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.
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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
On the Road, with Chimpanzees
All is well with the transmission pump and we are officially back on the road. After a muggy weekend at a state park near Jasper, we finally left Texas and added a new state sticker to our map.
We’re spending a week in Bossier City/Shreveport, Louisiana, so that we can volunteer at the nearby Chimp Haven, a sanctuary for chimpanzees who were previously part of biomedical experiments. There are 260 chimps at the sanctuary, and they are building more compounds for the 200 chimps still in labs across the country.
As volunteers, we’re helping with food prep and making enrichment snacks. We have no direct contact with the chimps. Only a handful of doctors, behaviorists and medical personnel have any interaction with them. Everyone else needs to stay at least six feet from the enclosures for safety, because chimps are aggressive and strong, and they will throw feces at you if they don’t know you.
Amy, our volunteer coordinator, drove us around the facility, explaining that, when the chimps arrive, they are studied and assessed, then assigned to a family group of about 21 chimpanzees. Some of the chimpanzees prefer having access to the forest and outdoor habitats. Others won’t leave their bedrooms without enticement, and only feel safe with a roof always over their heads.
We saw several chimps lumbering in the grass, and others moving between their enclosures. They scream and bang things and keep an eye on the people working around the facility.
After the tour and safety lessons, we put on masks and gloves to protect the chimpanzees from any germs we may be carrying, and went to work. We stuffed bananas into PVC tubes with bigger-than-finger sized-holes. The tubes will be frozen, then hung on the mesh of the enclosures for the chimps to enjoy.
We mixed together industrial-sized cans of vanilla pudding, mandarin oranges and pineapples, then spread it inside a PVC U-joint. They’ll also be frozen, then hung on a chain from the mesh.
We got to see a chimp being wheeled out of the medical room on a gurney, and then we walked over to the food storage area, an air-conditioned hangar-like building with walk-in refrigerators, freezers and several pallets of biscuits specially formulated for chimpanzees. There was a full-sized garden shed with wall-to-wall metal shelves of huge jars of peanut butter, family-sized bags of peanuts, and industrial-sized cans of fruit cocktail, applesauce and pudding.
There was a stainless steel counter with three sinks, and two long tables where we worked. We cleaned recycled plastic drink bottles, then filled them with a mixture of Cheerios, raisins and a sugar-free maple syrup. We chatted with a few staff people, and then filled some more bottles with frozen blueberries, grape syrup and water.
On our second day we finished making the blueberries juice bottles, then squirted the same grape syrup and water mixture into Boomer Balls, hard plastic balls with three bowling ball finger holes drilled out. The juice balls are frozen and the chimps love scraping out the slush. The biggest challenge of the job was to stack the balls in 5 gallon tubs in the freezer without the liquid spilling out.
After our lunch break we made a foraging treat, stuffing finely chopped pieces of apricot between the bristles of a utility broom. The chimps have to separate the bristles to find the fruit, mimicking their grooming behavior.
Marika asked if we could come a little earlier on Thursday and do another drive around to really observe some of the chimps, and Amy said, “Absolutely.” And then she asked if we wanted to do a feed throw, tossing some of the enrichment treats into the compounds. So tomorrow, we’ll get a great look at more of the chimpanzees, and watch them literally enjoy the fruits of our labors.
We only work half a day, then come home to relax and hang out with Cody. In the evenings, I’ve been luxuriating in the RV park swimming pool, and last night, Marika had her first taste of real barbecue. Next week we head to Memphis, where we’re meeting up with a friend to explore the area and sample more barbecue. I’m hoping this unseasonably hot and humid weather passes so that we’ll be able to enjoy some outdoor time.
It’s great to be back on the road, seeing new places, enjoying new experiences. And it’s really nice to have a place to show up and be of service. Free time is great, but we both need some structure and purpose in our days, or we can get mighty cranky.
Finding the balance seems to be the key.
When Freedom is Lonely
We’re in the last week on the coast and it’s been glorious. I’ve been to the beach twice a day, every day, sometimes with Cody, sometimes alone, even a few times with Marika. Most days I pick up litter, watch the pelicans, and do modified sun salutations at the water’s edge. Weekends are getting busier and noisier, with more trucks and golf carts and families on the beach. This past Saturday we enjoyed a fireworks display right out the living room window.
Marika has gone birding almost every day, and she has seen more varieties of birds, and so many new birds, than ever before. Already we are talking about returning next spring.
I’ve been reading and writing, making postcards and binge-watching Netflix, really enjoying the feel of being on vacation. And one day last week we drove to Port Arthur for a day of touristing. We visited a Buddhist Temple, and the Museum of the Gulf Coast, drove around the refineries, and ate no-frills Vietnamese food.
But here’s the thing about all of this freedom: it can get pretty lonely.
Marika is gone most days, from early morning to late afternoon. And when she comes home, she updates her bird lists, studies her bird book, and then lies down in front of the TV because she’s had a day.
And that truly is wonderful. For her.
But I’ve been alone all day, and I am starving for someone to engage with.
Yes, I’ve chit chatted with the RV park owners, and waved and said hello to several neighbors. But I haven’t had a real conversation about anything deep and meaningful with someone in weeks. Or so it feels.
Of course I keep in touch with friends in Phoenix. But a quick catch-up phone call, or a back and forth email conversation is not at all the same as a three-hour in-person sitting together, with several full-on body hugs sprinkled in.
So I’ve been spending a lot of time crying, feeling sorry for myself, and aching for community and connection. One morning, after I posted a picture on Facebook of my morning beach walk with Cody, and hinted at my loneliness, a friend shared how the water is always healing for her, like a mother.
And so I walked back to the beach, but, instead of focusing on picking up litter and counting steps, I walked to the edge of the water, looked out at the low gentle rolls, allowing the cool water to wash over me. I stopped thinking and feeling and simply opened to healing.
And again, of course, I remembered that I am responsible for my own happiness.
And so, as I plan our route for the next few weeks, I’m making sure we visit some friends along the way, so that I can get some much needed in-person time with real people, and real hugs.
When we leave the coast on Sunday, we have to return to Houston to deal with the transmission pump in the RAV4 AGAIN, because the alarm won’t stop alarming, which means we can’t tow it. Maybe it will be a three-minute fix, maybe a three-day fix. So we’re keeping things loose until we know.
Once the pump is fixed, we’ll begin our travels north and east toward Washington D.C. We’ll spend a few days in Lufkin, Texas visiting with a friend, then we’ll be in Shreveport, Louisiana for a week. We’re volunteering at Chimp Haven, a refuge for chimpanzees who were the subjects of testing and experimentation. Marika has been a supporter of the organization for years, and has dreamed of volunteering there, even though you don’t have contact with the chimps. We’ll be chopping food, cleaning buckets, folding laundry, and who knows what else. And we’ll be able to observe the chimps in their open-space habitats, simply being chimps.
We’ll spend a few days in Memphis to hug another friend, visit some museums, and restock at Costco. And then, who knows.
The last three weeks of the trip are still unmapped. The calendar is marked with stretches of lines marked “Someplace” and “Someplace else,” so that we have space and time to enjoy the traveling, to explore off the highways, to not know exactly where we’re going until we get there.
If you’re along our route (we’ll be traveling north of I-40, staying on smaller highways, heading to D.C.), let me know. I’d really love to get together!
Happy Spring Migration!
We’ve been back on the Gulf Coast for a couple of weeks and, for the first time since we’ve been living on the road, I actually feel like I’m on vacation.
When we were here in February, I had some Mac client calls, I was focused on getting us a hosting job for April, and I was working on the new Photos For Mac e-book. This time here, I have no work commitments and my time is all mine. And I’ve been loving it!
Every weekday morning, Cody and I drive down to the beach for a good, leash-free romp along the waves. Weekends are too crazy-busy on the beach with campers and party folks with their trucks and hot rods and golf carts driving up and down the sand. During the week we have the beach to ourselves.
Cody and I walk together, at our own pace, him searching for a stick or running in the shallow water, and me, picking up litter. There are trash cans every few hundred yards, so I clean in sections. Sometimes I follow him into the water and it feels so good to get splashed by the waves. The pelicans fly overhead, and it is instant happiness for me.
I go to the beach again before sunset, sometimes alone, sometimes all three of us, and every night I delight in the pelicans gliding over the beach houses, and diving into the water for fish. One evening Marika drove the car on the beach all the way to Bolivar Flats, a very popular birding area on the west end of the Peninsula. It was windy as we drove the posted 15 mph, and we had the moon roof open. Marika had to tie up her hoody because I insisted on having the windows open so I could hear the waves.
During the days I have embraced sitting outside in my zero-gravity chair in a pocket of shade along the back fence, and reading. One cloudy day I even took my chair down to the beach to read, and that was pure joy. But without an umbrella or shade tent, there’s too much sun for me to do that most days. So in the afternoon, Cody and I sit under the shade of the palapa watching the egrets and herons in the slough while he gets a brushing.
We are in high bird migration season, which is the reason we came back to the coast for another month, and Marika goes out almost every day to a different spot to bird. She is a true bird lover. She isn’t interested in just seeing a bird to say she saw it. In fact, unless she’s had time to really study the bird, she won’t add it to her list.
She can sit and study a group of birds for an hour. Then she’ll walk a little further and study some more birds for some more hours. I don’t have that kind of an attention span. Even bringing a book or going for a walk while she’s birding doesn’t work for more than three hours. So most days she’ll go alone, or meet up with someone she’s met on one of her outings.
I joined her last Sunday for a drive out to High Island, a mecca for springtime bird migration. Thousands of birds flying up from South America come though the area. When there is a big storm, the birds are exhausted by the time they’ve crossed the Gulf of Mexico, and High Island is the first big land mass with trees and ponds and plants to eat. The birds “drop from the sky” and hundreds of bird watchers and wildlife photographers flock to the area to see the varieties and numbers of birds.
The drive to High Island runs east along the coast, past twenty miles of breaking waves and beach houses on stilts. Once you turn inland, the small town of High Island is just a few miles up the road. There are several wildlife refuge areas in town, with trails and benches for prime bird viewing. There is also has an active rookery for Egrets, Cormorants, and Roseate Spoonbills that I wanted to see.
We parked where we had parked when we came to High island in February, when the trees were bare, the ground was soggy-muddy, and there were very few birds. Since then, spring has colored everything green and the volunteers have installed new boardwalks over the boggy ground.
There were several viewing platforms along the trail, giving you a bird’s eye view of the rookery island, about thirty feet feet across a pond. Hundreds of nesting birds dotted the trees, the great egrets and snowy egrets already feeding their fuzzy-headed babies, the roseate spoonbills still gathering twigs for the nest, and the dark cormorants tucked down, sitting on their eggs.
More birds walked along the shoreline within a few feet of a sunning alligator, the spoonbills scooping their bills into the water, then shaking them to strain the water, the egrets poking their slender bills into the water like a spear.
We had a different angle at each viewing platform, so that, with my binoculars, I could really see the stunning orange on the tail feathers of the roseate spoonbill, and that the alligator was missing a few teeth. I watched baby egrets extend their opened beaks, begging for food, and a pair of spoonbills mating on top of their nest. And all around me, people with immense camera lenses were clicking, clicking, clicking, and the rapid shutter sounds reminded me of gunfire.
The next day we went out for fried catfish lunch, then stopped in Rollover Pass, a favorite spot for fishing and birding. We parked at the end of a dirt road to watch shorebirds and barges along the Intracoastal Waterway.
Marika set up her spotting scope and I took a walk along the small beach. I found a plastic five-gallon bucket to sit on, and amused myself watching several dozen avocets poke their long bills along their side feathers to clean themselves.
I carried my bucket back to join Marika, who was sitting on her portable stool, and we named everything we were seeing: pelicans, terns, cormorants, skimmers, great blue herons, willets, sanderlings, black necked stilts, and laughing gulls. On the drive home, we saw cattle egret standing next to cattle along the highway.
Tomorrow we’re taking the ferry into Galveston for a boat tour of Galveston Bay to see more birds, and dolphins, and learn more about the history of the area. Last week when we took the ferry over to go food shopping, instead of staying in the car, I stood at the bow of the boat, with the wind, and the sea spray, and the wide open view, and it was exhilarating. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.
And this weekend we’re going back to Bolivar Flats to bird, with the hope of running into a very famous birder who will be leading a tour there.
And in between all of this vacation fun, I’ve been planning the next chapter of our travels when we leave the coast at the beginning of May. Stay tuned!
On Duty in the Pineywoods
We’re enjoying our time here at the lakeside campground in central Texas. It’s a nice park in the Pineywoods, about 30 miles southeast of Austin. We’re meeting interesting people and enjoying the local museums, art centers and restaurants. We even went to the movies, and there was also a bowling alley, a bar and grill, and an arcade with the world’s largest Pac-Man game in the theater complex.
The weather has been mostly perfect with some very muggy days thrown in, and we like the work. We clean seven bathrooms with showers, and we’re responsible for the outside areas around the ten waterfront cabins. This includes emptying the fire pits, scraping the grills, and picking up litter. A paid maintenance crew cleans inside the cabins and collects all of the trash. They also do our jobs on our days off.
A lot of campers have been leaving hot fires in the fire rings, so we sometimes have to haul buckets of water to the pits to drown and stir the hot ashes, then come back the next day to clear out the cooled ashes.
It’s good, hard, physical labor, and it feels good. My shoulders are a little tight from the mopping and bucket carrying, but I’m feeling strong. And nothing hurts. And I’ve been walking almost three miles on working days. By the end of our shift on Sunday, when we’ve cleaned all ten cabin sites in one day, we are both exhausted, and glad that on Monday and Tuesday the bathrooms have less traffic and we usually only have the few cooled fire pits to clean.
The first week we were here it was spring break, so we had a full campground every day, but we didn’t actually start working until the weekend. There were kids and dogs, dogs and kids, and bicycles, and running races, and smoky campfires and, with our bedroom window open, we could hear our neighbors late into the night.
And then everyone left. And it was gorgeously quiet. We could hear all kinds of birds, and the rustle of raccoons in the brush. And the deer came out.
I took my kayak onto the lake one late afternoon, just me and two men in a small fishing boat moving through the green-brown water. They stopped to cast their lines along the reedy banks, and I paddled further into the narrows. A kingfisher lit from his perch and flew further down the waterway and I followed, stopping to watch him land on a branch hanging over the water.
I paddled past more than two dozen coots, the black-bodied ducks with the white tipped beak, that sound like a dog’s squeaky toy. They floated away from me and then suddenly, they all took flight. I loved the sounds they made running and splashing across the top of the water at the same time, like a giant paddlewheel boat.
I followed the inlet around a turn and further, until the branches were hanging too low and the reeds were thickening. I turned the boat around and sat in the stillness, the only sounds were the kingfisher in the distance, and the reeds rubbing against the vinyl bottom of the boat.
When I returned to the wider channel, a woman in an orange kayak paddled nearby and we exchanged gratitudes for being on the water. I told her about the kingfisher, pointing to where I had just been, and she said she saw a heron near the fishing pier, but it flew off.
I paddled past the pier toward where the lake opened wider, but the wind hit me as soon as I passed the bank of trees. I wasn’t up for a workout, so I turned around, and slowly made my way to back to the muddy beach where I had put in.
I spotted the heron on the shoreline, camouflaged by the tall dried grass. I pulled up to the dock and waited until he flew away before I paddled up the muddy bank and got out.
Marika has been enjoying the bevy of birds at her seed feeders, including cardinals, Carolina wrens, pine siskin, chipping sparrows, red bellied woodpeckers and white throated sparrows. And I was sitting outside with her when two young bald eagles flew overhead. She attended the local Audubon meeting where she met a woman who invited her over to watch a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers that are building a nest in the cavity of one of her trees.
Cody and I have been exploring the trails through the campground, and every weekday evening, the three of us walk down to the grassy park along the lake to play stick and check for birds.
It’s coming up on the weekend again, and all the campsites and cabins are reserved, which makes me very happy. Because people are getting out into nature, with their kids, their friends, their loved ones, and they’re fishing, and riding their bikes, and roaming the trails.
And I’m enjoying driving around the campground in the golf cart, welcoming folks, waving to the kids, and answering questions.
This will be our last weekend here. We’re heading back to the Texas Gulf Coast next week to spend another full month there so that Marika can enjoy the full-on spring migration! And I’ll be so happy to be at the beach again!
A Week of Traveling
We enjoyed a leisure pace of traveling from the Gulf Coast up to Austin for our new camp hosting gig. We took the ferry from Bolivar Peninsula back to Galveston and stayed at the Galveston Island State Park on the west end of the island. I had camped there two years ago on my solo Heart Sparks Road Tour, and wanted to share the place with Marika.
The park has two camping areas, one on the beach side that is popular, but very windy. The other area looks out over the mudflats and the West Bay, and it is stunning. Cody and walked along the sandy mudflats every morning, and Marika explored the birding trails. And every evening we took our beach walk along the Gulf.
One day we drove into Galveston for lunch and a tour of the Texas Seaport Museum and the fully restored sailing ship, Elissa, from the 1800’s.
After four relaxing nights on the bay, we headed up to Houston for some big city sightseeing. We haven’t been in the throes of serious traffic since we left Phoenix in January and, let me tell you, Houston drivers are crazy! It was so stressful that we asked our friend to do the driving around town.
We checked out the National History Museum of Funeral History where we learned about embalming, saw beautiful hearses from the 30’s and 40’s, and replicas of several Presidential caskets.
We had the most delicious lunch at a real, flown-in-from-New-York-every-day Jewish deli, with amazing corned beef and hand-sliced belly lox, and found a small and delicious Thai restaurant just a few minutes from our RV park. And we had to stop at the Tastee Treat for dessert.
On Saturday we left Houston and headed to Bastrop, Texas, where we are now camped for the next 30 days, working as camp hosts. After a month at the coast, it’s fun to be in the Pineywoods, surrounded by the songs of cardinals, warblers, and jays. The lake is beautiful, and the kayak launch ramp is right around the corner from our spot.
Cody and I followed a trail, first along the lake, then into the woods. I had looked at the map, but didn’t have one with me. It seemed like we were walking further than the signs indicated, but my phone wasn’t registering my steps. When we reached the marker for the second trail, I realized we weren’t on a loop trail, so we turned around. We were both a bit tired and thirsty, but we kept going. The heart of pine cones on the trail helped. By the time we got back to camp, we had walked 3.5 miles, our longest hike ever.
We’re excited to be here for the month, to explore another part of Texas, and spend some time in the woods. And we have some friends in Austin who we can’t wait to see. I’ll be exploring the lake in my kayak and I even got my bike out of the car for some around the park riding. And we’ll be cleaning fire pits and picking up litter, and sharing this beautiful pace with other campers.
Living On Island Time
I’ve been settling into the slow, relaxing Island Time, flowing with the energy of my body and the ever-changing weather. After the first two weeks of rain and cold and wind, these last few days have been cloudy and warm and very humid, with fog every morning and evening. And I am loving it. My skin is moist without daily lotion, and I don’t even mind that my hair falls into bangs.
Marika and I have explored more of the back streets on the Peninsula, and walked the jetties near the fishing boats and ship yards. We had a picnic lunch at the state park on the west end of Galveston Island, and ate our very first pound of boiled crawfish.
I haven’t been watching as much TV, or even sitting at the computer as often as usual. Instead, Cody and I are loving our every day romps on the beach, playing many rounds of ball in our grassy front yard space, and following the smells of the other dogs in the grassy areas around the RV park.
Every day I sit under the cool and breezy palapa and read a chapter or two, and watch for the egrets and roseate spoonbills in the canal. My legs are covered in mosquito bites, but they’re not the itching kind, and I am so grateful. And when it gets too sticky to be outside, I retreat to the cool a/c inside to read, watch TV or make postcards.
And when I hear myself say I’m too tired to go to the beach, or it’s too windy or too sticky, I ask myself, “If I don’t go, will I regret it a few months from now when it is no longer an option?” And usually the answer is yes. And so I go, always glad that I did. And on the few occasions that I opt to stay home, I really enjoy it.
Marika has been birding all over the peninsula, along the breakers at Rollover Pass where the fisherman line the jetty, down to Bolivar Flats, near the ferry, where the world-famous bird tour leader, Victor Emanuel, has a modest beach house on stilts. She’s been to the wildlife refuge about an hour away, and she took me to a great spot along the Intercoastal Waterway to watch the birds and the huge cargo ships and barges.
Last Saturday, we had talked about driving to Winnie, the closest town east of us. Marika really wanted to get the freezer defrosted, and so I figured I’d sit at the computer and get some work done, even though I really didn’t want to. And then she suggested that I go by myself. And I was thrilled at the idea!
So I grabbed my wallet and keys, a bottle of water and a bag of pretzel rods, and headed east on Texas 87, toward Winnie, to take myself out for lunch. Yes, I still had to have a reason, a destination, a focus. But, for the first time in months, I didn’t have the GPS turned on with a specific destination in mind. I was just driving until I got to Winnie.
I rolled down the front windows and opened the moon roof and loved the sticky coastal air softening my face, thickening my hair. I talked, out loud, through some ideas for the upcoming Heart Sparks workshop at the RV Park.
By the time I turned north onto 124 N, I had a plan for the workshop and could turn my full attention to the new landscape of fields and cattle and utility poles. I passed a half dozen short horned steer walking the fence line, and several dead possums on the side of the road.
I was the only car heading north, as I passed trailers and motorhomes and cars heading to the beach. I started singing King of the Road, but I couldn’t remember the lyrics, so I whistled most of the song, belting out the title line, louder, stronger, happier, with each verse.
There weren’t too many choices for lunch in Winnie beside the usual fast food places, so I checked Yelp on my phone and chose the Shorthorn Cafe in Hamshire, the next town over. I put the address into the Garmin and found the restaurant, an order-at-the-counter sandwich and burger joint next to a convenience store. The gal was young and friendly and said “everything is good,” so I stayed. I enjoyed my burger and fries outside under the covered patio, watching the trees blow in the breeze. On the drive home I wondered why I hadn’t taken myself on a solo trip sooner.
When we leave the Peninsula this weekend, we’ll spend a few nights camping at the state park on the other end of Galveston Island, then head north to a campground 30 miles outside of Austin where we got a last-minute camp hosting job through the beginning of April. The park is on a lake that is part of the Lower Colorado River Authority. We’ll be cleaning camp sites and cabins, and meeting and greeting campers.
It will be good to have a schedule, a routine, and regular interaction with other people. And then, the plan is to return to the coast in April for the spring migration of all of the birds.
But until then, I’m so loving this time here at the beach, made even sweeter knowing that we’ll be back soon.
