Stopping

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“Stop,” a little voice screamed from behind me.

I turned around, pulling our lovable Labrador, Luna, with me.

There, was little four-year-old Wyatt huffing toward me, as fast as his little legs could pedal his bike with training wheels. I’d met Wyatt, his little sister, Ava, and his parents just moments before while taking Luna on her evening walk. Luna tugged on the leash as we chatted, and I gave in, knowing she wanted some privacy to do her business.

Wyatt loved Luna and wanted more face time with her, apparently.

“I told you to stop, but you didn’t stop,” he wailed.

I walked back to Wyatt, Luna gave him a big wet one on the face and I said, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know you were trying to catch up with us.”

“I was, and I couldn’t,” he said, his voice quivering.

I know the feeling. I felt like I was having problems catching up with myself since taking off on our journey a week before. From driving like crazy people from Toledo to San Antonio in two days, then touching down in San Antonio for two days, dropping into the land of snow (as I now call El Paso), and then on to Phoenix in no time flat, I simply needed to stop.

Our campground, Wild West Ranch, is located in the Sonoran Desert. The ground consists of dust and dirt, evolved from stone and rock. The first night we arrived, under cover of cold, starry skies without a lick of light pollution, we struggled to find the spot we were to camp at. I got out of the motor home and walked cluelessly with my flashlight in hand, trying to avoid flashing neighbors. Using the rudimentary map I had, I found our spot, thinking Nancy Drew would be proud. Luna continued to circle away, trying her best to find any bit of vegetation to relieve herself on. Proud momma moment: this old dog can pee on any natural surface now. Luna…not me. I’m still working on it.

The Wild West Ranch is way south of Phoenix, about 45 minutes from our friends, Tom and Margo, with who we had intentions of getting together as much as possible. It’s surrounded by the Ak-Chin reservation. Ak-Chin translates into the “mouth of the wash.” As we drove up to Phoenix that week, I was amazed at the cotton fields and the irrigation system in place for what I learned to be 15,000 acres of farmland. The United States “gave” the tribe 47,000 acres in 1912. That was reduced to less than half that the following year. But the Native Americans gained water rights to the Colorado River in 1984 and have been successfully farming ever since.

So, in the midst of this dust and dirt, lived Ava, Wyatt, and their parents, in their travel trailer. Dad worked at the Intel chip manufacturing plant way being built in Phoenix. The new plant will support over 3,000 new jobs. I have a feeling that the Wild West Ranch won’t feel so wild the next we come this way.

For the moment though, Luna was licking Wyatt and Ava, giggles erupting from their sweet little faces, and I was stopped.

Blissfully stopped.

 

Bessie, Joanie and Frederick

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We pulled into the San Antonio KOA and there she was.

Bessie. That’s what we’ve named our new-to-us motorhome. Not the most original of names for a vehicle, but it seems to fit.

Standing outside our soon-to-be new home were the soon-to-be previous owners, Joanie and Frederick. Joanie was petite, blond, and had a wonderful positive aura about her. Frederick, taller, sported a ball cap, where a long white ponytail flowed out of. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses, a quiet smile from underneath his mustache.

Welcome, they both said in unison and ushered us into the motorhome.

As soon as I made my way up the three steps into the coach and onto the threshold, I felt like this was home. I felt like I belonged here, all the while emotions of having been here before swept over me.

This was to be the third motorhome we traveled in. The first, an all-gold Cortez, brought people out on their porches throughout New England back in 1992. This isn’t the Cortez we drove in, but you get the idea.

I was pregnant with our daughter, Kyle, and little baby Claire spent most of the long travel days snapped into her car seat watching the world go by. My favorite story from that adventure almost was the worst story. Back then, mapping consisted of an Atlas, with dog-eared pages and oily finger stains. A thick campground book served as our guide to sites. Driving along the coast of Maine to our overnight destination, as we passed through a small town, Brad suggested we stop for dinner. I grumbled that I thought we should just keep going. Claire was getting fussy, and I was tired, dealing with a huge sinus headache. I just wanted to be there, wherever there was. The road went from a four-lane highway to two lanes, to something just above a gravel drive. The nearest thing to any dinner was looking like the few cans of beans we had in the cupboard.

We pulled up to the campground welcome stand, not much more than a little hut that kids would huddle in waiting for the school bus. The owner welcomed us and offered a site right along the bay. Claire began screaming on cue, and Brad asked if there was anywhere nearby to grab something to eat. The owner directed us just up the roadway, where she said we’d be in for a treat. It was close enough to walk, so we scooped up Claire and her highchair and hoofed our way to the dinner surprise.

There was a little weathered shack with a deck, right on the water. I set up the highchair and cuddled Claire, trying to settle her. Brad went inside and came out with a huge grin on his face and a spindly lobster, pinchers banded with rubber.

Lobster was the treat. I can still taste the buttery, soft meat from the fresh-caught crustacean. I’ve not had better lobster since.

The owners took us under their wing and showed us their lobster traps on the deck, explaining to these Midwesterners how they worked.

Our second motorhome we purchased after losing our daughter Claire. I was emotional as we met with the owner of the small dealership. This purchase stemmed from our vision of moving forward literally and figuratively after her death. It was a huge investment, both monetarily and with our family. The owner, an older gentleman, pulled me aside and asked if I was okay. He calmed me by offering that what we were doing was “honoring your daughter as well as your other two children. Think of all the amazing adventures you’ll have, the sights you’ll see, together.” He said that we were wise to do it now, for too often he had customers wait until they were older and found it difficult to get around.

Boy, did we get around…to 47 states in the unit.

(Our daughter Kyle filling in our travel map. Note to self: Buy a new one.)

And the adventures? From a hot air balloon ride in Albuquerque to a seaplane ride in Coeur d’Alene to hiking in Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and an unforgettable kayak trip trying to beat a storm on Jenny Lake in the Tetons, we did it all.

So, here I was, once again, stepping foot inside our next adventure-transport vehicle. It couldn’t have felt more right, from Joanie and Frederick’s welcome to their generous gifting of many household goods, cleaners, and supplies. We learned in our time together that “Bessie” had served her purpose for Joanie and Frederick, and now it was time to move on.  We’re grateful they have entrusted us to take good care of her.

So now Bessie has a new purpose. Serving us safely as we attempt to continue to explore, learn, golf, and meet people along the way in our travels.

I think she’s up for it. I know I am.

 

 

Starting. Travels Post 1

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My last post left you hanging while my husband Brad and I were getting air inflated into our motorhome’s severely under-inflated tires. Both of us were exhausted, from the anxiety of driving out of El Paso after an overnight snowstorm and having to deal with scraping off ice and snow from the motorhome slide outs. Note to self: Slide outs won’t slide in with snow and ice on them. Luna sat nervously on my lap, panting her anxiousness away. I tried to calm both of us by breathing slowly, in and out.

But…before I move forward, I must go back, back to striking out from Toledo on Brad’s birthday, Thursday, January 27, and driving to San Antonio, where our new-to-us motorhome lived temporarily.

In our planning, Brad and I figured we would drive the 1400-mile drive in leisurely fashion over the course of three days. I should know by now that Brad and leisurely fashion do not belong in the same sentence. Back in the day, traveling in our first motorhome with the kids, we referred to our trips as “Brad’s boot camp.” In all fairness, we’ve always had a dog with us on our travels, and they do tend to wake up in pre-dawn. Brad would throw a pot of coffee on, feed and walk the dog, and off we’d go, on to the next destination.

Since we were a day early on trekking to San Antonio, we had time on our hands, as we weren’t due to meet with the motorhome owners until Sunday, January 30.

Austin was right on our path. It’s a city that has a special place in my heart for several reasons. We traveled there as a family to attend the Texas Book Festival in 2002. We wanted to see the event that inspired Claire’s Day, the book festival we established in honor of our daughter in the flesh. A number of years later, my daughter Kyle and I returned to the city for our first-ever mother/daughter trip. Both trips left us with warm hearts and awesome memories.

This next trip to Austin would offer the same, thanks to the amazing author Meredith Davis and her family.

I’d never met Meredith. We connected after exchanging books through an online forum for writers of nonfiction for children. I won a copy of Meredith’s book, Her Own Two Feet, and in return, I sent her a copy of my biography of Virginia Hamilton. We kept in touch, emailing about our work, our families, our lives. When I told her that Austin was one of my favorite cities, she offered to make sure that if I was ever in town again, to get in touch so that we could meet.

Since Keep it Weird is Austin’s adopted slogan. Meredith didn’t think it weird in the least bit when I texted her and let her know that we were going to be in town and would love to get together…the next day. Meredith and her husband Clay even offered to pick us up at our hotel and take us all (including Luna!) to lunch at one of their favorite spots.

I imagine anyone watching us during that lunch at Polvo’s might have thought that we were old friends, getting together and catching up. That’s how it felt. We laughed, we nearly cried. We ate too much and needed to walk afterward. We wound our way through downtown, admired the new Austin Library (I didn’t get inside…next trip!), and rambled along the Colorado River on the hike and bike trail. It was a beautiful day, the path filled with all ages and stages. Teenage runners with their Air Buds in, young parents with babes in strollers, older couples leaning on each other as they slowly made their way.

At some point, Meredith shared that their son Nate and his band were going to be playing at a club just up the street from where we were staying. “Would you like to join us?” she asked.

Of course.

Austin is known for the food and the music, and we enjoyed a variety of both. It was awesome to witness a live performance again, to let the music flow into our souls and come out our tapping feet. Nate’s band, Everett, were just as happy to be playing as we were to be listening. Their songs and stage presence felt joyful and fun.

The evening went by too quickly, but by 11:30, we were ready to roll. Meredith and I snapped a quick photo, a reflection of our take-a-chance get-together.

The side trip was a lesson that sometimes wonderful things happen when you move too fast…one gets a chance to slow down with new friends.

We left Austin Sunday morning, excited to be meeting the owners of the motorhome that would soon become ours, deflated tires, and all.

Stay tuned for the next portion of the journey…the Wild West.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Road Again

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Trucks rumble past, their trailers bumping on the rough road surface. A forklift keeps going in front of me, back and forth to service bays. Ironically, Jackson Brown belts out Running on Empty on the radio. I just try to keep breathing, slow inhales and exhales to calm myself as well as our 65 lb. Yellow Lab, Luna, who has decided to become a lap dog, propping half of her load on me, panting away. Brad is outside with the technician, who skillfully manages to pump nearly 70 pounds of air pressure into the driver’s side drive axle tires.

Kind of important to have enough air in your tires.

So begins our first road trip, or rather, return to the road trip, in a motorhome. Our journey really didn’t start with the dishwasher that didn’t run properly (I know, I know, a dishwasher, really???) overnight, or the toilet that refused to flush, the car that didn’t want to engage in neutral to tow properly, the under-inflated tires, or even, to add insult to injury, the door that took some creative manipulation of the hinge to get it to close.

Our journey began over twenty years ago, when after experiencing the death of our oldest daughter, Claire, my husband Brad, and I decided to up the ante in our quest to get our kids to all 50 states. We bought our first motorhome. And we completed our mission.

Memories of those trips often pop up in my brain feed, but even more so since contemplating getting back on the road. I’ll never forget all the purple, Claire’s favorite color, we witnessed on our maiden voyage in 2003, as we traveled to Yellowstone, the Tetons, and Glacier National Park. Those three weeks together as a family, just three years out from when we last said goodbye to Claire, set us on a path of truly living, not merely surviving.

I read Undaunted Courage by Stephen E. Ambrose on our travels, our trip often a reflection of the text. I remember a reference to uncharted territory in the book, which I shared with Brad and the kids. Later that evening, while Ian was walking our dog, Ginger, I got a little nervous about how long young Ian was gone. I used the walkie talkies that came with the unit and radioed him, “Where are you? Are you okay?” His response, “We’re in uncharted territory.”

We’ll also never forget our daughter Kyle looking out on the rolling hills of Kansas, dark shadows cast on the green forests. She couldn’t figure out that the shadows were from the clouds. She was also very concerned about where the cows slept at night, bless her heart.

That motorhome continued to serve us well through road trips, college tailgate parties, and a few empty nest adventures, up until our last to Northern Michigan just months before Ginger’s journey was over.

So here we are, back on the road again, setting out to explore areas of this country we missed the first time around, creating new memories, all the while looking back on those from the past.

I feel incredibly blessed to have these experiences with Brad, in a beautiful, new-to-us motorhome. I hope you enjoy experiencing our trials, tribulations, and new, fantastic memories right along with us. Perhaps in some small way, during a time we could all use a little inspiration, my stories from the road will offer a bit to you.

 

 

Virginia Hamilton - Five Novels

Library of America interview for Virginia Hamilton: Five Novels

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I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Library of America staff about Virginia Hamilton and my role as editor of Virginia Hamilton: Five Novels.

Virginia Hamilton - Five Novels

Check out the transcript here: Interview: The pathbreaking Virginia Hamilton and her “liberation literature”