Life in The South

I still promise to sometime post the remaining writings from Africa someday. Now I have to find them. So, in the meantime, we have settled into life here in Blacksburg, Virginia. As with anyplace, the world is full of beauty if you take the time to notice it, but still, I think that this is one of the more beautiful places in this world.

We live in town, a quick bike ride to work, stores, the awesome Farmer's Market, and yet on two sides of our house, our neighbors are a big open field. The comforts of town, without town. We watch the haybaling when it happens and observe... There is a horse farm just down the road that we like to walk to. The walk reminds me of my youth - early mornings smelling of honeysuckle, a feeling of freedom, and watching horses - exactly a favorite pasttime of my high school years. There are cherry trees, pear trees, and all kinds of special finds in nature. There are lighning bugs that light the fields and make you feel and believe in magic. There are big old trees with branches grown to be climbed. And we do. There is a grape arbor and the excitement of waiting for something that will be turned to jellies and wine. And it is something to hide under - like a secret fort for kids. It is a return to childhood. And I love it.

However, as much as I love it, and as much as I love my job and the people I work around, I am already antsy and looking forward to something new. I don't know what will be next, but I have all the faith in the world that it will be good.

My little sister and my new brother in law are coming from DC to visit this weekend. I am so excited. Of course, they are family...and I adore them and believe that my time with them is absolutely precious. Funny though, as I was thinking about my feelings of restlessness, I was remembering our older sister, Lori's, toast at their wedding this June. She talked about Alyssa and how, in our family, what she was known for was her resistence to change. And that holding on quality of Alyssa is what has given her a happy, wonderful relationship with Paul and a successful career doing what she loves. She is a gem, and there are so many ways that she and I are similar - but this, is not one of them. Funny how different we are in that...I had just been noticing that my life had begun to fall into a routine. For me, routine is bad. It works for a while, but I get bored with it, no matter how good it is, and end up feeling like I'd rather scratch my eyes out with a ball point pen than to have one more single day that is just like the day before. Which probably explains why I am not married (in principle at least) and have only a quasi-serious commitment to my career, which I love right now, but I know me, it will change again someday. So there it is...irony, huh? I have no idea why I am hardwired to feel that way...

I am not lost in Africa...

After moving from Alaska and traveling to South Africa, as well as some massive car repair bills, I am fairly completely in debt. As such, to save money, I do not have internet, phone, cable (whatever, I don't like tv enough to pay for that even if I have money, but I'm making a point, so no quibbling over it! My points don't have to make sense. They are mine.), etc. So, my current home internet connection is patchy and solely present at all due to the kindness of an unknown neighbor who has an unsecured wireless account. That said, I keep trying to post the rest of what I did write about our travels in Africa, and before it can go up, the internet connection disappears. So, to answer the recent inquiries regarding my whereabouts, no, I am not still wandering in Africa. I am as settled down in our new home in Blacksburg, Virginia as an unsettled girl can get, enjoying spring and an exciting new job. But the remainder of Africa babble and the wanderings after that will indeed get posted...some day...I'm not committing to when though.

Kruger National Park

Kruger National Park, to me, seems like a kind of a do-it-yourself safari. I think of it as the Denali of South Africa. It is utterly teeming with wildlife and gorgeous scenery and vast open lands around the roads. You can drive your personal vehicle through the park, but the big rule there is that you are not allowed to get out of the car once on the road for your protection from the dangerous animals: lions, hippos, crocodiles, etc. I have to mention, that while I love Denali National Park, and would be happy to go back there to visit anytime, in terms of the variety of wildlife, it actually pales in comparison to Kruger.

We spent two days driving through the park. And during those days we saw: lions, zebra, countless impala (which I learned are refered to by South Africans as “alweerbok,” which means “not again buck.” It became almost tiring to see them… “oh, look, more impala…”), giraffes, warthogs, bushbuck, duiker, hippopotamus, white rhinocerus, elephants, buffalo, baboons, blue wildebeest, ostriches, crocodiles, a monitor lizard, African fish eagle, saddlebilled storks, an unidentified snake or two, hornbills, rollers, and a huge list of other birds. Unfortunately, no kudu, cheetah, or leopards were on our list. However, the list is undoubtably impressive and the experience unforgettable. And either the lions, the rotting giraffe carcas that they had been feeding on, or both really stunk.

On the first day driving in Kruger, Walter stopped the car so we could watch a dung beetle rolling his dung ball across the road in front of us. However, just as he was passing our car and into the next lane, we saw another vehicle approaching and worried that our little friend was going to be mushed. So, we sat, nervously watching, and cheering the little dung beetle along, “Go, dung beetle!!! Go! Go Go!!!!” He made it, and we all cheered.

I should mention that I am trying to improve my Afrikaans vocabulary. It also now includes the names of several animals, butcher shop, good night, and a few other random words. Though, this surprisingly did not help me much when Owen and I walked to the local butcher shop to look for ostrich steaks. I had no idea what much of anything in the store was because I can’t read the labels, so I had to just resort to asking for help. We did get the ostrich steaks, which were delicious. And my limited vocabulary was also not of much use when we went to see a concert by Nataniël, a South African performer, who apparently beyond being a talented singer, is also just hilarious. But, I enjoyed the performance anyway, despite not being able to understand much of it. I think he made some joke between his songs that refered to an ostrich. Oh, and chickens. I know that word too.

Zebras

There are moments in life that are timeless. When put to words, they sound trivial, insignificant. But remembrance is alive with all the senses and the senses are not dulled with time. It is this that makes those moments powerful beyond words. They burn themselves onto the soul and forever leave their mark. Instantaneously, there is the feeling of knowing; like knowing that a dream is more than a dream, the way a vision comes. For me, these moments are always associated with solitude in nature. They are moments during which thoughts disappear into the wonder of the world around me; like reaching a higher spiritual plane through medidation, without the medidation (what a gift for someone as undedicated as me to experience those moments without the dedication!). I believe that the universe sends us those moments of clarity for reasons that will remain a secret for now; but, as such, they are rare. Perhaps the rarity is what allows them to remain so vivid in the mind through time, because they are not overly clouded by trying to retain far too many of them.

I have a handful of those experiences in my life. Two of them are associated with two of my favorite places in this world and part of the reasons that they are my favorite places: Alaska and southwest Virginia. And now, life has seen fit to send me one to associate with South Africa. On a hot afternoon during our weekend “in the bush” with Walter’s parents, I took a walk so I could look around one last time before hitting the road. Owen was happily playing in a sprinkler, so I left him in the care of Walter, An, and Okie, and went out. During the walk, I saw several zebra standing in the road ahead of me. While walking in to get a better look, the rest of the herd ran in and I stood in the midst of them. And at the same time, a family of warthogs jumped up from their afternoon nap and ran into the middle of the scene. That is one of those moments, and as I said, it sounds trivial when put to words, but there it is, and it is one of them. Zebra are truly beautiful animals and warthogs, well, they are just adorable.

Speaking Akrikaans

Apparently, I learn slowly and my pronunciation is abhorrent. Or I am just enjoying my lazy vacation-mode, sipping coffee all morning and alcohol in the afternoons through evenings. Owen's pronunciation, in contrast to mine, is perfect and he seems to remember new words in volumes as compared to me. I wish we retained the sponge capacity of our brains as we aged.

After about 5 days in South Africa, I added three words to my Afrikaans vocabulary: bug, liquor store, and butterfly. Useful, huh (well, the liquor store term really is undeniably important)? I feel more than slightly pathetic.

After about one and a half weeks, I have added several animal names, a few odd other words, butcher shop, and goodnight to my vocabulary. So has Owen.

Owen's favorite Afrikaans word seems to be volstruis, or ostrich. We stopped at a butcher shop one afternoon to buy some lamb (Walter makes fabulous lamb steaks on the grill and Owen absolutely loves eating it) and I pointed out that there was ostrich meat for sale. Since that moment, Owen has been telling me over and over, "Mommy, I really want to eat volstruis. I've never tried volstruis yet." He's an adventurous boy, with an adventurous appetite. I'm proud of that.

On Being Ill-Prepared

It completely goes against the nature of my upbringing with my being the product of excessively prepared parents, but I flew halfway around the world with Owen, with not the slightest idea of what we were going to do once we got here. And not only did I have absolutely nothing planned, but I hadn't taken the time to learn anything about the history and/or culture of the country I was going to stay in, learned no more than 3 words of the language, and hadn't even remembered to write down Walter's phone number to put in my bag in case of something unexpected happened. The weeks before the road trip had been just beyond hectic, and there were a lot of things that suffered. Planning for the international vacation was one of these things.

On our first day here, Walter went off to work, and Owen and I slept in and basically just bummed around, spending most of the day sitting on the deck and enjoying the sun. We load up on sunscreen everyday (I at least prepared for that one), and Owen has taken to telling people that he meets that "Our Alaskan skin isn't used to the sun, so we wear lots of sunscreen." At least he hasn't yet forgotten where he's from.

At some point during the day, we decide to walk outside of the "compound" (Walter lives in a high security community, enclosed with electric fencing and complete with security personnel who patrol the community, day and night) to the nearest convenience store to buy Owen some juice. I brought my camera to take pictures of flowers and Owen and anything else interesting that we came across. One of the community guards actually stopped me during the walk, pointed to my camera, and informed me that I am not allowed to take pictures of the houses. I smiled, told him that I was only taking pictures of flowers and the kid, and we walked on. Still, it was a curious encounter to me.

At this point and during the course of this walk, I became aware of how ill-prepared I was several times. First off, people are very friendly here and everyone smiles, waves, and often stop to chat. They generally seem to start the conversation in Afrikaans too. I was wishing that I had at least learned simple friendly greetings and responses. One man laughed and told me, "I just asked you how you are doing." I really should have learned something other than the Afrikaans words for: chicken, thank you, and hangover (hoender, dankie, and babelas). So much for my communications. Luckily though, everyone generally speaks English here as well.

The other thing that I had no clue about was the currency here. I had at least picked up somewhere on the term "rand," but I had not bothered to look up the exchange rate and had no idea what a rand was worth. So the 5.80 juice that I bought for Owen seemed outrageous, but later Walter told me that it was equivalent to 58 cents. I am seriously amused at myself over this.

I should mention that the highlight of the walk home was that as we walked past the golf course, there were some golfers sitting at a table next to coolers of beer and sodas. They stopped me and asked if we'd like drinks, so Owen got to try his first soda ever (an orange soda) and I got a Castle beer. Castle beer is The National Beer of South Africa, as it says on the label. I'm hooked. So, we finished our walks with soda and beer in hand and sat on the deck at home and consumed our treats. I like this place.

Getting to Nelspruit

Our African Adventure story begins, of course, with the first flight, which took us directly from Dulles, DC to Johannesburg, South Africa. Obviously this is an excessively long flight. But, to kill the pain, the booze is free. I tapped into this method of pain relief. Owen handled the flight very well, drawing and coloring, watching movies, and eating. As usual on our travels, I was told by several people that I am very lucky for having such a well behaved and quiet boy. I do appreciate this fact very much, though usually there is a spell of roughly a half hour every time where I am not convinced of this fact. But, realistically, this is a really small percentage of a 17-plus hour trip, given that Owen is only 4 years old, and has just dealt with an excessively long road trip, so I should really just quit my inappropriate whining. Things could always be worse (and as I frequently say, this is the greatest form of beauty in the world: the fact that things could always be worse).

I realized during the course of this flight, the potential dangers of traveling internationally as a single parent with a young child. At some point during the flight, I had some sort of an attack that included dizziness, nausea, heart palpatations, sweating, and the general feeling like I was near passing out. Owen was asleep at this point, but as I tried to focus on breathing as settling my racing heart, all I could think about, other than trying to control my heart, was that I had no idea what would happen to Owen if something happened to me. That is a very scary thought. At least on this trip, we have "family" where we were headed, but it is something that I will be very mindful of in the future. I did manage to sleep through the attack and it went away, so I think in some way, it was just a message from the gods to remind me to be very careful.

When we got to Johannesburg, I also realized, for the first of many times to come, how completely ill-prepared I was for this trip. I had no idea what I had to do when I got there and different airline employees kept giving me different information. Plus, the flight was late and the connection to Nelspruit was tight anyway, so what this meant was that I had roughly 30 minutes to get my luggage, go through customs, go through security, and find the flight gate. And the Johannesburg airport is huge and confusing, and I had to navigate all of this while dragging a sleepy 4-year old around. We managed all this, just barely, thanks in no small part to South Africa's excessively lax customs and security. And as I proudly ran up to the gate, just barely on-time, and showed our boarding passes, we were then informed that the flight was late and would board in 20 minutes. Oh irony, you appear in my life yet again. But, this gave us time to change out of our winter clothes into more summer appropriate clothing. So, thanks South African Airways for your late departure, but it would have been nicer if I hadn't managed to work up such a sweat in getting to that point.

Arriving in Nelspruit, was, of course, wonderful, mainly because Walter was there waiting for us. And he, of course, had plenty of alcohol waiting at his home. It is so good to see him again!

Washington DC

After an all too brief settling in at our new home in Blacksburg, Owen and I drove up to DC to visit with my little sister, Alyssa, before flying out to South Africa. We enjoyed the short visit there, so I think it is worth some mention. Alyssa lives near Dupont Circle, in the middle of the gay part of the city. It's a great neighborhood to walk around, because it is full of "eye candy." The streets are full of beautiful men. Who doesn't enjoy great scenery?

Owen got to experience several jaunts on the Metro and has learned all about walking around cities and how to read the crossing lights. Experience is always good. We walked through the National Zoo, though it was slightly cold and there were nearly no animals out, except for the red pandas. Red pandas are exceptionally cute, so we have about 40 pictures of them...and nothing else. But, still, walking is always nice. Alyssa and PJ (Paul) took us out to a great Ethiopian restaurant for dinner. All that really needs to be said about that is "YUM!!!!" And Harar is a good beer. Sushi will have to happen on the return visit. And more Ethiopian.

The next morning we had breakfast at Ben's Chili Bowl. Again, YUM! Ben's Chili Bowl is a great little restaurant, and we have now joined the ranks of all the famous people who have enjoyed the food there, including Barack Obama and Bill Cosby. The atmosphere of the place is fantastic too, and I enjoyed the cultural experience of being the only white people in the joint that morning. It's good for Owen to experience that too. I apparently found myself a new boyfriend while there. Actually, I had no idea what he was talking about most of the time, but, it's in my nature to smile and nod, so I now have the guy's phone number and I think he was offering to pick me up sometime and make cheesecake for me. Well, there's a weak spot for me, because, well, I LOVE cheesecake. However, I'll just add that to the list of phone numbers I'll never actually call. Still, the guy put some money in the juke box there and let me help him pick a great selection of music - Jackson 5, Sam Cook, and Bob Marley - so it was fun. I can't wait to go back to Ben's when we return to DC! We also enjoyed walks through the Air and Space Museum and the Museum of Natural History before we headed back to Alyssa's place to get ready for the long, long flight.

HOME??

And then, enter…Virginia!!! Owen and I hooted and hollered and high-fived…the end of the journey! Owen, being an enlightened little 4-year old, knew full well that the journey was an epic one and he is proud to have made it. I am proud that he has gotten to experience it and hope that it will forever leave something of a badge of courage and a mark of experience on him. He was an absolutely amazing companion.

We stopped and bought produce at the little gas station at Newport, Virginia, on the corner of Route 460 and Route 42 (which winds out to the little area known, by virtue of its little general store, as the community of Sinking Creek, and is the place where I made my home on that 300+ acre farm for four years). The produce is cheap, fresh, and everyday sits outside under the awnings of the little market. Owen picked some peppers and cucumbers, and I bought a bag of those wonderful little Stayman apples that I have been longing for over the years.

The new home is little, old house with a grape arbor and a huge field. It is a good little house.

Though I joke, every place (aside from a handful of cities) between Fairbanks, Alaska, and Blacksburg, Virginia and a few side-journeys, holds its own sense of beauty, every part of it wonderful and special in its own right. The journey leads me to one final thought of self discovery…I am a wanderer.

Almost South

Kentucky has its own beauty. It is full of rolling hills and horse farms. The scenery is beautiful. However, I was painfully reminded of the reasons that I am not all too crazy about Kentucky, when, overtired and desperate, I stopped at the Super 8 of Dry Ridge, Kentucky. First off, the place was dingy and it was one of those hotels where everything smells like smoke. Secondly, when I inquired about taking pets into the room, the conversation with the woman at the desk became unpleasant, to say the least. I was not at all in the mood to be criticized for the number and size of the dogs that I was traveling with. At this point, I had already been thousands of miles with them and only hundreds from the end of the journey, and I responded with, something along the lines of “well, I suppose I should have shot one of them before I left…” I’m not usually that rude to total strangers, but it’s something that only a Kentuckian can bring out. I thought of adding, “Well, no one in Canada said anything about it,” but I bit my tongue on that one. I did, however, appreciate the reappearance of the Southern politeness, listening to a young man who was checking in before me, as he used “m’am” at the end of every sentence. I had at some point, taught Owen to refer to adults as “sir” and “m’am,” but then realized that since he was not growing up in the south where this was custom, it would probably have the effect of making him seem a little weird to his peers. And since weirdness is already a strong genetic trait in this family, I really feel like I should do my best to not add more to it and force him into a life of suffering. I’ve already doomed him by teaching him to use a pipet and play diffusion experiment. There are limits.

The next morning, as I left the hotel, the same woman checked me out and said “well, I hope things work out for you,” in a sort of pitying tone. Why this woman thought I needed pity, I am not sure. Well, I am, because I am sure she felt sorry for me as I was obviously moving 4000+ miles as a single mother with a car full of dogs. I know that it stems from the pervasive undercurrent of chauvinism that exists in the south, but it again reminded me that I should make sure that I don’t wear out my southern welcome, so to speak. I responded brightly to that comment, with “well, of course they will!” She gave me a bewildered look. I am sure she had no idea what to make of me.

At a coffee stand that morning, I was also told by the women who worked there, that “well, we just love your Sarah!” I thought she meant my friend Sarah, who had just made the journey with me, and was about to respond “well, of course, she’s awesome…,” but then I realized which Sarah they meant and forced my smile and my southern politeness that followed. “Oh, well, I’ll make sure to tell her about her fans in Kentucky when I see her next…”

The journey through West Virginia brought back plenty of good memories. I passed Hurricane, West Virginia (pronounced hurr-i-cun), where my friend Vickie grew up. I took a picture of the Hurricane exit in honor of her. And then, I also noticed, the appearance of the end-all-be-all of great breakfast places…YES….Tudor’s Biscuit World!!!! I have sweet, sweet memories of many breakfasts at Tudors before many, many New River and Gauley River whitewater rafting adventures. I even detoured the 5 minutes or so off the highway just to take a picture of the Tudor’s at Beckley, West Virginia. Now, at this point, there was some feeling of home coming back. And West Virginia, in stark contrast to so much of this journey, is NOTHING but topography. Steep river gorges and nothing anywhere that is at all flat. And absolutely non-existent cell phone coverage. So, some sense of space and freedom returns with that realization.

The Heartland

The Midwest is the Land of the Kum and Go. The name, Kum and Go, aside from its blatant sexual innuendo, which we, of course, find amusing, strikes a nerve with both Sarah and I. Neither of us are fans of “cute” misspellings for names of places. I don’t know, I just don’t think that “kwik marts” or the like are cute. But, beyond the cute misspellings, is the fact that, in the Kum and Go, the smallest size soft drink comes (or kums) in a 32-oz “kup,” which is, by no means small, and seems symbolic of one of America’s main failings. But, once we entered Kum and Go country, the “kum” jokes and the “kum kup” jokes were a near constant point of conversation and joking, to the point of actually making ourselves feel fairly uncomfortable. I shall spare the readers the details on the results of the ensuing calculations. Needless to say, put a mathematician and an engineer with perverted senses of humor together on a road trip, and things can take a turn rather easily into areas which should never be tread. We were, by the end of the trip, rather disgusted that the remaining “theme” of the road trip seemed to center itself on the topic of the Kum and Go.

But, as for the cleaner things, Minnesota and Iowa’s landscapes are beautiful. They are full of beautiful idyllic snow-covered farms that resonate with the soul and seem to stand as the image of the reason this part of the country is known as the Heartland. From Iowa, we went on to travel through Illinois and Indiana. We said goodbye to Sarah at Indianapolis, where she caught a flight back to New York. It was sad to see her go. Friends who will make a journey such as this one are special beyond words.

There were two main highlights of Illinois. One is the visitor’s center at Random Town, Illinois, which in this case, is Galesburg, Illinois. We stopped for a bathroom at the Galesburg, Illinois Visitor’s Center, which is contains exhibits dedicated to two of our nation’s presidents: Lincoln and Reagan. But, this was the best stop ever for a bathroom, because at the visitor’s center, the woman there gave us free coffee, Galesburg Illinois tote bags, and crayons and a Galesburg Illinois coloring book for Owen. The woman working at the center was extremely friendly and chatty. And, I learned from her, that back in her day, growing up in the Adirondacks, that she grew up calling, what the lower-48ers call a “snowmobile,” a “snowmachine,” which gave some sense of history to the Alaskan’s use of the latter term. For this friendliness, we felt somewhat obligated to purchase $8.50-worth of Galesburg, Illinois souvenirs, which included 2 sunglass cases that were actually needed, a tile magnet for Owen because of course with the accumulation of a 4-yr old’s refrigerator artwork, one can never have too many magnets, some postcards of a fire and train museum, and a Ronald Reagan coloring book, for Sarah’s mother, who is, by the way, a democrat.

The second main highlight of Illinois is something of a tradition from several road trips over the years to various destinations that passed through the same stretches of highway. It is the rituals involved in passing the town of Normal, Illinois. It is absolutely essential, when passing by Normal, Illinois, to loudly proclaim such things as “Well, that’s as close as I’m ever going to get to that!” or “Good thing we didn’t try to stop, because they’d take one look at us and never let us in!” It is probably important to note, that I have never made a road trip with any companion who has ever considered themselves to be even remotely “normal.”

Indiana and Ohio were where I first became really, really aware of the changing density of vehicles. In these places, there was a constant, steady stream of cars. To an Alaskan, this constitutes “traffic” and made me suddenly aware of the vast spaces, solitude, and freedoms that I have resigned myself to giving up for the next few years. It is actually not a very good feeling. The changes happened gradually and really creeped themselves in, from the vast stretches of the Alaska Highway, where hours would pass without seeing another vehicle on the road, to the appearance of a vehicle on the order of minutes in North Dakota, to the constant streams of vehicles in the southern places. Ironically, it is hard to believe sometimes that I spent a few summers commuting to jobs on the New Jersey Turnpike to such fabulous and exciting destinations as Port Newark, The World Trade Center, and the gem of them all, the Howland Hook Marine Terminal of Staten Island. As I said, Irony is a constant theme in my life.

Iowa and Beyond

We spent a night in Des Moines, Iowa, at Shirley's boyfriend, Shane's house. It is a nice house, and he is a good person. He hunts, fishes, gardens, and cans. Owen enjoyed chatting with him, as obviously, they share some common interests, since those are also some of Owen's favorite pasttimes. Shane sent us off with some venison jerky and a quart of his homemade, homegrown salsa. It makes me feel like home, and a little less sad about all the homecanned foods I had to leave behind in Alaska.

Iowa City is only a two hour drive from Des Moines, so we essentially had the next day off the road. Iowa City is an absolutely charming small city. Mike and his family live in the beautiful, historic section of town. Their house is gorgeous. Mike and his significant other, Cornelia, have two children, Amelia, who is Owen's age, and Kaehleb, who is 8 years old. Mike has remained in my memory for years, as one of the nicest people I have ever known, and a visit with him completely reconfirmed this memory. He has not changed from that memory and to add to it, Cornelia seems a perfect partner, as she is equally as nice. Owen and Amelia, both Montessori kids, were instant friends. It was a necessary, happy break for Owen, who is a very social kid, to have a friend to play with again. Their family story is one worth mentioning (and I hope that Mike will not mind my sharing it), because I felt like my heart was overwhelmed by the story of the resilience and strength of a family. Kaehleb, is Mike's sister's son, and is the youngest survivor of the September 11th attacks, during which time, Mike's sister worked at the Pentagon. He was 6 months old at that time. Mike and Cornelia took him in once they became settled in their home there. He said that it was a decision that the entire family supported. It is a good story, and I believe is a happy ending to a terrible tragedy. I am proud to know Mike and Cornelia, and I am proud of their decision, and I wish them all them all the best in this world. The sweetest moment of the trip was watching the three children snuggled together under blankets on the couch, Kaehleb in the middle reading a book to Amelia and Owen. They are all beautiful children.

Is any trip really great without a massive puking attack?

Ironically, after eating what was probably the healthiest, actual dinner of the road trip so far, I spent all of last night vomiting it and any bit of liquid I tried to keep down back out. It is as if the Gods of the Road are controling my fate and dictating that it is completely, simply not right to eat several whole fresh vegetables and fruits while on the road. And so, they struck back at me for my disregard of the rules. And now, I've gone an entire day without coffee to add to the insult.

However, that said, we did finally manage to find the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. It is as entirely disappointing and sad as one would imagine. First off, despite the city boasting the Walk of Fame as one of it's important visitor attractions, they do not actually invest the time or effort involved in keeping the famed walk free of snow and ice. And so, we spent our time uncovering the famous names that we could, but never did find the most celebrated Man of the City's handprints. Indeed, we were fairly convinced that Jesse Ventura's block was buried under several inches of ice. So, we took our pictures next to the ice block that we imagined overlayed dear Jesse's handprint on the sidewalk. I will note however, that I was happy to discover Stevie Ray Vaughan's handprint on the walk, and had my picture taken next to that one, as an true fan of the man.

So, aside from another vomiting on the side of the highway episode, the trip from Fargo to Des Moines, Iowa was rather uneventful. We are staying here in Des Moines tonight with my Aunt Shirley, and tomorrow, we will trek over to Iowa City to visit my friend Mike Fallon and his family. Anyone who knows Mike Fallon is extremely jealous right now, I am sure.

I am thoroughly happy to be in Iowa. Iowa has a feeling of home to me, despite the fact that I've never lived here. And despite the fact that I would never settle down here (or so I think, but I've learned enough in my life of irony to never really hold to statements of never). And that feeling seems to grow as time goes by. I suppose it is the family connection, because both of my parents were born and raised in this state: my mom in Cedar Falls and my dad on the family farm in Waverly. I love looking at the fields of corn in the summers. I love the way a summer ligthning storm can decorate the expansive wide open sky here. And I love the feeling of contentment that comes from seeing family. Iowa is good!

Borrowed Time

I am feeling resentful of my lost hours. I feel 3 hours older, and will be 4 hours older by the end of this trip. Theoretically, I've been living the last eight or so years on borrowed time, as I was 4 hours younger for all those years. But, going in reverse seems harsh. Maybe because I'm just really, really tired today. But, when I make my way back to Alaska, I think I should stay for good, and keep my four less hours.

Fargo has been good. Yes, the accents are really funny. Sarah, a fifth generation New Yorker, is frustrated by the slow pace of life here, but I don't really notice...well, not too much anyway, but I'm horrible with time anyway. I've chatted with some nice people here today. And the alcohol is cheap. Really, really cheap, thanks to Happy Harry's Bottle Shop. The children's museum was nothing spectacular, but Owen made some "new friends" and was happy running loose for hours. Supposedly, there's a swimming pool and hot tub in this apartment complex that we're staying in...so, sometime tonight, I'll get myself into gear and search the SkyBox 18 for a suit. Tomorrow, we'll explore a little more of Fargo, most importantly the Celebrity Walk of Fame, that we didn't make it to yet today. Then, we'll hit the road for Destination Des Moines, where we'll be staying with my Aunt Shirley!

Border Crossings and North Dakota

I am still in the northern plains. This is my first time traveling through these parts in the winter. I am impressed. Part of this stems simply from my love of the open road, knowing that something unexpected always lies ahead, and that no matter how well or not well a trip may be planned, something always goes differently than anticipated. The other part of this is that the extent of openness in the prairies is just phenomenal and the emptyness interspersed with an occasional farm gives a feeling of time standing still.

We started the day in Regina, Saskatchewan, drove to the border and then Sarah caught a ride with a fellow curler to the curling tournament in Fargo. We thought it better for her to ride with someone who could get her there on time, rather than trying to push the travel time with Owen and the dogs. It’s been wonderful having Sarah along, and especially helpful having the extra hands because I seriously don’t have enough hands for the four dependants that I am traveling with otherwise. As I say often, I am blessed in life with some amazing friends. However, still, it’s nice to experience a little “alone” time for half of a day. So, I guzzled coffee, cranked my tunes, sang along loudly, and found my own rhythm of the road for the day. But, this time, for the first time in my road trip experiences, my rhythm also included several rousing games of “I spy.”

I had intended, when I first started planning this trip, to title my description of my travels through North Dakota, “The Redemption of North Dakota.” But then, Michael wrote about the “Redemption of Houston,” and “stole” my imaginary title. Funny. But, I think it is appropriate anyway. I have been to Houston, and I definitely agree that it needs the redemption far more than North Dakota.

The winds blow constantly here, and after years of Fairbanks’ windless climate, it feels harsh. But, in the vast, empty stretches of road and in the warmth of the car, it brings something almost magical. The sun shines brightly, reflecting off the snow and adding to the brightness, in the clear blue skies, but the road is shrouded in the swirling mist of the constantly blown snow. It adds a mystical quality to the drive, the way it feels when taking a walk on a foggy day. Then, all hell breaks lose and the comforting feelings are swept away as soon as you open a door.

Each day of this trip, I am waiting in dread for the expected road-weary melt down of either the child or one or all of the dogs. So far, it hasn’t happened. Owen is a complete gem, happily entertaining himself for the most part in his own little world in the back of the car and the dogs seem content to just be warm and sleep in the back. I almost forget that they are there, except that Thunder occasionally feels the need to pop his head up and lurk over Owen. But, Owen seems to enjoy the bonding time, so all is good.

So, we made it to Fargo in time to “watch” some curling, or rather, for me at least, pass out in exhaustion on some seats at the curling club. Owen, when we got there, commented that, “Mommy, I thought that a curling club was a place where you go to get your hair curled, but it isn’t. I already have curly hair anyway, so I don’t need that.” Perceptive, isn’t he?

So, this morning, we are in Fargo, about to hit the town, in search of the following: a place for an oil change, the children’s museum, the dog park, Happy Harry’s Bottle Shop (a great name for a liquor store), and the Fargo Celebrity Walk of Fame. Fun for all!!!

Day Number Whatever – because I’m in road trip mode and have lost track of time, or what limited concept I had of it to begin with anyway: Travels in Canada

Canadian grocery stores have fantastic names. There’s “The Real Canadian Superstore” of Whitehorse, the “Overwaitee” of Fort Nelson, and the “Extra Foods” of Dawson Creek. Overrwaitee is just a ridiculously wrong name for a grocery store. And as for Extra Foods – what the hell does that mean?! Do you need to buy more than you need? Or is it extra stuff that they had lying around that they want you to purchase even though you don’t need it?

We are driving mostly in Alberta today. I like Alberta. But, it is sort of an ironic beauty. Irony, of course, is a central theme in my life anyway, so I like it here. It’s logging/agricultural/oil/etc region. Basically, natural resources. And rather flat. And though we crack jokes at the flatness, such as sign that pointed off to the left of the highway marking “Saskatoon Mountain” where nothing more than a hill rose as far as I could tell, or the excitement at cresting the summit of “Hilltop Road,” these jokes are made with a bit of restraint. We know what comes next. Alberta’s flat land is nothing in comparison to that place that lies ahead.

Grand Prairie is a town that, if it could magically disappear somehow off the face of the planet, I would jump for joy of never having to go through it again. But, it is a hideous string of box stores, strip malls, traffic lights, and houses that all look identical. It needs to be escaped from as quickly as possible, but, given all the traffic lights, it is not possible to escape quickly enough. Poule Coup looks exactly like the type of town you would picture when you hear that name. The town of Hythe, proudly displays it’s two town slogans: (1) The town where wells flow and (2) The volunteer capital of Alberta. What people are volunteering for there, is beyond me. But, the town has a beautiful, old, blue grain elevator. The town of Beaverlodge boasts it’s main attraction proudly before you enter: “Giant Beaver Attraction.” We of course, took pictures, of both the sign and the giant beaver attraction.

Moose crossing road signs are not standardized from province to province in Canada, nor within a province. One type looks something like the silhouette of a dog with moose antlers. Another, we have dubbed “The Thanksgiving Moose” or “Barbie Moose.” He is very top-heavy and has ridiculously thin, nearly nonexistent legs that could not possibly support his massively disproportionate upper body. Owen will be incredibly sad to realize that he will no longer be living in moose country, which is a bit of a heartbreaker. They are, of course, along with rainbow trout, his favorite animals. Because both are “so beautiful” as well as “really yummy.” I sometimes wonder how I managed to give birth to such an angel.

Tonight we head to Calgary to visit with Jaspreet, who was my first and closest friend when I first moved to Fairbanks.

We just passed a sign that said “Important Intersection Ahead.” Whew…good to know. I don’t know what makes it important – historic event? Home of a government official? Parade? But they say it is, so there you go.

To get to Calgary, we have to go through Edmonton. Which is yet another place that I wouldn’t mind somehow wiping off the map. I’ll let you know how it goes. We may gry some farm roads around Edmonton just to not experience that hell again.

Notes From the Flat Lands of Canada:

Edmonton was successfully navigated by Sarah’s discovery of a bypass, just to spite Edmonton by not going through it, due to our shared feelings on the topic of Edmonton. I enjoyed seeing Jaspreet. She is a great person and a good friend, though our stays in Fairbanks only overlapped by a few months, now many years ago, I felt a little like time stands still when reuniting with friends. Calgary is a likeable city. Big, by my standards, with a population around 1 million, but it has nice views of mountains, so that alone puts a likeable quality into a city in my book.

We made a fabulous detour today to the Royal Tyrrell Museum. It is an amazing dinosaur museum located in the badlands of Alberta. Owen, of course, thoroughly enjoyed the museum, as did Sarah and I, because, well, let’s face it, who doesn’t love dinosaurs? We also enjoyed a great little nature hike where we got to enjoy some views of the badlands and finally stretch our legs again.

So, driving in eastern Alberta and Saskatchewan, I feel like I need to really speed. And I can’t possibly drive as fast as I feel I need to. I’m not sure if it is because I feel the need to escape the plains or if it just because I am mentally not well adjusted to the concept of how long it takes to reach a point on the horizon, given how far away the horizon is. And driving in the northern prairie puts one, as Sarah expressed it, in “prairie driving mode,” which can’t really be well explained if you have never done it. But it is something like a feeling that is similar to entering a time warp, where all thoughts, feelings, and a general sense of being become sucked into a black hole and are forever lost until the reappearance of topography. It reminds of a Landolfi story, where the real fear is that nothingness exists.

We just made a quick tour of the Village of Piapot. We were looking for a bathroom, and the name just sounded right. But, something felt a little too off. Perhaps if we had actually gone in to the local bar, we would have met some wonderful characters, but it is hard to find the gumption to chat it up with the locals when you have a car full of people and pets who need to pee.

And, on that topic, I have noticed that in this region, the number of Speedometer Check Sections of highway far outnumber, at a ratio of roughly 20 to 1, any form of rest stop or outhouse. In a place where there is no topography or sizeable vegetative forms and one must consume massive doses of coffee to keep awake, this seems a bit unfair. Unless the Canadians are trying to force people to stay awake through severe discomfort. It really seems like they could have saved a little money on the signs and surveying required for the excessive number of Speedometer Checks and put in an occasional outhouse. Really, I’m not asking for much, but it’s kind of hard to explain to passing vehicles that they just need to turn their heads for a moment. It reminds me of doing field work in Barrow, when I was trying to explain to my work companion, who was a Japanese scientist with relatively poor English language skills, “Could you just not look in this direction for a couple of minutes?”

Medicine Hat, by the way, I shall just mention, for the sake of record keeping, is yet another city that caused us to feel like we needed to run away screaming from. Apparently, the shining glory of Medicine Hat is that it is home to the World’s Largest Teepee. It is a metal frame replica of a teepee. I took a picture of it out the rear window as we were driving away from it. It seemed like the perfect setting for such a structure.

It just started snowing. We are in Saskatchewan. I am convinced that Saskatchewan does not want to redeem itself in my regards. (Although, despite all my complaining about it, I actually really do love driving through the plains. It is a good feeling.) And I’ll sign off, as we head off to a night in Regina at the home of one of Sarah’s friends’ parents. It should be nice.

Oh, and I should mention, that there was an embarassing debacle with the car, just outside of Marmie's Den, a restaurant in Hebert. The customers of the restaurant and the general community of Hebert, about half of whom must have been involved in our rescue, are amazingly nice people. Someday, I will go back there. But, at the very least, I intend to look up the address of the restaurant and send a nice thank you postcard from Virginia, addressed to the residents of the community of Hebert, Saskatchewan. Canadians are just ridiculously nice.

The epic road trip story really begins in Fairbanks, Alaska, several days before the road trip began. It starts with the purchase of the SkyBox 18. The 18 means that it is 18 cubic feet in volume. I bought the SkyBox at Beaver Sports. Yes, I know, I hate Beaver Sports for many reasons, but time was limited and it is conveniently close to the university and I knew that they sold the SkyBox, because several of them are on display outside the front door.

So, at Beaver Sports, with Sarah, I was being helped by a saleman there. He showed me the list of SkyBox models and the prices for each. For each size category, there is a SkyBox and a SkyBox Pro. The difference, apparently, is $200 and a “fancy” silver finish. Sarah was particularly confused by this, and kept asking pointed questions, such as “Is the Pro more durable?,” “Wait, I must be missing something…is it more aerodynamics?” “It must have better features, right? Easier to open?...Better latches?...” To each of these questions, the salesman, who happened to understand the ironic humor in this situation, kept patiently responding, “Nope. Just the color.” So, now, anytime I see anyone driving down the road with a fancy silver SkyBox Pro, I will be laughing, because I will now know that they paid an extra $200 for the silver color.

So, the reason that I include this as a monumental event for the start of the road trip, is because I have had a life long dream of making a road trip in a station wagon with a cargo top (or hamburger box, as I called them when I was a kid). I don’t know why I have always felt like this would be the dreamiest way of traveling, but the impression was burned in my memory from childhood, perhaps on one of the long family road trips out west when I was young, I saw some other family in such a set up and was jealously looking out from the back of the 1971 mustard yellow Datsun or the 1973 blue-blue Audi sedan, fighting for space between the back seats with my older sister. So, now, with a SkyBox 18 on the top of my 1999 green Subaru Legacy Outback, I feel like a Kind of the Road…ready to hit the road in the ultimate, vehicle-of-my-drams, road-tripping vehicle. Owen, unlike my childhood dream, does NOT however, have all of the space in the world to play. Some dreams stay unfulfilled, I guess.

Day 1:

Sunday, February 15, started out later than planned, of course. For some reason, saying goodbye to my friends and home, packing, and getting myself together in general, took longer than expected. So, we started from Fairbanks at around 5:30 pm, and headed out for the highway. SkyBox full with winter clothes, camping and survival gear, for just in case, back seat full of toys and food, back of the station full of Spirit, Thunder, and Fire, and front seats full with me and Sarah. The drive, was a drive, and we pushed it late into the night to try to make up for lost time and also because there is really not much open on the Alcan Highway in winter. Well, it’s a long time between stops in summer sometimes anyway, but even less is open in winter.

We crossed the border rather uneventfully, though the maybe-slightly-older than high-school border official was not impressed by our jokes of irony. “Do you have anything to declare?” “Well, our clothes, camping gear, child, road snacks, the dogs.” “Do you have health certificates for the dogs?” “Why yes, I do!” (I proclaimed this very proudly, because the “Pet Passports” folders containing the dog’s certificates from the vet are just ridiculously cute.) “Do you have any firearms?” “No.” “Do you have any pets?” “…do you mean, other than the ones we just showed you the certificates for….?”

So, once in Canadia, our late night driving talks focused around defining the different types of snow and ice that exist on the road. There’s black ice, texturized black ice, snow pack, patchy snow pack, texturized snow pack, …we were up to about 18 categories and counting. I am, by the way, already planning to use this for my excuse for when I get pulled over for speeding in the lower 48. I will explain, “what, speed limit? But…the road is clear, I don’t get it…I thought I was driving at a safe speed.” Sarah drove between Delta and Tok, and successfully avoided hitting the token moose-nearly crossing the road just as the only other car that we’ve seen for hours is about drive past us going the other direction. She also successfully navigated the “Corridor of Death,” a stretch of highway with an uncanny number of upturned hooves. The drive was mostly uneventful, until the stretch after Tok…

At Tok, we switched drivers and it was my turn to drive again. Then, the road became frost heavy, slow, icy, and late. Owen started getting frost-heavy car-sick and vomiting. I drove with constant nervous glances back to see if he was going to be sick again. We had made some plans to stop at one “lodge” that clamed to be open year round, but wasn’t, and were forced to push on for several more hours to Kuane Lake, which WAS opened, but not at 3 am when we rolled in to town. But, at this hotel, after driving around and knocking on several doors of nearby residences, we found an unlocked door to a laundry room, and out of desperation, from being overly-tired and the vomiting child, we started blowing up an air mattress on the floor of the hotel’s laundry room. But, Sarah then went off to find a pee spot and on her way back, found a room with a tv on, and knocked. She did find a hotel employee, or rather, one vague, and rather scary employee who referred her to another door where she could wake up a sleeping, but helpful hotel employee. So, we nonchalantly whisked the air mattress away and slept for the very short night.

Day 2:
We saw elk along the road and had a little side-jaunt into Whitehorse (including a walk to Sarah’s favorite landmark of Whitehorse, the “skyscraper log cabin”), a little shopping trip for supplies at “The Real Canadian Super Store” (as opposed to the fake one?), where we bought snacks with labels in English and French Owen was rested and well, the sun was shining, it wasn’t too cold, and Owen continues to be thrilled at the idea of being in Canada. At one gas station in the Yukon, the store owner gave Owen a bag of chips, because “Canadians are just nice.” We found a decent, but overpriced, but most of all, open, hotel in Watson Lake and spent the night. All was good.

Day 3
The lesson of the day is that one should NOT leave a full, unopened can of diet Coke in the drink holder of the car overnight when the temperature dips down to 20 below (F, even though we’re in Canada). Sometime in the late afternoon, the last the mess thawed off the windshield and visibility was improved. With that and a lot of mopping with a roll of toilet paper “stolen” from the hotel room the night before.

Liard hot springs made a wonderful stopping point, despite the pain involved in getting into and out of the swim. But, yet another sunny day, Owen continues to be an absolute trooper, the dogs are happy, we saw lots of bison and beautiful scenery, and all is good in the world.

As a side note, Canadians tend to display some slightly weird road signs. For example, a “landfill” sign with an arrow pointing into a forested gully (it was actually down the road a little way). My favorite of the day, however, was a yellow diamond sign with a picture of a truck on a triangle. Nothing else. No indication of percent grade, no caution warnings, no “check your brakes,” no…nothing but a sign with a picture of a match-box truck on a triangular-shaped building block.

And I will now sign off and get ready for my next driving shift with my cold mug of coffee that wasn’t good even when it was fresh and a few handfuls of Wasabi almonds, purchased at the Freddie’s back in Fairbanks. This trip has been characterized by excessively strongly flavored foods: such as the dill and sour cream potato chips Sarah bought in Whitehorse that seem to have gotten the flavor of dill and sour cream with excessive vinegar and dill, the Wasabi almonds, and the candied ginger that kept me awake on the late night shift of Day 1 by a ginger flavor so strong that my eyes watered and my throat felt like it was on fire. You can always count on pure discomfort to keep you awake.

We had “dinner” in Fort Nelson at the Backstreet bar, restaurant, and liquor store. The food was good and it was one of the few non-chain restaurants in the town. The town that we almost missed in the course of a sentence, by the way. The restaurant is located, after turning around, before the ball park, according to directions given to us by a local. Of course, this means that you pass the turn, with this manner of giving directions. But, passing it allowed us to pull into the turn for the Fort Nelson Heritage Museum and dump station. Yes, they are both located off the same turn.

Dinner brought out one of life’s important lessons, which is that not all things improve with time. In this category of things are: my marriage and squirrel and dumplings stew. Trust me on this. They absolutely do not improve with time.

I also almost violated my most important rule of driving the Alcan today, which is: Always park your car in the direction you intend to be going. Lesson learned the hard way on my first trip. But, this time, I am, in fact, wiser, and caught myself mid-turn and did a nice 360 before stopping.

Today we also bought the most expensive gas, I hope, of the trip. Because we pulled into a gas station/store that was literally, just in the process of opening for the winter. The gas pump was not quite yet plowed and the man at the store offered to fill the tank for us. But, then, I found out that they were selling the gas at last summer’s prices. But, I figured it is more like a donation to some folks trying to make a go of keeping the store going through the winter than a rip off. Plus, we got to use the bathrooms in their home because the power wasn’t turned on at the public ones yet.