Category: Adventures with family

I thought I was alone in my quirk of ordering tomato juice at least once per flight. When I mentioned it to my daughter, she got a funny look and said my son-in-law does the same thing. That piqued my curiosity. There had to be an explanation. Why else would someone order tomato juice in the sky but not on the ground? Howbeit, when I travel on the ground for long distances, I sometimes will get a small can or glass of tomato juice at least once. If I buy juice at home, I never drink it all because it just doesn’t taste the same.

After asking Google about this strange compelling urge, I discovered a few things. It turns out that science is involved. Scientists say that the altitude and the high noise level both have an effect on our taste buds. At 30,000 feet, the juice appears more acidic and has a mineralic taste. It’s refreshing. 

So what will you order when the flight attendant rolls the drink cart down the aisle scraping your elbow? I’ll have tomato juice please with two ice cubes – just enough to cool it.

Cross Country (Part Four)

We caught a last glimpse of the blue waters of Theodore Roosevelt Lake in our rear-view mirror as we continued our drive through the desert. Our road took us north to the KOA campground in Camp Verde, Arizona. That was one barren place, no trees, just scrubby vegetation at the edge of the campground. We found our tent site, which was just like all of them, unloaded the camp gear and attempted to set up our tent. That was useless! The ground was as hard as cement. We pounded a tent peg partway into the ground but not deep enough to hold. More than one tent peg was bent at the attempt. The ground was just too stubborn. We folded the tent and packed it away. As had become our camp routine, after we set up the tent (or in this case didn’t), we cooked our supper on the Coleman stove on the picnic table. One good thing about the KOA campgrounds – they had showers and most had laundry facilities. After a shower to wash off the day, we crawled into the car to sleep for the night.

I was glad for morning to come. Sleeping stretched out on the ground would have been more comfortable than being folded up like an accordion in the cramped back seat. After fixing some breakfast we were off to spend the day exploring parts of Arizona. Driving past cacti and desert grasses, we saw red cliffs rise out of the wilderness. The desert town of Sedona, Arizona is surrounded by red rock buttes and pine forests. There in the middle of the red buttes and cliffs above Sedona stood a cross framed by walls around a window of glass. Chapel of the Holy Cross served as a beacon and beckoned travelers to enter the refuge for a moment of spiritual reflection. It offered a cool, quiet, peaceful resting place.  

Just beyond Sedona is Oak Creek Canyon, a smaller cousin of the Grand Canyon. The twelve-mile-long canyon is a river gorge cut into the Colorado Plateau in the Coconino National Forest. It is a popular tourist destination that offers hiking trails, a swimming hole and fishing. We hiked into the canyon to enjoy the scenery and a bit of the rich history of the area.

Further up the road near Flagstaff is Walnut Canyon National Monument. This canyon was once home to the Sinagua, an ancient people who possibly came from the Mogollon culture. Sinagua means “without water” in Spanish, acknowledging that they were able to live in this arid region. When the Sinagua left the area, over 80 cliff dwellings were abandoned. Being able to walk down the trail and see into their dwellings gave us a glimpse into their lives. We also received a greater appreciation for the people who survived this rugged place and harsh conditions to live in the canyon. The Sinagua Indians were able to grow maize, beans and squash as well as harvest plants and animals from the land and streams. 

Leaving behind remnants of the past, we drove on to Flagstaff, ready for a good night’s sleep. We set up camp, had our supper, and crawled into our sleeping bags. As sleep came, there was a deep satisfaction of the history we had shared and the unique beauty we had seen. What would tomorrow bring? Each day had been an adventure and there was more to come.

Part Three Part Five

Cross Country (Part Three)

Our first campsite in Texas was in Stephen Austin State Park. Some Hispanic families camped nearby. We gathered up enough players for a ball game. It’s a good thing we took our ball and gloves, huh? Later, we pulled out the guitar and sang around the fire. In the night, we were awakened to a rustling and scraping noise. We flashed our lights through the tent flap. There on the picnic table was a raccoon. We caught him in the act. Spaghetti sauce was on his mouth and his long-nailed claws held a handful of stringy spaghetti. He had popped the lid to the Tupperware bowl and helped himself. No leftovers tomorrow night! We also saw an armadillo, the first I’d ever seen, waddling by the edge of our campsite.  

The drive through the Texas’ arid, virtually treeless landscape was hot and dusty, and we were tired and dirty. We camped at Junction then made our way to Carlsbad, New Mexico. Hidden in the depths of the Guadalupe Mountains below the Chihuahun Desert along the Texas/New Mexico border are Carlsbad Caverns, the most famous of the 119 caves in the park. Below the surface are a series of 83 individual caves and a maze of stalactites and stalagmites. In the Big Room, at 750 feet, is the Underground Lunchroom built I 1928, two years before Carlsbad Caverns became a National Park. A new room, named Halloween Hall, was discovered in 2013 and was full of bat bones.

We left the caverns and made a stop at Guadalupe Mountains National Park. We took a short hike up one of the trails and decided not to venture too far because the Park Ranger and all the posted signs gave scary warnings about all the rattlesnakes in that area. The Ranger said repeatedly, “This is rattlesnake country.” We imagined hearing rattles with every step. Besides, we wanted to make it to our campground in El Paso, Texas in a timely manner, so we drove on. After a hot, dusty day, and getting camp set up, we decided to just open a can of chili and heat it for our supper. We had to laugh when we read the side of the can, “Made in Augusta, Georgia.” 

The landscape changed again as we neared Silver City, New Mexico and the Mimbres Mountains with their rugged unique beauty. We stayed in the KOA Campground at Silver City for two nights. This campground was one of only two places where we were unable to get our tent staked. Well, actually, we got the tent set up, but the wind was so fierce, it blew it down repeatedly. We did manage to bend a couple of the metal stakes. One of the campers who used the KOA as a summer home while mining for gems in the area saw our dilemma and offered us a place to stay. We accepted and didn’t have to worry about getting sand out of our teeth or blowing away. 

Since we arrived in Silver City on the weekend, the library and County offices were closed. Our intention was to do some family research. At that time, our knowledge was somewhat limited as to specific areas in which our great grandparents had lived. We did a bit of exploring and made a trip to the Gila Cliff Dwellings that rise above the Gila River. It was fascinating to see how the Mogollon people lived and built their homes in the cliffs. We saw remnants of their life, such as the areas in which they ground grain for their food and fragments of pottery they made and used every day. The view was spectacular from their perch on the side of the cliffs. 

As we left Silver City, our host gave us a hand drawn map with suggested stops off the “tourist trap” route. Because of that, we drove through Apache National Forest. I didn’t see many trees in the forest except for a few that were scrubby and twisted. We stopped at Tonto National Monument, at the edge of the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, and explored the two Salado Indian cliff dwellings. The desert country was filled with large Saguaro cacti and desert vegetation. The unexpected view from that vantage point looked across Roosevelt Lake with mountains in the background and a saddle shaped ridge lined with cacti in the foreground.

As we drove on from there, we went around a curve and there below us, Roosevelt Dam came into view. A note from history gives this description, “With a huge American flag draped over its parapets, President Theodore Roosevelt pressed a button that released a jet of water down the canyon from America’s newest Progressive-era technological marvel. The date was March 18, 1911, and a thousand onlookers witnessed this historic event, the likes of which the American West, or perhaps America at large, had never seen—the dedication of the world’s highest, stone masonry, gravity dam.” The whole scene was gorgeous with piercing blue Roosevelt Lake as the backdrop. As we drove further, we found the tourists and locals enjoying the lake as well with boating, skiing, and picnicking.

As we continued our westward adventure taking our dry flaky skin with us, the lake got smaller in the rear-view mirror. The first order of business was to buy some lotion at our next stop.

Part Two Part Four

Sequel to Cross Country (part 2)

The beat-up old car was packed to the gills. The tent, camping gear, cooler filled with food, hiking boots, guitar, frisbee, ball and gloves were loaded, among other things. Our backpacks doubled as suitcases. We said our goodbyes. As we pulled out of the driveway on June 14, a wave of reserved anticipation washed over me. I didn’t think to imagine what washed over our mom at the same time. 

We drove southwest toward our first scheduled stop. The closer we got, the flatter the landscape and the thicker the air. We drove through swamps, bayous, waterways and over long bridges. Cypress trees were draped with Spanish Moss and long-legged cranes walking lazily through water black as steeped tea. That seemed to set the mood for the laid-back atmosphere reflected in the locals, matching their thick Cajun accents and the humidity that hung heavy in the air. The smell of stagnant swamps that teemed with life mingled with the smell of salt water from the Gulf.

We arrived in New Orleans and checked into the campground. The lady that managed the campground invited us to have supper with her family. I suspect that she was watching out for us, imagining her own children traveling across the country without parental supervision. After all, we looked younger than our 18 and 20 years. We accepted her invitation and were rewarded with fresh crawfish and other Cajun delicacies. It was delicious and gave us a taste of a culture completely foreign to us. Our two-night stay gave us plenty of time to explore the area. We drove down Bourbon Street at night with doors locked only stopping at red lights. The street looked like a human swamp teeming with life. A sea of people strolled along the sidewalks and gathered in front of bars and restaurants. They were quite colorful in their garments as diverse as the people themselves. Jazz bands and one-man bands performed along the street. During the daytime, we visited the French Quarter. We people-watched, browsed through little eclectic shops, stopped at various street venders, and ate at a restaurant complete with peanut hulls on the floor. On the way back to our campsite, we got on the wrong bus and had to get off and walk back to the campground in the drizzling rain. That night, it poured. It’s a good thing we waterproofed our waterproof tent! When we crawled out the next morning, water was almost to the top of the lip above the floor of the tent. It was miserable packing up the tent and gear in the pouring rain. I can honestly say I was glad to leave New Orleans. I was a bit antsy to be on our way and truthfully felt much safer in the wilderness than the wild city! 

We left all that behind and drove away from the land of water, bridges and swamps to the waterless plains of Texas. It felt like we were finally on our way.

Part One Part Three

The evening before, the sky was ablaze with fire. Flames lit up the skyline as evening cast long shadows across the desert of Southern Idaho. Soft light of the “golden hour” had turned to brilliant yellows, oranges and reds, then transformed into pinks, purples and midnight blue until it faded into the dark of night. Stars appeared and the Milky Way laid out its path across the ebon expanse. 

The night was overshadowed as day emerged. In the morning light, it looked like the fire of night had turned everything to ashes. The clouds hung to the ground causing an eerie look over the landscape covered with cooled lava flows and ashes left behind in its wake. Hardened lava resembled exposed tree roots, some seeming to be burning with dying orange embers. 

It appeared that we had landed in the middle of a dormant volcano on a strange planet. At one time small volcanoes erupted, spewing scoria to the ground near the vent to build up steep cinder cones. I had never heard of this alien place on earth called “Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve,” but it was fascinating. It was formed from lava erupting from the Great Rift. This protected area covers 1,117 square miles, encompasses three lava fields, and contains the deepest known rift on earth at 800 feet. The Monument and Preserve contains more than 25 volcanic cones. This foreign harsh environment was visited by astronauts in 1969 as part of the study of volcanic geology in preparation for their trip into space. Years before, it was frequented by Northern Shoshoni Indians who hunted in this area and possibly gathered tachylyte, which is a form of basalt, for their arrow points.

I found an interesting article about the Monument taken
from Geographical Review, Jul, 1924
https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/208417.pdf

Even in this harsh environment, life adapts and finds a way. Somehow, plants grow in cinder gardens throughout the preserve. The black ash, extremely porous like pumice, quickly absorbs water, and heats up in the summertime, often exceeding 150 degrees. Cinder crags and formations rise from the sleeping volcanoes. This universe never ceases to amaze me. I’ve been to many interesting places, each with a beauty and uniqueness all its own. “Craters of the Moon” is definitely one of those unique places, a rare jewel hidden in this harsh terrain.

I’m always amazed when life blooms in unexpected places. Seeds can lie dormant for years just waiting for the ashes of death and adversity to bring life. Fertile, mineral rich ashes give birth to new growth that might never have had the chance to live otherwise.

The same is true in our lives. Fires of adversity and trials burn in our lives leaving us standing in ashes of destruction and uncertainty. When we least expect it, a bud pushes up out of the ashes and something beautiful blooms. Life has a way of purging itself. By getting rid of the weeds that threaten to strangle us, we are enabled to grow. Life is given a chance.

There are lyrics in a song, “Sometimes flowers grow in the soil of ashes.” Another says, “He gave me beauty for ashes.”  Life finds a way and out of the ashes we rise.  

The maps were laid out on the table. We had not gone into this without some preparation. Already my sister and I had a fairly well drawn out itinerary and route, as well as designated National and State Parks, and other points of interest to visit. No matter how good our presentation was, we knew Mama would never be sold on the idea. Now Daddy – that was a different story. If we could get him on board, he would take care of Mama.

It was the fall of my senior year of high school. My sister, two years older, and I came up with a crazy scheme to travel across the country the following summer. Already, we were setting aside funds and making lists of additional items we would need. We had backpacks, sleeping bags, mess kits, and other camping gear already. We knew everything had to be in order for our plan to work.

As we began our presentation Mama’s face was set as stone. Daddy’s eyes lit up. When he reached down and traced his finger along one of the roads on the map and made a suggestion of a particular point of interest, we knew we had him! There were plenty of relatives we could stay with once we got out west. There was Aunt Ellen in Santa Barbara, Aunt Betty in Martinez, Anna and Kitty in Santa Monica, Cousin Diane in California, Cousin Donna Marie and Russ in Brookings, Uncle George in Kent, Uncle Sid in Port Angeles, Uncle Frank in Idaho, and others. Once we got to Montana, we would stay with our Grandmother, Cousin Babs, and visit Uncle Buster and Aunt Viola.

Mama didn’t like the idea at all! Looking back, I can’t say as if I blame her. We were young. I was just eighteen when we made the trip, my sister being twenty. We looked younger than we were – like kids. There were no cell phones for communication, no debit cards or credit cards for us to use, and the car looked like it had already seen its last days.

We tried to have the answers before Mama asked the questions:
“What are you going to drive?” “The old beat up car –  it will be serviced ahead of time – and we’ll have the oil changed and everything checked out at the appointed time.”

“Where are you going to stay along the way?” “We’ll camp – in National Park campgrounds, State Park campgrounds or KOA’s.”

“What will you eat?” “We’ll take a cooler and cook our meals on the Coleman stove at breakfast and supper. Lunch will be sandwiches.”

“How will you pay for it?” “We both have jobs and are already setting some money aside. We can get traveler’s checks and carry some cash. I will send enough ahead so we will be sure to have enough for our trip home. There will be very little expenses – gas, food, camping fees (which are minimal), and we will set aside an emergency fund for car repairs or other things that might arise.”

“We promise to call home every couple of days as we were travel across the country. Once we get to the West Coast, we’ll pretty much be with relatives for the remainder of the trip. “

I remember Mama saying, “Buck, you’re NOT going to let them go, are you?” I didn’t understand her fears then. Mama thought it was foolish. (Of course she thought jumping off cliffs with ropes, backpacking and camping for fun, and jumping out of planes was foolish, too). Daddy thought it was a great opportunity. They were both right. But what adventures we had!

Stay tuned for more of the story………… Part Two

I have heard it said from folks in various parts of the country that the South does not have all four seasons.  Well, let me correct your misunderstanding. It just isn’t true in the part of the South where I live. 

As a matter of fact, we had all four seasons just a couple of weeks ago. On Monday we had heat of Summer. Midweek we had cool crisp breezes of Fall. The next day we had Spring rains, flash floods and various Spring flowers showed their pretty faces. Saturday morning, we had 3 ½ inches of snow. The kids went sledding, built a snow throne and had a snowball fight. That afternoon, it turned spring again and all traces of snow melted away.

A couple of days ago, we had a picnic, dressed in shorts and short sleeves. Today, there is a wintry mix followed by lots of rain. So – don’t believe it if someone says the South doesn’t have seasons! We sometimes have them all in one day!

“Go west young man.” When the West was expanding, pioneers looked to make their way in a new land. They were full of hope for the prospects that lay ahead in a land of opportunity. Some went west in hopes of striking it rich in the gold fields. Others looked to a world where land was plentiful. There is a certain fascination with the American Western culture that creates a romantic appeal in spite of the hardships of life in the rough and tumbling west.

A few years ago, someone mentioned the Booth Western Art Museum to me. I had no idea there was such a place here in the South. It wasn’t long before I visited the museum and couldn’t wait to take Daddy there on a day trip. After all, he was part of the Western culture.

We soon made the trip. The museum is fascinating! There are works of legendary artists. Permanent collections include the works of Remington and Russell. There is a Presidential Gallery which has portraits of every United States President that are accompanied by signed letters of each, and other memorabilia. The tribal cultures of Native American Indians are brought to life in paintings and sculptures. There are even sculptures made out of paper. 

Temporary galleries have rotating exhibitions, from ten to twelve a year. We had the privilege of being there when Ansel Adams’ phenomenal photography was on display. He was a highly gifted unparalleled photographer and environmentalist. On my last visit, the photography of Bob Kolbrener was on exhibit. Kolbrener continues in the pattern of Adams’ traditional “straight photography.” His artistic eye captured the western scenery and culture over a 50-year period. The purity of the black and white photos of both artists gives dimensional depth and detail.  I stood before both exhibits in wonder. 

The best part of the day was being with Daddy. Every exhibit we looked at brought a story of some kind. His love of history and love for the land of his birth made his face glow and his eyes water. He stood a long time in front of one of the statues of a cowboy outside the building. The accompanying plaque read, “Here, the rancher pauses for a moment of gratitude for having the basic necessities he needs to maintain his way of life.” Leaning on his cane, Daddy looked up at the rider on horseback, understanding that way of life. A moment of reverence was shared – one old cowboy to another.

My Daddy was my sidekick for several years. Often, when I was off from work, we would go on an adventure. I got out my map, drew a circle with a hundred-mile radius from our town, and searched for interesting places within that radius that we had never visited. 

We took many day trips. Sometimes we would just go to lunch and take a ride through the countryside. Sometimes, others were able to join us. At least once a year in the fall, we would drive through the mountains to apple country to stock up on apples. We stopped at scenic overlooks and took in the gorgeous views. A few times a year, we went to “the Pocket” and hiked through the wildflower trails, and visited the falls. State Parks were a favorite place to hike a bit and have a picnic. (I think a picnic is an adventure all by itself.) We visited waterfalls and parks in Georgia, Alabama and Tennessee. We visited historic sites depicting the rich Indian history of the area, military parks, museums, the Planetarium, the bat cave, Reflection Riding, toured replicas of the Nina & Pinta, and had other fun excursions.  

Shortly before Daddy died, he said, “We’ve been lots of places together, haven’t we?” “Yes, we have.” “And I’ve enjoyed every one of them.”  “Me, too, Daddy, me too.”