We walked the butterfly gardens, petted a sphinx caterpillar, toured exhibits about birds and their flight patterns. We waited in a long line for a long time to get her face painted but left to see the other booths. By the time we returned, the artist had stopped accepting face-canvasses. No big deal. Folsom was overheated and pooped out from walking all over the grounds. Sage had had a great time, and even boogied in front of a roomful of folks watching their kids demonstrate zumba fitness. I know I probably should have pulled her away, but she was having so much fun and the teachers and other kids seemed to enjoy watching la guerrita shake her groove thing and imitate their dance moves. At least I could have encouraged her to move to the back or the side...not front and center! What can I say, what can I say...
Sage and Folsom have been sleeping for hours. David and I have been nibbling on fresh grapefruit and oranges and listening to Willie Nelson. He's driving, I'm blogging. Sage is awake now and smiling as she snacks on raisins and watches the scenery blur past her window "really fast." We are almost to San Antonio and once again the plants and topography are changing dramatically. Once again, we find ourselves reflecting on a meaningful day in this journey. Sweet, sweet journey, it is.
Yesterday I hung up my bikini for the season. We left Corpus Christi to take Sage to the 15th Annual Texas Butterfly Festival in Mission, and by the time we return to the beach in a few weeks, the water will be too cold to swim. (Dang.) We have been planning to attend this festival for months. As I always do, I searched online to map the quickest route, to search for lodging, and information about the festival. I called an RV park located next door to the state park. Everything was arranged...but then life happened and we did not leave Corpus Christi until much later than anticipated. Long story, but for some reason our phones would not connect to service ANYWHERE yesterday. Not even in places in our old neighborhood where we have had a strong, reliable signal for two years! This inexplicable technical mishap delayed the start of a design presentation, pushing back the rest of the morning's activities. That meant we would not be able to stay in the park I had called because they close at 4pm and gates lock at 5pm. We arrived in Mission around 5:30pm with no reservations and no clear idea of the layout of the town. The plan had failed.
In another lifetime, this would make my head spin (and, yes, my mouth would spew pea soup.) Yesterday, though, I saw this quandry as more of an opportunity than a 'failure'. We could explore the city a bit, find the state park and feel our way around the place before deciding on a place to stay. The drive south was spectacular. I was blogging so I did not see as much of the changing plant palette as David, yet I picked up enough from quick glances that I knew I had been transported to a very different place. Different in terms of flora and fauna, climate, culture -- so much. I stopped typing and started observing. I took my time...I breathed slowly and deeply. Needed that. Drove around the state park grounds briefly before setting out to find a place to park for the night. We had decided to find WalMart and 'boondock' (google that). On the way, we noticed an Anglo couple in their 50s, maybe early-60s, walking with several yellow bags from Dollar General. I watched them turn into a cozy RV park. Parks line both sides of this road for miles. This park, Americana, is smaller, older, and seemed more...friendly, I guess, than the others. In the other parks we passed, nobody was outside. All the streets were wide and swept perfectly clean, but nobody mingled. Apart from site-after-site filled with rigs, there were no signs of life anywhere. Except at the Americana. Curious. That looks like a place we might stay, I told David.
Immediately after we pulled in we met the folks who run the place. Residents waved as they walked toward the game room where the men were playing pool and the women were playing dominoes. The roads are narrower but still very clean. Most of the sites have natural-looking vegetation. Whether or not it's native, most of the plants and decor appear to have always been part of the landscape. Other places were too manicured and resort-like for us. Americana has character, genuine style that must evolve naturally. It can not be forced, taught or bought; it is authentic...so are its residents.
We found a little site directly next to the bathrooms and showers, pool and sauna, and game room. While we were unpacking and setting up, Mr. Jim (the man-in-charge) showed up to introduce himself. He introduced us to his Boston Terrier, Ollie. What a coincidence, I told him. Our little girl is somewhat fixated on that name. She names all our new toys, shells and imaginary friends 'Ollie.' We put Ollie and Sage together; Folsom pouted and growled from inside the truck. But now she has a real friend named Ollie! Bliss! We explained we were only staying one night because we had brought Sage to see the butterflies, but that we have to get back to Dallas by Sunday night. Why, we have a butterfly expert right here in the park, he exclaimed. She has written 6 books about butterflies and gives presentations about them. Let's go!
Mr. Jim invited Sage and me to ride up front on his golf cart with him and Ollie, and David rode on the back. We drove over to Miss Kim's house. She was out for a walk so we tracked her down. We chatted briefly and then David asked where we might buy her books. She had some in her house! So after we took care of a little shopping (Folsom needed food) we stopped by her house to buy Butterflies of Northeastern Mexico. She even autographed it for Sage! Although she was leaving this morning for a one-week trip to Oaxaca, Kim spent about an hour talking with us about travelling in Latin America, living simply, living thisclose to the U.S.-Mexico border. Funny, we didn't talk much about butterflies. We all leafed through the book together after we returned 'home'. Dreamy, vivid photographs of skippers and swallowtails, hairstreaks and metalmarks, and more. Instantly I knew I wanted to visit with Kim again. Maybe we will be back soon, and maybe she will be interested and available to swap more travel stories. THAT is my kind of girls' night out.
Today we rushed through breakfast, through getting ready, through packing up. We were eager to get to the butterfly festival. Sage painted butterflies made out of coffee filters and clothes pins. She colored pictures of butterflies. We walked the butterfly gardens, petted a sphinx caterpillar, toured exhibits about birds and their flight patterns. We waited in a long line for a long time to get her face painted but left to see the other booths. By the time we returned, the artist had stopped accepting face-canvasses. No big deal. Folsom was overheated and pooped out from walking all over the grounds. Sage had had a great time, and even boogied in front of a roomful of folks watching their kids demonstrate zumba fitness. I know I probably should have pulled her away, but she was having so much fun and the teachers and other kids seemed to enjoy watching la guerrita shake her groove thing and imitate their dance moves. At least I could have encouraged her to move to the back or the side...not front and center! What can I say, what can I say...
Sage and Folsom have been sleeping for hours. David and I have been nibbling on fresh grapefruit and oranges and listening to Willie Nelson. He's driving, I'm blogging. Sage is awake now and smiling as she snacks on raisins and watches the scenery blur past her window "really fast." We are almost to San Antonio and once again the plants and topography are changing dramatically. Once again, we find ourselves reflecting on a meaningful day in this journey. Sweet, sweet journey, it is.
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