Exactly one year ago today---on October 30th, 2009---we woke up in our rig after spending the night in our friend David's driveway, said goodbye and began a journey whose length and breadth we could not predict. Having sold our house and most of our things, quit our jobs, and made the radical decision to hit the open road in search of intentional community and (excellent) adventure, we left our beloved New England for points unknown.
Not several weeks after our departure, our aforementioned friend David took his own life, and an unplanned return to Massachusetts for his funeral threw a temporary wrench into our travels---and our hearts---as we processed the grief and loss that his passing engendered.
Recovering from David's sudden and unexpected death, we continued our descent down the East Coast, visiting friends, family, and intentional communities whose missions or values spoke to us.
For me, this East Coast sojourn was like a long goodbye after 45 years of living along the Atlantic, and my heart continued to open to the West once we took that right-hand turn in northern Florida. We meandered through Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, and there were BBQ's, communities, serendipitous meetings, Laughter Yoga, camping adventures, and all sorts of events along the way.
It was a wild ride, and I must honestly share that even though we were very road weary and ready for a break once we returned to New Mexico following our visit to the Grand Canyon for Mothers' Day weekend, the transition to a place-based life was indeed difficult for me. After so many miles and so much forward momentum, our screeching halt in Santa Fe---although necessary on many fronts---gave me pause as well as a short-term bout of depression.
Now, after five months living at The Commons on the Alameda Cohousing Community and making the most of life in Santa Fe, I see clearly how we all needed this break, and that living only 90 miles from our beloved son and daughter-in-law is sweet and lovely.
We left Western Massachusetts in search of community, with a deep desire for a sense of belonging and sustainable living. Here at The Commons we have fulfilled that longing, and we have immersed ourselves headlong into the life of the community, making the most of our time. We honestly have no idea how long we will stay at The Commons or in Santa Fe, and while we would like to find our "forever home", I'm not convinced that that concept truly applies to us.
One year ago, we took a giant leap of faith into the void, with eight wheels between us and the road that opened up before and beneath us. That road has treated us well, and even though we're now in one place (for however long it lasts), my "traveler's mind" is active, intact, and still brimming with curiosity. Although I love many things about where we are and who we're with, I still feel like I'm traveling, and those 10,000 miles have not really assuaged my itch to further explore the world around us.
There's no predicting where we'll be in another year, but I have no doubt that it will be rich with community, adventure, beauty, and possibility.
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
July, July, July..........
Having left New England at the end of October in the midst of autumn's waning splendor, we realize that we have now entered the fourth season of our time on the road. Four seasons have delivered us through more than twenty states and over 10,000 miles, and we find ourselves spending the glorious summer (or longer) in the beautiful high desert of northern New Mexico.
Our little casita is still comfortable, and life in community offers what Mary sometimes refers to as a "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" experience. The kids play noisily and happily outside the window (with the occasional errant spray through our open windows from their water guns). Neighbors walk by and say hello as they pass. Other neighbors care for Tina while we take care of business or have fun, and we attend community meals, go for walks, bike around the neighborhood, and continue to get to know various aspects of Santa Fe, be they maddening or wonderful. For me, I am more or less adjusted to life off the road, although I still hunger for adventure, novelty and the excitement of travel.
And while we consider what to do with our rig (which we will most likely sell and replace with a different travel-ready vehicle), we are using a neighbor's van and bicycling whenever we can, avoiding purchasing a vehicle for as long as possible.
Meanwhile, I have begun working as a nurse, caring for an older gentleman injured by years of mining uranium. Injured mine workers are common here in the Southwest, and I am happy to provide care for someone who worked for decades underground without knowing that his health was being compromised in the interest of our collective national desire for cheap energy and dangerous weaponry.
Tomorrow is the day that Mary and I joyously celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary, and we will do so here with old friends who are visiting Sante Fe from Washington, DC. Next week, we'll celebrate our son's 27th birthday with him and his wife, enjoying the happy proximity that allows us to see them both so frequently.
And as we continue to test the waters for longer-term living here in New Mexico, we keep our purchases to a minimum and choose to accumulate little that may weigh us down if we do indeed decide to move on. Keeping it "light enough to travel" is indeed the motto (stolen from a song by The Be Good Tanyas), but even so, we make the most of our time and continue to dive head first into life here in "The City Different".
Our little casita is still comfortable, and life in community offers what Mary sometimes refers to as a "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood" experience. The kids play noisily and happily outside the window (with the occasional errant spray through our open windows from their water guns). Neighbors walk by and say hello as they pass. Other neighbors care for Tina while we take care of business or have fun, and we attend community meals, go for walks, bike around the neighborhood, and continue to get to know various aspects of Santa Fe, be they maddening or wonderful. For me, I am more or less adjusted to life off the road, although I still hunger for adventure, novelty and the excitement of travel.
And while we consider what to do with our rig (which we will most likely sell and replace with a different travel-ready vehicle), we are using a neighbor's van and bicycling whenever we can, avoiding purchasing a vehicle for as long as possible.
Meanwhile, I have begun working as a nurse, caring for an older gentleman injured by years of mining uranium. Injured mine workers are common here in the Southwest, and I am happy to provide care for someone who worked for decades underground without knowing that his health was being compromised in the interest of our collective national desire for cheap energy and dangerous weaponry.
Tomorrow is the day that Mary and I joyously celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary, and we will do so here with old friends who are visiting Sante Fe from Washington, DC. Next week, we'll celebrate our son's 27th birthday with him and his wife, enjoying the happy proximity that allows us to see them both so frequently.
And as we continue to test the waters for longer-term living here in New Mexico, we keep our purchases to a minimum and choose to accumulate little that may weigh us down if we do indeed decide to move on. Keeping it "light enough to travel" is indeed the motto (stolen from a song by The Be Good Tanyas), but even so, we make the most of our time and continue to dive head first into life here in "The City Different".
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Nomadic Communitarians
Our friend Alan at the Sunflower River Community in Albuquerque wrote on Sunflower River's blog that Mary and I are "nomadic communitarians". Alan believes (and has observed) that there is a growing culture of nomadic Americans who are consciously choosing to live itinerant lives apart from the mainstream norm of being rooted in one geographic location. I have read some theories that nomadic lifestyles will actually become more popular---and necessary---over the coming decades as homeownership and the trappings of the so-called "American Dream" become less economically feasible for more and more individuals and families.
As far as American nomads are concerned, there are indeed a variety of subcultures that we have observed:
Retired full-time RV'ers: Of course, there are the many full-time RV'ers---mostly retired couples---who choose to live on the road and have the economic support of pensions, Medicare, Social Security, and a lifetime of investments and savings. They live in campgrounds, often volunteering as hosts at national parks, national monuments and even private campgrounds in exchange for a place to live and park their rig.
Younger full-time RV'ers: Like us, there is a small subculture within the full-time RV population that are younger, not retired, and either living full-time temporarily as they look for a new place to call home, or who are able to earn enough money on the road without settling down in any one place for too long. Younger full-timers also volunteer as campground hosts, or find temporary work in a variety of industries. Some work online and simply don't need or desire a "sticks and bricks" home at all.
WWOOF'ers: Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms (formerly known as Willing Workers on Organic Farms---www.wwoof.org) is a global network of organic farms that provides opportunities for "WWOOF'ers" to live and work in exchange for room, board and an education in sustainable living. Many young people travel the world as WWOOF'ers, and although a majority appear to be college-age young adults taking time off from school or simply WWOOF'ing over summer vacation, there is apparently a growing WWOOF'er subculture of young adults who see it as an economically viable way of life. Exchanging labor for room and board provides not only shelter and food, it also builds community and a sense of connectedness.
Skilled laborers: In some campgrounds---especially urban ones like in El Paso, Texas---we have observed groups of (mostly) men who travel the country in mobile homes to wherever their skills are needed. Many campgrounds charge anywhere from $150 to $300 per month for a "full hookup" (electric, water and sewer), so a skilled laborer who is able to travel in his or her own rolling home can pick up and move to wherever work is most plentiful. I believe that this will become an increasingly popular way of life as the economy declines in various parts of the country. I believe that those who are most skilled and mobile can best capitalize on the changing economic fortunes in varying regions of the country at any given time.
Homeless youth: I also believe that there is a growing population of homeless youth in the United States, youth who for one reason or another are disconnected from family and community, and live on the road in cities and towns across the country. When we lived in New England, we observed this phenomenon in southern Vermont as well as Massachusetts, and it seems that this subculture of young adults has been essentially ignored by the larger society, and very few services exist to support this group which I see as highly vulnerable. Without universal health insurance, affordable housing and affordable college education, many young adults are essentially left out, and some understandably choose to live an itinerant lifestyle, far removed from mainstream culture.
I'm sure that there are groups that I'm overlooking or forgetting at the moment, and I hope that readers will chime in with comments, additions and questions. Like the Roma (the true name of the gypsy culture), there are many Americans who currently choose to live a peripatetic lifestyle for a variety of reasons. Some may feel disaffected from the the larger society and choose to live on the fringes. Some are simply seeking an affordable and mobile way of life, while others may simply be in transition.
For the moment, at least, Mary and I are a part of the itinerant American subculture, and it is fascinating to observe others who are doing the same, often for very disparate reasons. While we are currently feeling drawn to settle down and grow some roots in a place of our choosing (at least for a while), traveling is in our collective and individual blood, and I have no doubt that we will again be on the road eventually. For myself, I have felt like a traveler for the last twenty years---albeit a traveler who was essentially in one place for most of that time. Our current lifestyle is indeed scratching that itch, and I can foresee a time when we will pull up stakes and create a life wherein we can roam the country---or other countries---earning a living either online or along the way.
In the coming years, as the economic fortunes of the country shift and different regions falter or sputter, those of us who are less invested in any particular place will have an easier time weighing anchor and sailing for more prosperous shores.
The brilliant musician Robert Fripp once called himself "an intelligent mobile unit", and he stated that "the future unit of organization is the small, mobile, and intelligent unit where intelligence is defined as the capacity to perceive rightness, mobile the capacity to act on that perception, and small the necessary condition for that action in a contracting world."
In such a "contracting world" (read "economy"), mobile and community-minded individuals and families may stand the greatest chance of success. Sustainable intentional communities are one way in which groups of people are pooling their resources and preparing for economic times when communal living and the sharing of collective energy will be a source of strength and viability.
Our search for community revolves around the notion that living in community is a way to hedge our collective bets and work together to create ways of living that are indeed sustainable and economically feasible. We hope to find a community where we can live with others and share our gifts, either for the long- or short-term. While we are indeed currently nomadic communitarians, the notion of rooting ourselves to a place, a group of people and a piece of land is beginning to feel like the right course of action, and when that place manifests, our lifestyle will necessarily shift away from the nomadic. For now, we nomads will continue our journey and our quest, and the next chapter of our lives waits patiently to manifest itself before our very eyes.
---Keith
As far as American nomads are concerned, there are indeed a variety of subcultures that we have observed:
Retired full-time RV'ers: Of course, there are the many full-time RV'ers---mostly retired couples---who choose to live on the road and have the economic support of pensions, Medicare, Social Security, and a lifetime of investments and savings. They live in campgrounds, often volunteering as hosts at national parks, national monuments and even private campgrounds in exchange for a place to live and park their rig.
Younger full-time RV'ers: Like us, there is a small subculture within the full-time RV population that are younger, not retired, and either living full-time temporarily as they look for a new place to call home, or who are able to earn enough money on the road without settling down in any one place for too long. Younger full-timers also volunteer as campground hosts, or find temporary work in a variety of industries. Some work online and simply don't need or desire a "sticks and bricks" home at all.
WWOOF'ers: Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms (formerly known as Willing Workers on Organic Farms---www.wwoof.org) is a global network of organic farms that provides opportunities for "WWOOF'ers" to live and work in exchange for room, board and an education in sustainable living. Many young people travel the world as WWOOF'ers, and although a majority appear to be college-age young adults taking time off from school or simply WWOOF'ing over summer vacation, there is apparently a growing WWOOF'er subculture of young adults who see it as an economically viable way of life. Exchanging labor for room and board provides not only shelter and food, it also builds community and a sense of connectedness.
Skilled laborers: In some campgrounds---especially urban ones like in El Paso, Texas---we have observed groups of (mostly) men who travel the country in mobile homes to wherever their skills are needed. Many campgrounds charge anywhere from $150 to $300 per month for a "full hookup" (electric, water and sewer), so a skilled laborer who is able to travel in his or her own rolling home can pick up and move to wherever work is most plentiful. I believe that this will become an increasingly popular way of life as the economy declines in various parts of the country. I believe that those who are most skilled and mobile can best capitalize on the changing economic fortunes in varying regions of the country at any given time.
Homeless youth: I also believe that there is a growing population of homeless youth in the United States, youth who for one reason or another are disconnected from family and community, and live on the road in cities and towns across the country. When we lived in New England, we observed this phenomenon in southern Vermont as well as Massachusetts, and it seems that this subculture of young adults has been essentially ignored by the larger society, and very few services exist to support this group which I see as highly vulnerable. Without universal health insurance, affordable housing and affordable college education, many young adults are essentially left out, and some understandably choose to live an itinerant lifestyle, far removed from mainstream culture.
I'm sure that there are groups that I'm overlooking or forgetting at the moment, and I hope that readers will chime in with comments, additions and questions. Like the Roma (the true name of the gypsy culture), there are many Americans who currently choose to live a peripatetic lifestyle for a variety of reasons. Some may feel disaffected from the the larger society and choose to live on the fringes. Some are simply seeking an affordable and mobile way of life, while others may simply be in transition.
For the moment, at least, Mary and I are a part of the itinerant American subculture, and it is fascinating to observe others who are doing the same, often for very disparate reasons. While we are currently feeling drawn to settle down and grow some roots in a place of our choosing (at least for a while), traveling is in our collective and individual blood, and I have no doubt that we will again be on the road eventually. For myself, I have felt like a traveler for the last twenty years---albeit a traveler who was essentially in one place for most of that time. Our current lifestyle is indeed scratching that itch, and I can foresee a time when we will pull up stakes and create a life wherein we can roam the country---or other countries---earning a living either online or along the way.
In the coming years, as the economic fortunes of the country shift and different regions falter or sputter, those of us who are less invested in any particular place will have an easier time weighing anchor and sailing for more prosperous shores.
The brilliant musician Robert Fripp once called himself "an intelligent mobile unit", and he stated that "the future unit of organization is the small, mobile, and intelligent unit where intelligence is defined as the capacity to perceive rightness, mobile the capacity to act on that perception, and small the necessary condition for that action in a contracting world."
In such a "contracting world" (read "economy"), mobile and community-minded individuals and families may stand the greatest chance of success. Sustainable intentional communities are one way in which groups of people are pooling their resources and preparing for economic times when communal living and the sharing of collective energy will be a source of strength and viability.
Our search for community revolves around the notion that living in community is a way to hedge our collective bets and work together to create ways of living that are indeed sustainable and economically feasible. We hope to find a community where we can live with others and share our gifts, either for the long- or short-term. While we are indeed currently nomadic communitarians, the notion of rooting ourselves to a place, a group of people and a piece of land is beginning to feel like the right course of action, and when that place manifests, our lifestyle will necessarily shift away from the nomadic. For now, we nomads will continue our journey and our quest, and the next chapter of our lives waits patiently to manifest itself before our very eyes.
---Keith
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Of Life, Beauty and Gratitude
After four days of life at Pancho Villa State Park and a few quick jaunts across the border into Palomas, Mexico (today being the day for me to have an inexpensive dental cleaning), we finally made a move and headed towards the town of Deming, not more than 35 miles away.
Our leave-taking from Columbus was slow, with a stop at the border for the aforementioned dental appointment, a quick fix to a faulty valve stem on a tire, lunch in town, and an overdue washing of the rig by an enterprising young man who power-washed months of grime from our 6-ton white beast. We also had to stop at City of the Sun one last time to say goodbye to our new friend with whom we share many commonalities and a wonderfully friendly rapport.
The ride to Deming was absolutely lovely, with yellow flowers blooming across the desert floor and the backdrop of the mountains creating a simply stunning setting on either side of the open road.
After a few errands in Deming, we made our way to Rockhound State Park, yet another strikingly beautiful spot surrounded by mountains and dotted by desert flowers and cacti in blossom. People come to Rockhound to collect rocks and gemstones, and every visitor is allowed to take up to fifteen pounds of stones or gems during a visit to the park.
A friendly couple from the Pacific Northwest who had noticed our rig over in Columbus came by to say hello, and I ended up spending several hours talking with them around their campfire this evening. We shared stories of the road and what it was like to divest ourselves of our former lives and take the risk of creating a new itinerant life, untethered (at least temporarily) by the trappings of our previous incarnation as homeowners. Like us, they sold everything and are in search of a new place to call home, and finding another couple in a similar circumstance is both heartening and encouraging. This level of being untethered can be unnerving, and talking to others having a similar experience can help to normalize it to some extent.
With almost six months on the road under our belt, we have hit our stride on some levels, and on another level we find ourselves pining for some sense of rootedness again. That sense of rootedness will certainly manifest at just the right time, and there's no doubt in my mind that, once rooted, we will once again pine for the wonders and uncertainty of the road. It's all a cycle and a continuing adventure, and I can see that our next chapter post-journey will in many ways simply be a continuation of this very same journey upon which we are currently engaged.
Sitting under the stars around a campfire tonight with new friends, I was struck by just how lucky and blessed we are to be here, to be so free, and to have this opportunity that many people would give anything to have for even a few days. It is a privilege to be doing what we are doing, and when I look at those stars, sense the enormity of the mountains around us, and take in the sounds and smells and sights of the land, I feel deep gratitude for being right here, right now. May I never lose sight of my relative privilege, and may I always connect with the sense of awe and gratitude that my freedom engenders. To be amidst such beauty is indeed something for which to be grateful, and I go to sleep this evening feeling that gratitude deep in my heart.
---Keith
Our leave-taking from Columbus was slow, with a stop at the border for the aforementioned dental appointment, a quick fix to a faulty valve stem on a tire, lunch in town, and an overdue washing of the rig by an enterprising young man who power-washed months of grime from our 6-ton white beast. We also had to stop at City of the Sun one last time to say goodbye to our new friend with whom we share many commonalities and a wonderfully friendly rapport.
The ride to Deming was absolutely lovely, with yellow flowers blooming across the desert floor and the backdrop of the mountains creating a simply stunning setting on either side of the open road.
After a few errands in Deming, we made our way to Rockhound State Park, yet another strikingly beautiful spot surrounded by mountains and dotted by desert flowers and cacti in blossom. People come to Rockhound to collect rocks and gemstones, and every visitor is allowed to take up to fifteen pounds of stones or gems during a visit to the park.
A friendly couple from the Pacific Northwest who had noticed our rig over in Columbus came by to say hello, and I ended up spending several hours talking with them around their campfire this evening. We shared stories of the road and what it was like to divest ourselves of our former lives and take the risk of creating a new itinerant life, untethered (at least temporarily) by the trappings of our previous incarnation as homeowners. Like us, they sold everything and are in search of a new place to call home, and finding another couple in a similar circumstance is both heartening and encouraging. This level of being untethered can be unnerving, and talking to others having a similar experience can help to normalize it to some extent.
With almost six months on the road under our belt, we have hit our stride on some levels, and on another level we find ourselves pining for some sense of rootedness again. That sense of rootedness will certainly manifest at just the right time, and there's no doubt in my mind that, once rooted, we will once again pine for the wonders and uncertainty of the road. It's all a cycle and a continuing adventure, and I can see that our next chapter post-journey will in many ways simply be a continuation of this very same journey upon which we are currently engaged.
Sitting under the stars around a campfire tonight with new friends, I was struck by just how lucky and blessed we are to be here, to be so free, and to have this opportunity that many people would give anything to have for even a few days. It is a privilege to be doing what we are doing, and when I look at those stars, sense the enormity of the mountains around us, and take in the sounds and smells and sights of the land, I feel deep gratitude for being right here, right now. May I never lose sight of my relative privilege, and may I always connect with the sense of awe and gratitude that my freedom engenders. To be amidst such beauty is indeed something for which to be grateful, and I go to sleep this evening feeling that gratitude deep in my heart.
---Keith
Friday, February 26, 2010
Travel, Travail, Wandering and Wondering
Continuing to read William Least Heat-Moon's Blue Highways, his assessment of the value of travel and exploration keep hitting home, in spite of---or even because of---the inherent contradictions of his words.
Just this morning, after waking up and meditating for a few minutes as the low clouds greeted the New Mexican morning sun, I read "If a man can keep alert and imaginative, an error is a possibility, a chance at something new; to him, wandering and wondering are part of the same process, and he is most mistaken, most in error, whenever he quits exploring." This passage hits home, reminding me of the fact that our endeavor to eschew our former lives and explore the country in pursuit of a new place to call home is indeed an endeavor of wandering and wondering, and moments of error and miscalculation are also moments when possibilities open which may have otherwise gone unseen.
Interestingly, several pages later Heat-Moon quotes Homer: "Nothing is harder on mortal man than wandering", adding that the English words "travel" and "travail" share a common etymological origin.
Our dear friend Paul Woodward from Connecticut has written a wonderful self-published book entitled "Years Wandering and Wondering", and it seems that it's a common denominator of human existence to look back on one's life, assess the extent of one's errors, miscalculations and successes, and draw conclusions based upon that assessment.
I imagine that, one day in the not too distant future, Mary and I will sit back on the sunlit porch of our new happy abode, reviewing and assessing the circuitous path that led us there. Perhaps from that vantage point of hindsight informed by experience, we'll see where we may have turned left instead of right, where we were misguided, when we were trying too hard, where we were totally tuned in, and when we simply allowed the journey to happen without our attempts to direct its course. How I would love to have a glimpse of that hindsight now---just for a second---but then again, that might ruin the game and rob us of the opportunity to commit even more errors that simply need to happen in order to get us where we truly need to go.
At times, the uncertainty of our journey weigh on me, and I long for that glimpse of what the future holds. At other times, I'm keen to continue wandering and wondering with great curiosity and openness to the future.
Our journey has indeed taken many twists and turns. We've gone off the beaten path quite frequently, exploring corners of America not seen from the relative safety of the interstate. We've been lashed by winds on the Mississippi coast while camped on the ruins of a house destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. We've sloshed through the red mud of Palo Duro Canyon, slept in a hotel parking lot, and relied on the kindness of strangers and friends alike.
Now, we're safe in the home of our son and daughter-in-law on this mesa outside of Taos, and the low-lying morning clouds ride the winds, floating over the distant adobe homes and casting shadows on the fields of sagebrush below.
Today I'll stay home and nurse the cold, cough and sore throat that have taken hold of my respiratory tract at a time when being sick is the last thing I would ever want. In fact, I had a nagging cold for the first nine or ten weeks of our trip, and it's only the last six weeks that I've felt basically healthy (aside from the chronic pain that's simply part and parcel of life in my particular middle-aged body---for now anyway).
Soon enough, alight from Taos towards the south, and perhaps our new home is simply waiting for us to find it. Perhaps a few "wrong" turns and miscalculations will be all that it takes to get us there. If it's true, as Heat-Moon says, that our worst mistake would be to quit exploring, then there's nothing for us to do but to continue on according to plan, and hope that we can remain open and flexible enough to allow the future to happen without too much help from us.
Traveling and travail may have the same etymological origin, but that origin from the Middle Ages may indeed be due to the fact that travel at that time in history was fraught with dangers unknown to the 21st century traveler. Our "wheel estate" has most everything we need, and with ATMs, cell phones, WiFi and credit cards, the sky is truly the limit (or is it our credit limit?)
No matter the travails of travel, it's a wonderful way to "reboot" our lives and begin our third decade of marriage. As the singer Conor Oberst once sang, "there's nothing that the road cannot heal", and it seems clear that the road ahead will offer even more healing, adventure and discovery than we can now imagine. One day, we'll write a final blog post from that sunlit porch and reflect on the road that delivered us there, and it's then that we'll truly know that we've arrived.
---Keith
Our dear friend Paul Woodward from Connecticut has written a wonderful self-published book entitled "Years Wandering and Wondering", and it seems that it's a common denominator of human existence to look back on one's life, assess the extent of one's errors, miscalculations and successes, and draw conclusions based upon that assessment.
I imagine that, one day in the not too distant future, Mary and I will sit back on the sunlit porch of our new happy abode, reviewing and assessing the circuitous path that led us there. Perhaps from that vantage point of hindsight informed by experience, we'll see where we may have turned left instead of right, where we were misguided, when we were trying too hard, where we were totally tuned in, and when we simply allowed the journey to happen without our attempts to direct its course. How I would love to have a glimpse of that hindsight now---just for a second---but then again, that might ruin the game and rob us of the opportunity to commit even more errors that simply need to happen in order to get us where we truly need to go.
At times, the uncertainty of our journey weigh on me, and I long for that glimpse of what the future holds. At other times, I'm keen to continue wandering and wondering with great curiosity and openness to the future.
Our journey has indeed taken many twists and turns. We've gone off the beaten path quite frequently, exploring corners of America not seen from the relative safety of the interstate. We've been lashed by winds on the Mississippi coast while camped on the ruins of a house destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. We've sloshed through the red mud of Palo Duro Canyon, slept in a hotel parking lot, and relied on the kindness of strangers and friends alike.
Now, we're safe in the home of our son and daughter-in-law on this mesa outside of Taos, and the low-lying morning clouds ride the winds, floating over the distant adobe homes and casting shadows on the fields of sagebrush below.
Today I'll stay home and nurse the cold, cough and sore throat that have taken hold of my respiratory tract at a time when being sick is the last thing I would ever want. In fact, I had a nagging cold for the first nine or ten weeks of our trip, and it's only the last six weeks that I've felt basically healthy (aside from the chronic pain that's simply part and parcel of life in my particular middle-aged body---for now anyway).
Soon enough, alight from Taos towards the south, and perhaps our new home is simply waiting for us to find it. Perhaps a few "wrong" turns and miscalculations will be all that it takes to get us there. If it's true, as Heat-Moon says, that our worst mistake would be to quit exploring, then there's nothing for us to do but to continue on according to plan, and hope that we can remain open and flexible enough to allow the future to happen without too much help from us.
Traveling and travail may have the same etymological origin, but that origin from the Middle Ages may indeed be due to the fact that travel at that time in history was fraught with dangers unknown to the 21st century traveler. Our "wheel estate" has most everything we need, and with ATMs, cell phones, WiFi and credit cards, the sky is truly the limit (or is it our credit limit?)
No matter the travails of travel, it's a wonderful way to "reboot" our lives and begin our third decade of marriage. As the singer Conor Oberst once sang, "there's nothing that the road cannot heal", and it seems clear that the road ahead will offer even more healing, adventure and discovery than we can now imagine. One day, we'll write a final blog post from that sunlit porch and reflect on the road that delivered us there, and it's then that we'll truly know that we've arrived.
---Keith
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Pondering Least Heat-Moon
Sitting in the sun during a break from chores at Rainbow Hearth, I begin reading William Least Heat-Moon's Blue Highways, borrowed from the library in the main lodge. Heat-Moon refers to his converted van in which he traveled the back roads of America as his "wheel estate", and I guess it's fitting that we consider adopting that term in reference to our eight-wheeled diesel that both houses and transports us.
In the first chapter of his book, Heat-Moon lists his traveling supplies in Henry David Thoreau-like fashion, and the list is humbling in its simplicity:
If I were to list all of the possessions, tools, equipment, books and items stowed aboard our 29-foot rig, the list would be voluminous---and possibly embarrassing! (Don't get any ideas---there are no wads of cash hidden under the dashboard!) We have certainly downsized considerably from our previous incarnation as homeowners, living in a space most people say they couldn't tolerate for more than a brief vacation. Some say we're really brave (but do they mean foolish?)
Sure, we're traveling with a lot of gear, but we also bear in mind that the presence of that gear allows us an independence and freedom which would be otherwise impossible. The fact that we can park on the side of the road and cook dinner, wash dishes, shower, use the toilet, check our email, post to our blog, make phone calls, check the weather, and take a nap is astounding, and perhaps I personally need to connect with a deeper level of gratitude for the comfort and convenience that our 6-ton monstrosity affords us.
Mechanical repairs have been legion on this journey: axles, tires, suspension, shocks, leaks and other problems. The water heater is acting up, some of the walls are coming loose, an electrical circuit is blown, and a few other stray issues definitely need tending. No matter, though. This is our home---our only home, and it has already taken us more than 3,000 miles, and we've been living in it since the end of August when our house sold precipitously fast. And like Heat-Moon's Ghost Dancing, it's also a TV-free space.
For me, it's honestly a love-hate relationship, and perhaps there's something to learn from Heat-Moon's practical vision of his 1975 half-ton Econoline van named "Ghost Dancing". He says of his wheeled conveyance, "It came equipped with power nothing and drove like what it was: a truck." He eschewed the trappings of luxury: "no crushed velvet upholstery, no wine racks, no built-in television." It was "your basic plumber's model" and he was fine with that.
Fifteen weeks into our trip and I am still in the process of making peace with our truck that doubles as our only home. It grinds, it creaks, it leaks and it bounces. The bathroom and kitchen walls shudder ominously, the appliances occasionally give us grief, and the extra batteries don't charge like they're supposed to.
But it's our home, our magic carpet, and our sanctuary. Without it, we'd be homeless, and with it we're more free than I even realize. It's time to make peace, accept what is, and continue down the road.
---Keith
In the first chapter of his book, Heat-Moon lists his traveling supplies in Henry David Thoreau-like fashion, and the list is humbling in its simplicity:
- Sleeping bag and blanket;
- Coleman cooler (empty but for a can of chopped liver a friend had given me so there would always be something to eat);
- Rubbermaid basin and a plastic gallon jug (the sink);
- Sears Roebuck portable toilet;
- Optimus 8R white gas cookstove (hardly bigger than a can of beans);
- Knapsack of utensils, a pot, a skillet;
- U.S. Navy seabag of clothes;
- Tool kit;
- Satchel of notebooks, pens, road atlas, and a microcassette recorder;
- Nikon F2 35mm cameras and five lenses;
- vade mecums; Whitman's Leaves of Grass and Neihardt's Black Elk Speaks.
If I were to list all of the possessions, tools, equipment, books and items stowed aboard our 29-foot rig, the list would be voluminous---and possibly embarrassing! (Don't get any ideas---there are no wads of cash hidden under the dashboard!) We have certainly downsized considerably from our previous incarnation as homeowners, living in a space most people say they couldn't tolerate for more than a brief vacation. Some say we're really brave (but do they mean foolish?)
Sure, we're traveling with a lot of gear, but we also bear in mind that the presence of that gear allows us an independence and freedom which would be otherwise impossible. The fact that we can park on the side of the road and cook dinner, wash dishes, shower, use the toilet, check our email, post to our blog, make phone calls, check the weather, and take a nap is astounding, and perhaps I personally need to connect with a deeper level of gratitude for the comfort and convenience that our 6-ton monstrosity affords us.
Mechanical repairs have been legion on this journey: axles, tires, suspension, shocks, leaks and other problems. The water heater is acting up, some of the walls are coming loose, an electrical circuit is blown, and a few other stray issues definitely need tending. No matter, though. This is our home---our only home, and it has already taken us more than 3,000 miles, and we've been living in it since the end of August when our house sold precipitously fast. And like Heat-Moon's Ghost Dancing, it's also a TV-free space.
For me, it's honestly a love-hate relationship, and perhaps there's something to learn from Heat-Moon's practical vision of his 1975 half-ton Econoline van named "Ghost Dancing". He says of his wheeled conveyance, "It came equipped with power nothing and drove like what it was: a truck." He eschewed the trappings of luxury: "no crushed velvet upholstery, no wine racks, no built-in television." It was "your basic plumber's model" and he was fine with that.
Fifteen weeks into our trip and I am still in the process of making peace with our truck that doubles as our only home. It grinds, it creaks, it leaks and it bounces. The bathroom and kitchen walls shudder ominously, the appliances occasionally give us grief, and the extra batteries don't charge like they're supposed to.
But it's our home, our magic carpet, and our sanctuary. Without it, we'd be homeless, and with it we're more free than I even realize. It's time to make peace, accept what is, and continue down the road.
---Keith
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