Greetings From the Grand Strand
Greetings from the Grand Strand. That’s what the local weatherman calls this section of the South Carolina Coast that stretches from Little River, north of Myrtle Beach, to Georgetown, where we’re spending one more night before continuing south.
We’ve been enjoying a very relaxed journey from New England down the Eastern seaboard. We learned about the Surfmen at a Light Saving Station, weathered a Nor’easter with 50mph wind gusts, and enjoyed leash-free romps on the beach with no other people on the entire beach. We watched die-hard fisherman cast their lines on 35° mornings, and happened upon an exhibit of Audubon’s original prints and engravings at the Booth Museum in Dover.
Marika drove us over the 18 mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel, a truly beautiful drive from the passenger seat. We camped at a state park along the Chesapeake Bay and took beach walks every day. We walked the labyrinth at the Edgar Cayce Association for Research and Enlightenment, and marveled at the decoys at the Atlantic Wildfowl Heritage Museum. Marika even said that they made her a little hungry to carve again.
For Thanksgiving we visited with a dear friend who I haven’t hugged in 10 years. We camped in her driveway, and her husband even hooked up a 30 amp plug so we could have electricity. They gave us a tour of their town, and how they craft their handmade soaps, and took us out to a farm to see their beehives. We enjoyed delicious foods, chilly walks, and a golf cart ride to see the sunset over the Palmico River. And we even taught them how to play dominoes. We all needed the laughs and the easy companionship. It was the best Thanksgiving we’ve had in a very long time.
It poured the day we left, so the three-hour drive turned into four and a half, and we were both fried when we pulled in to register for our campsite in Carolina Beach. Our tanks were almost full from the 3 days in our friend’s driveway, but the folks in the office told us that the dump station was closed because a very large branch was hanging over the driveway to the dump. It had been like that for 2 months, since the hurricane, but there was no notice on the website. The nearby private campground wanted to charge us a night’s stay to use their dump.
We had to dump if we were going to stay, so we took our chances and backed into the dump station driveway, avoiding the hanging branch, which could easily crash down in a big wind. We hooked up both sewage hoses in order to reach the hole, and we emptied our tanks. When we pulled into our spot, we saw it had a sewer hookup.
We couldn’t believe they didn’t they tell us at the check-in that our spot had sewage at the site. (The reservation indicated water and electric only.)
AND, the car battery was dead when we pulled in, so we had to get the check-in people to give us a jump. After we pulled into our spot and set up, Marika was on the phone with AAA, asking about a new battery while I took Cody for a much needed walk.
AAA came, everything worked out, and we were so happy to be done with the day, feet up, under the trees, along a river, near the ocean.
Today we’re in Georgetown, South Carolina, about to drive into the historic downtown area to walk along the waterfront and check out the Rice Museum.
Tomorrow, we’ll head to Edisto Beach State Park, our last camping before we begin our three-month volunteering gig at Fort Pulaski in Savannah, Georgia.
P.S. I have been missing doing my coaching work and, once I know the wifi and cellular situation in Savannah, I’ll be sharing details about a new Virtual Heart Sparks Circle. Imagine 7 weeks of inspiring emails and exciting homework, along with weekly virtual gatheringswith 7 open-hearted women who, like you, are ready to say YESto exploring a new perspective, a new attitude, a new way to show up for ourselves and our lives. There will be also be one-on-one coaching sessions, to fully support you.
If this sounds at all intriguing to you, please email me so I know there is interest. No commitment required.
[ssba]The Leaves Aren’t the Only Thing Changing
note: wifi is slow and sketchy, so no photos right now.
When we left New Jersey on October 1st, the trees along the Garden State Parkway were still full of green, and we were both wearing shorts and t-shirts. Because motorhomes are not allowed on New York Parkways because of the low clearances, we skirted the city and took the Tappen-Zee Bridge over the Hudson River, and into Connecticut. We spent one at a state park along a river, just a few miles from a very rocky beach.
The tide was high, and there were so many big rocks and no sand for a beach. But the sounds of the water pulling back over the rocks was mesmerizing.
We spent two nights in Narragansett, a fishing village on the southern tip of Rhode Island. We’d been there 20 years before, when we rented a cottage with Marika’s mom and some of my friends came to visit, just blocks from where we were now camping at the state park. We were just around the corner from a wildlife refuge AND the beach.
It was officially off-season, so it was free to park at the State Beach Day Use Area just a half mile from the campground. A wooden boardwalk that began in the parking lot was covered with drifts of sand as it led over the short dunes and onto the fine, sandy beach.
I took my shoes off and my feet melted into the firm but soft sand. The tide was high so the beach was short, maybe 30 feet to the water, with rocky jetties on both sides, sectioning off the stretch of beach from the wide crescent of sand where a few other people were walking.
I stopped at the edge of the water and watched the low waves, rolling and breaking, then riding toward me. I rolled up my long shorts and took a few steps in. The water was not shockingly cold, so I rolled my shorts up higher and walked in deeper. The splashing was soothing, and I could feel it loosening me, clearing me, cleansing me. I squished my toes in the sand, feeling my weight shift as the water rolled over and under me.
And I had a feeling inside me of home. Of being exactly where I am meant to be, and being who I am meant to be.
And then, of course, I could see how much change and shifting had been happening in the last few days since we left New Jersey, how EVERYTHING was different. And no wonder I didn’t feel grounded. But being there, at the beach, was the perfect medicine.
That night, we got together with a college friend I hadn’t seen since that house rental twenty years ago. She and her husband took us out to dinner and it was so fun to reconnect and hear about the life she is living.
In the morning I woke unsettled and crying, because we were leaving the next day and I needed more beach time. But we couldn’t stay longer because we had a reservation and a vet appointment for Cody in Massachusetts the following day. We spent the day walking along the nearby beaches, and we found a lighthouse and a circle of stones.
We remembered stories about our last time there with Marika’s mom, and we shared our first lobster roll.
That evening I took myself back to the beach with my chair and journal and stayed until it got too chilly.
The next morning, instead of our usual early departure, we went back to the beach and I walked the stretch of sand between the jetties, back and forth, not thinking, just feeling my feet in the sand, watching the white of the water roll over me.
And, then I asked Marika to go home and get Cody, to bring him to the beach since there were no people there. And she did. And he romped and ran, and seeing him, so happy, filled me with a lightness.
We drove a short two hours to our campsite west of Boston, where we were staying for a full week, to explore the area. It was a private park in the tall, dark trees that hadn’t yet started to color. I cried most of the next two days, feeling disoriented with myself. I wasn’t interested in doing anything, even though there were so many places I had been very excited to visit.
I did fine at the vet, but then I had high-level anxiety about giving Cody his new medications, even though I’m usually the go-to person for his care. It was like I was watching myself from outside of myself, all tense and agitated, and flailing at the same time. Smoking helped with the anxiety, but I still didn’t want to go anywhere. So I just sat with my Facebook feed, and the TV, and cried. I talked with Marika, but I also said some things that were hurtful, and that made things more uncomfortable.
And then I did what I invite my clients to do. I walked in nature. I focused on my breathing. I found ways to appreciate the trees instead of resenting them.
And I gave myself permission to not have to be a tourist every day. That this is a mix of vacation and living. Rest and flow. Do and Be.
Of course.
But when we’re in the middle of our own stuff, we can’t see it. We lose our balance, we get stuck in our head, and we forget the simplest ways back to our heart.
Marika shared that she was also not feeling like doing something every day. And so we took another day at home, and then we were ready to go out into the world. We spent several days visiting Lowell, Massachusetts, home of writer, Jack Kerouac, and also the Industrial Revolution.
We toured the Boote Cotton Mills Museum, and the Quilt Museum (which was more like a gallery with an $8.00 admission charge), and checked out the artist studios in a converted textile factory.
And we got together again with my college friend at an apple picking farm. And yes, Marika baked two apple pies.
We walked around Thoreau’s Walden Pond on the last warm and sunny day of the season. People were on the beach and even swimming in the pond. We each walked at our own pace, then met up for a picnic lunch in the shade.
And one morning we went to the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge and followed a group of preschoolers, dressed as monarch butterflies. They were flying to Mexico for the winter. At the end of the trail they were greeted by Mexican music and teachers wearing sombreros and colorful ponchos.
As we drove along the winding New England roads, we oohed and ahhed at the pops of red and orange leaves, then whole trees, glowing among the greens.
Many campgrounds in New England close after the Columbus Day weekend, but we found one in southern Maine, just south of Kennebunk, where another college friend lives. It was in a grove of changing trees, along a small river, and close to several beaches.
We met my friend for steamed lobsters at the famous Nunan’s Lobster Shack, and reminisced about the apple pie we made for a Spanish class homework assignment. We sent her home with one of Marika’s pies, with a sticky note: pastel de manzana.
We visited the nearby Parker River National Wildlife Refuge, and bought fresh steamed lobsters from a local lobster pound. We walked along the rocky Maine coastline, and went shopping at a local department store for ear warmers and long sleeved t-shirts, in preparation for the coming cold.
And then I felt stuck again. We didn’t have reservations or a definitive route after Maine, though we had been planning to go through Vermont to upstate New York, to visit Cornell’s Ornithology Lab in Ithaca, and then head to Hawk Mountain for migration.
I was watching the daily foliage map and the temperatures, but I wasn’t feeling the pull to be in the mountains. I asked Marika to please help me figure out where we were heading.
I asked her, what do you want more of, and we both agreed we’d rather stay on the coast, in the sun, out of the forests and mountains, and that we could enjoy the changing leaves wherever we were.
But I had exhausted my resources and couldn’t find anything open, so I asked her to look. Somehow, she found a state park campground on the beach in New Hampshire that was open through the end of October.
We drove less than an hour south to our campsite, right at the confluence of the Hampton River and the Atlantic Ocean.
A friend said that, wherever two bodies of water meet, it is a Sacred Source. And I have been feeling it. I am breathing deeper, my mind is looser, and I’m aware of all kinds of letting go.
Without my Mac business, I’ve been wondering what my purpose is now, what will I do with my time and attention, and how I will get my feel-goods. I asked Marika what her intention was every morning, and she said, “To have a good time.”
I’m gonna try that.
We’re here until next Tuesday, and then we are heading back to the campground near the beach in Narragansett where it will be slightly warmer, and still in the sun. And it’s on the way back to New Jersey, where we are due for RV repairs at the end of the month. I’m a little disappointed that I won’t be able to fill in New York and Vermont on our state sticker map, but I’m OK with it.
Because I am so grateful to be in this place. I’m loving the solitude of my several times a day beach walks, and the sky has been glorious. It’s been a bit cold and windy, but I’ve got my ear warmers and layers, and the views are spectacular.
[ssba]Counting Blessings
Blessings by Ruth Davis
Counting Blessings
Our volunteering gig at the refuge in New Jersey is officially over. I worked my last shift at the Visitor Information Center on Saturday, and it was a full and fulfilling day. We had 158 visitors and sold more duck stamps, park passes, and gift shop items than any other day I’ve been there. We loaned out binoculars, showed the wonderful video, and helped folks identify what birds they saw on Wildlife Drive. I enjoyed the women I worked with, and I even teared up on my walk home.
That night we went out for Rita’s ice cream with our neighbors who live down the street. We’ve had dinner with them twice and chat when we see each other walking our dogs. It’s been fun to connect with people in the neighborhood.
And now today, Sunday, is a readying day: laundry, more laundry, packing the mosquito tent, taking out the maps. Marika is on an all-afternoon birding boat tour to watch migrating hawks. I am so thrilled that she is doing this. She’s enjoying a day in nature and I can move at my own pace and get it all done.
In between laundry cycles, I’ve been thinking about all of the blessings of this time here. That those first few weeks were all about settling into working with very-different-than-me people, not having any control over how anything worked, and finding ways to share my insights and skills without expectations.
And then, finally appreciating the heart of the job: interacting with the visitors. I think working a shift with Marika really opened me up to engaging in conversations and exchanges, and providing a friendly, welcoming environment.
From that day on, I was able to focus on these connections even when I was working with someone who I didn’t really vibe with. The challenge was that, many days, there were only 25-40 visitors in the entire five-hour shift. So there was a lot of down time. But I found ways to make it work, and even did a few extra projects, like counting volunteer shirts and hats, tallying how many volunteers are under 35, and emptying the lending library into boxes for donation. Nothing very challenging, but it was the perfect backdrop for being here, exploring the area, and closing my Mac training business.
The big reason we chose to volunteer in New Jersey was so that Marika could spend time with her last living aunt. We spent a few nights in Philadelphia and I finally got to meet Marika’s cousins, and then Marika drove up several other weekends to overnight with her aunt.
I got together with sixteen cousins and my last living uncle, and bonded with my favorite cousin from when I was three years old.
We handled all kinds of RV repairs- the new air conditioner, the water leak (twice), and the leveling jacks that won’t go down. (The repair parts are on order and we’ll be swinging back through New Jersey at the end of October to get it fixed.)
We did some fun touristing, had a great week with a visiting friend, and we each relived moments from our childhood on the Jersey shore. We drooled over real east coast pizza, Philadelphia pretzels, New York bagels, cheese steaks, local summer produce, frozen custard, fried shrimp, and live lobster, steamed at the supermarket.
And I met a Facebook friend in real life and we went to the Elton John concert together.
We have been camped in a most beautiful secluded place on a lake in the woods, still in easy reach of great food, museums, and all of the necessities.
And we finally took a glorious sunset walk on the beach!
And now we are heading out on the road, as tourists, to explore the color-changing landscapes of New England, learn about the Industrial Revolution, and eat lots of lobster rolls.
Yes, it’s been a wonderful three months, and I am so grateful that we both love living this lifestyle.
[ssba]Endings and Openings
It’s a curious thing: I’m less than two weeks away from closing my Mac training business after 32 years, and a huge part of me thinks I should have my next website up and running by the end of the month.
So that I can catch my previous peeps while I still have their attention, and more important, because I think I have to have the next thing ready and in place.
But I don’t. In fact, I can’t.
Because I don’t even know what it is yet.
And so I am practicing what I ask my clients to do/not do: I am allowing the empty space to be gloriously empty, so that I can feel around in it, explore the corners, the edges, the round places, and allow the emptiness to speak and grow and create itself.
And of course, this perfectly coincides with our upcoming travels. We will be finishing our volunteering gig here on the Jersey shore at the end of the month, and traveling in New England and the mid-Atlantic states for the next 60 days, exploring, adventuring, meeting up with friends, and enjoying this RVing lifestyle.
One again, my outer life is reflecting my inner life, oh, so perfectly.
So when I start to get wound up in my future head, I just have to remember that this is a time for not knowing, for exploring and discovering and seeing what winks at me and my heart. It’s a time for trying new things, seeing with fresh eyes and having some FUN!
[ssba]Adventures Around Atlantic City
It’s hard to believe that this is the last week in August, and that we’re only here on the New Jersey shore for another month. There are less shorebirds at the refuge, the ospreys have all fledged and, in the next few weeks, the waterfowl will be arriving for their winter layover. The marsh grasses are fading from their bright summer greens, and starting to show hints of gold and yellow. And a few leaves along the lake trees have already turned red.
We’ve been exploring more of the area with a visiting friend this past week, including a trip to Atlantic City to walk on the boardwalk. As a kid, our family would meet my Philadelphia relatives for a week at a hotel on the boardwalk. My cousin and I would spend most of the time in the hotel pool because we could only go to the beach with an adult, and my mother hated the sand and the sun. In the evenings, the families would take a walk along the boardwalk, and I’d stand against the railing watching the waves rolling far out in the ocean.
Very little is the same, 50 years later. The dunes have been built up so you can’t see the sand or the ocean from the boardwalk. The beach is much shorter, and the boardwalk has lost its famous clomp clomp sound when you walk across the wooden boards.
And there are casinos and bars and thirty-inch TV monitors mounted every 500 feet, screaming commercials for the nearby hotels and restaurants. A senior man sitting next to me on a bench said, “I come here to get away from the TV and then I have to listen to this?”
But men are still pushing the three-wheeled wicker chairs up and down the center of the boardwalk, and bikes are only allowed until noon during the summer season.
We went on a sunny day, and it was a little warm, and none of the benches are in the shade. We walked through the Korean War memorial, past several t-shirt stores, and a Chinese massage place with an older woman sitting out front, inviting us in.
The contrast of old architecture with modern wares was everywhere. The Mr. Peanut store, with its fresh roasted peanuts smell and a larger than life Mr. Peanut was long gone, replaced by a Made in China souvenir shop that is still called Peanut World.
But James Salt Water Taffy, a favorite from my childhood, is still on the boardwalk between New York and Kentucky Avenues. We picked our favorites, and I also got some chocolate covered taffies, always the coveted flavor from the two-pound box my family would bring home. And when we walked out of the store I could almost see my grandmother, sitting on the bench across from us, waiting.
One day we drove to Margate, another beach town a few miles south of Atlantic City, and home of Lucy the Elephant, the oldest roadside attraction in the US. I never went to see Lucy as a kid, so this was an adventure for all of us. We climbed the spiral stairs inside her front legs, and stood in her wood paneled belly, and looked out her eyes toward the ocean. Our tour guide told us about her history, first as an attraction to sell real estate, then as a bar and hotel, even a private home, and how she was almost torn down in the 70’s, and then saved by the community.
Another day we climbed the 228 steps to the top of the Absecon Lighthouse, the tallest in New Jersey. Each step had a plaque with the step number and the name of a person. It still has the original first order Fresnel lens, and, even though the light has been decommissioned, they turn it on every night.
We took a nature boat tour through the wetlands around Cape May at the south end of the Jersey shore. We saw osprey, terns, whimbrel, and so many American oystercatchers. The wetlands are home to many nesting colonies of laughing gulls, and we saw adults and juveniles, fishing along the reedy edges of the marsh grass.
We’ve enjoyed fried shrimp, real New York pizza slices, soft-serve that tasted like a creamsicle, and lots of goodies from the various Italian bakeries. We sampled several flavors at the local peanut butter store, and feasted on another lobster dinner at the Smithville Inn. And last night, Marika grilled peaches for the first time. Boy, are they good with vanilla ice cream and a few local blueberries to cut the sweetness.
This week I’m back to my regular Thursday, Friday, Saturday volunteering shifts. And after Labor Day, the tourists will be gone, and it should start cooling off so I can finally go to the beach.
September will also be my very last month as a Mac trainer, as I am officially closing my mac2School training business after 32 amazing years. It seems a perfect time, as Fall and the Jewish New Year approach, to take inventory of all that I’ve done and been, and what has brought me to where I am, who I am now. I’ve purchased a new domain, ruth-davis.com and I am taking my time to see what that will be. And I am courting several possible volunteer camp hosting gigs for next summer.
We’ll be traveling in October and November, following the changing leaves in New England with stops in Jack Kerouac’s hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts, the famous Cornell Ornithology Lab in Ithaca, New York, and Hawk Mountain in Pennsylvania for the fall hawk migration, then heading south for the winter.
Being with our friend this week has been more than just good fun and even a card game. When you know someone for thirty five years, you really know them, you see how each other has grown and changed and transformed. My friend is a very adventurous traveler. She always has been. I was sharing how I used to be more adventurous and how sometimes I feel like I’m not anymore, and she reminded me that I’m having different adventures, that I’m being brave and adventurous in other ways.
And isn’t that what true transformation is? Doing it differently? Because it CAN’T stay the same AND be a transformation.
I invite you to notice the transformations happening in your own world. Pay attention to the colors around you, when the leaves start to fall off of their trees. And notice what is different about you, in your own skin, in your own life. I’d love to hear about it.
[ssba]
Home Is Where We Park It
Two weeks ago, the air conditioner in the RV finally died. We’d had it serviced for a squeaking noise at the end of May while we were in Memphis. But a few weeks later it started squeaking again, and dripping, and, while Marika was in Philadelphia, the noises became deafening. I made an appointment with a mobile repair company to come on Wednesday. Shortly after Marika got home on Tuesday, it died.
That night, it was 80° outside with 80% humidity, and even moving into the living room for the cross breeze didn’t help. Neither one of us really slept. In the morning we were both tired and hot and the repair guy didn’t come until late in the afternoon. He said we needed a new unit, but that he’d have to order it and come back the next day to install it.
Marika and I had already talked about how much a new unit might be. She had guessed $1200. So when he said $1100. including installation, it was easy to say yes without involving her.
We sat outside under the awning, catching the brief breezes, and watched TV on our phones. I checked in on Facebook, where a friend suggested staying at a hotel for the night. I wondered why we hadn’t thought of it sooner.
So we packed an overnight bag and found a nearby hotel that was pet-friendly. And they had a swimming pool. I was so glad I had packed my bathing suit, and that Marika encouraged me to go swimming, even if the pool was heated.
Because I so needed to be in the water, moving in my body, weightless, then floating, releasing the stresses of the last few days. I needed to feel held as we moved through this ordeal, so that I could support Marika too.
We got a decent sleep, Cody seemed relaxed and comfortable, and I went to work the next morning while Marika waited for the repair people to return with the new air conditioner. They finally arrived around nine at night, in the dark. It was a quick install and we both had a good, deep sleep.
Now we are dealing with a water leak in an outside compartment. Gratefully, it is not leaking inside the RV, which would be a serious problem. The mobile repair guy checked the usual places, but wasn’t skilled enough to further explore possibilities. So today, as you are reading this, we’re driving about an hour north to an RV repair place, where, hopefully, they will be able to fix the problem.
Meanwhile, I’ve settled into the rhythms of my volunteering here. When it’s quiet at the Visitor’s Center, which is 75% of the time, I play games on my phone, read about the area, and last week, I used the time to write some thank you cards.
Marika has been taking care of home stuff while I’m working, but last Saturday she joined me at the Visitor’s Center because none of the other volunteers had signed up. I handled all of the transactions, and she loved interacting with the visitors, and watching the birds at the feeders out the big window. She even brought her lens cleaner and cleaned the loaner binoculars. We both had such a good time that she’ll be working with me most Saturdays.
And on our days off we’ve been exploring the area. We visited nearby Brigantine, a barrier island near Atlantic City. We found a free parking spot on the street and took a quick walk along the seawall, but it was too warm and sunny to be on the beach.
We found the Observation Tower on the north end of the island and Marika saw glossy ibis, black crowned night heron, snowy egret, red winged blackbirds. I sat at the top of the stairs, enjoying the shade and the breeze, and the faint roll of the nearby waves.
We stopped at the Brigantine Historical Society where Margaret Kuhn, one of the volunteers, gave us a tour. She was born and raised on the island and she told us stories of growing up, and of her father, who was very active in the community, especially with the Beach Patrol and Lifeguards.
That’s Margaret in the photo, holding the tray, and today, standing in front of a painting of her father, and a photograph of him next to the first Beach Patrol car that you couldn’t even drive on the sand.
Another day we drove north to Barnegat Light, another beach community famous for Old Barney, a decommissioned lighthouse. We looked around the visitor’s center, then I climbed the 217 steps to the top for a beautiful panorama of the ocean and the bay. My thighs were talking to me for a few days, and I was still so glad I did it.
We’re learning the backroads to the supermarket and visiting different farm stands to find our favorites. We’re enjoying the bevy (I love to use my mom’s name in a sentence) of restaurants, including the Friday Lobster Fest – a 1.5 lb lobster, salad, corn on the cob, and a baked potato – all for only $25.00. And last week we bought live lobsters at the Shop-Rite for $6.99/lb, had them steamed, then enjoyed delicious lobster on our salads for four meals.
This weekend we’re taking the RV up to Philadelphia for a three night visit-the-families weekend. One of my cousins will be in town so a bunch of us will get together, and we’ll spend time with Marika’s aunt and her sons. Of course, we’ll be doing some touristing too.
And then it will be back to work, and our simple, lakeside living. We have a mosquito tent now, so we’ve been sitting outside more, enjoying the quiet and the view. This past week it’s been a little humid and raining, and the mosquitos are in full bloom, but bug spray helps and it makes for fine neighborhood walking weather.
Marika has gone birding along the eight-mile Wildlife Drive almost every day, and once a week, I join her for a shorter cruise around. She loves to watch the skimmers and I enjoy the expansive views, and seeing how much the osprey chicks are growing. This week they are hopping more in the nest, getting ready to fledge and fly. (That’s a green headed fly on the windshield.)
I am so grateful to be here, despite the weather, the bugs, the glitches with the RV. This is the life we choose to be living. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Welcome to New Jersey
One big thing about living on the road is that we never really know how things will be when we arrive at a new place. (Like most of life, really.) And that the fewer expectations we have, the easier the adjustment is. And that, like most things in life, everything changes.
After months of emails back and forth, confirming our arrival July 1, we were asked to come on July 2nd instead, because there would be no staff on site on Sunday to welcome us. So we stayed an extra night in the Poconos and arrived at the Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge on Monday afternoon around two, tired and ready to settle in to our camp site overlooking Lily Lake.
Our volunteer coordinator greeted us and explained that the previous volunteer was still in the campsite, and he was dragging his feet about leaving. We pulled into a shaded parking space, grateful for a half tank of gas so that we could run the generator to use the air conditioning. And we waited.
Like most of the country, New Jersey was experiencing a severe heat wave with very high humidity, so the 95° outside felt like 105° and we were miserable. And because of the extreme heat, the green headed flies that normally stay on the salt marsh side of the refuge, were attacking us.
Green headed flies don’t sting like a mosquito. They bite you with their jagged mouths, breaking your skin. They have an anti-coagulant in their saliva, so the blood drips down for them to eat. The only good thing is that they move pretty slow, so you can swat them, sometimes even before they’ve bitten you. But there are so many of them that a few will get you, for sure. And they are not deterred by the usual bug sprays and remedies.
So instead of walking around, exploring our new neighborhood, we stayed inside the RV, amusing ourselves with our phones on the free and fast wifi. For four hours. We finally pulled into our spot after six, got leveled and started setting up.
Our campsite is in a residential neighborhood, the last property before the actual refuge visiting area begins. It’s on a quarter-acre lot, with a house for interns and a cement pad large enough for two RVs, ours and the other volunteering couple. The rest of the property is a gravel parking lot, and a large area of trees and grass with just a slight downhill toward the lake, perfect for Cody to enjoy lots of off-leash ball playing. We’re about 20 yards from the lake, but a stand of native trees blocks much of the view.
In the evening, Cody and I took a walk down the road, and we found a path through the trees, down to the lake. But as soon as we got near the water, we were both swarmed by green flies, so we turned around and hurried home.
Later, I took him into the grassy area on the other side of our neighbors’ motorhome and kicked the ball a few times. On the way back to the RV I picked up the largest feather I’ve ever seen, longer than my elbow to the tips of my fingers.
“I have a present for you,” I said to Marika when we got home. “Close your eyes and open your hands.” I placed the quill between her fingers. She felt the sleekness of the shaft, then ran her fingers up and down the soft brown and white striped edges. “It’s a feather!” When she opened her eyes she couldn’t believe how long it was.
“I know, right?”
“Could it be a turkey feather?” she wondered.
The next morning she pulled up the curtain on the back window that faces the lake and watched five wild turkeys walk past us in the grass.
That day I had a great Mac client call, and I did laundry in the house next door that is occupied by recent college grads enjoying their first bio-tech jobs. In the afternoon we stopped at a local farm stand and picked up delicious corn and some famous Jersey tomatoes.
And then we drove along Wildlife Drive, the eight-mile gravel road that winds around the salt marshes and wetlands. We saw egrets and shorebirds, gulls and ducks, and stopped to observe the pairs of osprey and chicks on the various platforms along the drive.
It is certainly a beautiful place. Big sky, green marshes, and so many birds. But we couldn’t roll the windows down because the green flies were hovering alongside the car, just waiting to get a bite of us.
On Thursday, we showed up for our first day of work. It was more orientation to the refuge than training. We watched a video, walked through the display room, and did a lot of chit-chatting with our supervisor, Angie, a 29-year old contract worker who is suddenly doing a lot of the work of the recently retired manager, including training the volunteers.
Our working days are Thursday, Friday and Saturday. My job will be to work in the Visitor Information Center with the Friends of Forsythe volunteers, answering questions, selling park passes, as well as ringing up sales in the gift shop. The Visitor’s Center is already staffed with two volunteers from the community each day, and, most week days it’s slow, so they mostly sit and chat, or read, or do crossword puzzles.
Marika’s job was supposed to be a walking rover out on Wildlife Drive, pointing out birds and answering questions. But it is way too hot and buggy for a sane person to be outside, without shade, and with the biting flies, so we will see what else she might do.
After lunch Angie took us on a two-hour drive of Wildlife Drive to learn more about the birds, the channels, and grasses. She also wanted to take some photos of the smiley face helium balloon that one of the ospreys had woven into their nest, and to make sure it wasn’t going to be a hazard for the chicks as they begin to fledge.
I sat in the back seat so that Marika had a better view, and it was hot. There was no window tinting, and not enough air conditioning, and I got a bit car sick. So we came back home so Angie could meet Cody, and I stayed home for the remaining half-hour of our shift and took a nap. Marika went back and stayed another hour, being introduced around, then talking with our other boss about what Marika might do for her work instead.
We found a delicious nearby Chinese restaurant for dinner and talked about things. The weather, the bugs, the lack of work for us. Part of me was ready to up and leave, but where would we go? And then we focused on why we are here: for Marika to spend time with her 87 year old aunt who lives in Philadelphia, about an hour and a half from here. So we agreed to see how the first week goes, and we let go of feeling guilty for not having real work to do.
On the way home Marika squeezed my hand and thanked me for us being in New Jersey. She said she knew that this wouldn’t be my first choice. That we are here for her. For the birds. For her aunt. And I squeezed her back, remembering what this life is all about.
On Friday, it stormed while we were at work. We stood at the big window in the Visitor’s Center and watched the lightning flash over the salt marshes, and marveled at how the purple martins sat outside even with the hard rain coming down.
After lunch Marika met with the maintenance supervisor and she got all the supplies she’d need to paint the back wall of the shop garage on Saturday. He said that, after she’s done painting, he’d find her another project, one at a time.
And I worked my first shift behind the desk with an older, hard-of-hearing woman. I shadowed her, then jumped right in, talking with people, taking their entrance fees to go on Wildlife Drive, even answering the phone and successfully transferring the call. And when Angie said that the e-bird app on the iPad wasn’t always current, I showed her how to refresh the screen and reload the page.
And it was fine and fun, but we only had thirty seven visitors in the five-hour shift, and it is painfully difficult for me to sit and make small talk, especially with people who like to complain about things.
That night I had a meltdown. I cried for an hour, not knowing how I was going to survive three months of boredom, with such heat and humidity, and not being able to walk anywhere because of all of the bugs. I hated having to check Cody for ticks after every walk, and, even though we are on the coast, we are an hour away from a public beach. And, on top of all of that, I was out of marijuana, the one thing that calms me when I feel so out of whack. Before I went to bed, I asked the Universe for a way to be OK with being here.
On Saturday we woke to big breezes, 62° and very low humidity. It was almost chilly. The sky was summer blue and there were no mean greenies around the camp. It was so pleasant that I was able to walk the half-mile to the Visitor’s Center for my shift, past the wild turkeys in the trees and a turtle crossing the road.
I worked with two retired men who showed me how to empty the self-pay boxes, and where the supplies are kept for the outside port-a-johns. We had 167 visitors throughout the day and I had fun. I sold lots of park passes and Duck Stamps, and learned how to fill out the special sheet for disability passes. And mostly, I enjoyed talking with the variety of people. And Marika had a good time painting, in the shade, while listening to NPR.
On Sunday, our first of four days off, Marika drove up to Philadelphia to spend a few days with her aunt. Marika hasn’t seen her aunt in eight years, and she is sad to see that her memory has deteriorated, she is no longer driving, and she forgets to get dressed, unless someone reminds her. They ate pizza, bought lots of goodies at the German delicatessen, and visited the cemeteries where most of the friends and family are buried.
Cody and I enjoyed being home in the still-cool and dry weather, and we even sat outside in the evenings, watching the wild turkeys move through the woods. And I ordered a mosquito tent so we’ll be able to sit outside, even when it gets warmer and buggier.
And there is a lot to see in the area. There’s a wind farm that offers tours, lots of local produce stands, and a small museum in Atlantic City, about an hour south of us. We’re going to look into getting a seasonal beach pass for one of the smaller, quieter beaches about 30 minutes from here, so that I can walk along the rolling surf and feel grounded.
Yes, some days are going to be painfully slow and boring. And yes, I’m going to like working with some co-volunteers more than others. But it is only for three months. And it really is a beautiful place. And Marika is loving all of the birds, even if it is through rolled-up windows.
[ssba]
Traveling and Touristing
We’ve been traveling and touristing these past two weeks, learning lots, and adding more state stickers to our map.
After getting the air pressure checked in both the RV and the car tires, we left camp near Staunton, Virginia and got back on I-81 for an easy 1-hour drive north across the state line into West Virginia. We followed the Garmin’s directions 9 miles off the highway, along a narrow two lane road that curved and climbed, and just wide enough to stay in my lane, in no hurry to drive the posted 55 mph.
At the end of the road we turned into the campground, a huge non-working farm, with campsites in a grassy field along a creek that was lined with deciduous trees, all in their summer greens.
We leveled and hooked up, had lunch, and then planned to drive 35 minutes back south to Winchester, Virginia, to the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley where a Facebook friend works. She had set aside two free passes for us. So we put on our going-into-town clothes and got ready to leave.
But then I heard the thunder, and I wanted to stay home to enjoy the storm. And what a storm it was. I sat at the dinette and watched the wind pelting the rain against the driver’s side of the car. I was so glad we were parked with the RV facing into the wind, not getting hit broadside, because we could feel movement, even as stable as we are.
And then there was a crack of thunder, so close that we could feel the floor rumble. And I was glad we were home. And finally we both agreed to just stay home, since the storm was moving in the direction we were headed, and there were red lines of traffic on the Maps app on the highway we needed to take.
So we took off our going-out clothes, got back into comfortable shorts and t-shirts, and listened to the rain. It lasted almost an hour, a hard downpour with wind, then just heavy rain. And then it stopped, and we all got in bed. I even napped.
Later, we put on our hiking boots and took a walk around camp, along the gravel road that circled a huge field of two-foot high grass, partly mowed. We turned down the loop road under the trees that paralleled the wider part of the creek. There were a couple of tent campers, a muddy path down to the water, and mosquitoes.
Cody and I turned around and headed back for the open road and continued around the circle, committing to the full walk around camp. We got to the top of the hill, just past the office and it started to rain. Lightly at first, and then, just as we made it to the cover of the gazebo, it came down hard. We sat on a bench on the side of opposite where the wind was blowing and stayed dry.
On the walk back to the RV, I saw Marika sitting under the group pavilion. Cody and I walked across the thick, wet grass to join her, then we all made it home before the next downpour.
The next day was a touristing day. We started from camp in West Virginia, took the highway north, briefly back into Virginia, and then across the Potomac River into Maryland. It was storming too much in Williamsport, so they cancelled the Canal Boat Tour, the reason we had come.
After our picnic lunch in the car, instead of just coming home, we continued along the roller coaster backroads, stopped for ice cream in Sharpsburg, then drove over the Potomac River again, into Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia, where we had planned to go to the John Brown Wax Museum to learn about the abolitionist. But there was no parking in town, so we switched drivers and headed home, with the Avoid Highways setting on the GPS.
We drove up and down the luscious green hills, with rolled bales of hay scattered randomly across the fields, past brick and siding houses sitting atop sprawling ranches. We passed a highway crew riding mowers along the precarious sloping shoulders, another truck using a 6-foot electric hedge trimmer because the angle was so steep.
We slowed down as we drove through the small old towns, the barely two lane streets lined with clapboard homes next to original brick business buildings next to wooden slatted walls that used to be homes, the vines and trees now taking over the structures.
The next day we drove back into Virginia to meet my friend at the museum and we loved walking through the gardens, seeing the Lego sculptures and the Asian Garden. And we especially enjoyed meeting a new friend and sharing some lovely conversation.
Last weekend we finally left the Virginias and arrived in Pennsylvania. Our campsite was across from the playground at a very kid-friendly campground, but it served as a good base for exploring. We drove 45 minutes north and west, across the Susquehanna River, to the Broad Street Market in Harrisburg.
Broad Street Market is the oldest continuously operated market house in the US. We got a loaf of sourdough bread, cherries, and sugar peas. We shared an Amish pretzel, which is much softer and more buttery than the favorite Philadelphia pretzel, and we sat outside listening to a black guitarist singing in an unrecognized language.
A mix of locals and tourists passed by, moving between the 1874 brick building and the 1863 stone building where there were more food vendors. We watched a pair of moms with their 6-8 year olds sit and listen to the music, one boy with Down syndrome, moving his hands to the music, slightly off beat. A black woman in her 60’s pushed a two-wheeled cart and steered it over to an older black man sitting on a bench. Did you hear Ole Man Tex died? Yeah, heart attack. I heard. Yeah.
And it was an easy blend of black and white, locals and tourists. So different than in the south where we knew we were either in a white neighborhood or a black one.
We drove down Front Street, along the river, past stunning old mansions with varied architectural styles, many now converted to businesses and apartments. And we drove across a bridge and walked around City Island Park until it started to rain.
And now we are in the Poconos in central Pennsylvania for the week. It is green with hills and trees and a big, wide, ever-changing sky. It is barely humid, divine in the shade, and so quiet you can hear the birds and the breeze. The high today should be in the high 70’s.
And now we are in the Poconos in central Pennsylvania for the week. It is green with hills and trees and a big, wide, ever-changing sky. It is barely humid, divine in the shade, and so quiet you can hear the birds and the breeze. The high today should be in the high 70’s.
Last night I was sitting outside under the awning, with my phone, taking pictures of the sky, and a camper asked me about the wifi service. She is hiking the Appalachian Trail, and using this campground as a base for the next 50 miles. She’s in her 50’s/60’s and is traveling with her dad in a Chrysler van. He drops her off and picks her up after she walks the next 10-15 miles of the trail each day. I clapped my hands and gave her a big WooHoo.
Her trail name is Van Hailin, because she’s traveling in a van and she hails her dad for a ride. She started in Harper’s Ferry three weeks ago and will walk to the north end in Maine, then drive back to Harper’s Ferry to walk the south section to Georgia, where she’ll meet up with her kids. I said, Wow, they must be so proud of you. And she said, No, they think I’m crazy. And then I gave her a second round of applause, because Damn! She is hiking the entire 2184 miles of the Appalachian Trail!
And this is what I love about this lifestyle. We meet people who are doing things that they love, that bring them into nature, that spark something in their heart.
Yesterday we drove into the next big town to get haircuts, and we both enjoyed the easy conversations with our stylists. We had fun exploring the world’s largest Shop-Rite supermarket, and found the sweetest strawberries at a local farm stand. And we found a real bagel place and took home a baker’s dozen! There are a few touristy things we want to do, and later this week, we’re getting together with Marika’s mom’s old neighbor who now lives up here.
This is the perfect place to rest and relax between the last two months of traveling, and the next three months when we’ll be in one place, with a regular work schedule, volunteering at a National Wildlife Refuge in New Jersey. It’s a wonderful opportunity to slow down and breathe and say thank you for all that we’ve seen, and done and experienced to get to this place, right here, right now.
Traveling Through
We left muggy Memphis but, instead of turning north, we agreed to stick with our Alabama itinerary, to see a few touristy things along the way.
We ate pretty good BBQ at a Bait and tackle shop in Tupelo, sang some Van Morrison, and stopped at the Natchez Trace Visitor’s Center before heading to camp at a private RV park outside of Muscle Shoals.
After we settled in, we drove into the town of Florence, through the semi-abandoned downtown area, with whole blocks of boarded up storefronts. We passed the warehouse district near the Port of Florence and followed the signs through several old neighborhoods to Helen Keller’s birth house.
I enjoyed our tour guide, Miss Anne, who wore a ring with the Alabama quarter on it. The quarter features Helen Keller and it’s the only quarter with braille writing on it. She made the ring herself.
Miss Anne commented on the artwork on my t-shirt, two hands with the fingers making the shape of a heart, and she touched the white heart stone that hung from a silver chain around her neck.
She said, “The artist who made the marble sculpture outside of Helen and Annie at the pump made us all hearts from the leftover marble.”
After the museum we drove through the beautiful old neighborhoods with thick trees and just-cut lawns, oohing and aching at the mix of bungalows and farm houses, restored and gorgeous.
And then, right in the middle of the neighborhood, we pulled into a big parking lot of what used to be a church or school, that is now a visitor’s center for the famous Rosenbaum house built by Frank Lloyd Wright. We opted to skip the tour and just walk around the outside of the house.
It was dark wood, with well-disguised hinges and door handles. The house was a series of boxes with the expected panels of windows only at the tops of the room. The roof overhangs were especially low, and, being in the shadow of the mature summer trees, the house seemed like it would be very dark inside. I peeked through the windows and it was furnished just like Taliesin West, in Scottsdale, Arizona, with the low built-in bench seating covered with simple, solid colored cushions, and the same dining table and chairs.
One of my long-time Mac clients studied and worked with Frank Lloyd Wright and, at 88, is still active with the FLW Foundation. I emailed him a photo of the house, and his partner, a textile artist, replied that he had met Mrs. Rosenbaum many years ago in a weaving class. She was having trouble, and he helped her thread the loom. They became friends and my clients visited her in the house. He said, “She was quick to say that her son was conceived on their first night living in the house.” I doubt that information is included in the tour.
We marveled at the houses across the street, then continued driving through the neighborhoods, to a city park along the Tennessee River where I had considered camping. It was big and crowded, and I was delighted to see that the place we chose was much better.
We stopped at a second park and looked out over Pickwick Lake, the body of water created by the Wilson Dam. We drove through the Tennessee Valley Authority complex, following the brown signs for the Alabama Bird Trail, and parked at the trailhead for a short nature loop. Marika was content to watch the thrushes in the trees in the parking lot, and I followed the trail into the forest. But after a few yards in, I was suddenly too hot and sticky, so I turned around and found a bench under a tree with a view of the water, and watched a family packing up their picnic lunch.
The next day we drove an hour, met a friend for lunch, then drove another hour to our county park campground where we quickly set up camp and then headed out to the Unclaimed Baggage Store. The store is a giant thrift store, clean, bright and neatly organized, with all kinds of clothing, jewelry, and stuff that folks have lost in their travels. I found a lovely pair of sterling silver earrings.
After a quick overnight, we drove to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the secret city from WWII. The city of Oak Ridge was built as part of the Manhattan Project, to find ways to separate plutonium and uranium to make an atomic bomb. It was fascinating to hear about the lives of the workers living in a city surrounded by fences, forbidden to talk with each other about their work. We took the bus tour around the facilities and even saw the Graphite Nuclear Reactor.
We spent a full morning at the Museum of Appalachia, built and curated by a man who collected millions of artifacts and had original cabins and buildings moved to this property so you really get a feel for life back then!
All around the grounds, there are original wooden shack houses with 1.5 inch thick wooden floor planks as wide as a tree, a schoolhouse, a church, blacksmith and saddlery, jail cells, even Mark Twain’s family cabin, most filled with the original furnishings from the structure when it was found.
There were carved out wooden troughs used for salting pork, and three-foot wide metal bowls used to filter salt out of the water they had to carry from 20 miles away.
We read stories of the people of Eastern Tennessee in the late 1800’s through the 1960’s, many matched up to photographs of the teller. There were rooms filled with homemade banjos and dulcimers, cloth dolls and dinner-calling horns. There were whittled tools and toys and animals, and a room with caskets and a carved, wooden, horse-drawn hearse.
Each display was documented with printed signs and handwritten notes, initialed in the corner, as if to verify their authenticity.
The cafe there served lunch, and Marika had her first pimento cheese sandwich, which she enjoyed.
After lunch we went to the Green McAdoo Cultural Center to learn about the Clinton 12, 12 black students who went to the local white high school in the fall of 1956, when desegregation became the law.
We talked with Miriam, the docent who was born after segregation. When Marika asked if she preferred being called Black or African American, she said, “I like black. African American implies that we had a choice. And nobody from Africa back then had no choice.”
Marika asked if things were any different now and Miriam said, “You know who likes you and who doesn’t. There’s no hiding it anymore. Just last month there was a Ku Klux Klan rally in Knoxville.”
And now we are in Virginia, slowly making our way north through the rolling green of the Shenandoah Valley. We visited the Edith Bolling Wilson Museum in Wytheville, pronounced Withville, and learned about the 35th First Lady, married to Woodrow Wilson. We bought fresh ground beef and lettuces at a small farmers’ market, and watched hundred of robins around the campground.
The temperatures are cooler, and, even with the rains, it is less muggy. Yesterday I even wore a sweatshirt!
Today, we’re just hanging out. Even though there are touristy things all around, sometimes we just need to have a day at home, to relax, regroup, and just be. Tomorrow we’re getting together with a friend from Camp, then continuing north toward the Poconos fo a week before heading to New Jersey.
I can’t believe we’ll be working at our summer volunteer gig in just a few weeks, parked in one place for three whole months. It will be such a change of pace and rhythms and scenery. This is one of the many things we love about living on the road.
Muggy, Buggy Memphis
We’ve been in Memphis, Tennessee this past week, first a few miles north of the city at a state park in the thick of the forest, and now, at an RV park in West Memphis, on the Arkansas side of the Mighty Mississippi.
The forest was so dense that we had no cell signal, no TV reception, no wifi. Yes, it was beautifully green, but it was so incredibly muggy and buggy, that we mostly stayed inside, playing dominoes and reading. For people who have full and busy lives with very little quiet, offline time, this might seem like heaven, but it was very challenging for us. We drove into the nearby town twice, just to get out of the dark, oppressive woods.
In the early evening we drove through the park, to the boat ramp on the Mississippi River. There was no place to walk or sit, so we drove over to the larger of the two lakes in the park and walked around, looking for birds. I had two bars on my phone, so I came back the next day for a coaching call. It was warm, even in the shade, but not unbearable, since I was sitting still. But after a while, even the bug spray wasn’t keeping the mosquitoes away, and I was glad to get back to the air-conditioned RV.
After three nights in the trees, we drove closer to Memphis, and are now staying at a private campground right on the Mississippi River. We have a wide open view of the sky and the river and the barges going up and down.
And Cody has a huge grassy field to play in. Every day the sky fills with rain-promising clouds, but it always passes, leaving us in a blanket of thick, muggy air. But, thankfully, as moist as the air is, there are no bugs, because the city sprayed the area the day before we arrived.
But we’ve gone out in it. We visited the Slave Haven Underground Railroad Museum. Underground, as in Undercover. Railroad, as in many stops. The guided tour was a telling of the horrific slave trade, and slave conditions, and how the man who owned this house had to pretend to have slaves in order to blend in and not raise suspicion.
We learned the secret codes of the quilts that the runaways used to find the next safe house. We saw the tunnels under the house where they crawled in, and stood in the basement hiding room where they waited until a safe boat was coming up the Mississippi to take them further north.
We went to the Cotton Museum and Mud Island and learned about the history of life on the Mississippi River, then took a riverboat cruise in the afternoon.
We sat in the middle tier which was shaded, but there were no fans or a/c, not even a slight river breeze. And we were on that boat for two and a half hours, on the edge of heat exhaustion. And so we cancelled the rest of our sightseeing plans for the week.
On Sunday, I attended the Open Heart Spiritual Center’s Celebrationwhere I was invited to speak again. I received the invitation the Monday before, and I had gone into pure panic mode–What would I talk about? How would I connect to their monthly theme? How could I possibly be ready on such short notice?
I kept myself up that first night in crazy thinking. In the morning I started writing down all kinds of thoughts, thrilled for the opportunity, and terrified that I wouldn’t be ready. And then a dear friend suggested that just telling my story might be inspiration enough, that I didn’t have to turn it into an obvious teaching thing.
And then I was able to breathe. I wrote some more, and started to get excited about it all, knowing that, by Sunday I’d be all-in. I found the story to tell, with a beginning, middle and end, and I had clarity about what I wanted to leave my listeners with. I took a walk and talked it out loud, and just like that, by Saturday evening, I was ready.
And it was amazing. Not just my offering, but being in community with people I knew, with singing and hugging, and so much heart sparking. And right there, in the middle of my speech, I realized, out loud, that I want more of this kind of connection.
Now I know that I can find these kinds of Sunday celebrations all along our travels. Not just as an opportunity to speak, but for me, the person who craves this kind of heart connection.
We’re leaving Memphis tomorrow, spending a few days in Alabama and eastern Tennessee for some touristy things, then we’re heading north, out of this humidity. I’m not sure yet what route we’ll be taking, but we’re watching the weather as we decide.
Click here for the link to the video of my talk at Open Heart Spiritual Center.
And here are links to some of the songs I’ve been singing since we’ve been here. I hope they put a smile on your face and a spark in your heart.
Joni Mitchell’s Furry Sings the Blues
Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis
Paul Simon’s Graceland
