From e5c7d6d71ddabca897073060d720a2e0138bd078 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: lxf Date: Sun, 15 Sep 2024 14:57:06 -0500 Subject: jrnl: added all the published stuff --- jrnl/2022-11-09_halloween-and-the-big-city.txt | 47 ++++++++ jrnl/2022-11-16_november-sun.txt | 29 +++++ jrnl/2022-11-30_galveston-sings.txt | 53 +++++++++ jrnl/2022-12-07_i-like-new-orleans-better.txt | 96 +++++++++++++++++ jrnl/2022-12-21_eight.txt | 63 +++++++++++ jrnl/2022-12-28_christmas-cold.txt | 56 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-01-11_fort-pickens.txt | 47 ++++++++ jrnl/2023-01-18_pensacola-history.txt | 66 ++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-02-22_photo-shoot.txt | 66 ++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-02-8_family.txt | 47 ++++++++ jrnl/2023-03-01_wagoneer.txt | 66 ++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-03-08_renaissance-fair.txt | 55 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-03-15_gone-fishin.txt | 78 ++++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-03-29_st-andrews-state-park.txt | 49 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-04-12_the-lost-coast.txt | 56 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-04-16_water-under-the-bridge.txt | 74 +++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-04-22_before-the-storm.txt | 21 ++++ jrnl/2023-04-26_bus-work-and-baseball.txt | 92 ++++++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-05-02_bus-and-repair-q-a.txt | 25 +++++ jrnl/2023-05-10_goodbye-florida.txt | 43 ++++++++ jrnl/2023-05-18_jeep-brake-repairs.txt | 16 +++ jrnl/2023-05-24_going-up-north.txt | 130 +++++++++++++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-05-31_notes-from-the-road.txt | 14 +++ jrnl/2023-06-14_second-spring.txt | 58 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-06-20_build.txt | 58 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-07-24_little-girls-point.txt | 50 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-08-09_everyday-1984.txt | 48 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-09-06_ready-to-start.txt | 59 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-09-20_stop-breaking-down.txt | 82 ++++++++++++++ jrnl/2023-09-27_copper-harbor.txt | 62 +++++++++++ jrnl/2023-09-30_drive-my-car.txt | 59 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-04_greenfield-village.txt | 50 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-08_canada.txt | 49 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-09_niagara-fails.txt | 60 +++++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-11_fort-klock.txt | 57 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-16_baseball-diamonds.txt | 64 +++++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-18_farm-life.txt | 49 +++++++++ jrnl/2023-10-25_shoreline.txt | 41 +++++++ jrnl/2023-11-01_history.txt | 54 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-11-08_halloween-in-the-outer-banks.txt | 44 ++++++++ jrnl/2023-11-29_dunes.txt | 56 ++++++++++ jrnl/2023-12-06_repair-fail.txt | 64 +++++++++++ jrnl/2023-12-20_winter-storm.txt | 56 ++++++++++ jrnl/2024-01-03_low.txt | 33 ++++++ jrnl/2024-01-17_fortified.txt | 77 ++++++++++++++ jrnl/2024-01-31_microcosm.txt | 60 +++++++++++ jrnl/2024-02-21_fly-navy.txt | 51 +++++++++ jrnl/2024-03-20_mobile-bay.txt | 36 +++++++ jrnl/2024-03-27_illinois-cliffs.txt | 65 ++++++++++++ 49 files changed, 2731 insertions(+) create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-11-09_halloween-and-the-big-city.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-11-16_november-sun.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-11-30_galveston-sings.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-12-07_i-like-new-orleans-better.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-12-21_eight.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2022-12-28_christmas-cold.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-01-11_fort-pickens.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-01-18_pensacola-history.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-02-22_photo-shoot.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-02-8_family.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-03-01_wagoneer.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-03-08_renaissance-fair.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-03-15_gone-fishin.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-03-29_st-andrews-state-park.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-04-12_the-lost-coast.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-04-16_water-under-the-bridge.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-04-22_before-the-storm.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-04-26_bus-work-and-baseball.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-05-02_bus-and-repair-q-a.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-05-10_goodbye-florida.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-05-18_jeep-brake-repairs.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-05-24_going-up-north.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-05-31_notes-from-the-road.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-06-14_second-spring.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-06-20_build.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-07-24_little-girls-point.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-08-09_everyday-1984.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-09-06_ready-to-start.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-09-20_stop-breaking-down.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-09-27_copper-harbor.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-09-30_drive-my-car.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-04_greenfield-village.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-08_canada.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-09_niagara-fails.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-11_fort-klock.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-16_baseball-diamonds.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-18_farm-life.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-10-25_shoreline.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-11-01_history.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-11-08_halloween-in-the-outer-banks.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-11-29_dunes.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-12-06_repair-fail.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2023-12-20_winter-storm.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-01-03_low.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-01-17_fortified.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-01-31_microcosm.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-02-21_fly-navy.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-03-20_mobile-bay.txt create mode 100644 jrnl/2024-03-27_illinois-cliffs.txt diff --git a/jrnl/2022-11-09_halloween-and-the-big-city.txt b/jrnl/2022-11-09_halloween-and-the-big-city.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..03a8972 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-11-09_halloween-and-the-big-city.txt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ +--- +title: Halloween and the Big City +url: /jrnl/2022/11/halloween-and-the-big-city +location: Plano, Texas +--- + + After a few days relaxing, and catching our breath, so to speak, out at Lake Arrowhead, we headed into Dallas to visit family. Seems like a simple thing, drive 100 miles or so. I'm at the dump station adjusting the idle on the carburetor because it was running a little high. I do this in drive because if I pull the idle screw out too much I stall at lights. I get it where I want it, then I reach over and move the shifter into park. The shifter goes into park, but the transmission definitely does not. Sigh. + +I shut it off, chock the wheels so it won't go anywhere and finish dumping. I need to get out of the dump station in case someone else comes along to use it, but I'm in gear, so I can't just start the engine. I jump the relay with a screwdriver to get it going and limp over to an empty campsite. Take a deep breath, get to work. Everyone stood around and watched as I unscrewed the shifter from the dash. + +Once I got it off the dash I could see what had happened. The cable runs from the shifter to the transmission inside a sleeve, the sleeve clamps into the back of the shifter. A piece of metal had broken and the sleeve had slipped out so that when you moved the shifter, everything moved. All we needed to do was get the sleeve to stay in place again. The kids started offering ideas on how to hack it back together to get to Dallas. It was Halloween and they wanted to trick or treat with their Aunt and Uncle. If they had to figure out how to get the bus running again, then so be it. + +After playing around with it for a bit, I found that if I held it in place with one hand, I could shift with other. Not ideal, but it would get us down the road to Halloween so that's what we did. It's an automatic, so it's not like I shift much. We made it into town without incident. I shut off the engine and we got down to the important stuff, visiting with family, and of course, carving pumpkins. + + + +This wasn't arbitrary carving either, there was a plan and then they went out and executed that plan. + + + + + +The area Corrinne's sister lives in does Halloween at a level we had never really experienced before. Decorations all over the place, crowded streets. I went in the house below and can honestly say it was better decorated than any amusement park I have ever been in. At one point later in the night it was so crowded the kids had to get in line at each house just to get to the door to say tick or treat. It was fun, but that was about when we called it a night. + + + + +"Can we do one with less drama?" + + + +After Halloween I got busy figuring out how to fix the shift cable. It had obviously been welded once already. What broke was a piece of metal someone else had bent over and drilled out many years before. Redoing that would have been the way to go, but I didn't have access to a welder. I ended up cutting a piece of aluminum and screwing it in on both sides. So far, so good. When we stop later this year to pull out and rebuild the engine and transmission I'll probably weld up something more secure. + +We spent the week hanging out with family and visiting some friends, lots of swimming too. Somehow there always seemed to be a dog or cat around for the kids to play with, which was nice. I think this is the hardest trade off for them about living the way we do, they'd really like to have a dog. At least they get to visit with plenty dogs. + + + +
+ + + + +
+ +After a week in the city, we said our goodbyes and headed south, bound for beaches and warmer weather. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2022-11-16_november-sun.txt b/jrnl/2022-11-16_november-sun.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..15f2193 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-11-16_november-sun.txt @@ -0,0 +1,29 @@ +--- +title: November Sun +url: /jrnl/2022/11/november-sun +location: Goose Island State Park, Texas +--- + + We had an uneventful drive down from Dallas. We took it easy, making leisurely lunch stops in small towns along way. In the end it took two days, we stopped off in the middle at a place called Lake Somerville State Park. + + + + +It was somewhat warmer that first night out of Dallas, but the real heat started the next day. By the time we rolled into the low country around Corpus Christi it was hot and humid. I was ready to dive into the ocean and cool off. + +We rolled into Goose Island State Park in the midst of a November heat wave. Goose Island is actually on the bay side of Port Aransas, which dashed my hopes of a quick dip, but it was the only place we could get a campsite on short notice. The actual Gulf beaches were a 20 minute drive, with a quick ferry ride, away. There's nothing quite like a warm November day at the beach to make you feel like you're doing something right. Even the water temps were still in the 70s. + + + + +Unfortunately, shortly after we arrived the girls came down with a bit of a cold, and then Corrinne got sick too. To get the kids out of the bus a little (being sick in the bus is a crowded, unhappy experience), in the evenings I'd take them over to a place near the campground called The Big Tree. + +It was a bit like [the octopus tree in Huntington Beach](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/01/huntington-beach-birds), but the kids said the trees here were even better for climbing. The namesake tree was fenced off, but there were several others around that were fair game. We'd go over in the evenings for an hour or so, watch the sunset through the trees, and then walk over to watch the moon rise over the bay, before heading home to make dinner. + + + + + + + +It's always funny to me how we fall into these little routines even on the road. Do the same thing three or four days in a row and it starts to feel like what you've always done. But weather like this, and sunsets like that, are a routine I'd never argue against. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2022-11-30_galveston-sings.txt b/jrnl/2022-11-30_galveston-sings.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74e5703 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-11-30_galveston-sings.txt @@ -0,0 +1,53 @@ +--- +title: Galveston Sings +url: /jrnl/2022/11/galveston-sings +location: Galveston Island State Park, Texas +--- + + After a couple of sunny days at the beach we headed a little ways south, out to Mustang Island. We had an uneventful drive down and we were looking forward to some more time in the sun. Unfortunately, when we woke up the next morning clouds had rolled in, a steady drizzle was falling, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees. We were forced to put on socks -- always a sign things have gone astray. + + + + +Luckily another family pulled into the site next to us so whenever there was a break in the rain, all the kids would run outside and play together. That helped break up the monotony of rainy days a little. but about three days of rain in, with 8 more days forecasted, we realized our plan to spend Thanksgiving a few miles south on Padre Island wasn't going to work. + +Padre Island National Seashore, where [we've stayed before](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/01/almost-warm), is right on the beach, but there's no electric hookups. We have a 300 amp hour battery, and 550 watts of solar, which is enough power (our needs are small) that we never really think about energy. We can go 4 or 5 days without recharging, but eight days of no sun? Even for us that wasn't going to happen. + + + + +So we decided to head north and check out Galveston. While the weather probably wasn't going to be any better (it wasn't) the state park campground looked better than Mustang Island (it was) and there was more indoor stuff to do -- museums, old ships, and more. + +We had another uneventful drive up the coast. Well, actually, before the drive, the fuel line cracked and was spraying gas everywhere, but I had that fixed in under half an hour, and these days, anything I can fix in under half an hour is uneventful. With some fuel hose patching the line, we were underway again, though a late start did mean we didn't get to Galveston until the sun was setting, which I think is the latest we've ever arrived somewhere. + +While we had power, the weather didn't improve much. There's an episode of the show Portlandia where everyone is [chasing a single beam of sunlight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBUxZdWJ_zE) around the city of Portland. That's a bit what we felt like in Galveston. Every now and then the sun would poke through and everyone would rush out to enjoy it. + + + + +We went to a couple of museums to break up the rainy days in the bus. The Bryant Museum has a ton of exhibits on Texas history, but the big draw for the kids was a diorama depicting the 1836 Battle of San Jacinto, the decisive battle in the Texas revolution. There are more than 1,200 hand-painted soldiers in this scene. + + + + + + +We also went to the Texas Seaport Museum, which is home to the 3-masted bark Elissa, which first set sail in 1877. Unlike most tall ships you can visit, the Elissa still actively sails, though not in winter apparently. We got to walk around it though and see (somewhat) what ships of that era were like. + + + + + +There's a building just adjacent to the ship that serves a museum about the experience of the some 133,000 immigrants who entered the United States through Galveston. I had high hopes for the museum since one side of my family arrived around that time (1910, though through Ellis Island, not Galveston). Unfortunately this was the modern sort of museum, heavily reliant on digital displays, which seem chiefly concerned with collecting your email address. + + + + +It was too bad, because the potential was there to have something really cool, and the kids did learn a few things, but it could have been much better. Even central premise of the experience -- that you would follow a real immigrant across the ocean and learn about their experience -- fell flat because no matter who you followed the outcome at the end was arbitrary. + + +Finally, one day, a few days before we were set to leave, the sun decided to get serious again and there was much happiness. + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2022-12-07_i-like-new-orleans-better.txt b/jrnl/2022-12-07_i-like-new-orleans-better.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1da4b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-12-07_i-like-new-orleans-better.txt @@ -0,0 +1,96 @@ +--- +title: I Like New Orleans Better +url: /jrnl/2022/12/i-like-new-orleans-better +location: New Orleans, Louisiana +--- + + After Galveston we headed north, bound for New Orleans. We broke up the drive with a stop at one of the gates of hell, located in Sea Rim State Park, Texas. Sea Grim as we call it. Do not go there. Ever. For any reason. We had to abandon the bus there that night and retreat to a hotel. The next morning we went back, fired up the bus, and did not stop driving until we were safely over the state line in Louisiana -- successfully [escaping Texas](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/06/escaping-texas) again, but this was definitely our closest call yet. + +We regrouped for a day at a little state park on a small bayou outside Lake Charles, Louisiana. It was good to be back in the bayous, swamp cypress, and most of all, warm humid air. Never thought I'd miss it, but I did. + + + +We met an Australian couple there who have been coming to the US nearly every year since the early 2000s, traveling around in an older RV. It's always humbling to meet someone from somewhere else who knows your country better than you do. We were headed in opposite directions unfortunately, but we were able to save them from Sea Rim at least. I look forward to our paths crossing again one day. + +--- + +The next day we continued on, taking the beat-up, pothole-strewn back roads through the sugar cane fields and flooded rice paddies, past where we once spent Mardi Gras, on down into New Orleans. We arrived a little too late to head into the city that day. We had to stave off our New Orleans cravings with a few crayfish sausages grilled over the fire that night. + + + +The next morning we headed over the river and into the city. + + + +There is something truly remarkable about New Orleans. Long time readers may have noticed that New Orleans is essentially the only city we visit. Chicago? Drove right by as fast as we could. Atlanta? We've been known to detour hundreds of miles to avoid it. We did stop in Columbia, SC, and regretted it. We have been to Milwaukee, but that's to visit friends, not because we love the city. + +No, if we're going into a city it has to be a city that's alive the way a forest is alive, the way a seashore is alive: organically, miraculously, beautifully. Why waste your time on anything else? A good city should evoke the three transcendentals in you when you're in it: goodness, truth, and beauty. The only U.S. city where I have experienced those things every time I go is New Orleans. + +If you were just looking at it on paper, New Orleans probably wouldn't jump out at you. It's insanely touristy. It's rough around the edges. It has a reputation for violence. And yet none of those things seem to affect the city or the people. It's a mystery, but it's not hard to see how living here you might come to think like Ignatius J Reilly when he rather famously says, "Leaving New Orleans frightened me considerably. Outside of the city limits the heart of darkness, the true wasteland begins." + +Picking apart what makes New Orleans great is likely as fruitless as trying to figure out how it got that way. Something about the collision of Afro-Caribbean culture, Acadian culture, French culture -- among others -- created something unlike anywhere else on earth. New Orleans is louder, more vibrant, and more alive than any other city in America and that, I think, is what keeps us coming back. + +Just as we took the girls out for a [birthday around Milwaukee](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/07/hello-milwaukee), we had promised Elliott a day out in New Orleans. It started with an early lunch at a Thai restaurant. + + + +Then we went to the thing the kids have been talking about ever since we where here in 2018: the New Orleans Children's Museum. Alas, a lot can change in four years. It turned out the Children's museum had moved locations and been "modernized". The kids still had fun, though they all agreed the old one was better. The new one offered a few of the same things, but everything was new and clean and looked like it had just come off the Ikea shelf. The old museum had a rather more homemade charm about it. + +This is what passes for progress in modern America though -- taking good things, throwing them away, and replacing them with things that don't work as well and generally suck. In that sense I'm glad the kids are getting a gentle introduction to the future now. + +And maybe I am reading to much into it, but I found it interesting that much of what was missing were what you might call blue collar stuff: the exhibit showcasing what an electrician does, the sample bayou farm, the signage about lap boarding, and the example working fishing boat. Among the new exhibits were a fake laboratory where the kids could pretend to be scientists and a purely mechanical farming setup that moved crops from harvest to ship without the presence of a single human. Again, maybe I'm overthinking it, but I felt the distinct presence of a specific agenda at work when I compared the old museum with the new. + +All that said, at least the kids had fun. And the legendary (in our family) giant bubble maker was still there. + + + +
+ + + + + + + + +
+ +After a few hours playing with all the stuff, we decamped for the French Quarter to get crepes at our favorite stand in the French Market. This first pic is 2018, the next 2022: + + + + +Aside from the jarring sight of my children getting older, I can't help but notice that we've shed even more vestiges of civilization... forks? Who needs forks? + + + +That was supposed to be the end of our day. We planned to wander over to Jackson Square, maybe listen to some music and then head back to the bus. In Jackson Square though we came across some street performers doing some amazing athletic stuff -- standing flips, gymnastic-style flips without the padding, you have to stop and respect that. So we did. And that's when they said "we need a few volunteers from the audience". As soon as someone says that, I am volunteered. Not because I want to mind you, but because in any situation that requires a volunteer or random person to be selected, it's not random, it's me. Always. I think it's a kind of penance I have to pay for being very lucky in games of chance. Whatever the case, yes, I was selected. And I had fun dancing for a crowd with a bunch of other people who couldn't dance either. + + + +That's not the surprising part though. The surprising part is that Lilah volunteered -- legitimately volunteered. She and another girl got up and did a similarly impromptu choreographed dance. More surprising is that the street performers gave her and the other girl $20 to keep. Naturally, since this is the most money she has ever earned in about 30 minutes, Lilah is convinced street performers are the greatest thing ever and she is going to be one. And who knows, maybe they are. Their job is certainly a lot more fun than mine. + +By the time that was all over with though we were famished again. We headed over to the warehouse district to an Argentinean restaurant Corrinne had been wanting to try. A few arepas later we all felt much better. It was a long day in the city, but a good one. I still judge the success of our days by how quickly the kids fall asleep and I don't think anyone was up past 9 that night. + +--- + +We spent a full week in New Orleans, mostly exploring the city, though we did have one day of running errands. I even found a reputable Volvo mechanic and took the Volvo in to see about replacing the hose I fixed with some fuel line and other scraps back in Devil's Tower. He looked at what I'd done, leak tested it with some brake fluid, and told me he wouldn't touch it unless he had to. Good enough for me. It's held up well. I did pay to have him clear out all the sensor codes and warnings though so we'll know if something is going amiss from here on out. + + + +So often what we do in New Orleans is just wander around. It's a city that lends itself to wandering. We've got our favorite little spots in the French Quarter, some in the Garden District, some in the Marigny, some in the Treme. This time around though we also decided to visit some of the museums we've never bothered with before, like the Jazz museum. I don't think I have ever been somewhere quite so disappointing. + +Now granted, Jazz is a big topic, spanning almost 100 years, and even if you narrow it down to just New Orleans jazz... it's a lot for any museum to cover. That said, the Jazz museum was a massive letdown. It didn't really cover anything. There were some cool paintings of local Jazz legends. Or I assume they where, there wasn't much signage to go with them. Then there was a room of mediocre portraits of local artists and a room dedicated to Louis Prima. I don't think the kids came out understanding any more about the history of Jazz than when they went in, save for now they know who Louis Prima was (nothing against Louis Prima, but if I were narrowing down New Orleans Jazz to one person... well, I'd have already failed). They were more impressed with the tiny exhibit about the old Mint in the basement than they were with Jazz museum. + + + +Oh well, we'll stick to just wandering around, listen to the jazz you hear all over the city. Maybe that's the thing, maybe you can't stick Jazz or any other part of New Orleans in a building and try to explain it. It is what it is. It's not rational. It's on a different plane, approaching it rationally is the wrong move -- it's doomed to failure. I think the best thing to do is come out here and wander around, discover your own version of the city, connect with it on other planes. Have a beignets, sit in the shade, listen to people playing music all around you and you'll start to understand what this city is all about. + + +
+ + + + + +
\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2022-12-21_eight.txt b/jrnl/2022-12-21_eight.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ba88e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-12-21_eight.txt @@ -0,0 +1,63 @@ +--- +title: Eight +url: /jrnl/2022/12/eight +location: Grayton State Park, Florida +--- + + After New Orleans we hightailed it to Florida, looking for some warmer beaches. Our first stop was Grayton Beach, where we spent Elliott's birthday -- in the white sands with afternoons warm enough to swim. + + + + +The sunsets were pretty spectacular too. We'd go down in the evenings, along with lots of other people to watch the sunset. Most evenings there would be at least four or five groups of people (not campers), often in identical clothes, who had hired a professional photographer to shoot family portraits. It was funny watching photographers trying to wrangle 10 people in matching outfits into a pose while the light faded. Made me feel good about my decision to abandon photography as a career back in college. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +By the time Elliott's birthday rolled around the warm weather had retreated unfortunately, but does any kid *really* care about the weather on their birthday? A rainy birthday is still a birthday. Your sisters will still descend on you before you're out of bed, clamoring for you to open their gifts. + +
+ + + + + +
+ +We've always let the kids start their birthdays like Christmas -- giving each other their gifts in the early morning. It's my favorite part of their birthdays, watching them be kind and generous and loving to each other. Elliott's eighth birthday was no exception. He's kind, smart, fun, strong, caring, adventurous, and the best little brother his sisters could ever hope for. I am biased of course, but I know some people think kids have to stay in one place to grow up well, and Elliott (and his sisters) is here to tell those people they don't know what they're talking about. + +I am not crazy about how fast they are all growing up -- a speed that seems to be exponentially accelerating too -- but it brings me great happiness and joy to see how they've grown and I am excited to see what they have in store for the future. + +
+ + + + + + +
+ +You do have to watch him though, take one sip of tea and your whole army might get wiped out. + +
+ + + + + +
+ +Despite my losses on the tabletop battlefield I did manage to get some cake. + +
+ + + + + +
\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2022-12-28_christmas-cold.txt b/jrnl/2022-12-28_christmas-cold.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acdd6fa --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2022-12-28_christmas-cold.txt @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ +--- +title: Christmas Cold +url: /jrnl/2022/12/christmas-cold +location: St George Island State Park, Florida +--- + + After a week at Grayton we moved down the coastline to our favorite place in the Florida panhandle, St George Island. This is the wildest, least developed area I know of down here. We've visited St. George more than any other spot in Florida and we never tire of it. We'd spend more time here if we could, but it's not a big campground and everyone wants to be here. + + + + +This is where we holed up for the cold front that swept across the United States around Christmas. Even down here the panhandle, where the clear tropical waters still looked inviting, the temperature dipped into the low 20s. I had to put on socks for a week and regular readers know how I feel about socks. + +The kids never mind the cold. They met some fellow campers their age and we didn't see much of them after that, they all ran around the woods or were playing soccer in the sandy clearings around the campground. The cold is also the one time a year they can talk us into hot chocolate. + +
+ + + + + +
+ + +The problem with cold is that it tends to keep me indoors -- I have to fight a tendency to sit around in the bus that doesn't exist when the weather is warm. To avoid falling into the trap of inaction I forced myself out on a long walk in the cold. There's a trail leading right out of the campground here to a point that sticks out into the Apalachicola Bay. It's a wide sandy trail through a slash pine forest. I've never been quite sure what species "slash" pines are. The name comes from the turpentine making process, which involves slashing the tree to collect the sap, but there are several species capable of making turpentine and none of the signs I've ever seen indicate which species you're walking under. + + + + + +Whatever the case the tall pines are popular with Bald Eagles. I saw four in the five miles I walked; along with seemingly every yellow rumped warbler in North America. I mostly stopped birdwatching while I was here, because every little bird I saw flitting in the bushes turned out to be a yellow rumped warbler. Florida in winter is just yellow rumpled warblers all the way down. + +Despite the cold and the wind I saw a suprising amount of wildlife out and about, even a little yellow rat snake that came out to grab a bit of sunshine and maybe a bite to eat before the freezing cold of Christmas Eve set in. + + + +Gap Point, as the end of the trail is called, was a windy, wild place when I was out there on Christmas eve. I had the place to myself, save for the occasional circling eagle. + + + +While I'm not fan of the cold, if it *has* to be cold, Christmas is the time to do it I suppose. I'd even be okay with snow for the night, but that didn't happen. We had a good holiday anyway. + +
+ + + + + + + + + + +
+ +The day after Christmas Corrinne and the kids headed up to Georgia to see her parents for a few days while I headed back down the coast toward our next stop -- our other favorite place on the gulf coast, Fort Pickens, Florida. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-01-11_fort-pickens.txt b/jrnl/2023-01-11_fort-pickens.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee66f5e --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-01-11_fort-pickens.txt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ +--- +title: Fort Pickens +url: /jrnl/2023/01/fort-pickens +location: Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida +--- + + Just before new year's, Corrinne and the kids rejoined me at Big Lagoon. We had a quiet new year's around the fire, and then the next day we headed out to the Fort Pickens portion of Gulf Islands National Seashore. + + + +If St. George is the [best spot in the panhandle](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/12/christmas-cold), Fort Pickens is a close second. The beach that is. The park has a not so great vibe, but we mostly avoided that by not really doing anything other than going to the beach. The beach is a short walk from the campground, maybe 100 yards, but somehow in that 100 yards you leave all of humanity behind. + +No matter how full the campground is -- and it was close to full the whole time we were there -- there's never more than a couple people, if that, on the beach. Where does everyone go? It's something I've never understood, but I'll take it. + + + + +After a couple of cloudy, but still warm days, which we spent playing soccer on the beach and attempting to make parachutes, we hit a stretch of the kind of warm, sunny days you dream of when you come to Florida in January. For a solid week it was like winter didn't exist. We swam, played, and laid around the beach, relaxing. It really was one perfect day after another. + + + + +The only flaw was the people running Fort Pickens. This was the topic of nearly every conversation I had with fellow campers or overheard. It was mind blowing honestly. We've been all over this country, stayed in 100s of campgrounds, including this one years ago, and never encountered anything like this. Fort Pickens is the most uptight place we've ever been. If you go digging through reviews you can read stories of crazy experiences people have had. Camp hosts measuring rigs to ensure they're under the site limit (even if they fit in the site), camp hosts telling people they've done something wrong and then flexing their muscles to the other camp hosts, showing off their power. Wild stuff, utterly ridiculous sorts of things I never knew people did after high school. + +I'll confess the first time I read that stuff I thought to myself, boy, these reviewers really like to complain. Plus I know every park has to deal with plenty of problematic people. But then, the more park staff I met the more I found myself thinking, wait, why was that person so rude? My general default reaction in those kinds of situations is to think, *gosh, that person must be having a bad day, they must not be [on their path](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/01/path), that's too bad*. Still, that's just one person, I generally go on my way without another thought. But then it was two people. And then three. And then there comes a point where you realize it's not the reviewers, it's not you. It really is just totally bonkers here. As one woman put it, "it's like everyone here is watching you from behind a dune, waiting for you to do something wrong." + + + + +It's no way to live. For the people working here that is. For reasons I can't explain, we were mostly left alone, but it was still a strange place. And it wasn't just camp hosts, it was systemic. From the moment you arrive here there is none of the usual "welcome to your national parks!" enthusiasm we have found at every other park. Here everyone makes you feel as if you are a burden the staff has to bear. You also get the feeling they see everyone as someone who's out to screw them over somehow. At least that's how you feel. The sooner they can catch you doing something wrong, the sooner they have a reason to get rid of you. + +Still has a great beach though. + + + +I'm not sure how Fort Pickens got this way, it certainly wasn't this way when we were here in 2017 and 2018. Perhaps the new superintendent is a bad leader. Perhaps the land itself is tainted. Battles were fought here. Geronimo was imprisoned. The past leaves a mark on the land, colors the character of the people who live on it. Sometimes places are like that, you just have to ignore it and carry on, which is what we did. We're just passing through, though we will be back again next month, and the month after that, so we'll see. If all else fails we'll just spend more time on the deserted beaches. + +Part of the reason we didn't pay much attention to the shenanigans of Fort Pickens is that we had company. Some friends of ours from Wisconsin came down to visit, spending a week with us at Fort Pickens. The kids got to reunite some of the pack they ran around in [all summer in Washburn](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/07/washburn) and the adults got to spend the days in relative peace on the beach. + + + +One of the things I think people don't understand about traveling the way we do is how quickly you can become very close friends with people. These friendships often, in my experience, prove more durable and long-lasting than any other. The crucible of shared experience is, in my opinion, far stronger than almost any amount of shared time. I am still in touch with people I traveled with 20 years ago, and feel like I know them far better than some people I've lived nearby for those same decades. The same is true for children, as far as I can tell. + + + + +The difference is that our kids have been doing this for more of their life than I have, which has given them an ability to form friendships quickly. That's a skill I wish I had. I know some of that is being a kid, it's just easier when you're young, but even then, the process has never come easy for me. Luckily, in this case, the apples fell far enough away from my tree that I don't have to worry. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-01-18_pensacola-history.txt b/jrnl/2023-01-18_pensacola-history.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1bfe7a --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-01-18_pensacola-history.txt @@ -0,0 +1,66 @@ +--- +title: Pensacola History +url: /jrnl/2023/01/pensacola-history +location: Big Lagoon State Park, Florida +--- + + From Fort Pickens we came around the entirety of Pensacola Bay to a small park on the western edge, Big Lagoon. From our campsite there it was a short car ride to Perdido Key, which is another part of Gulf Islands National Seashore. Although it takes the better part of two hours to drive all the way around from Fort Pickens, in the end, you can just about skip a rock from the tip Perdido Key back to the tip of Fort Pickens. + +We were hoping to get some more beach time at Perdido Key, but the temperature dropped considerably, making it less beachy. Then a storm blew in a couple of rainy days. I use rainy days to get ahead on work so that I have more free time when the weather is nice, but being inside is no fun for the kids. That's when we look for indoor things to do. + + + + +We wanted to go [back to the Naval Aviation Museum](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/03/island-sun), but it's on the Navy base and the base is closed to anyone not on active duty. Driving through Pensacola though I noticed a sign for a museum of commerce that said it had a street scene, which in my head was going to be just like what we [saw at the Milwaukee Public museum](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/07/hello-milwaukee). And it was, just a bit smaller, but it led us to the rest of Pensacola's very cool historic village. + + + +It must have been absolutely mind blowing to come from the crowded, filthy, disease-ridden cities of Europe, like London or Lisbon, to the Americas in the 16th century. + +It's difficult for me to imagine what it would have been like to make landfall here in the 16th century, but my guess is that two things would stand out: the sheer amount of wildlife and the relative lack of people. Not to say that there weren't huge civilizations here in the Americas, but by and large they were not on the coasts, so they weren't something you'd likely notice at first. + +What I think you'd notice at first, at least what I think I would notice at first, is the staggering number of birds. Even 18th century accounts of this region are still full of descriptions of the huge flocks of shorebirds, flying overhead for hours, in the words of the well-traveled William Bartram. And that's after over a 100 years of Europeans hunting. + +Despite all the press the Plymouth area gets, Florida is where the early European exploration of the present day United States began. Pensacola was established in 1559, making it the oldest point of settlement in the U.S. The catch is that Pensacola was abandoned after two years and then taken up again later, so if you count continuous settlement, Saint Augustine, Florida, established in 1565, wins by a few years. Maybe don't bring that up in Pensacola though. + +I know about early Florida history because I am fascinated by the life of Álvar Núñez, better known by the unfortunate nickname Cabeza de Vaca, or head of the cow. Núñez was long dead by the time any cities were finally established, but he started kicking around Florida as early as 1528, and ended up being shipwrecked, made a slave, escaping, shipwrecked again, and then wandering the desert southwest of America and Mexico for eight years. Along the way he befriended the local inhabitants and lived among them for many years. His is one of the few Spanish accounts of the area that spends any time describing the people he met. + +He's just a footnote to the history in the Pensacola historic village though since all trace of him, and most traces of the Spanish, are long gone. The buildings that make up the downtown historic area are pulled from Pensacola's more recent past -- cottages of 19th century settlers, a museum of industry devoted to everything from lumber and turpentine, to brick making and fishing, along with a couple of train cars from the railroads moving it all out to the rest of the world. + + + + + + +It may look boring in photos, but I love these tributes to the times when people did work of actual value to the world rather than getting paid to blabber about random garbage like I do. At least my wife does stuff of actual value. And yes, I know it's hard to live on the road when you have to slash pines and haul sap, but it still has a certain appeal. + +In terms of the hardships we endure in our work, I don't think it's ever been easier to live than right now. Even the worst jobs I can think of are nothing compared to say coal mining in the 19th century. In terms of work, I don't think anyone in European history has had it easier than the current western world. And yet no one seems very happy. I don't think the answer is to go back in time and draw a box around that world and say this is how it should be, but clearly making work "easier" has had some unintended consequences. + + + +Across the street from the industry museum was the commerce museum with its turn of the century Pensacola street scene. I'm not a nostalgic person by nature, but there are some things I am mad that I missed, like street cars. I wish we still had street cars in every city. Street cars are just fantastic. + + +
+ + + + +
+ + + + + +The tickets to the historic district also get you into the Pensacola Museum of History down the street, which is mainly a natural history museum, but then somewhat inexplicably has a huge room that's a replica of a much-loved local bar that shutdown a few years ago. + + + + +After a long day wandering the town we decided to grab some pizza, which normally I probably wouldn't write about, but this pizza place happened to be in the bottom floor of the old Sacred Heart Hospital, which is an imposing, and frankly quite creepy building that looks like this: + + + +The pizza was good. The fact that we were sitting, eating, in what used to be the morgue... was, well, not how we wanted to end our night. On the way home we grabbed some ice cream and had a more upbeat ending to our day back at the bus. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-02-22_photo-shoot.txt b/jrnl/2023-02-22_photo-shoot.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..160adaf --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-02-22_photo-shoot.txt @@ -0,0 +1,66 @@ +--- +title: Photo Shoot +url: /jrnl/2023/02/photo-shoot +location: Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida +--- + + After [shining up the bus in Rocky Bayou](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/02/family) we headed back over to Fort Pickens where we were scheduled to meet up with a photographer who was shooting the bus for an article I wrote for *Wired* magazine. Both *Wired* and I wanted us to be out west for the photo shoot, but that didn't happen. Fort Pickens is the most wide open place in this area, it would have to do. + + + + +How I came to write a story about the bus for *Wired* is something of a story in itself. + +I don't recall how it came about, but a few years ago some enterprising person at Wired put together a mentoring system, which connected those of us with less experience with more experienced writers and editors. Now, my current title at *Wired* is "senior writer", but I signed up to be mentored because this seemed like a good opportunity to learn. + +People sometimes ask me for advice about becoming a writer and I always tell them, find something useful to do for money and keep writing in your spare time. Making a living writing is very difficult. Most people I know who have succeed have had some way to get through the lean years -- either they come from money, have a significant other who makes makes enough to support them, or were prepared to live on lentils and rice and beans for a very, very long time. I went the latter route. I hate lentils. + +I was fascinated by the early internet and started putting together websites in my spare time way back in 1996-1997. By 2000, the height of the dot-com bubble, I was pretty good at it, such as it was back then. I was still working restaurants to pay the bills, but I had a nice side income building websites. Meanwhile, a friend became a writer, and later editor, for Webmonkey.com, which was *the* place to go if you wanted to learn how to build websites on the early internet. It was a collection of tutorials mostly written by the developers working on Wired's website, which was then called Hot Wired. + +By coincidence in about 2002 I met up with him and his wife in New York. Despite me living in Georgia and them living in San Francisco, somehow we were all in New York at the same time (we've also met up in [Paris](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2011/05/from-here-we-go-sublime) and [San Miguel de Allende](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2019/06/hasta-luego) by coincidence). I remember telling him that I'd just been rejected by a bunch of graduate writing programs and he said something like, meh, that's for the best, pitch me a tutorial about web development, I'll get you a little money, and then see how much you care about grad school. + +So I did. And he rejected my first pitch. Hilarious. + +Even when you have an in, you don't always get the story. + + + +But he took my second pitch. And the third. I was still working my day job running a restaurant kitchen, but it wasn't long before I was making more money writing than I was in the kitchen or building websites. Don't worry, that didn't last long. Luckily for me, I liked cooking and I didn't quit that job because eventually economic times changed and the tutorial money dried up. Not entirely, but it wasn't nearly as good or frequent. Eventually *Wired* sold Webmonkey and my friend went on to other things. + +I'd been saving every penny I could for several years though, and so I did finally did quit the restaurant. Rather than getting serious about writing though, I took my savings and went [traveling around Southeast Asia](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/southeast-asia/2/) and [Europe](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/europe/) for a year. + +Writing for Webmonkey did open quite a few doors, but mostly they led to programming jobs, not a ton, but enough to extend my trip in Southeast Asia. I'd go travel around Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia, periodically returning to Bangkok to work and earn some more money. Then I'd go out again. I ended up worked freelance this way for about three years, some of it traveling, some of it back in Athens, GA. + + + +Around 2008 *Wired* re-acquired Webmonkey.com and relaunched it with my old editor now in charge. I went back to writing nearly full-time, though I was still technically freelance. That lasted for about five years. One day *Wired* got a new editor who decided he didn't want Webmonkey anymore and shut it down. I went back to programming. About a year later is when we sold our house and left on this trip. + +When we were in Mexico my primary client in my freelance business tragically passed away and the company he founded cut me loose. I had put all my eggs in one basket (classic small business mistake, don't do it, no matter how good that client is, don't do it) and I had to scramble to find work. One day Corrinne noticed a full time position at *Wired*. I still did the occasional freelance review and enjoyed it so I applied. I also applied for a job elsewhere as a documentation writer, but I was tired of writing about technical subjects. I didn't want to tell people how to make things on the web. I didn't want to write about software anymore. Moving from Webmonkey to Wired would, theoretically, give me a chance to write about other things. + + + +That is how I ended up a product reviewer for *Wired*. Note the total absence of journalistic experience in that story. So when the mentorship opportunity came up, I jumped on it. I was extremely lucky to get paired with someone from a very different part of *Wired*, who primarily worked on long, involved pieces called feature stories. This is what you probably think of when you think of reading a story in a magazine. + +I told that editor that I'd always wanted to write a feature. She very kindly started coaching me. This was right around the time we moved to the house in Iva and, despite being stationary for the first time in years, our internet was worse than ever. I decided I should write about rural internet and how bad it is. I called experts. I got lots of quotes. + +But then I started paying more attention to my neighbors out there in the woods. They didn't seem to be hurting for internet. Sure it wasn't great, but what use was the online world anyway? There was livestock to feed, fields to plow, work to be done. I came to believe that whole notion that rural America needs better internet is a story people in cities tell themselves because it's what they would want if they were out here. It's not what the people out here want. Rural America does not need further dependence on the complex systems that are already failing all around us. Rural America needs investment in localized systems and resources for local entrepreneurs. The internet is good enough. + +I had to come back to my mentor and say, you know what, this isn't the story for me. She was very gracious about it and kept meeting with me. The mentorship was supposed to last six months, but a year later we were still talking once a week. Somewhere in that time I started telling her stories about living in the bus, and she said, you know, you should write one of these stories down, but tell it in such a way that Wired readers will get something out of it. I ended up wrapping a story of how I came to love working on engines around the larger culture of repair. + +Now, almost three years after we started talking, that story is going to be in the May issue of *Wired*. At least that's the plan, you never really know until the ink is dry. I do know that it's real enough that *Wired* paid a professional photographer from Houston to come hang out and take pictures of the bus for a few days. The photographer they sent was very nice and made something we were all dreading not that bad in the end. + + + +That's the story of the story. Of course the photo shoot was only one weekend out of nearly two weeks we spent at Fort Pickens. We had plenty of beach time and even discovered a spot we could get away from everyone and play baseball in the cool of the evenings. + + + + + + + + + +I still worry that this story may bring unwanted attention to us, but we already get quite a bit of attention, I can't see one story adding too much. Hopefully. While it's about the bus, and me to some degree, it's really more of a ode to the dying culture of repair, the DIY spirit, and the love of sturdy old things that so many people I've met over the years share with me. For me at least, it's about everyone else. We'll see what the rest of world thinks in a couple of months. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-02-8_family.txt b/jrnl/2023-02-8_family.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..910ce10 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-02-8_family.txt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ +--- +title: Family +url: /jrnl/2023/02/family +location: Rocky Bayou State Park, Florida +--- + + After a few weeks in the Pensacola area we headed back east, across the Florida panhandle to St. Andrews state park, a little postage stamp of protected land off the coast of Panama City Beach. + +Apparently this was once a gem in the Florida State Park system, but the universal consensus is that when it was remodeled following a hurricane, they ruined it. I'm not sure when they ruined it, or who they are, but if St. Andrews was ever a nice place, it's not now. Now it's indistinguishable from the over-priced RV parks across the bay in Panama City -- campsites are packed in, grass and gravel have replaced trees and earth, and everything has a sterile, over-regulated feeling. Maybe this is what people want, but everyone we've met talks about how it was ruined, so I don't buy that. As with so many things right now, I think St. Andrews is what you get when you let a very vocal minority push an agenda, in this case maximize profit and the expensive of, well, everything. Luckily we were only there for three days. + +While the new campground is awful, the rest of the park is nice and there is some excellent birding, with a heron rookery in the middle of a pond. One day, while walking around the pond, the kids and I happened upon an osprey devouring its catch on a branch not more than ten feet above our heads. It didn't pay the slightest attention to us until we walked directly underneath it. + + + +From St. Andrews we backtracked a few miles inland to Fred Gannon Rocky Bayou State Park. Tucked on the northern side of Choctawhatchee Bay, in a well-preserved maritime forest of live oaks and palmettos, "Fred," as the kids dubbed it, was much more our speed. There were plenty of trails to explore and the campsites were nice and spread out compared to St. Andrews. There even plenty of these lovely things called trees between each site. + + + + + + +My parents flew in for a visit, arriving the same day we did. They rented a condo across the bay in Destin and we took turns driving back and forth across the bridge, spending the nice days hiking around Fred Gannon and going to the beach in Destin. Fred Gannon was the highlight though, with several trails running through forests carpeted with deer moss and overhung with a canopy of oak and pine. + + + + + + + + + + +It turned cooler and we had a little bit of rain, which made it nice to have a condo to hang out in. The kids could spread out their art supplies and books and lounge in oversize chairs, which sounds strange, but is something they're not really used to doing. We also discovered there is such a thing as black light mini golf, though let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off around hole three. + + + + + + +Toward the end of my parents' visit, my cousin and his wife, who were on their way back to Washington, stopped by to hang out for a couple of days. My cousin and I hadn't seen each other in over five years, not since [Thanksgiving in Nevada](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/12/the-city). It wasn't long, but we spent plenty of time around the fire, which is always the best way to spend time with people. + + + + +It was good to see everyone, but then, all too quickly, everyone had to head home. + +We spent a couple extra days at Fred, catching up on missed work, running some important errands, and giving the bus a fresh wash and wax for an upcoming photo shoot. More on that next time. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-03-01_wagoneer.txt b/jrnl/2023-03-01_wagoneer.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1be02f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-03-01_wagoneer.txt @@ -0,0 +1,66 @@ +--- +title: Wagoneer +url: /jrnl/2023/03/wagoneer +location: Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida +--- + + My favorite way to travel is with everyone in the bus, no other vehicle involved. + + + +As we've slowed down our travels though, spending more time in an area makes it nice to have a car to go exploring, run errands, and get to places the bus can't. For that reason we bought a 2006 Volvo during the pandemic and have been relatively happy with it ever since. Other than changing the oil periodically we haven't done anything to it. + +Which is to say, we never loved it. It was practical, ran well, but it was just a modern car. They're all the same. Ours was black, but this graphic illustrates what I think of modern cars better than anything I could say. + +
+ +
+ +We talked about replacing the Volvo. We decided we'd get a late 1980s Jeep Cherokee, with the 4.0 engine. Chrysler's last inline six is, by all accounts, a great engine. In some ways it's a bit like the 318 in the bus, it runs forever. My kind of engine. And hey, I could figure out fuel injection. Probably. + +But the Volvo ran fine. I don't fix things that aren't broken. The Cherokee was just a rough plan. + +Then the Volvo started to show some alarming behaviors -- stuttering and dying in parking lots, randomly rolling down windows. Things I found best described as "electrical gremlins"[^1]. I tried to ignore these as best I could, but one day in Destin the Volvo stuttered and died in a parking lot and it took me quite a bit of tinkering to get it running again and home. + +From what I read on the internet that night it sounded like it could be the battery. Or something far more expensive. The battery is in the trunk (I don't know either) and it was a two-year battery going on year five, which seemed like a reasonable culprit. The next day I dropped the kids off at the condo my parents had rented and headed over to the auto parts store to get the battery and alternator tested. + +On the way I happen to past a very cool looking old Jeep Wagoneer. Not a Cherokee, but in most ways cooler than a Cherokee. One of my best friends in high school had a Wagoneer and it had hauled all our gear climbing, hiking, and skiing more times than I could count. I always loved that Jeep. It seemed strangely fated that I should see one now. I texted Corrinne a photo and said, hey, maybe we should just buy this Wagoneer and be done with the Volvo. + + + +She immediately started doing research to figure out if it was a good deal or not. I got the alternator and battery tested. Both were fine. According to the test. I decided to replace the battery anyway. Except that the parts store told me I couldn't. I did not believe them so I looked it up myself and sure enough, you can't change the battery in a 2006 Volvo without the expensive diagnostic tool to "reset" everything. Sigh. The Volvo was on its way out of our lives. + +I drove back over to the Wagoneer to have a closer look. A cursory inspection revealed a little body rust here and there, the front windshield had leaked on the passengers side, but the body was in surprisingly good shape for being being 34 years old. I was shocked to learn in was a 1989, it looked much older thanks to what's known as a "Rhino Chaser" front end the owner had put on. + +
+ + + + +
+ + +I took a few more pictures and texted the owner to see which engine it had. It turned out to have a rebuilt stock engine, the V8 AMC 360. Despite being a 1989 vehicle, the AMC 360 is an aspirated engine. The Venn diagram of vehicles with carburetors and post-Freon air conditioning systems is very small. But the Wagoneer is in there. Check. + +We had family in town and it turned out the owner was out of town for the week as well, so we mostly set the idea aside for a week. + +After life settled back down we moved up to Fort Pickens for [the bus's photo shoot](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/02/photo-shoot), but before the photographer got there I took a drive back to look over the car in more detail and talk to the owner. Everything I was interested in checked out. The number of recently replaced things on this vehicle is too long to list. It's easier to say the transmission is original and pretty much everything else is new. The previous owner sunk a lot of money into it and then, apparently, his wife wanted to get rid of it. My wife wanted to get it. We had a deal. + +A week later we wired over the money, signed some papers, and drove off in our new 1989 Wagoneer. + + + +We haven't had a chance to really shine it up yet, but I did eventually get the surfboard off. It came along last minute because it was secured to the rack with locking straps that the owner did not have a key to. Back at camp a hacksaw took care of those. I also went through and gave the bottom of the engine a good cleaning so I would be able to tell any new leaks from old ones. I tightened a few bolts, checked all the fluids, and made a list of parts to order, but this has been a well cared for daily driver for years, by and large, she is good to go. That said, I like to have certain parts on hand and soon I will. + +We learned something pretty much right away with the Jeep that made me happy -- people love old Jeeps. The Wagoneer generates almost as much interest and comments as the bus now. Unlike the bus though, most people who come to talk about the Jeep have stories about their own Cherokees and Comanches and Wagoneers. We get to hear their stories too. + +This has become one of my favorite thing about owning older cars; all the great people we get to meet and swap stories with. Old cars are a great filter for me, the sort of people who turn their nose up at anything old -- the sort of people I'd be unlikely to get along with -- avoid us. Instead we get to talk to the kind of people who tell us about their first Jeep, a 1976 Cherokee Chief, which, even back then, had push button 4 wheel drive, letting you leave your friends behind at the bottom of the mountain fiddling with their locking hubs while you headed on up without even stopping, which is a story one of the rangers here at Fort Pickens told me. + + + +People who love old cars tend to be people who see the value in taking care of things, the value in things made well, by people who cared about what they're making. My kind of people. Look at the picture above again. Does anyone care about those cars? How could they? At best they are purely utilitarian. Those car are made by machines from start to finish. From aerodynamic analysis software to assembly line robots modern automobile creation has been designed to minimize human involvement. + +I would go a step further and argue that those cars aren't just boring designs churned out by machines, they're explicitly anti-human. They have not been invested with any of the soul that human beings put into things they care about. There is no room in the machine-optimized creation process for humanity. Vehicles are a place that what Orwell called The Machine has won. We've been pushed out. There isn't going to be another car or truck that's made the old way, by human visions of beauty butting up against mechanical reality, by the interplay of human and world that used to exist. Today's vehicles are commodities. There is no soul left in them. There's no way to go back to the old ways, but for us this old Jeep is going to be well worth whatever I need to put into it to keep it going on down the road. + + +[^1]: Further research revealed that electrical gremlins in a Volvo of this era are not uncommon and notoriously difficult and expensive to solve. They sometimes include fun things like the car suddenly shutting down at highways speeds, the brakes deciding not to engage, the throttle sticking open, and other treats brought to you by modern over-engineering. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-03-08_renaissance-fair.txt b/jrnl/2023-03-08_renaissance-fair.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55a5279 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-03-08_renaissance-fair.txt @@ -0,0 +1,55 @@ +--- +title: Renaissance Fair +url: /jrnl/2023/03/renaissance-fair +location: Big Lagoon State Park, Florida +--- + + One of the things I find most peculiar about our current pop culture worldview is the utter disregard for the past. The past is a far away thing that is almost always a-thing-you-are-so-lucky-you-don't-have-to-live-in. + +Step outside that increasingly tunneled vision the media presents us though, and you find that most people love the past. They love visiting it, they love learning about it, and most of all they love pretending to be in it. + +What better way to understand other people in other times than to put on the clothes, use the tools, and see where you end up? + +We're no different. The kids love history. Travel would be pretty dull if you didn't like digging into the history of the places you're going. We've enjoyed all sorts of [re-enactment festivals](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/07/around-washburn), [working 19th century farms](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/06/alberto-and-land-between-lakes), [historic forts](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/10/rodeos-and-fur-trading-posts), and more. Our most recent foray was something less strictly educational and more oddball fun -- [The Gulf Coast Renaissance Fair, Pirate Festival, Wild West Roundup, and Historical Festival](http://gcrf.us). + +I have never been to a Renaissance Fair before, but I've heard some stories. This one was pretty laid back compared to some accounts I've heard. There were plenty of costumes, but there were also plenty of us not in character. Or in totally different characters, like the girls, who dressed in Greek Chitons. Ancient Greece wasn't on the bill, but the very first person we saw inside the festival took one look at the kids and said, "are those Chitons?" Clearly these were our people. + + + +The festival was true to its name. There was a section for Wild West enthusiasts, a section for pirates, a section for all things roughly late Medieval to Renaissance, and plenty of random elements as well, like fire eaters and a woman laying on a bed of nails. + +As anyone who's ever been to Medieval Times knows (I have not, but I assume), the big draw for kids is always going to be the jousting. Huge war horses done up in armor, knights in full metal armor as well, riding at each other with actual jousts -- who doesn't love that? + +The answers is, everyone loves that. Pro tip: head the stands early if you want a seat. We did not, and had to content ourselves with some standing room in what was, I think, the cattle pen when the rodeo is in town. The jousting turned out to be slow getting started, with overly long intros to the knights that we couldn't hear because we were behind the speakers. + +
+ + + + +
+ +The girls lost interest so Corrinne took them over to do some archery. Even I was contemplating heading elsewhere, but Elliott was not to be dissuaded. Eventually the real action got underway though and it did prove worth the wait. + + + + +It doesn't look like much in the photos. In fact it looks like they're missing each other, but they aren't. It was wood ramming metal . It took I believe seven passes before one knight unseated the other. + + + +When that was over we wandered off to try our hand at archery. Anything hands-on is always the favorite thing with our kids. Arrows were flying. A few even hit the bullseye. + +
+ + + + + + + + + +
+ +We ate a packed lunch with some overpriced lemonade in the shade and then the kids decided to break into their savings accounts to buy bows and arrows and a crossbow before we called it a day. We're now the most heavily armed campers in Big Lagoon. Well, most visibly armed anyway. This is Florida after all. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-03-15_gone-fishin.txt b/jrnl/2023-03-15_gone-fishin.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..510d298 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-03-15_gone-fishin.txt @@ -0,0 +1,78 @@ +--- +title: Gone Fishin' +url: /jrnl/2023/03/gone-fishin +location: Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida +--- + + Every morning when I step outside I am greeted by a chorus of ospreys circling in the glint of the rising sun. There are between four and six of them, depending on the day. They spend their days fishing, building nests, and fighting. Every evening, sitting out by the fire as dusk turns to darkness, we hear them winding down their day, circling until they settle into roosts in dead trees around us, the females returning to their nests. + + + +The osprey is a consummate fisherman. Spend any time casting a line into the surf along the Gulf of Mexico and you will see them. You will see them come along, hover for a few minutes, not far from wherever your line is, and then they'll drop down like a rock falling out of the sky and snatch a fish before heading inland again. Meanwhile you will sweat in the humid sun all afternoon and not get a bite. + +The osprey has been here far longer than humans. The osprey will probably be here long after we have retreated. The osprey doesn't get sunburns. If it gets hot it doesn't complain about it. It's willing to live just about anywhere. It loves old dead trees, but it'll settle for the top of telephone poles, collapsing radio towers, even the 1950s-inspired Pensacola Beach welcome sign. + + + +Ospreys always make me feel like I could catch a fish. We carry quite a few fishing poles on the roof of the bus, but I rarely get them down. It's some combination of sloth and fear of failure. But those damn ospreys. If they can do it we have to try. + +The weather was pretty near perfect. Sunny, but not too hot. Enough breeze to stir up waves for the kids to play in and get the Pompano out running. Or so they say. Maybe for other people the Pompano come out. Our friend John caught two in the time we were there. We caught zero. + + + + + + +The problem is that we are not serious enough about fishing. The osprey is single minded, maniacal even, about fishing. If you want the rewards you have to put in the time. We don't put in the time. We'd rather lie around reading and playing in the surf. We reap the rewards of that, which are numerous, but fresh fish is not one of them. If we want fish, we have to be more like the osprey, focused. + +
+ + + + + + +
+ +The one time we did hook something we didn't even know it. When Lilah went to reel in the line, as I was taking the image above, I noticed she was having trouble. We were using a 5 oz sinker, which none of us were used to, so I thought maybe it was that. But finally she said "Dad, I can't get it in, it feels like there's something on it". I came over and took the pole and started to reel it in. It felt like the hook was snagged on a log. I have never felt anything that big on a line before. I didn't even have the drag set for something that big (I'd switched from a lighter line and forgotten all about the drag setting). + +Luckily a fellow fisherman nearby came over and while I kept tension on the line, he ratcheted down the drag and I started reeling in. Whatever it was had run quite a ways out before we noticed it. It took a few minutes to even get it anywhere near shore. Once it got into the surf though, it must have charged the shore, or somehow managed to get the hook out of its mouth. The line went slack before we ever saw what it was. Giant Redfish? Possibly. Definitely too big to be a Pompano. Could have been a huge ray, in which case I'm glad it got off. Either way now the kids, especially Lilah, have a good story about the one that got away. I feel like that is a kind of necessary initiation into fishing. + +Having failed to catch dinner we headed across the bay to [Joe Patti's wholesale seafood](https://joepattis.com/joe-pattis-seafood-and-our-history/) to buy dinner. We'd driven by it several times going between Fort Pickens and Big Lagoon. It's hard to miss, there's a life-size viking vessel out front. But sometimes as an outsider it's hard to tell the legit from the tourist trap. I'd always kind of assumed it was the latter, but our friend John assured us it was legit. And that we had to try the Caribbean Grouper. He was right. About both. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +We bought a mess of Caribbean Grouper and Royal Red shrimp. If you've never had Royal Reds, which are only really found in the Florida Panhandle and along the Mississippi/Alabama coast, they're very different than ordinary shrimp. As the name implies they're deep reddish pink and they taste like lobster. We had a huge seafood cookout. Never let one getting away stop your seafood fest. + + + +Fishing slacked off even more after we added boogie boards to the list of things we don't have room for. They've proved very well-loved though and they definitely take precedence over fishing most days. Can't say I blame the kids for that, when the waves are big enough I'd rather be out there surfing too. Osprey don't surf. + + + + + +Then the weather took a turn. It was my fault. I donated the heater. It happens every year. We buy a heater in December or so and then we donate it come spring. There's just no room for a heater so the sooner we get rid of it, the better. But almost every year as soon as I take it to the donation center, the weather turns cold. This year was probably the worst -- it dipped down below freezing for two nights in a row. We have plenty of blankets, and just turning on the stove to make tea and coffee in the morning makes the bus plenty warm, so it'a minor discomfort. But someone has to get up and turn on the stove. + + + +With it too cold to swim, we took to playing games, climbing trees, and reading books. Sometimes all at the same time. + + + + + + + + +Part of the reading in a tree comes from reading Sterling North's *[Rascal](https://bookshop.org/p/books/rascal-sterling-north/7815241?ean=9780142402528)*, which was one of my favorite books as a kid. Sterling and Rascal spend some afternoons reading in a tree, with Rascal lying in the tree on his belly. Lilah reports it is relaxing and comfortable. She recommends it to everyone. + +I recommend *Rascal* to everyone. Grab a copy from your local library. It is well worth re-reading as an adult. For those unfamiliar it is Sterling North's account of a year of his boyhood in small, rural Wisconsin town in 1918, which for that year he shares with a pet raccoon named Rascal. It's a world that hasn't existed since that time, but the book somehow manages to balance nostalgia with piercing, sometimes heartbreaking doses of reality. There's no changing reality, no one is saving Sterling. The world must be dealt with. It cannot be changed, it cannot be shouted at, it just is and Sterling has to deal with that. + +It's made me realize that a big part of why we live this way is to try, as much as possible, to let our kids inhabit the sort of world young Sterling lives in, surrounded by nature, able to do what what they please with their time, but also knowing that the world is full of real responsibilities and no one is [coming to save them](https://luxagraf.net/essay/the-cavalry-isnt-coming). To remain innocent requires facing up to reality, not hiding from it. I know that the world of *Rascal* is hard to find these days, but I think it's worth chasing the idea still there, even if, in the end, it should get away from us. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-03-29_st-andrews-state-park.txt b/jrnl/2023-03-29_st-andrews-state-park.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff7149d --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-03-29_st-andrews-state-park.txt @@ -0,0 +1,49 @@ +--- +title: St. Andrews +url: /jrnl/2023/03/st-andrews-state-park +location: St. Andrews State Park, Florida +--- + + Leaving Fort Pickens made me a little sad. We've spent so much time here over the years its started to feel like one of our many homes. But there are time limits. We can't stay any more this season, and with our current plans we probably won't be back for several years. I'll miss those beaches, but onward and upward as they say. Or in this case, eastward, to St. Andrews. We said goodbye to the [Prairie Warbler](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/01/fort-pickens) -- perhaps we'll see you up north this summer little friend -- took a last long look at those empty white sand beaches and made the long, slow drive back to civilization. + + + +Civilization has never been my strong suit. I've always enjoyed Edward Abbey's name for it: "syphilization". Though really old Ed is better when he's more poetic: "The love of wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth, the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only home we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need," he writes in *Desert Solitaire*. + +The paradise we headed for was St Andrews State Park, a beautiful little postage stamp of beach off the coast of Panama City, Florida. When the sea is calm it looks [just like Thailand](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2006/04/bird-paradise). + + + + + + +It did get increasingly crowded as we got closer to spring break, but even at its worst it wasn't half as bad as my home town gets in the summer. Considering this is just a few miles from the legendary spring break crowds of Panama City, hardly anyone comes out here. + + + +The waves picked up over the course of the week we were here, seemingly in time with the crowds. Every afternoon we'd head down after lunch and the waves on the ocean side would be a little bigger and there'd be a few more umbrellas on the sand. At some point the kids decided the bay side was more fun. Every since our [trip out to California](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2020/01/traveling) they've loved exploring jetties. + + + + + + +The crowds weren't too bad, and civilization does offer some amenities. We did laundry, got the kids haircuts, and stocked up at the grocery store. + +
+ + + + +
+ + +And the birds don't care about crowds or the nearby city. St. Andrews remains some of the best birding we've done in Florida. On just a single morning walk the kids and I saw every species at the bottom of this post. + +But then there is, as Abbey says, "a hunger for what is always beyond reach." Those wild white sand beaches do haunt your memories when you're staring at the logo of your neighbor's rig. + + + +I don't think we'd been at St. Andrews for more than a couple days before Corrinne and I started haunting the Florida State Park website for cancellations out on St. George Island. We might have used up our time at Fort Pickens for the season, but there are no such stay restrictions on St. George. + +Eventually we found four days available, then another day, then another day, then another day. Soon there is a good stretch of days before you. And that's how it goes when it goes best, just one day at a time, one day in front of the other. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-04-12_the-lost-coast.txt b/jrnl/2023-04-12_the-lost-coast.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98f1629 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-04-12_the-lost-coast.txt @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ +--- +title: The Lost Coast +url: /jrnl/2023/04/the-lost-coast +location: St George Island State Park, Florida +--- + + Driving west on Florida's highway 98 is a little like traveling back in time. It's hard to believe standing amidst the crowds of Panama City Beach, but not ten miles east, once you pass through the actual Panama City, the crowds disappear, along with everything else. + +After winding through some rundown warehouse districts at the very eastern edge of the city the highway passes over East Bay and onto the property of Tyndall Air Force Base. The base is a kind of barrier that stops Panama City from advancing eastward. Once you clear the long stretch of pine forest that makes up the eastern portion of the base you come to Mexico Beach, which is in the process of expanding. I'm not sure why, it's the least appealing part of this area. My working theory is that it's cheap. If you can't afford 30A, you buy here maybe. + +It's after Mexico Beach that you begin to slip back in time. The road alternates running along the seashore and winding through slash pine forests. It's wilder, and only occasionally interspersed with small towns. This is the part of Florida we've been visiting regularly since 2010. + + + +The region from roughly Port St Joe in the west, to Alligator Point in the east, is known as The Lost Coast. That's mostly a local marketing term, but it has an element of truth to it. Far fewer people come out here. It's too far from any airports and it lacks high end resorts to draw in the tourists. Those who come here like it that way. + + + +Having been coming here for so long, I've written about this area quite a few times so I went back and read some of my older pieces. In [All The Pretty Beaches](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2013/05/all-the-pretty-beaches) I call this area "a little backwater in time" and it still is, mostly. It's a slice of the world as was before the proliferation of mega-resorts and all-inclusive vacation package extravaganzas. + +There's still little more to St. George than a store, a gas station and a couple of seafood trailers offering up fresh shrimp and scallops from nearby Apalachicola. Sure, there are plenty of AirBnBs and condos, and I'd guess that there are fewer full time residents than there were in 2010, but the two motels are still rundown affairs that still look like holdouts from the early 1990s. Nothing on the island feels all that different than it did over a decade ago. Perhaps this place really is lost. + +Little things have changed of course. Doug's seafood trailer is no longer there, Doug passed away several years ago now. The grocery store on the island is considerably fancier than it used to be. A Boar's Head Deli has replaced the dried out breaded shrimp under heat lamps. But otherwise the same restaurants still serve up the same food to people that look much the same as they always have. + +Prices are through the roof though. We couldn't afford to rent the beach house we used to stay in even if we wanted to. AirBnB changed everything everywhere for the worse. That's okay. These days we head even further away from civilization to the state park at the far end of the island. It's a good thirty minute drive from our campsite to the first signs of the civilization, which is a rarity on the east coast, let alone on the Florida coast. + +We embrace the remoteness. When we come out here we load up on food before hand so we don't really have to leave the park. For about ten days we didn't do much other than wander the maritime forests of oak and pine and swim and play in the sea. + +The only problem was the purple flag. + +Coming from California, I find Florida's use of warming flags downright hilarious. I have never seen any beach conditions in the Gulf that would warrant more than a yellow flag in California. If that. But here the red flag is almost constant. I've already said my piece about our [safety-third philosophy](https://luxagraf.net/essay/safety-third), I won't repeat it here. Suffice to say that the color of flag never has much bearing on what we do at the beach here. But a purple flag is different. + +We did not have those in California. The purple flag is for "stinging marine life". I talked to a ranger about it. Portuguese man o' war had been washing up the week before. He said it had been a few days since they'd had any reports. But then, you never know. Portugese Man-o-war are pretty obvious in clear water, they stick up above the surface and are bright purple. The problem is their tentacles can be alarming long and often proceed them in the water, depending on current. + + + + +I decided -- wait for it -- that is wasn't worth the risk. When we were here at Christmas the kids and I stumbled on a little trail that led down to the leeward side of the island, which faces St. George Island sound. This became our hang out spot. Everyone else headed to the windward beaches, leaving the sound side to us. We spent whole days out there without seeing another soul. + + + + + +I got out the paddle boards, which none of us are good enough to use on the ocean and figured we could have some fun on the calmer waters of the sound. We'd pack lunch and head down to the water early most days. There was even a little picnic table I could work at while the kids played. I'd be hard pressed to think of a better place to spend our time. Not coincidentally, the campground on Lake Superior where we spend our summers has virtually the same setup, picnic table by the water with a little beach. We really don't need much to call a place paradise. + + + + + + + + + +One day I took the paddle board on a longer trip, paddling for a few hours up the coastline. I am in the process of editing a movie about that, which I'll post soon, but it was interesting. I made me realize that longer paddles, perhaps even going overnight would definitely be something I think I'd enjoy. Florida is too hot these days for tent camping to be much fun, but I'm looking into some trips when we get up north. I'd be curious to hear from anyone who's done an overnight paddleboard trip. + +As happens when you live this way, we reached the day when it was time to head on. We had some business to take care of back in Pensacola. I mentioned this to the camphost one day and she kind of wrinkled her nose and paused for a moment before saying, "oh... it's very crowded up that way". I smiled because I knew exactly what she meant. You get used to life at the pace of the Lost Coast and everything else starts to seem like... too much. We decided Pensacola could wait and managed to book a few more days out here and then some in Grayton, delaying our return to civilization a bit longer. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-04-16_water-under-the-bridge.txt b/jrnl/2023-04-16_water-under-the-bridge.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14f4e0b --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-04-16_water-under-the-bridge.txt @@ -0,0 +1,74 @@ +--- +title: Water Under The Bridge +url: /jrnl/2023/04/water-under-the-bridge +location: Apalachicola, Florida +--- + + Halfway through our stay on St. George we had a little problem called Friday night. The problem was that the campground at St George was full for Friday night. One night missing in a string of twelve nights. We knew that when we came out here, but I was really hoping something would open up. It did not. That's how we came to be under the bridge in Apalachicola again. + + + +We [stayed under the bridge in 2018](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/04/st-george) for similar reasons. Back then we just literally pulled under the bridge. Now the city of Apalachicola has formalized things. You have to stay in the grassy field next to the marina and it costs $30 a night. The internet is full of people complaining about how you're paying for nothing, because there's no water or electricity, and it does feel like a heavy-handed money grab, but we didn't mind. It beats driving an hour just for the night. + +It was a hot day without much breeze so we parked the bus and headed out to explore Apalachicola until evening when it cooled down some. + + + +We walked around town for a bit, but quickly found the every shop had the same thing as the last. [St. George Island hasn't changed much in the last decade](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/04/the-lost-coast) we've been coming, but Apalachicola definitely has. Part of that is due to the inevitable, gradual, crapification of everything. But around here the hurricanes often accelerate that process. + +Hurricane Michael hit here in 2018. I remember watching coverage from Mexico, trying to figure out how bad the damage was on St. George. St. George seemed okay, but Apalachicola was hit hard. The after effects were still all around us as we walked. Buildings that were headed downhill in our last visit were in total ruin now. Several restaurants were boarded up. Shops were gone. The maritime museum has yet to re-open, though its phone recording claims it's planning to. + +We headed out to the same place we always get oysters. Most of its food is straight of the Sysco truck[^1], but it does at least serve up local oysters. We got a dozen raw and a dozen steamed. The kids have tried oysters when they were younger, but none of them remembered it. They were unimpressed with raw oysters, though the girls liked the steamed oysters. + +
+ + + + + + +
+ +After the oysters we walked around some more. We ended up buying some coffee from a local roaster, and couple of whale and shark guides done by [our friend Val](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/06/seining-with-val), before we gave up on downtown Apalachicola. + +We headed out to the old cemetery for a bit. It hasn't changed much. Maybe the Spanish Moss is a bit longer, the trees a bit taller, the general feeling of neglect a bit stronger, but the dead, and the land they claim, can usually be counted on not change too much. + + + + + +The cemetery is right across from [The Pig](https://www.pigglywigglyfl.com/locations/piggly-wiggly-apalachicola/) and while we had plenty of food, we didn't want to use the stove in the heat. So we did what you used to do when it was hot: we bought some food we didn't have to cook, a bag of ice, and a few pints of ice cream. Back at the bus we ate the ice cream first, of course, and sat around in the shade drinking cold water. It wasn't too long before the sun got low enough that the heat faded. + +Parking the bus in the middle of a grassy field in town is like hanging out a big sign that says, come say hi. And quite a few people did. We also seem to meet interesting people when we camp under the bridge. After dinner a man drove up in a truck and started chatting with us about the bus. He had spent years in the area as a general contractor, had even built some of the structures on the state park back in the 1980s. + +We talked about how Apalachicola had changed. He told us that the old local favorite watering hole, which was always a little rough around the edges, was gone, replaced by an upscale brewery offering $10 microbrews and kids menus. + +In some ways the real devastation of hurricanes comes later, when all those people who didn't have the money to set up shop again have to sell their businesses, and inevitably they sell to outsiders who see real estate opportunities without ever considering their impact on the communities they're buying into. That how you get to the point where there are more shops selling beach trinkets from China than anything produced locally, more restaurants serving up whatever came on the Sysco truck, and fewer and fewer places to get an oyster on the half shell. + +Sam (not his real name) had been a traveler too, living in an RV while he toured on the rodeo circuit as a bronc rider. He told us stories about George Strait and what life was like going around the country back in the day when there wasn't a lot of money in rodeo riding, "you don't win, you don't eat." We looked him up later and realized he was a famous rodeo rider back in the 1970s and 80s. + +He offered us a free place to stay up the river on a 100 acres of wood with a river nearby. It made me a little sad to have to say no, we couldn't do it, we had to get back to Pensacola to wrap up some business there, but he told us if we ever needed a place to stay to just drive into the middle of a small town near his property and ask anyone, everyone will point you to my place, he said. + +By the time he left it had cooled down enough that we weren't sweating in the sun anymore, but it was still pretty warm to sleep so we sat around in the twilight. The kids sketched and wrote in their journals and I did a little work on the Jeep. + + + + + +We woke before dawn the next morning to a cacophony of seagulls and fishing boat motors as every charter fishing trip and private boat in the area put in at the marina's boat ramp. + + + + +I ate a quick breakfast and headed to the Advance Auto in Port St. Joe, where I was hoping to exchange the bus's battery. On our drive to St. George the battery I bought barely a year ago died. I'm not sure why. It could be charging it with a battery charger rather than using the alternator wasn't good for it (the bus's voltage regulator was shot and it took me a while to track down a new one). It could be it was just a bad battery. Whatever the case the store in Port St. Joe exchanged it for a new one, no questions asked. + +Unfortunately, while I was installing that I accidentally shorted something and blew the fuse from our house battery to our inverter, which meant we had no power for the fridge and by this time it was already warming up. While I wrestled with all that, Corrine took the kids over to Eastpoint, to explore the estuary nature center. + +I eventually gave up trying to find a replacement fuse locally and just ordered a few new ones off the internet. I figured we were headed back out to St. George state park anyway, so we'd have shore power to get us by until the fuses shipped. We don't use shore power much, mostly we live off solar, but we can hookup to 30 amp power in a pinch. + +By noon the freezer portion of our main fridge was already half-defrosted. I packed up and drove back to St. George where I met up with Corrinne and kids. Fortunately whoever was in our campsite had left early, so it was no problem -- we plugged in, re-inflated the paddle boards, and headed back out to our little slice of paradise. + + + + +[^1]: Sysco is a [restaurant supply company](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sysco) (among other things) that offers complete meal "kits" that your local restaurant then assembles on-site. If you've ever wondered by so many restaurants have such similar menus and food, Sysco is a big part of why. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-04-22_before-the-storm.txt b/jrnl/2023-04-22_before-the-storm.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4bd5b22 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-04-22_before-the-storm.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21 @@ +--- +title: Before The Storm +url: /jrnl/2023/04/before-the-storm +location: St George Island State Park, Florida +--- + +
+ + Watch on YouTube +
+ + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-04-26_bus-work-and-baseball.txt b/jrnl/2023-04-26_bus-work-and-baseball.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3b9f0d --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-04-26_bus-work-and-baseball.txt @@ -0,0 +1,92 @@ +--- +title: Bus Work and Baseball +url: /jrnl/2023/04/bus-work-and-baseball +location: Big Lagoon State Park, Florida +--- + + Our last few days on St. George between all of us we saw a Scarlet Tanager, Rose-Breasted Grosbeak, and an Indigo Bunting. The migrant birds were moving through. That's one of our cues that it's time to go. When the birds are headed north it's about time for us to do likewise. + +A couple days later we were headed back over to Pensacola to take care of some unavoidable business. We dragged our feet though. The day before we were set to leave a spot opened up at Grayton Beach, so we stopped off there for five days and enjoyed the white sand beaches. And the occasional low flying attack helicopter. + + + + +When that week was up we finally headed for Big Lagoon. It was on that drive, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on highway 98, that we knew it was time to wrap things up and head elsewhere. We had to stop off at Joe Patti's again to have a last seafood fest. + + + +We came back to the crowds and cities because we needed to sell our old Volvo, which had been sitting in a storage facility ever since we [bought the Wagoneer](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/03/wagoneer). We would have sold it right away, but we didn't have the title. As it turned out the woman who ran the storage unit office had a friend who needed a car so getting that off our hands proved easier than we thought. + +That left us with some time to catch a baseball game at the local minor league stadium. Ever since he watched the world series this fall, Elliott has been obsessed with baseball. We've played sandlot games and he's got the basics down, but he really wanted to see a real game so we'd had our eye on the Blue Wahoos' schedule and timed it right for a home game. + +
+ + + + + + +
+ +It turned out to be a great game, plenty of action to keep the kids enthralled. I think the final score was 12 to 1 Blue Wahoos (which are a farm team for the Florida Marlins). + + + + + +At one point a foul ball came vaguely our way, landing in the stands a section below us. That prompted Olivia to ask me if people ever got hit by balls. I told her I'd never seen that happen, and that I wouldn't worry about it. The minute I said that I thought, hmm, maybe I should not have said that. Sure enough, about ten minutes later a foul ball came right at us. It ended up hitting the ground about a foot from her, and hard enough that it bounced clear over the section behind us and out of the stadium. I think it happened so fast she didn't have time to be any more than startled. It was moving fast enough that no one around us made any move to catch it, not even the kids with gloves. + +Thinking about it later I realized at pro games a net usually covers the seats where we were, which is why you never see fouls come down on anyone. At a minor league game there's not much net. Yet another reason to prefer the minors really. Whatever the case, we had a good time, though I must say, Major League Baseball seems to really be on a quest to alienate baseball fans. The poor park management had signs up apologizing for not taking cash anymore, but apparently MLB won't let them. Buying tickets on the MLB site was a nightmare. Some friends of ours who recently went to the Braves game in Atlanta endured one hassle after another, including having their water bottle confiscated. The only people going to pro games anymore are true, diehard fans. People like us would never put up with it. I'm glad the kids got to experience the minor leagues first since they're a little less tainted by the mobsters running MLB. + +The next day I got busy readying the bus and Wagoneer for the long drive north. It was, naturally, hot, humid, and buggy. I always make grand plans of all things I am going to get done, with post-its the length of my arm full of tasks. In the end I usually end up doing about 20 percent of it and I base that on okay, what do I have to do to keep everyone safe and comfortable? + +The bus is easy at this point. I do a tune up, change the oil, plugs, wires, all the filters, top off the fluids, lube the various undercarriage joints and make sure I have a spare fuel pump, because those always seem to go out whenever we're on a long drive. + +Less frequently I reseal the windows, but it was time. The Florida sun is not kind to rubber or sealant. One afternoon I was scraping the old sealant off the windows, prepping them for a fresh coating to withstand any rain we might hit on our drive, when I realized I was miserable. The Florida sun can feel like a heat lamp, relentless, baking, all you want to do is get out of it before you completely shrivel up like breaded shrimp. I was sweating and scraping and the old sealant was warm so it was gummy and not coming off the way it does in cooler weather and I was hot and frustrated and mad and feeling like I'd rather be at the beach and why was I doing this anyway? What kind of idiot lives like this? + + + +Just then my daughter walked by and said *hey, that's our window*. *Well, we share it* (meaning her and her twin sister). She pointed to the pane that is behind her head and the pane that is behind her sister's head and then she walked off. And I stood there for a minute and thought right, that's why I am doing this, to keep my family warm and dry. + +That's really the only job there is in life -- making sure my wife and kids have a warm, dry, safe place in the world. Strip away all the pretensions of culture and what's left? We make shelters and feed our family and friends, maybe even strangers. That's what all creatures do, each in their own way. My way includes heat and no-see-ums, but you know what, whatever needs to be done, needs to do done. + +The Wagoneer is a more difficult thing for me to get a handle on because I don't know yet what needs to done. Right now I am just playing whack-a-mole. The first mole was the power windows, which stick. This turns out to be the bane of many a Jeep owner's existence. Not knowing that at the time, I ordered some new plastic tracks and started tearing apart the doors. One fringe benefit of the Wagoneer is the massive tailgate, which gives me something I've never had -- a workbench. + + + + +I replaced three of the little plastic tracks and the windows kinda sorta rolled up and down a little better. I also need to replace the felt tracks, but that can happen down the road. At least the kids could roll their windows down. They're going to need to because the air conditioning gave up the ghost about two weeks after we bought it. I took it to a mechanic and paid him a service fee to track down the source of the leak, which turned out to be the compressor. The compressor that's barely two years old (I have the records from the previous owner). The mechanic wanted $800 to change it out. Which was funny. Corrinne and I decided we didn't need air conditioning that bad so long as the windows worked. I did find a rebuilt compressor for $150, so at some point I'll replace it and get it recharged, but for now we have old school WD60 air conditioning: windows down, sixty miles an hour. + +After going over the Jeep for a couple of days I headed to the parts store and tracked down some new brake pads, along with all the various filters I could find and decided that's where I'd leave it. When something comes up down the road, we'll deal with it then. + +Lest you think everyone in this bus spends their days sweating and covered with no see ums, fear not. The kids do fun things even when I don't. Big Lagoon finally re-opened some sections of the park that had been closed since the last hurricane (which was almost two years ago now) and there's a new amphitheater, which, so far as I know, so far has only been host to plays and dances put on by three children. + + + + + +The kids have also started doing nature journals, which they learned about at the Esturary Center back in Apalachicola. John Muir Laws has [a fantastic book](https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-laws-guide-to-nature-drawing-and-journaling-john-muir-laws/12658634?ean=9781597143158) and [series of free videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fb65ZOjBDA&list=PLpcRk9AaBeWjswF9kYxwcVwxx7oHFT5sH&index=40) that are well worth your time no matter what age you are. In Big Lagoon we finally got to see the resident alligator, which spent the entire afternoon patiently floating just below the wooden bridge so the kids could draw it. + +
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+ +Just around the corner from Big Lagoon is a road named Blue Angel Parkway. At one intersection on Blue Angel Parkway there's some big box stores and a nice large parking lot where people gather every Monday and Tuesday to watch the Blue Angels rehearse. It's basically a free airshow. We headed over and dropped the tailgate with the rest of the spectators. + + + + + +And then it was back to work. Onward and upward. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-05-02_bus-and-repair-q-a.txt b/jrnl/2023-05-02_bus-and-repair-q-a.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d1c044e --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-05-02_bus-and-repair-q-a.txt @@ -0,0 +1,25 @@ +--- +title: Bus and Repair Q & A +url: /jrnl/2023/05/bus-and-repair-q-a +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + I got a lot of questions about the bus, life on the road, repairing things, and more. I will probably write something up as well at some point, but for now I thought I'd make a video to answer a few of the more frequently asked questions. + +
+ + Watch on YouTube +
+ +Apologies for the camera clicking noise, but I didn't want to re-shoot the whole thing. Anyway, if there's something you want to know, about the bus or otherwise, send me an email: sng@luxagraf.net. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-05-10_goodbye-florida.txt b/jrnl/2023-05-10_goodbye-florida.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..582048e --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-05-10_goodbye-florida.txt @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ +--- +title: Goodbye Florida +url: /jrnl/2023/05/goodbye-florida +location: St George Island State Park, Florida +--- + + In the evenings the song of whippoorwills echoes on all sides. Spring peepers croak and creak in the marsh reeds. Here and there through the trees I can catch a glimmering flicker of flames from a campfire. Only the truly committed are having fires in this heat. The air is still and heavy, with only the occasional puff of a breeze. + +We drove into Florida in December of last year, a few days before Elliott's birthday, nearly six months ago. In six years of living on the road this is the longest we've stayed in one area. The general consensus is that it's time to go. Not from any dislike of Florida, but simply because it is time. + +Science says that no one knows exactly what prompts birds to migrate, but I have a theory: individual agency. That is, *a* bird feels that it's time to go. It looks at other birds. They know that look. They give it some thought, they weigh it against their own feelings. They nod. And off they go together. + + + +From Big Lagoon we drove east, stopping off at Fred Gannon Rocky Bayou for a couple of days. In that time I managed to get some work done on the Jeep, and an oil change in for the bus. The Jeep needs more work than I have time or knowledge to do. I am really just crossing my fingers on the Jeep. + +I left out a story back when we left Apalachicola. The bus had been starting rough for a few days, but one day it turned ugly, like someone had poured a bag of marbles in the back of the engine. After a bit of research I saw some people say that a starter wheel can sound like that. The starter is one thing I've never touched. Chrysler starters are notoriously hard to access on cars. I've heard of people having to pull off their exhaust headers just to get to the starter. Fortunately ours is not so bad. I was able to track down a new starter and got it installed without too much trouble. I was tightening up the bolts on the new starter when I noticed the missing teeth in the flywheel. Damn. Guess it wasn't just the starter. + +There turned out to be two teeth missing. They aren't next to each other fortunately, but still not great. I got the broken teeth out and that turned out to be the bag of marbles sound, which is gone. For now it starts well enough, but eventually we'll likely lose more teeth. A new flywheel is now on my list of projects for the summer. Along with new exhaust pipes and possibly a full engine rebuild. + +One day I was out running some errands when I spied a bunch of planes outside a building not too far from the campground. It turned out to be the Airforce Armament Museum. I took the kids over the day before we left so we could check out all the planes. + + + + +There were a few things inside, including a room full of machine guns to answer the question of just how big a machine gun is, but most of the planes were parked outside. We ate lunch in the shade of some WWII bombers and then walked around, moving forward in time through the history of American warplanes. + + + + +From Fred Gannon we drove east, back to St George. Because why wouldn't you start your drive north by going southeast? We needed one last week on the wilds of the island before we said goodbye. + +It turned out that every no see um on St George had hatched since our last visit, but thankfully they weren't bad outside of our campsite. It was too hot for campfires anyway. We split our time between the beach and the bay, depending on the wind. + + + + +I've finally got to the point where I can stay on the paddleboard well enough to take it out in the ocean and kinda sorta surf on the little Florida waves. I had a few good rides and then I faceplanted and lost my nice sunglasses. At least we aren't going for a long drive any time soon. + +My favorite thing became going down to the bay in the evenings to go for a swim as the sun set. The water was plenty warm enough and if you mostly submerged yourself in the shallow water the no-see-ums would leave you alone. The kids would play and I would just lie back, kick my feet up and relax, which always feels better after you've put in a good days work on a few old vehicles. + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-05-18_jeep-brake-repairs.txt b/jrnl/2023-05-18_jeep-brake-repairs.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a00dcb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-05-18_jeep-brake-repairs.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16 @@ +--- +title: Jeep Brake Repairs +url: /jrnl/2023/05/jeep-brake-repairs +location: St George Island State Park, Florida +--- + + Working on the Jeep isn't always fun, but it has to be done. If you think you're just going to cruise around in an old vehicle, living the life, um, yeah, not all the time. Some of the time, sure. Maybe even most of the time, but there's a good bit of work to be done on the road. I guess the upside is that it's hard to beat diving into the ocean after you're done repairing stuff. I made this to celebrate getting the front brakes changed ahead of our long drive north. + +
+ + Watch on YouTube +
\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-05-24_going-up-north.txt b/jrnl/2023-05-24_going-up-north.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..40f9829 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-05-24_going-up-north.txt @@ -0,0 +1,130 @@ +--- +title: Going Up North +url: /jrnl/2023/05/going-up-north +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + Eight days of travel. Six days driving. 1508 miles from the shores of St George Island to the shores of Lake Superior. + +It was too fast. I knew it was too fast, but we wanted to get out of the heat. I was ready for the toll it takes on us, but I was not prepared for the toll it would take on the vehicles. If you do the math there, we were doing over 250 miles a day. Often considerably more since one of those days was mostly spent by the side of the road. + + + +The first day started smooth. It was hot and we left early so we wouldn't be driving in the heat. Everything was fine until the last 100 miles when the bus engine sudden got real loud. I pulled over and popped the doghouse to make sure an exhaust manifold hadn't cracked. Nothing that bad fortunately, so I crawled underneath and sure enough there was the tailpipe, broken in two just past the t-joint on the passenger's side. + + + +I limped into the nearest town and stopped at Napa. Which was closed. I limped back to O'Reilly and went in to see what I could find to try to rejoin those two pieces. After some debate with myself I went with a thinner piece that would fit inside. I borrowed a spreader tool and tried the widen the rear section, which would have allowed a wider diameter piece to fit, but I backed off, it just seemed too brittle to possibly stretch, more likely I'd crack it. I went with the next smaller diameter piece. It fit, the problem was that I couldn't just shove it in because that would block the flow of exhaust from the passenger's side. + +I fitted it as best I could and figured I could drill a hole and then widen that with a metal blade on my jigsaw. That would have worked, but one of the O'Reilly employees saved me a ton of time by announcing that he had a vice and a reciprocating saw in his truck. As we all should. He had welded up his own vice stand that fit in the two hitch. It was genius and I may have to copy it if I can get someone to weld it for me. + + + +With the vent hole cut, I inserted the pipe into the other and anchored it with a machine screw. Then I fitted on the back half of the tailpipe and anchored it with another machine screw. I bought some putty and shoved an entire container of it into the cracks and wrapped it all up with a patch to seal it. + +By this time it was hot and miserable and Corrinne and kids had done everything there was to do in this little Alabama town so after I bought some baling wire, we hit the road. The Jeep did not like the heat though, and the wind had drained from our day, so we ended up calling it a day and getting hotel. We stopped about fifty miles short of goal, but we figured the hotel would let us get an early start the next day. + +We were on the road at 6 AM the next morning, trying to beat the heat up to Tupelo. We ended up driving over 300 miles, which I think is maybe the longest day we've ever done. Both vehicles ran great, though by the end of the day, when we pulled into Tombigbee State Park for the night, the supposedly heat-resistant exhaust wrap was pretty well burned off. + + + +We pulled into the first site that looked appealing, and headed for the cold showers. So long as you stayed in the shade it was actually tolerable. We whiled away the evening playing baseball and grilling burgers. After the sun set that night, and it cooled down, I got underneath and re-wrapped the repaired joint with some header tape I had lying around and then anchored that with baling wire. + +The next morning we hit the road again early and pulled off another long day up to Metropolis IL, to the same campground [we stayed in last year](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/06/prairie-notes). We took a day off the next day to get some work done, but even here we hadn't truly escaped the heat so we didn't linger. The only problem was that the last few miles to Metropolis the bus had been making a horrible scraping noise that sounded like it was coming from the left front wheel. I suspected either the brakes or the wheel bearings, the latter of which would be especially bad. + +Leaving Metropolis I didn't hear a thing, so I pushed on. After about 100 miles I stopped to get gas and again, once I dropped below highway speeds, there was the scrapping again. I got gas and got back on the highway, scraping until I was up to about 35 MPH and then it went away. Curious. + +Then I hit a particularly large bump and heard it again. Hmm. Then something in my head screamed wheel bearings. I know I have a piece about [safety third](https://luxagraf.net/essay/safety-third), but I don't mess around with wheel bearings so I pulled over. Corrinne and kids joined me at a gas station. I told her I needed to get the wheel off and apart and take a look. They headed off to explore an antique store while I went off to convince a diesel mechanic to help me get the wheel off. He agreed to help, he even spun the bolts off for me, but then he had to go run an errand. + + + +He left his tools for me, so I got the wheel apart and... the brakes looked okay. One of the wheel cylinder pins was slightly off kilter and the cylinder was leaking, but neither of those were making the scraping noise. I dug deeper and the bearings all looked okay to me. + + + +Eventually the mechanic came back and he agreed with my assessment. Then he looked at me funny and said, "weird thing is, back down the road from here a car just blew out its wheel bearings, sheared off the whole wheel and it hit a motorcyclist. They're all down in a ditch, they're trying to get them out now." We talked for a while after that. He told me some sad, sad stories about his town, his family. It was a strange stop that left me feeling like things in this country are more painfully broken than I thought. + +Eventually he helped me repack the bearings and we put the wheel back together. I paid him for his time and tools and hit the road again. The scraping went away when I got above 35 and I figured if it wasn't the wheel bearings or the brakes maybe I could just keep driving and try to puzzle it out. Which is what I did for about another 100 miles or so. + +It's tough to find camping in the middle of Illinois, but there are some county parks in the small towns. We pulled into Arthur, Illinois -- mostly notable for its Amish population -- not really knowing what to expect. We found a gravel lot behind the high school with electric and water. Good enough for the night. + + + +We were also in the middle of several baseball fields so after dinner I took the kids over to watch a little league game for a couple innings. When we came back there was a softball game going at the field right in front of the bus. We sat around watching the Amish play softball against the English (that's what the Amish call you and I). We arrived late, and the lighted scoreboard didn't work so I don't know who won, but the Amish were damn good and I'd be surprised if the other team won. + + + + + + +The next morning we hit the road early, but we decided to split up. Since stop-and-go was not good for the bus, I decided to take the interstate while Corrinne would continue on the backroads that we usually take. This worked for about 50 miles. Then I hit a bump and that was the end, the scraping became a grinding and I pulled to the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere. + +It's been a long time since I was at the side of the road with no clue what was wrong. I got out and crawled under the bus but I didn't see anything wrong. The conclusion I came up with was that maybe the slightly crooked pin in the wheel cylinder had become worse, making the brake pad rub the drum. That didn't feel right, but I had no other ideas. I limped along a couple of miles on the shoulder and pulled off in the tiny town of Tonika IL where there was a Casey's gas station with a truck parking lot we could leave the bus in if we needed to. And we did. + +
+ + + + + +
+ +People always ask if we're actually as calm as I make it seem when things go wrong. It comes up enough that now Corrinne and I joke about it whenever something does happen. *Are you stressed? Never.* + +I actually was stressed this time because we wanted to meet up with some friends the next day in Wisconsin, and I was supposed to meet a colleague who lives in Rockford for coffee that evening . None of that was going to happen and I was stressed about that. I don't like to flake on people. But once I accepted that those things weren't going to happen, the stress went away, and I was able to get to work. You have to start where you are, not where you wish you were. + +I called around to find a new wheel cylinder and found a parts store that said they'd have it the next morning. We got a hotel for the kids and I stayed with the bus, camping in the parking lot for the night. I was at the parts store the next morning at 8 AM and... the wheel cylinder did not arrive. Actually one did, since I ordered both left and right side. The right side was there, the left was not. I got back on the phone and found a Napa that said they could have it by 2 that afternoon. + +With a few hours to kill we decided to check out nearby Starved Rock State Park. It proved a very crowded, but interesting park. As with most places, a little walking and you soon left most of the crowds behind. + + + +
+ + + + +
+ +After the hike we ate lunch and then I went back to the bus and set about taking the wheels off so everything would be ready to go when I got the parts. Except I couldn't get the lug nuts off. I stood and bounced on my breaker bar and they just wouldn't move. I walked over to a Semi truck repair shop behind the gas station and borrowed a four foot long breaker bar. Still no dice. I took it back and ended up talking to the owner for a bit. He agreed to spin off the lug nuts for me so I pulled the bus over to his driveway. He listened to my story, but I could tell he didn't think it sounded good either. We jacked it up and spun the wheel. No scrape. "Take me for a drive then," he said. + + + +So we did and about half way across the parking lot I started having deja vu. "Nah, that's your drive train," he said, "spin it back around." I pulled it back onto the concrete and he and I and his son all crawled under to inspect the u-joints and shafts. That's when the deja vu got stronger and all the sudden it hit me. [King City, California](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/12/aquarium-kings). I will quote myself: "there was a horrible grinding noise that really sounded like wheel bearings to me." But it wasn't then and it wasn't now. Once it hit me I slipped forward and there it was, the rear transmission mount had broken again. The first u-joint was hanging down, scraping against the cross member. + +Once I pointed it out the owner and his sons made quick work of it. They pulled it out, welded it back together and had it back in about 10 minutes. They wouldn't even take any money for it. Yet again we continue on by the kindness of strangers. + +By then it was late in the day and we'd already paid for the hotel for another night, so I just drove over there and we went to a nearby Mexican market and got a rotisserie chicken that was pretty damn close to what we used to enjoy all the time in San Miguel. + +From there on out it was a pleasant drive. We mostly stayed on the backroads, as we usually do, though I did grab the highway through Madison because the faster I get through cities, the better. We stopped off in Edgerton WI to visit the boyhood home of Sterling North, since we'd [recently read his novel Rascal](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/03/gone-fishin), which the kids loved. In fact part of Rascal takes place on the Brule river, not far from where we've been spending our summers in Wisconsin. I looked up where Sterling North lived and discovered that his house has been preserved, so we decided to stop. + + + +The house is only open Sundays, so we just saw the outside, but the Methodist church caretaker happened to see us outside and asked the kids if they wanted to come into the church and ring the bell. The bell tower figures prominently in the book, but even if it didn't, what kid doesn't love to ring a huge bell? + +
+ + + + +
+ +I spent some time in Edgerton trying to fix the steering wheel of the Jeep, which has become rather loose, but in the end I broke off the pivot pin puller and had to put it back together the way it was. That one ratcheted up my frustration levels because it was not just nut and bolts. It was weird torx screws, steering wheel pullers, and other specialty tools. If I want to get the steering wheel of the bus it's just one bolt. I love the Jeep, but the complexity increase from one bolt to three hours of work is not progress. + +We had one other small issue that day after we left Sterling North's house. One of the bolts that holds the alternator on to the front of the bus engine snapped off and vibrated forward until the head of it was hitting the fan, making another horrible clanging noise. For a second I did panic that time. I pulled over and it really did sound like a piece of metal was bouncing around inside the engine. Then I saw the bolt vibrating around loose and relaxed. Twenty minutes later I had rigged it up well enough to get us the rest of the way to Washburn. + +We'd left the heat behind a few days before in Metropolis IL, but that night in the middle of Wisconsin was the first night it was genuinely cold. This was what we'd been wanting. We pulled out our jackets before the sun had even set. I lay for a while outside on the picnic table thinking, we did it, we actually did it. + + + +Eight days. Only three things broke on two cars that are more than 80 years old between them. + +It wasn't until I was sitting there, staring up at the pines above our campsite, that it occurred to me that everything that had gone wrong on our drive -- the broke tailpipe, the cracked rear transmission mount, the broken alternator bolt, the lose steering wheel bolts in the Jeep -- all those things ultimately happened most likely because of excessive vibration. You can maybe blame some of that on general engine vibration, but two of them happened after hitting potholes. + +American roads are falling apart. I remember when we first started we'd notice bad roads. Louisiana's roads were terrible. Corrinne's grandfather built roads in Louisiana most of his life, we'd joke that the roads were probably the same surfaces he'd help lay. I also remember thinking that highway 101 in California, just north of and down through San Francisco, was one of the worst roads in the country. The point is we noticed bad roads. + +Today, we notice good roads. And there are very few of them. + +Luckily for us, the last day was a pleasant and very smooth drive over what was definitely the best road surface on our entire drive. We were in Washburn by mid afternoon, tucked away in the campsite that will be our home for most of the summer. Except for when we have to get our new tailpipe made. And probably when I rebuild the front brakes. And maybe when I pull the entire engine out for a rebuild. But for now at least we have nowhere else we need to be. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-05-31_notes-from-the-road.txt b/jrnl/2023-05-31_notes-from-the-road.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb451ed --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-05-31_notes-from-the-road.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14 @@ +--- +title: Notes From The Road +url: /jrnl/2023/05/notes-from-the-road +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + +
+ + Watch on YouTube +
\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-06-14_second-spring.txt b/jrnl/2023-06-14_second-spring.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1095eff --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-06-14_second-spring.txt @@ -0,0 +1,58 @@ +--- +title: Second Spring +url: /jrnl/2023/06/second-spring +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + Driving [1,800 miles north in a week](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/05/going-up-north) was like stepping back in time. Spring came and went in Florida back in early March, by the time we left Florida was well into summer, whatever the calendar might have said. Here in Washburn though spring had barely arrived. + +The night we got in the overnight low was 34 degrees. The trees were mainly still bare, save the birches, which leaf out really early. The undergrowth was still spindly and the creek, which normally afforded the kids somewhere to play where no one could see them, was visible to the whole campground. + + + +There was also almost no one in the campground save us, the camp hosts, and a few other seasonal campers. We even beat most of the birds up here. There were a few robins around, some swans, geese, and ducks, but the resident merlins, and most of the spring warblers had not shown up yet, and there were hardly any flowers to be seen. + +In two short weeks all that changed. Leaves came out so fast I swear the kids and I watched them grow one day. The creek quickly became hidden again, and every tree and flower popped out at once. This is the same trail above, about three weeks later: + + + + +Along with the leaves, every fruiting tree was in bloom. + + + +
+ + + + +
+ +Lupines always remind me of a book I used to read to the kids all the time, [Miss Rumphius](https://bookshop.org/p/books/miss-rumphius-story-and-pictures-barbara-cooney/10132119), about a woman who grows up listening to her father's stories of the sea. She ends up traveling the world for most of her life, but eventually returns to Maine and spends the remainder of her life scattering lupine seeds over the countryside. It's loosely based on the life of a woman named [Hilda Edwards Hamlin](https://newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/how-real-miss-rumphius-decorated-maine-lupines/) who really did scatter lupine seeds along the roads of Maine. We're a good ways from Maine, but the lupines are everywhere here. + + + + +With the flowers came the insects and the birds. Once the thickets were leafed out, and impossible to see into, they filled up with singing warblers. The merlins showed up again and build a new nest in the same tall pine they used last year. I'm not sure the pileated woodpeckers ever leave, but they started coming around the campground more, hunting the insects that hide in the pine bark. + + + +Unfortunately the mosquitoes also came out -- thicker than we've ever seen them around here. I was some small comfort to hear some locals say this is the worst mosquitoes have ever been around here, so far as anyone can remember. It was bad enough that we mostly stayed indoors for a couple days. But after that initial swarm, it calmed down to just spring-in-the-woods levels and we got back out. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +With spring also comes baseball. I made sure to show him the 2004 Red Sox ACLS before sending him off so he knows how its done. + + + +Spring is also, apparently, the time to sell your vehicle in these parts. The 1973 Barth motorhome that's been for sale here as long as we've been coming up, is, ahem, still for sale. There may be some price issues there. + +If you've ever thought, I'd really like to travel the world in a [MOOG](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unimog), but I want a vintage MOOG, I have an even better one for you. This is a 1966 AM General (makers of the Humvee) that's been converted from 4x4 to 6x6. Because you can never have too many wheels turning when you're stomping across the globe. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-06-20_build.txt b/jrnl/2023-06-20_build.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12ff7b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-06-20_build.txt @@ -0,0 +1,58 @@ +--- +title: Build +url: /jrnl/2023/06/build +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + *When in doubt, build shelves*. Building things is an essential part of life. Shelves are easy and satisfying to build. They're useful too. Everyone needs more shelf space. Everywhere I've ever lived I built some shelves or bookcase or some sort of flat surface on which to put thing. When you're done with a shelf your life is inevitably neater and more organized and better in some small way. + +Ivan Illich writes in *[Tools for Convivality](https://bookshop.org/p/books/tools-for-conviviality-ivan-illich/17686474)* that "people need... the freedom to make things among which they can live, or give shape to them according to their own tastes, and to put them to use in caring for and about others." + +Maybe that seems like too much weight to put on something as simple as shelves, but I think it's important to have an active hand in shaping the world that surrounds you. It gives that world more meaning. Shelves are an easy place to start shaping. Get a single sturdy board, a couple angle brackets, and you're on your way. You can get fancier, if that's your taste, and search out how to do a french cleat. Either way you have given shape to your things yourself. + + + +I've been shelf building my whole life. When I don't have anything else to do, I build shelves. Or at least paint them. I used to repaint my bookshelves whenever I moved because after a move you never quite know what to do in your new space. The answer is to build shelves. I also tidy up when I'm trying to think, which inevitably makes me think, hmm, I should build a shelf to hold this stuff I am picking up. + +I know this contradicts the image of the traveler sitting in a hammock, relaxing all the time. I mean, I try to get in the hammock as much as possible, but this summer I've built quite a few shelves too. Shelves for books, shelves in the bathroom, shelves in the closet. Then I branched out and built a new towel rack. I still have a few more shelves planned before we hit the road again. + + + +I've been building shelves in part because I can't work on the engine. I pulled the tailpipe out of the bus--all 28 feet of it. I it cut up into manageable pieces and sent off to Eau Claire where a machine shop is building us a new one. Slowly. That pretty much means I can't work on the engine. Well, I can't start it, which makes it hard to work on it and know the results. + +We stacked the summer up with activities for the kids. Well. For us anyway. We're not used to being in one place for so long so we maybe went a little overboard. There were baseball games, juijitsu and wrestling practice, sailing camp, theater camp, and what feels like an inordinate number of other activities. The kids have had fun though. + +We've managed to do some exploring too. We made a day trip to Little Girl's Point, which is one of the more popular agate hunting beaches in the area. Not being a rockhound myself, I usually just lounge on the beach. Give me a blank sheet of paper in a beautiful place and I will be occupied for hours. I'm getting fancy in my old age though. These days, in addition to a notebook, I've started bringing a stove to make coffee on. Because why not? Fresh cowboy coffee at the beach is something everyone should treat themselves to every now and then. Bonus points if you can find a place to hang a hammock. + + + + + + +The girls turned 11 in July, though this year, thanks to a family visit just before their birthday, they managed to drag the celebration out into something like a birthday week. On the actual day there was, of course, [waffle cake](https://luxagraf.net/essay/waffle-world). + + + + +Quite a few people have reached out to see how the wildfire smoke was up here. Most of the time it really hasn't been that bad. There's been a general haze that I don't recall from last year, but mostly it's been okay, not nearly as bad here as I've seen elsewhere. That said, there were a couple of days where the sun looked like this at 11 AM and the world was preternaturally dark. + + + +To balance it out, there have also been days where it's so clear it seems like an easy swim over to Ashland. + + + +The bad air didn't affect the cherries at least. The great lakes area is, for some reason, home to the best cherries I've ever had. Around here it's mostly red cherries, which are delicious, but if you ever make it over to the UP, keep an eye out for the golden cherries. We had some back in 2018 and the kids still talk about them, they're that good. After reading Ralph Moody's *Little Britches* books, which involve some cherry picking, the kids really wanted to try their hand so we found a nearby farm. + + +
+ + + + +
+ + +They didn't get to use stilts, which is what the children in the books do, but I believe they came home with 12 pounds in all -- a very impressive haul. We gave away a few pounds, but I'd say we ate at least seven pounds of cherries in two days. + +That's sort of thing summer does to you up here. It's so short you have to cram a lot into it. On the one hand there's an element of gluttony to it, everything grows so fast and is gone before you know it that you have to cram seven pounds of cherries down in two days. It doesn't even seem excessive. But on the other hand you appreciate it more because it is so fleeting. This is a land where winter is always either here, or just around the corner. Any time you don't need a jacket and skis to get outside is reason enough to celebrate. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-07-24_little-girls-point.txt b/jrnl/2023-07-24_little-girls-point.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e2cfef --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-07-24_little-girls-point.txt @@ -0,0 +1,50 @@ +--- +title: Little Girl's Point +url: /jrnl/2023/07/little-girls-point +location: Little Girl Point, Michigan +--- + + The rest of my family loves rock hounding. I don't even know if that's what you call it, but that's what I'm going with. They enjoy walking around, hunting for rocks. Agates are especially popular with rock lovers, and one of the best agate beaches in the area is across the lake from us, in Michigan, at place called Little Girl's Point. + +We were over there one Thursday afternoon, hunting for rocks on the beach. The beach sits just below a small bluff where there is a county park with some campsites. The kids asked me why we never camped there. I didn't have a good answer, so we decided we'd come back the next weekend and camp, if we could get a campsite. + + + +We somehow managed to grab probably the best site in the campground for the following weekend. Since the bus tailpipe was still being bent into shape somewhere down in Eau Claire, we loaded up the Jeep with our camping gear and headed out for a few nights in a tent. + +It might seem like camping is strange thing for us to do, since we're sort of always camping. If the bus had been running, we'd have brought it, but then again sometimes it's good to change it up, get a little more primitive so you appreciate what you have the rest of the time. Although it's hard to consider yourself roughing it with views like this. + + + + +Our campsite was perched right on the edge of the bluff, about 60 feet above the water. There was a gully, with a fallen tree spanning it that allowed us to get up and down without too much trouble. You just needed to have good balance to walk the log. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +We got to Little Girl's Point after a day of heavy rains, which turned the patches of clay soil in the bluffs into some impressively large mud pits. The kids scampered up and down the cliffs all day, looking for larger and larger mud pits to play in before jumping in the lake to rinse off and do it all over again. + + + + + + +The main difference from our usual day trip forays to Little Girl's Point, was that we were able to linger, watch the shadows lengthen, see the orange ball of evening sun sink into the smoky edges of the lake. + + + + + + + +It was also nice to be there in the early mornings when no one was around. It never ceases to amaze me how late people sleep. I know that I too once did that, but it still seems strange to me that you would lay around in bed well after the sun is up. These days I am usually up for the sunrise, which almost always gets you the beach to yourself, whether you're in Florida or Michigan. + + + + +Unfortunately, as so often happens these day, our lovely little campsite was booked for the weekend, so we had to pack it up and head back to the Wisconsin side of the lake we call home in the summer. There were projects aplenty that needed my attention anyway, seats to recover, tailpipes to install, transmissions to work on, as well as friends and family coming to visit. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-08-09_everyday-1984.txt b/jrnl/2023-08-09_everyday-1984.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d0afc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-08-09_everyday-1984.txt @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ +--- +title: Everyday It's 1984 +url: /jrnl/2023/08/everyday-1984 +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + Nostalgia is commonly used pejoratively. As if the very idea of looking backward in time and saying, hmm, maybe we lost something between then and now were... bad? The American Psychological Association considers nostalgia a subset of depression, which is, ahem, depressing. But then I guess if you're stuck trying to prop up the present as better than the past, at this point, you have to do some serious philosophical dancing. + +Whatever the case, call it what you will, but one of my goals for us in living the way we do is to provide our children with a world that resembles the world of 1984. With maybe some notable elements from 1969 thrown in. But not having lived through 1969 I can't even try to authentically replicate it. 1984 though. I know some things about 1984. + + + +In 1984 no one was looking at their phones. In 1984 no one was wearing masks. In 1984 no one was wearing helmets. In 1984 no one went on play dates. In 1984 playgrounds were made of metal. In 1984 no one called the cops on kids left alone for the day. In 1984 everyone expected children to be self-governing individuals capable of surviving the day unsupervised and no one thought twice about it. + +This is how I grew up. It's how my peers and elders grew up, and from what I've seen of the world my peers and elders are considerably more capable individuals than the people who've grown up in the hyper-managed, ultra-safe, everyone-gets-a-trophy world kids inhabit today. + +I want my kids to grow up the way we did. Yes, they get hurt sometimes. You should have seen Lilah's toe when she caught it on a root while riding her bike barefoot. It happens. One minute you're riding along, the next minute your toenail is gone. Childhood is supposed to have sharp edges and moments of pain, it's how you learn and grow. + + + +I picked 1984 somewhat at random, but the point stands that part of what I want to do living this way is provide my kids with access to the freedoms that I enjoyed and give them room to figure things out for themselves, explore new places, learn new things, meet new people, and build and sustain relationships -- on their own. + +To be able to do this is a skill everyone has to learn, but we've had several generations now that were never given the chance to do this and... it's not good. These grown men and women are only couple steps above helpless in many cases and we're all starting to see the effects of that. When Mommy and Daddy are always there to fix things and suddenly they aren't.... + +To be a self-regulating individual capable of exploring the world, learning on your own, and building friendships as you go, requires practice. It requires the space to make mistakes and find the success that builds confidence as you go. Our kids need to work things out themselves, to reason things out themselves without anyone telling them the answer. + +This is a big part of why we keep coming back to Washburn. It's not just that parenting has changed since 1984. Culture changed too. We no longer have a culture that allows kids these freedoms even if the parents are willing to give them. Parents go to jail for these things in some places. Utah, Oklahoma, and Texas have actually had to [pass laws](https://reason.com/2021/05/18/texas-becomes-third-state-to-pass-free-range-kids-law/) legalizing the act of letting kids roam around unsupervised. Wisconsin has no such law that I know of, but in small towns around America the culture of letting kids roam remains much more in tact than it does in more populated areas. This is a big part of why we spend so much time on the fringes. + +The people we've met, the people who are here regularly, they think like we do, they grew up like we do. The sort of people who'll call the cops on an unattended child, do not come here. And so we keep coming back. + + + + + +This means that a good bit of what we've done this summer -- is nothing. We've stayed around town and let the kids wander the creeks, make friends, ride their bikes around town, make food over a fire, fish, swim, and whatever else they want to do. + + +
+ + + + +
+ + + + +And sure, I was there to take these pictures. I like to swim. I like to explore. But these are just a handful of moments. The kids had most of the summer to themselves. We let them wander around in a kind of mile or two radius where they could get up to whatever they wanted. I'm grateful to all their friends' parents who also let their kids roam around and to the people of Washburn who've made a community where that's possible. Where bikes won't be stolen, no one calls the cops on kids, and the world is, well, more like it was in 1984. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-09-06_ready-to-start.txt b/jrnl/2023-09-06_ready-to-start.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5b8e98 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-09-06_ready-to-start.txt @@ -0,0 +1,59 @@ +--- +title: Ready to Start +url: /jrnl/2023/09/ready-to-start +location: Washburn, Wisconsin +--- + + If you're not excited about where you're going, you're going the wrong way. + +Where you're going may be challenging, difficult, a real pain in the ass even, but come what may, you should be excited about getting there—both the getting, and the there. That's how you know you're [on the path](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/01/path). + + + + +I know people struggle with finding their path. It's not easy. I lose my way sometimes too, but it's still there, inside you. + +I think the best way to find your path is to slow down, be quiet, and listen. + +There's a lot of noise in the world, a lot of people telling you what you should do. Some of them may mean well, but no one knows your path. There are no exceptions. No one knows your path. And you don't know anyone else's path. + +I think that's part of the reason some people read this site -- they're not happy with their path. Our path is appealing, if only, I think, because it's very different. That doesn't mean it's right for you, but it's an option. Most people I've met through luxagraf are looking for something that our culture didn't offer them. If you think the grand dance of existence might involve more than working all your life for [two TV sets and two Cadillac cars](https://inv.vern.cc/watch?v=9iJQQTg5_Kg), as Lou Reed put it, this site is here to tell you you're not alone. + +I believe that we are here to give the gifts that we have built up inside us over millennia of our soul’s existence, that we are here to shepherd each other toward our gifts and give to the world those things that we have inside us. How you do that is for you to figure out, but I have found that letting go of the ideas that haven't been working is a good place to start. You don't have to follow the scripts you were handed. Those may not be your path. Sit down, quiet your mind, and listen. Be patient. + +Toward the end of August I was starting to feel the pull of the road again. We love spending the summer up here, being anchored to a part of the world for a while, but we also get excited to get going again, to see new things. There's always sadness in leaving, we'll miss our friends, but we also know we'll see them again. + +Getting ready to go means getting busy too. I probably have less time to be sad about leaving because I end up running around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to get everything done in the last couple of weeks. As always, there's a balance to be found. I spent a good bit of time working on the vehicles, but we also found time to do some paddleboarding, pick blueberries, and put together a big sleepover for the kids and all their friends. + +Our new exhaust pipe arrived one day toward the end of the August. Since the man who made it couldn't actually be there to fit everything together, it came back to me as a bit of a jigsaw puzzle, with plenty of extra pipe on each piece, and even made a few extra pieces, so I'd have a better chance of getting it all to fit. That was a good call on his part, but it did mean I had to do a lot of cutting to get everything fitted properly. + + + +The tough part was wrapping around the driver's side, keeping the exhaust far enough from the oil pan, but not too close to the transmission cooler lines. There's not much room down there and this took quite a bit of doing, but I was pretty sure I'd done a good job. Actually, I had done a good job if those where the only two factors to consider. Alas, they are not, but I did not realize that when I was installing the tailpipe so I was happily ignorant. That's called foreshadowing. + +Once I had it cut and fitted around the engine, fitting the rest was was easy since it's mostly straight. The only hiccup is the bend over the rear axle, but the man who made the pipe did a great job and it fit perfect. We even have a muffler now. Fancy. + + + +With the tailpipe in we were pretty close to being mobile again. We just needed seats. For about four weeks this summer we lived with no seats in the bus. No front seats, no couch, no table. Nothing. We slept on the ground, ate on the ground, worked on the ground. It wasn't a ton of fun, but the seats really needed to be recovered. + +The vinyl that was used in the initial job was probably dead stock. Or at least well past its ideal sell date. It turned brittle and began to fall apart last year, getting worse at an accelerating pace until we decided something had to be done. Coincidentally, this summer a new upholstery shop opened up in Washburn[^1] and we were able to get everything redone. Adam of Adam's Upholstery did a fantastic job and the seats look and feel better than they ever have. + +Somewhere in there we squeezed in a trip to a blueberry farm, and, after plenty of aborted attempts, we finally got to go sailing on our friend Bob's boat. I don't think the kids have ever talked so fondly about anything we've ever done. + + + + + +The weekend before it was time to go we set up the tent and the kids invited over some friends from town and had a kids' sleepover/camping trip. They somehow squeezed 8 people in our tent, and despite the rain, managed to stay dry and have a good time. + +Meanwhile, a couple days before we were set to go, I came down with a pretty terrible head cold that left me lying down most of the day. I had a list of things that needed to get done, but by the time I was up and doing things again it just wasn't possible. I had to pick one thing and I picked giving the bus a quick coat of wax. I only managed to get three sides done, but she looks good. + +It might sound like an odd choice, but there weren't any mechanical things that *had* to be done, and I have found that appearances matter. An old rig that's dirty and beat up just looks old. Take that same rig though and make it shiny and clean, and all the sudden it's vintage and everyone wants to say hi and talk about it. More than any mechanical fix, that good will, much of which comes from that clean first impression, is what gets us down the road. + +This is part of our path I think. My experience has been that when you do find your path, and it's not the path most people are familiar with, or want anything to do with, it's best to make them comfortable by making your path at least relatable in the small things. Everyone appreciates a clean home. Everyone knows that when things are shiny, it's because the people who own them care for them, and everyone cares for something. + +I said earlier that no one can tell you your path, and you can go your own way, but you're still part of the world and sometimes you need to make concessions to the rest of the world. You have to meet the world half way. For us that means keeping a tight ship, as it were. Other people might not want your path, they might not even like your path, but most of them will respect it if you give them a way to do that. So wax it was. And then, we were off. + + +[^1]: Technically not new, but relocated to a place we actually noticed it. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-09-20_stop-breaking-down.txt b/jrnl/2023-09-20_stop-breaking-down.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2bbc80d --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-09-20_stop-breaking-down.txt @@ -0,0 +1,82 @@ +--- +title: Stop Breaking Down +url: /jrnl/2023/09/stop-breaking-down +location: McClain State Park, Michigan +--- + + I had a bad feeling pulling out of Washburn. The bus sat for nearly four months this summer. The bus hates sitting. I had time to drive it to the upholstery shop and back and that was the extent of my test driving. I was hoping, whatever was going to break, would do it in a populous area with an auto parts store. + +To dash my hopes, our first stop was the Keweenaw peninsula, the long arm of Michigan's Upper Peninsula that sticks out into Lake Superior. In an already remote place, the Keweenaw is even more remote. That's very much the kind of place we enjoy though, the outer edges, the forgotten places that the 21st century, and in some cases most of the 20th century, has passed over. The Keweenaw isn't as unknown as it once was, but it's still out there. + +Fortunately for us the bus made it less than 50 miles before it died in a Walmart parking lot. One minute it was cranking over, about to start, and then boom, dead. Not even a click when I turned the key. Well, well. Electrical issues were not what I had expected to go wrong, but I went and dug out my multimeter (which I'm pretty sure is my most used tool), and started checking connections. + +My instinct was that the starter relay was bad (or remote solenoid as some people call it). It went bad once long ago, before we even hit the road, and left me stranded at a dump station. That's the sort of thing you remember. I swapped out the relay with an extra one I carry, but nothing changed. Damn. + +When I bent down by the starter relay and listened closely I could hear it attenuating, or at least it sounded like something was happening and really it's a pretty simple device, a coil is charged and two pieces of metal touch, completing the circuit and sending the charge on to the starter, which then turns the flywheel. + +I've seen quite a few mechanics complaining that over the last few years the quality of parts have done a nose dive. Maybe I'd replaced a dead relay with a dead relay? I called a local parts shop to see if they had a relay but they'd have to order it and it wouldn't be there until Monday. Damn. + +One of the things I learned at that dump station long ago was that you can bypass the relay by using a screwdriver to bridge the gap. I did that and she cranked up. Pretty sure I'd solved the problem, I quickly packed up my tools and figured I'd just get another relay somewhere down the road. + +As I was pulling out of the Walmart parking lot, smoke began pouring out from under the dash and a strong electrical smell of melting plastic filled my nose. Then some burning wire dropped on the ground between my feet. I quickly hooked the bus back around, parked it in a corner, grabbed my fire extinguisher and started tearing apart the front of the bus looking for the source of the fire. Thankfully stopping the bus had stopped the short and there was no fire. + +Still, having hung around Travco forums and other places online, I've heard my share of [electrical horror stories](https://www.bumfuzzle.com/fire/).To head that off I had re-wired everything related to the house batteries, and I replaced the old glass fuse panel under the dash with a modern one. But the "wiring harness" of the Travco is a rat's nest of chaos. It seems to have come that way from the factory as far as I can tell. Whatever the case, I was feeling like I'd just cheated the mechanical gods with so small a fire and I wasn't about to hit the road again until I knew everything was good with the wiring. + +The problem was: was the fire related to the engine not starting? Or something totally unrelated? It seemed mighty coincidental to have an electrical fire right after you were messing with the wiring, so I figured they must be related. + +I found the remains of the wire on the back of the instrument panel and it turned out to be one of two wires going into a single blade. The other wire went to the windshield wiper, which made it a reasonable assumption to think the other probably went to the other windshield wiper switch. I pulled out the manual and looked over the wiring diagram. The wiring diagram had every instrument and dial on the dash. Except the windshield wiper switch. Damn. + + + + + +At this point I'd been troubleshooting the wiring for a couple of hours. In six years of traveling we've never spent a night in a Walmart parking lot, but it was beginning to look a lot like we weren't going to move. We called AAA, thinking that it'd be easier to do whatever work needed to be done back in Washburn. We called at 2 PM, they said it'd be about an hour. We made some lunch. AAA called back and said they didn't know when a tow truck was coming. + +I kept testing wires. I went through the whole ignition harness and everything tested fine. I moved on to the relay, which now was giving me nothing on the starter side. Hmm. I decided, since I had nothing else to do, I might as well pull the starter and have it bench tested, so I did. When I did I noticed that one wire from the relay to the starter was pressed up against the transmission lines and the insulation had melted. Not good. I went ahead and took the starter to the auto parts store and had it tested. It was fine. + +I came back and re-installed the starter and made a new wire to replace the melted one. I also bent the transmission line down some so it wouldn't touch the wire. That's when I realized I had probably bent it when I installed the exhaust. That felt like the problem to me, but it still wouldn't start, which confused me. + +By now it was painfully obvious that AAA was useless. I could see the towing shop they claimed they'd called across the street, so I called them and asked if AAA had contacted them. They had not. Corrinne called AAA back and found that the person entering our info had listed us as an A108 van, which is about 1/3 our size. She got a manager who promised he'd have a tow truck there in an hour. An hour later, guess what wasn't there? + +By now I'd given up hope of going back to Washburn. Olivia made dinner while I kept testing and trying to follow the wiring diagram. It started to get dark not long after that, so we called it a night -- our first in a Walmart parking lot. I've spent quite a few nights in various parking lots with the bus and I have to say, Walmart was by far the best. + + + +The next morning I was up and at it after an early breakfast. My plan was to rewire everything related to the ignition. Before I got started though, a couple came over to say hi. They turned out to also own a Travco, and lived just down the road. I told him we were having electrical issues and he offered to help. He went through basically everything I'd done the day before (which made me feel like at least I was on the right track), and ended up at the same point: the relay. Could it be as simple as having replaced a bad relay with a bad relay? + +Chris called a friend of his who was a Mopar guy and said to bring the relays by and he'd bench test them. He also thought he had a spare lying around. So I jumped in Chris's car and we went over to his friend's house which turned out to have a massive shop with more tools than some professional mechanics have on offer. When we got there he was welding new tension rods for a model A he was restoring. + +He bench tested the relays and they were both bad. Chris then opened them up and they were both broken in the same way. Odd. While the relay was clearing the breaking point, what was breaking it? Chris's friend dug out an old relay. It was from a manual transmission so it didn't have the neutral safety switch (which means it would start in drive, which doesn't matter in a manual because the clutch is engaged), but otherwise it was a working relay. + +We headed back to the bus and installed it. She fired right up. By that time Chris and I had worked out that probably the wire touching the transmission line had sent current back up and burned out both relays. His friend called a few minutes later and said, you know, I was thinking, that wire you mentioned that melted, that's gotta be what blew out the relays. + +Problem solved. The melted wire we decided was just an unlucky coincidence, a result most likely of me bumping a wire when I testing the ignition wires. + +Chris and his wife invited us over to check out their Travco, which we did. It was a couple years later than ours, and strangely had some parts from a 1972 and some from a 1973, making it one of the more unusual models I've ever seen. Chris had replaced the 413 with a 440 engine and swapped out most of the drive train to get disk brakes in the front. I have no doubt it screams up mountains. I also liked Chris's collection of motorcycles, most of which he'd built out of spare parts. + + + +After chatting for a bit, thanking them profusely for getting us back on the road, we headed out again, bound for the Keweenaw. We made it to Fort McLain, about half way up, and called it a day. We woke up the next morning on the shore of Lake Superior. + + + +We'd had reservations for the weekend, but we were supposed to head on that morning. We liked the look of the place though and decided we'd try to stay. We were hunting for a vacant site online when the person next to us mentioned that their site was first-come first-served and they were headed out that morning. Perfect. I went down and booked it for two more nights and we pulled the bus over. + + + + + + + +The next day I took the kids back to the town of Houghton, which has a park called Chutes and Ladders that their friends back in Washburn (who have a cabin up here) had been telling them about. I was a little worried that it might have been overhyped, but I was wrong. It was probably the best playground/slide setup I've ever seen, including parks you have to pay for, and this one was free. + + + + +The kids liked it so much Corrinne took them back the next day while I got some work done. In fact, we like camping on the edge of the lake enough that we figured we'd extend our stay. At about 11 AM on the day we were supposed to check out, Corrinne went down to extend our stay and... found out that in Michigan people can buy your camp site out from under you. No one in Michigan seemed to see anything amiss about this, but I can assure you Michigan, this is not normal. In every other campground we have stayed in seven years of living on the road, a first-come, first-served site is not vacant until the current occupant leaves. There are no exceptions to this. State parks in 36 states, national parks, forest service campgrounds, state forest campgrounds, country parks, city parks, metro parks. Never an exception. Except Michigan state parks, where occupation counts for nothing. + +No wonder Michigan is hotbed of militia, these poor people have been having the government steal their campsites all their lives. I'd be pissed too. I was pissed. But not really at the policy. That is what it is. Silly, and dare I say unAmerican, but to my way of thinking, Michigan is free to do what Michigan wants and I am free to go elsewhere. What blew my mind was that the woman working in the front office totally went crazy on Corrinne when Corrinne pushed back and said, hey, that's not how it works everywhere else, where does it say that here? The woman exploded in front of the kids, swearing and telling Corrinne "I have a fucking Ph'D, I came here to get a break." + +Now it just seems funny to me—just one more ridiculous person working at one more misguided government institution, but at the time I was very mad. I went back up told that woman exactly what I thought of her and her Ph'D. Corrinne is very southern and polite and nice even when people swear at her. I was born in Los Angeles. I am not nice to people who swear at my wife. + +In the end, what are you going to do? We packed up in a hurry and headed out, bound for points farther north. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-09-27_copper-harbor.txt b/jrnl/2023-09-27_copper-harbor.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69d4fbf --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-09-27_copper-harbor.txt @@ -0,0 +1,62 @@ +--- +title: Copper Harbor +url: /jrnl/2023/09/copper-harbor +location: Copper Harbor, Michigan +--- + + After getting [kicked out of our site in McLain State Park](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/09/stop-breaking-down) we weren't thrilled at the prospect of more time in a Michigan State Park, but there's not really anything else in Copper Harbor. We pulled in around 3 and asked for a site. The woman at this check-in station was very nice and told me to drive around and pick what site I wanted. + +We did that, but by the time we got back there were other people already booking some of the sites we'd been told were open, which I guess makes sense, but it's a crazy way to do things. No one had taken the site we wanted, but I made a joke about putting someone in a choke hold to make sure they didn't take my site and she said, "oh, we have fights in the office sometimes." I see. Well, there you go. Note to self: JuiJitsu is never not useful. + +We managed to get a site without any violence, which was nice. We also booked it up for a few days so no one would steal it out from under us. + + + + +Copper Harbor is a place that remains mostly beyond the reach of the world. It's like [Ocracoke](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/05/ocracoke-beaches), [Apalachicola](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2013/05/all-the-pretty-beaches), [Patrick's Point](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/10/pacific), [Edisto](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2020/01/walking), and other places I've [never named](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/08/canyoneering). They are not off the map -- that's not possible any more -- but they are at the edges, far enough outside the lines to be mostly ignored, visited like shrines by devotees. + +These are worlds where cell phone service is spotty to non-existent and the people who live in them interact more, it seems to me, with the world around them. They are more present, more connected to the people around them than other places. + + + +This is my best guess. I don't live in any of them, but after spending months in several I would say that one characteristic they all share is some kind of external hardship that unites the people living there. Up here that's snow. Ocracoke and Apalachicola have storms, for others it's the sheer remoteness of life that bring people together. When the nearest store is hours away, when the nearest hospital is probably too far to help, the nearest services don't really serve you, you have to band together to get by, you share, you help others out, they help you. The way the world has been since the beginning of time -- until the last 50 years anyway, when the [outside expert](https://luxagraf.net/essay/the-cavalry-isnt-coming) arrived to tell people they were doing it wrong. Look where that got us. We need to get back to the way of Ocracoke, the way of Apalachicola, the way of Copper Harbor. + +All that said, I also think that much of what saves these places from the ills of modernity has to do with size. It might be that this kind of culture can't scale beyond a certain size. There are certain things you can't do if you live here. You can't put your headphones on and ignore the world when the world consists of only a few hundred people. Humans haven't regressed that much yet, thankfully. + +To be clear, I have no romantic notions about small town living. Small towns can be really awful if you want to buck the trends of the town. My favorite example of this is from the 1820s, when Transcendentalist Joseph Palmer -- who was considered eccentric because he dared to grow a beard -- was mobbed by his New England neighbors who tried to shave him in the street. He was then thrown in jail for defending himself, being charged with "unprovoked assault." + +No, I have no particular love for small towns, but it does seem to me that these places that are "beyond the wall" as my friend Josh likes to say, tend to be small. Perhaps it's that there are not that many people who want to live outside the world. Perhaps these really are some kind of ideal small towns made up of eccentrics who drifted in the tides of civilization until they ended up out here in the eddies. + +I'd have to live in one to know, and I don't. I like to visit them though. I like it when my phone stops working, when I can't even find a coffee shop with internet. + +One day I stayed home to do some writing, Corrinne took the kids and went with our friends out to a place they call Horseshoe Bay. It was sunny and almost warm. It was enough that the kids braved the water (which is about 45 degrees around here right now). + + + + + +The next day they convinced me to come out. The fog didn't burn off as much as it had the day before, but the girls went swimming yet again. + + + + + +Copper Harbor is also home to Fort Wilkins, which the U.S. Army set up in 1844. It was supposed to keep the peace between the miners flooding in to the great copper rush and the local Ojibwe. While some Chippewa opposed the Treaty of La Pointe that had ceded this area to the United States in 1842, the fort seems to have been mostly unneccessary. The miners and Ojibwe got along. That's the story anyway. + +Walking around the fort, and thinking about the snow level sign back down the road I couldn't help wonder if Fort Wilkins was one of those places you ended up stationed because you pissed off someone of higher rank. + + + + It's not hard to see what a forlorn little outpost it must have been in 1844. Even walking around it today there's a kind of oppressiveness to it. I think that's why everyone gravitated to the mess hall and food displays. Food staves off bleakness. + + + + + + +Fall was in full swing up here. I think we missed the peak colors by about a week, but it was gorgeous even when we were there. If there's anything I've missed traveling the last few years it's fall, which has always been my favorite season. This year we got a good taste. But I kept thinking about that snow level sign. Don't want to linger too late in these parts. + +Leaving Copper Harbor was hard because it also meant saying goodbye to our friends who had been hanging out in Washburn with us for nearly a month, and then met up with us again for another week here. Our kids had been playing together most of the summer it seems like, and it had come to feel like maybe they always would. But that's not the way it works when you travel (although I did try to convince them to keep traveling, which is something I never do), but we had to head south, and they had to get back to Wisconsin, and so we had to say goodbye to our friends, to Lake Superior, and to the whole north country. + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-09-30_drive-my-car.txt b/jrnl/2023-09-30_drive-my-car.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74edec8 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-09-30_drive-my-car.txt @@ -0,0 +1,59 @@ +--- +title: Drive My Car +url: /jrnl/2023/09/drive-my-car +location: Harrisville State Park, Michigan +--- + + After last summer's [sprint north](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/05/going-up-north), we swore we'd never try to move that fast again. We are heading back down south for the winter, but we're going to take months to get there. We're going to wander, at a leisurely pace, stopping frequently, the way we traveled when [we first set out](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/04/edge-continent). + +We said goodbye to our friends in Copper Harbor, and to Lake Superior, and then we meandered south, taking our time, driving but also stopping to explore, and then on again. It was a nice mix of the road and relaxation with no need to be anywhere beyond escaping bad weather. + + + +We took a week to slowly work our way down out of the UP, along Lake Michigan, across the Mackinac Bridge, and down into The Mitten. We hugged the shores of Lake Huron, one of the Lakes we've visited the least. + + + + + +Every other time we've left Lake Superior we've gone west, out into the Dakotas. Once [through South Dakota](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/08/wall-drug), and last year [through North Dakota](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/09/ease-down-the-road). This year we're headed the opposite way, east and then south. + +When you head west out of northern Wisconsin the notable change is that the trees fall away. After a day of driving you're out of the boreal forests and into the vast nothingness of the plains. Going east the trees never stop, the boreal forest does fade and give way to a much more mixed hardwood forest, but it's still mainly trees unless you stick to the shoreline. + + + +I love to drive, I always have. I got my driver's license at 15 and a half and never looked back. At 19 I dropped out of college and went on a three month road trip around the United States. + + + +Had I been born a century or two earlier, I suspect I'd feel about the horse the way I feel about the automobile. Both are, on one hand, ways to get down the road, and on the other, things that human beings obsess over in their effort to go faster, farther, better. + +I haven't ridden horses enough to know how I'd feel about them, but the car quickly came to feel like a natural extension of my body. There's an interview with Steve Jobs where he talks about how, per kilometer a human being isn't very efficient. The most efficient animal per kilometer is the Condor. But, and this is the part Jobs zeros in on, put a human on a bicycle and he becomes astronomically more efficient than any other human. + +What Jobs doesn't mention, but any cyclist can attest to, is how the bicycle quickly becomes more than a tool, turning rather to an extension of the body. This also happens with cars and is, I think, more than anything else, is why I like driving *older* cars -- they are more directly connected to you and your decisions, they are more fully an extension of the body. + +There is very little abstraction in vehicles from the 1970s and earlier. The mechanical workings of an old car form a clear picture in my head at this point -- I know what happens when I push on the gas pedal. I know the entire chain of connection from the pedal to the piston compression to turning that detonation into rotational energy that actually moves you down the road. This clear picture in turn (I feel) gives a deeper connection between driver and machine. + + + +When you stop and think about it, an engine is a miraculous creation. Every time one breaks down on me I find myself amazed that it ever ran at all. + +An engine is a hunk of metal with holes in it really. A piston moves up and down through those metal holes. Cylinder if you want to get more technical. On the down stroke the piston rapidly increases the available volume of the cylinder, which creates a vacuum. Remember high school physics? Nature doesn't like vacuums, she fills them. In this case she fills the vacuum with a mixture of air and atomized gasoline, which comes in through an open hole. That hole then gets closed, and the piston changes direction, moving up and compressing that mixture of fuel and air, and then, right about at maximum compression, the spark plug sparks. Boom. Gasoline has more energy per unit of mass than TNT[^1] and it sends the piston back down the cylinder, which turns the crankshaft. This is the step where we get the rotary motion necessary to actually move down the road. + +With an old engine like the bus you're much closer to all of that. I can feel it through my foot, and hear it roar. I push a little harder, the pistons move up and down a little faster. It's a very direct, unmediated connection, at least relative to more modern engines. I can feel the road through my foot, I can sense what the tires are doing from the way the steering wheel feels in my hand. Driving the bus thus becomes an almost entirely intuitive operation, I don't sit around thinking about what to do, I just do what *feels* right when I am driving. + +When I stop and think about it though, all I ever think is how miraculous that an engine just does this over and over again, thousands of times a day, millions of times, possibly billions of times in its life. It just keeps doing it. What else has humanity ever built that does that? + +Maybe that's too much for some people. A lot of people just want to get somewhere. I understand that I guess, but it doesn't make for a very interesting experience. + + + +Still, the further we got from the UP, the more we re-entered the world fast drives. Everyone who lives near a city seems to be in a hurry. All the time. At least to judge from how they drive, which is the chief way I have to observe city folks at this point. + +We are incredibly fortunate to live a life where we are very seldom in a hurry, and I always look at the cars darting around me on larger highways and think, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you have have to rush about. I wish I could give everyone the time to slow down, take a deep breath, relax, try to enjoy the fact that your engine is working, you hurling down the highway at speeds unthinkable just 100 years ago, that everything around us is in fact miraculous. + + + + + +[^1]: Contemplate this for a while and tell me again how we can replace fossil fuels with "clean" energy (which is nothing of the sort, but we'll leave that alone for now). \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-04_greenfield-village.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-04_greenfield-village.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0417e44 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-04_greenfield-village.txt @@ -0,0 +1,50 @@ +--- +title: Greenfield Village +url: /jrnl/2023/10/greenfield-village +location: Greenfield Village, Michigan +--- + + It's always seems slightly perverse to me to head east in a country that once lived by the slogan, go west. Whatever the case, we're eastbound again and when planning our route we ran across something called Greenfield Village. + +Greenfield Village is difficult to describe, but it's what happens when someone with resources (Henry Ford) decided to try to preserve some relics of American history. Since one of the reasons we're going east was to show the kids early American history, we stopped a couple nights in Detroit to visit Greenfield Village. + + + +What appealed to me about Ford's approach to preserving history is that his view of history mirrors my own: that the things we record in books and celebrate with monuments rarely have much impact of the lives of ordinary people. The things that actually mattered to people of the world before us are usually glossed over by what we call history. + +> When I went to our American history books to learn how our forefathers harrowed the land, I discovered that the historians knew nothing about harrows. Yet our country has depended more on harrows than on guns or speeches. I thought that a history which excluded harrows and all the rest of daily life is bunk and I think so yet. — Henry Ford + + + +Ford started small, collecting things from his own childhood. In 1919 he found out that his birthplace was going to be destroyed for a road so he moved his childhood farmhouse and restored it to the way he remembered at the time of his mother’s death in 1876. The he tracked down his one-room school, the Scotch Settlement School, and then the 1836 Botsford Inn from Farmington, Michigan, a stagecoach inn where he and his wife Clara had once gone to dances. + +Then it started to spiral out of control and next thing he knew, Ford had built his own village, a kind of semi-living monument to the everyday life of Americans over the centuries. By then people were bringing projects to him and he ended up moving Edison's Menlo Park lab here and rebuilding it, and later he added other things like Noah Webster's house, a tidewater home from Maryland, a Cotswald cottage, farms from various parts and times in America. + + + + + + +Today Greenfield Village is over 80 acres with everything from Edison's lab to the Wright brothers' original bike shop to the oldest working carousel in the United States. It has so much in fact that that is my only criticism: it was overwhelming. Fun, but sometimes almost too much. + + + + +We managed to squeeze it all in, though we did come back to the carousel several times since it provided a kind of break from history. Or perhaps a reminder that relics are supposed to be fun. + + + + +The most fascinating thing to me, and I think for the kids, was the glassblowing workshop, which is used daily to produce things that are for sale in the shop nearby. I had never seen anyone blow glass before and despite the heat of the workshop we spent a good half an hour watching a shapeless lump of molten glass get shaped into a drinking glass. + + + +The re-creation of Edison's lab was similarly impressive to see, a reminder of the time when technology was less the province of the priestly class and more something anyone could experiment with and explore (and I learned that Edison inadvertently, and much to his own chagrin, invented the precursor to the modern tattoo gun). + + + + + +It was also interesting to see the Wrights' bicycle shop, since we saw their "lab" (such as it was) [out in Kitty Hawk](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/04/all-wright-all-wright-all-wright). + +As much as we all loved Greenfield Village we did not love being in a city. We took care of our city tasks after Greenfield Village, and I did some work on the Jeep that evening, giving it a quick tune up. We decided to leave a day earlier than we'd planned, get out of the city, and go see Lake Erie from the Canadian side. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-08_canada.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-08_canada.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61bbdaa --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-08_canada.txt @@ -0,0 +1,49 @@ +--- +title: Canada +url: /jrnl/2023/10/canada +location: Long Point Provincial Park, Ontario +--- + + When we plotted our route east we planned to duck south of Lake Erie. The more direct route -- along the north shore of Lake Erie -- involved going into Canada, and the kids' passports were expired. + +About two weeks before we left Washburn we mentioned something about that to our friend Mark and he said the you don't need a passport for kids in Canada, just a birth certificate would do. A little investigation proved him right, and so we altered our plans to go along the north shore of Lake Erie, through Ontario and then back into the states in Niagara. + +We crossed into Canada just outside of Detroit (which seems like a fine city, not the smoldering apocalyptic thing you see in the media). We don't have international service on our phones so we promptly lost all navigation and communication. Which was fine. It's Canada, what could go wrong? + + + +I must confess that most of what I know about Canada comes from watching [Strange Brew](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Brew), [Kids in the Hall](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Kids_in_the_Hall), and [listening to Rush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0xkMfiHIec). When I saw a man coming out of the McDonald's at the border wearing a Rush t-shirt I took it as a sign everything was going to be okay. + +We headed south, sticking to smaller roads along the shoreline for most of the day, communicating with hand gestures at stop signs. Once the smaller road... just stopped and we had to cut up to the interstate (interprovince?), but otherwise it was a nice drive through rural Ontario, which seems like it might actually be full of small farms still. + +I follow a [Canadian farmer](https://www.slowdownfarmstead.com) on the interwebs and she is always suggesting that people get to know their local farmers (as a way to *know* where your food, especially meat, is coming from), which in the United States... in most places there aren't that many farm stands and one does not just drive up to random farms and ask if you can buy something. I've always found this bit of advice confounding, but driving through Ontario I suddenly saw what she was thinking of, nearly every farm we drove past had a stand and someone manning it. It would be easy to get to know your local farmer. If you were local. We are not. + +It seemed like a long day for some reason, though we only went about 140 miles. It was well into the afternoon before we pulled into Long Point Provincial Park, which sits out on a long peninsula that sticks out into Lake Erie, a bit like the opposite of the Keweenaw. + +We managed to get a campsite for the night, and since it was a beautiful day, temperatures in the 70s, we headed down to the beach. + + +
+ + + + +
+ + +The water was warm in the shallows, not just by Lake Superior standards, but actually, like, warm. When you waded out deeper you could find the colder thermal layers and it was possible to stand there with your feet turning to blocks of ice while the rest of you was fine. So long as you stuck to the shallow areas though, which had been warmed by days of sunshine, it was like playing in bath water. We hadn't spent that much time at the beach since we [left Florida in May](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/05/goodbye-florida). + +After dinner we went back down to watch the sunset over the lake, one of the nice things about being on the east side of a great lake -- you get to see the sunset over the water. + + + + + + + + +That night we decided we should pause and stay a few days in Canada, enjoy the warm weather and beach time. I put some Rush on the stereo, took off work, and, the next morning, went up and booked our site for two more nights. Canada. + + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-09_niagara-fails.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-09_niagara-fails.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..624fcc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-09_niagara-fails.txt @@ -0,0 +1,60 @@ +--- +title: Niagara Fails +url: /jrnl/2023/10/niagara-fails +location: Niagara Falls, New York +--- + + We left Long Point Canada bright and early, headed back to the United States to check out Niagara Falls. We originally planned to see the falls from the Canadian side because the view is better, but then there was a lot of traffic and on the map it didn't look like there was much parking for the bus. We decided to get through the border, grab a campsite, and come back to check out the falls later. + +It was another pleasant drive through the Canadian farmland of Ontario for most of the morning. In an older vehicle 80 km an hour is a much nicer speed than 55 MPH. I'm not sure why, there isn't a huge difference, but people weren't tailgaiting me constantly -- yet too timid to actually pass -- and everything felt a bit more relaxed. Maybe that's just the way people drive in Canada. Whatever the case it was a pleasant drive despite some road construction and confusing detours. + +We made it to the border shortly after lunch and were waiting in line to get through to the US side when Corrinne started gesturing to me. I was mostly worried about the bus sitting there idling in the heat, the Jeep never crossed my mind, but then she got out and walked back and said the Jeep had died. Well, shit. + +I jumped out and open the hood and had her crank the engine. There was no gas getting to the carburetor. I couldn't hear anything squirting when she pumped the pedal. I figured it was either vapor locked or the fuel pump had died. I knew the previous owner had put in a new fuel pump not long before we bought it, but I also know from my own experience that fuel pumps don't last. Whatever the case, I knew I wasn't going to get it started again right there. I waved a couple of cars around us and was just starting to push it off to the side, to get it out of the way, when three border patrol agents came out of the building. + +They asked what was wrong and I gave them a short rundown. They said okay, we'll push it. And I said, push it where? They said, through the border. Mmmm, okay. Didn't see that coming, but the kids hopped in the bus with me, and the border patrol pushed Corrinne through the checkpoint. She stopped and showed her passport and the whole bit, just as if the Jeep had been running. Then they pushed her on through and off to the side where the bridge maintenance crew had their workshop. I didn't take a picture because my experience has been that cameras and national borders don't mix well, but I did get a shot of the maintenance crew pushing the Jeep over to the parking lot. + + + +Once I'd brought the bus through the checkpoint we pulled over into the parking lot and I went back to work on the engine. There are only three things an engine needs to run: air, fuel, and spark. As far as I could tell, fuel was the issue, but I had no clue why fuel wasn't getting to the carburetor. I decided the fuel pump was a likely culprit and called around to see if I could get a new one. A nearby Napa said they could have one by 4 that afternoon so we decided to tow the Jeep over there and work on it in the parking lot. + +The kids and I jumped in the bus and went to run a few errands in the mean time. Corrinne stayed with the Jeep and waited on the tow truck. After we'd restocked our cupboards (nothing guarantees trouble like being low on food or water. Fortunately we had plenty of water) and refrigerator we headed over to the Napa. The tow truck showed up with the Jeep right as we got there. This time around AAA came through, surprisingly. + +Not long after that the fuel pump showed up and I got to work. The new fuel pump's bolt holes were slightly narrower, so I ended up having to drill them out a bit, but otherwise there was nothing to it, I installed the fuel pump and cranked it. And cranked it, and cranked it. Still no fuel getting to the carb. I even took the line off the fuel filter and cranked it with the line just sitting there and no gas came through. + +A handful of people had stopped to talk to us and offer advice by this time, but it was starting to get dark and I was stumped. I got Napa's permission to leave the Jeep overnight and we all loaded in the bus and drove out to a strange little New York State Park up on Lake Ontario. + +I'm pretty sure this was the first time we've ever driven the bus at night, but we made it safe and sound and found a campsite in the dark. I got a hot shower, which always helps improve your mood after you've been covered in oil and gasoline all day. + +The next day I had to work, so I didn't get back to the Jeep until evening again. I caught a very expensive Lyft into town and got to work. First I walked a couple of miles and filled up a gas can and brought it back. I put two gallons in the tank just to be sure there was gas, and then I squirted some down into the carb and sure enough it started right up. So, the problem was somewhere between the gas tank and fuel filter. + +I was planning to disconnect the fuel lines and blow air through them to clear any debris that might possibly be clogging them. The tank had what looked like a cover that extended out to cover the place where the fuel lines attached. I figured I'd drop the cover, get access to the fuel lines and go from there. I had two bolts out and was beginning to realize that what I thought was the cover, appeared in fact to be holding the tank to the frame, which was not what I wanted. That's when I noticed a pair of work boots appear beside the Jeep. + +I crawled out from under and started talking to a man who'd pulled up in a big truck. From what he said he seemed to know everyone at Napa. We talked for a bit, and he suggested just blowing air in the fuel tank to force it down the line. This hadn't occurred to me, but I liked it. Especially as opposed to dropping a tank that was very full of gas. That's when he said, you know I have a little shop down the road behind my house, I could tow you over there if you want to get out of the parking lot. He offered me the use of his tools, including his air gun. + +I thanked him and said let's do it. We hooked up the tow rope and he pulled me a couple of miles while I steered and braked, making sure not to rear end his nice truck. His little shop turned out to be a full on garage that was a side gig. He was mainly a diesel mechanic working on big trucks, but he also had a side business at home. + +We put the Jeep outside his shop bay and he ran out a long compressor hose and I blew it into the gas tank. Then I cranked the engine. Still nothing. Then I disconnected the fuel pump and blew again. Fuel came through the line. We talked it over for a bit and he asked if I still had the old fuel pump, which I did. We put it in a vice and worked the handle and it seemed to be fine. He said, I bet that new pump is either seated wrong or broken. This one you know is good, put it back in. So I did. + +This time we blew air in, cranked the engine and sure enough, fuel made it past the pump. I hooked all the lines and hoses back up and cranked it up. It ran like a top. Well, not really, the carb is all gummed up and it has hard time idling, but once I revved it, it was fine. + +I know what you're thinking: if the old fuel pump was fine, why did it die at the border? I don't know. Either there was something in the fuel line and we cleared it into the new fuel pump, which then, when I switched them, got rid of the problem, or... something else happened? It's been almost a month since then and we haven't had another problem. And we've sat in some traffic very similar to the border situation so my money is on the fuel line being obstructed, but to be totally honest, I don't know what happened and I probably never well with any certainty. Such is life. + +I thanked him and headed back to the bus. I almost made it before dark. We could have headed out the next day, but we didn't. Instead we finally got to backtrack to see Niagara Falls. It was a windy, blustery afternoon, but I think this actually worked in our favor since it cleared some of the mist away from the falls. + + + + + +Niagara Falls is one of those terribly touristy things that is, despite the kitch, actually pretty cool. But it's also the sort of thing you look at for a bit and then you're done. + +The campground we'd been staying in was on the banks of Lake Ontario, but oddly had no lake access. I'd been there three nights and still hadn't seen Lake Ontario. In fact the campground was a little strange in that it was just a campground, there was nothing else to see or do, you camped, end of story. From what I could tell it was mostly used by locals who came to sit around the campfire and talk. I thought this was actually pretty cool and marveled at the lack of cell phones. People really sat around the fire talking all day. There were some people with TVs watching the Bills game, but otherwise it was like a place people went to spend time together. Which, go upstate New York. It's a tragedy you're outnumbered by city people, but good on ya, as the Australians say. The world needs more places and people like this. + +All that said, I wanted to see Lake Ontario. We hit the road the next morning and drove alongside the lake toward another park that was up near the eastern edge. We got there in the early afternoon and went down to the shore. The weather had turned stormy in the late morning and by the time we got to the water none of us were feeling it. Too cold, too windy. Too many ice banks. Just kidding. Not those yet. There was a lake full of swans though. + + + + + + +The day we decided to leave the temperature started to drop and it felt like the right time to head south, even if only by a few hundred miles. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-11_fort-klock.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-11_fort-klock.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..343f092 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-11_fort-klock.txt @@ -0,0 +1,57 @@ +--- +title: Fort Klock +url: /jrnl/2023/10/fort-klock +location: St Johnsville, New York +--- + + We left the shores of Lake Ontario on a blustery, cold day. Fortunately the wind was with us. The bus blew down the road into the Mohawk Valley, to a small town on the shores of the Erie Canal where there was a marina that also had a few campsites. + + + +The campground was wedged between the canal and a train track, with about 100 feet in either direction. Trains came by every two or three hours, which provided endless entertainment. On the other side was the Erie Canal, one of the more impressive feats of engineering in American history. + +The Panama Canal gets all the glory (it was an epic feat), but many people don't realize there are networks of canals running all over the eastern and southern United States. They aren't used much commercially at the moment -- although with diesel prices rising, the canals may be economically viable again soon -- but the Great Loop[^1] is popular with sailors. + + + +It was a short drive. We made it to our campsite by lunch time and started looking around for something to do. Part of the reason we're here in upstate New York and headed through the mid-Atlantic region was to show the kids some American history sites, so when Corrinne found something called Fort Klock, A Fortified Stone Homestead, we figured it'd fit right in. What kid doesn't love the sound of a "fortified homestead"? + + + +To be honest we weren't expecting much from Fort Klock, but it turned out to be the best historical site we've visited. We enjoyed it more than Jamestown or Williamsburg (more on those soon). What made it the best place we've been was the people, or rather the person, Les. + +We were the only visitors there and when we walked in the only other person was Les, who had been in the kitchen, tending the fire. He asked if we wanted "the full tour" and we said sure. We paid $20 for the five of us and Les proceeded to lead us on a three-hour historical tour of the property, and by extension life in the Mohawk Valley over the last three hundred years. + +It would be impossible for me to try to capture it here because part of it was that when he was talking about cooking, there was a fire in the hearth, when he talked about making farm tools out of wood, he was showing us how to drag a draw knife, how to save the shavings to start the fire, how to work a loom. + +There were no glass walls cutting you off from Fort Klock. There were some railings here and there, but for the most part you could touch and interact with artifacts in a way that you never can at most historical sites. For the kids that's the whole point. They don't care about the abstraction we call history -- those people back then. The kids want to know how they would have lived, what kids did, how things worked, what the food smelled like, how you load a muzzleloading rifle, how you fire a cannon, how you make a canoe, how you sail a wooden square rigger. I'm the same way. I don't really care about who won the battle, I want to hear the stories of the people who fought, or farmed, or traded, or hunted, or whatever. That's what Fort Klock was, a working example of what life was like. History that's still alive. + + + + + + +Klock's fortified homestead is a stone farmhouse built in 1750 by Johannes Klock. The walls are over 2 feet thick. It sits on Kings Highway, the main thoroughfare of the valley at that time, and on the edge of the Mohawk River. It was a major trading post in the area and one of the primary defensive structures around. + +It was built from the ground up with defense in mind. There are little portals on all sides with angled access to provide the widest range of fire to those inside. The windows could be covered by sturdy wood shutters and -- the real key to its defensive capability -- it was built over a spring, which still bubbles up in the cellar. All the Klocks had to do was lay in some food and ammunition and they were ready to withstand a siege. Which they did, several times. + +Fort Klock was used during both the French and Indian War and the American War for Independence, as both a refuge and trading post (there were other such fortified homes in the valley, but this is the only one that's been restored and has public access). + +
+ + + + + + +
+ +Rather amazingly the home remained in the Klock family through the 1950s, though it was largely abandoned when the family moved back to town in the '30s. In the early 1950s the Tryon County muzzleloaders (re-enactors interested in collecting and shooting antique guns) were looking for a place to shoot and came across the property. The last descendant of Klock had been looking for someone to restore the property and so they struck a deal. The muzzleloadiing group raised money and rebuilt the property and eventually opened it to the public. + +Today it is owned and operated by the [Fort Klock Historic Restoration group](http://www.fortklockrestoration.org/). The non-profit was spun off of the muzzleloaders group because the National Park Service refused to give the National Historic Landmark distinction to a muzzleloading club. Fortunately the muzzleloaders had the humility the government lacked and they set up a separate foundation and eventually got the historic designation. Don't let the name fool you though. The truth is a bunch of people who love shooting muzzleloading rifles saved and restored this place and continue to maintain it. + +There is something sad about a house that is no longer a home. We've been in many over the years, and I always get the feeling that the walls feel lonely after generations of families running through them, the silence is greater for the sounds that are no longer there. It's as if an entire way of life falls silent when the families leave. Fort Klock was the opposite. It still smelled of woodsmoke and life and that, combined with Les's stories, which always seemed to wander from the past, to the present, the grandparents of someone down the road, the ancestors of the man who still has a working blacksmith shop just over the ridge in... history was not something abstract, but real. That barn, in that person's family, that did this, and so on for three hours. It was the best $20 I've ever spent. + + + +[^1]: The Great Loop is a route that brings together various waterways, making it possible to travel along the Atlantic seaboard, Gulf Intracoastal Waterway, Great Lakes, Canadian Heritage Canals, and the inland rivers of America -- like the Erie Canal -- to make a big loop. There are a few routes, but the Erie portion seems to be one of the more popular ones. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-16_baseball-diamonds.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-16_baseball-diamonds.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d47446 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-16_baseball-diamonds.txt @@ -0,0 +1,64 @@ +--- +title: Baseball Diamonds +url: /jrnl/2023/10/baseball-diamonds +location: Cooperstown, New York +--- + + We would never have come this way if weren't for the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. Not that I wanted to go there that badly, but when we took the kids to a [baseball game back in Florida](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/04/bus-work-and-baseball) the Baseball Hall of Fame somehow came up and I remember Elliott saying "can we go?" + +My first thought was probably not. I lived in western Massachusetts for a few years and had driven the mountains in the area -- they're more than I would want would to put the bus through. It's not that the bus can't climb mountains. It can, it's just slow and I never know which mountain is going to be its last. I like to save mountain driving for out west, where it's unavoidable. + +Still, I pulled up Cooperstown on the map to see where it was and what it looked like. That's when I noticed the Mohawk and Hudson River Valleys, which cut through upstate New York. Valleys aren't so bad. That's probably why they put a turnpike along them. Hmm. I plugged the route into a website I use to get the elevation change of a road and was surprised to find that most of the big inclines were actually downhill. I started formulating a plan to make it through the Appalachians without going south. And here we are, upstate New York. + +I had to work some early mornings while we were in St Johnsville, which turned out to be a lovely, if somewhat curious town at 5 AM (and otherwise). + + + + + +One day the kids and I headed up into the hills to find Cooperstown. I don't really know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I got. To me the Baseball Hall of Fame is a big thing. But Cooperstown is a tiny little town. I mean tiny. The population is 1,867. Yet somehow, this is where the Baseball Hall of Fame is located. It wasn't even crowded. + +I was dreading how much it was going to cost, but when I got the kiosk to pay the man looked at the kids and said, they're free right? I said, um, well. He said, yeah, they're free. Who am I to argue? + +There are several floors to wander, much of it is a tour through the history of Major League Baseball. That latter part is key, if the MLB as an organization isn't involved, there probably isn't much about it (despite the MLB not owning or otherwise having anything to do with the hall of fame). I understand that you have to set some limits or it would be an overwhelming thing to document, but I was a little disappointed there was almost nothing on stuff like the Cuba league or the Negro League (Satchel Paige has a plaque, but that's about it). + +
+ + + + +
+ +There was plenty of cool stuff though. We got to sit in Hank Aaron's locker and see countless artifacts. Different parts of the room had different historical games being broadcast, which was fun. I like being at a game, but radio is still my second favorite way to "watch" baseball. + +
+ + + + + + +
+ + + +I was a little disappointed to find almost nothing about the 1980s LA Dodgers, which to my mind *were* baseball for so many years. I knew every player and every stat about them. I still remember most of it. But of course that was just my world. The LA Dodgers did not figure quite so prominently in the larger world of 1980s baseball. + + + +Part of the fun of going to Cooperstown turned out to be the drive. Upstate New York is on the more beautiful places we've been. The fall colors mixed with the seemingly endless historic farmhouses was fantastic. I could have driven around exploring for days. + + + + + +As it was though I had to work much of the time we were in St. Johnsville. Corrinne took the kids up to dig for Herkimer diamonds one day. Not real diamonds, Herkimer diamonds are "double-terminated quartz crystals", whatever that is. But they're primarily found here, in and around Herkimer County and the Mohawk River Valley. They aren't just lying around either, you have to split rocks to find them. + + + + + +I was looking at these pictures later and the only think that came to my mind was *Cool Hand Luke*. Next time I'll boil up some eggs for them to take along. + + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-18_farm-life.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-18_farm-life.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7512396 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-18_farm-life.txt @@ -0,0 +1,49 @@ +--- +title: Farm Life +url: /jrnl/2023/10/farm-life +location: Wrights Farm, New York +--- + + One day this past summer a man stopped by our site to talk about the bus. I wasn't around, but when I got back he was telling Corrinne about something called Harvest Hosts. It's a clever idea, wineries, farms, other people with land provide free camping in exchange for you spending some money at their store or whatever they have. We looked into it a few years ago when first launched, but it was mostly wineries at the time and neither of us drink, so it didn't make sense for us. + +That day last summer though he assured us that the service had grown considerably and there was a wide range of options, not just wineries. We didn't do anything about it just then (we take what I like to call an Amish approach to things—we like to think about them for a long time before we actually do anything), but as we plotted a route the rest of the way down the Erie Canal, past New York City, along the New Jersey coast and beyond, there were quite a few places with nowhere to camp. Normally we'd get a hotel, but that's expensive and we don't enjoy it, so we decided hey, lets try out Harvest Hosts. + +We signed up and booked a night at an [apple farm](https://eatapples.com) about halfway between St. Johnsville and where we were headed in New Jersey. It turned out to be a great experience. The kids got to see what a real working farm is like (well, orchard in this case), we stayed for free, and we loaded up on apple cider, fresh cheese, and other treats. In the end we spent about as much as a hotel, but it was a much more enjoyable experience. + + + + + + +Apparently every place is very different, but this farm we were more or less alone in a big open field. Having just been to the Baseball Hall of Fame, the kids wanted to play, and what better place than an empty farm field? + + + + +One catch about Harvest Hosts is that you can only stay 24 hours. So the next morning, after we went back for more fruit, veggies, and cheese, we hit the road again, bound for New Jersey. + + + +You might be wondering why we didn't stop off in New York City. We talked about it, but in the end decided that right now isn't a great time to be in New York. Crime is pretty high, particularly in the outer boroughs from what I hear. And yes, I have traveled through sketchy parts of India and Thailand where people were blowing up buses and trains and never worried about that. I still wouldn't. But American cities right now, especially New York, are too chaotic and unpredictable to be safe[^1]. Besides, we're just not city people anymore. I'd make exceptions for Paris, Bangkok, and a handful of others, but by and large I don't enjoy cities these days. + +We drove right on by New York City, catching a view of the Manhattan skyline from the turnpike before pointing ourselves south to a place called Cheesequake, New Jersey. We spent the night there. Between the five of us we didn't take a single photo of the place, which tells you more than I can with words. + +The next morning we hit the road again, headed south down the New Jersey shoreline for the Cape May area. Cape May is a major birding area and I would like to have stopped for a while, but I had picked up a cold and wasn't feeling that great, and then it started to rain. + +We stayed at another farm, this one a [sheep dairy farm](https://www.mistymeadowsheepdairy.com). This time we exercised a little more restraint and bought plenty of cheese, but not enough to fund a night in a hotel. We also discovered a downside of Harvest Hosts -- when the weather pins you down, there's not much to do but sit in your rig and read and play games. It was only for an afternoon, so it wasn't too bad. + + + + +The next morning we were up bright and early to catch the Henlopen Ferry to Delaware. + + + + + + +I'll never stop enjoying putting the bus on ferries. There's something about sitting at the table in the bus and looking out to see the ocean that makes me happy. For a moment it's a boat. And then we were ashore again, still headed south, bound for Chincoteague, wild horses, and some warm beach days. + + + +[^1]: This is not me watching the news (I haven't done that in 25 years). Our decision was based on reports from friends currently living in New York City. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-10-25_shoreline.txt b/jrnl/2023-10-25_shoreline.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4d61a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-10-25_shoreline.txt @@ -0,0 +1,41 @@ +--- +title: Shoreline +url: /jrnl/2023/10/shoreline +location: Assateague National Seashore, Maryland +--- + + If there is a theme to the places we go, it's water. Lakes, ponds, rivers, streams, creeks. We find them. Even out west, far from any large body of water, "the desire of water is scribed across the desert like graffiti."[^1] + +While I like almost all places with water—the bigger the better, which is why we spend so much time by the sea. The sea is life. It is the blood in our veins. It always feels like coming home to me. It's only been six months since we last saw it, but that feels like too long now that we're back. + + + + +I tried to read a book once about why it is that many, if not most, people feel most at home near the shore. I like the premise, but it turned out to be a book full of studies, with lots of evidence of the sea doing this and that for people, and I couldn't help [thinking of Conrad](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1058/1058-h/1058-h.htm), who spent a good deal more time *at* sea than most: "For all that has been said of the love that certain natures (on shore) have professed to feel for it, for all the celebrations it had been the object of in prose and song, the sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." + +I tossed the book of studies in a free book bin months ago. I realized I didn't care. I know why *I* feel at home by the shore and that's enough. I also know that part of why I love the sea is that like Conrad writes, it doesn't seem to much care about humanity, certainly not for our individual lives. My impression is not that it dislikes us, rather that it is far too old, too immense, too complex to even notice that we exist. I find this heartening, this reminder that there are forces far above and beyond me, that I can't begin to fathom. The world is large, we are small. We forget that at our peril. + + + +I don't think, for instance, that the sea really cared that I came down with a head cold the day after we arrived. It might have been the pace we've been keeping for the last couple months. You get a rush of energy from moving quickly through things, but it feeds on itself, you burn through it eventually, and when you finally stop there's a tendency to crash. Or it could have been allergies. The campground at the National Seashore in Assateague is covered in ragweed. It was virtually the only plant around. + +Still, if you have to pick a place to crash (or succumb to ragweed), the sea is the place to do it. I usually cure myself of illness by swimming. I know few will believe me, but it works for me. + + + + +Assateague (and Chinoteague to the south) is a barrier island somewhat like the Outer Banks, but less windy. That might make it sound more appealing, but it doesn't work out that way in practice. The magic of barrier island is, I think, in that windswept character that is inescapable in the Outer Banks. In the Outer Banks, life becomes about wind. You notice when it changes directions, you notice when it picks up, dies down, and most of all you notice when it stops because it so rarely does. There was none of that in our time at Assateague. + +Instead there are semi-wild horses, which people really seem to love. Including my kids. They certainly make themselves at home in the national park. + + + + + + +We spent a few days in the National Seashore portion of the island, and then migrated over to the Maryland State Park portion, which is much nicer. No ragweed and right on the beach. My head cold cleared up. Storms rolled in. The sea didn't seem to care. It was good to be back by the shore. + + + + +[^1]: From Craig Childs' *[The Secret Knowledge of Water](https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-secret-knowledge-of-water-discovering-the-essence-of-the-american-desert-craig-childs/114453?ean=9780316610698)*, one of the few books I keep with me in the bus. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-11-01_history.txt b/jrnl/2023-11-01_history.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3589cf2 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-11-01_history.txt @@ -0,0 +1,54 @@ +--- +title: History +url: /jrnl/2023/11/history +location: First Landing State Park, Virginia +--- + + We crossed the Mason Dixon line on our way to Assateague, but it didn't really feel like we were in the south yet. No offense Maryland, but it wasn't until I stopped at a gas station in Virginia that I heard the friendly twang of a southern accent. A few miles later I passed a cotton field and I felt like we were back. Smiles were less strained. Drivers were slower. [Duke's mayonnaise](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2007/06/sailing-through) was on nearby shelves. + + + +One of these days I'll get around to the essay about why it is that I love the south more than the rest of the country. Not today though. + +Unfortunately Virginia Beach isn't the most southern of places. We had planned to stay closer to Jamestown and Williamsburg, but the day we left Assateague Corrinne came down with what I'd had (not the ragweed apparently) and didn't feel up to a longer drive. We cut it short and stopped at First Landing State Park, just on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay. + +That meant a longer drive to the stuff we were here to see, but it also meant we were closer to groceries. We stocked up, and then following day the kids an I drove about an hour inland to see Jamestown. + + + + +Jamestown has two parts, a National Park site that appears to be in a perpetual state of digging and disarray, and a re-enactment section that features a replica of the old settlement, a native village, and a few other odds and ends. We started at the actual site, which has a few buildings, mainly the church, but is on the same land as the original Jamestown settlement. + +I will confess that I generally dislike archaeology. To me it's a fancy word for grave robbers that we've collectively agreed to not call grave robbers. Do we learn things from archaeology? Well, maybe? I definitely think we can learn a lot about ourselves, how we see the world, and how we view our relationship to the past. That is to say, that archaeology is something we invented says more about us than anything else. + +It's not that I think archaeology is all wrong. There may be some truth to the stories archaeologists tell us. The problem for me is that we will never really know. There is very little that's testable about the hypotheses archaeology offers. The stories we tell ourselves based on archaeology are educated guesses presented as truth, whereas the stories from other sources, which may be educated in a different way, don't get that blessing, which rankles me. + +At Jamestown current archaeology is attempting to say whose body is in which grave, which is just... I don't want to sound too cynical, but who cares? I try to keep my prejudices out of the kids' experience so I didn't say a word, but after listening to about five minutes of a tour guide's talk, the kids wandered off to look at other things. My daughter even asked me, why does it matter who is buried where? I try to see the upside of these things, so I told her perhaps it mattered to the descendants of the people buried. She said if it were her ancestor she'd want their bones left in the ground even if she didn't know exactly where. + +We wandered away from the grave robber area to see the rest of the Jamestown site, which was beautiful. If you were picking settlement locations based solely on picturesque qualities, Jamestown was a brilliant find. It was undoubtedly different 400 years ago, when it was covered by old growth, but it was probably even better. It's still beautiful today. + + + +We drove around the island and stopped near a marsh to have a picnic lunch. It was quiet back in the woods and we had fun imagining perhaps Pocahontas once stopped for a snack in this very same place. The kids loved the fact that Pocahontas would probably have been eating something similar -- dried meat, nuts, hard bread (crackers), cool water to drink. Probably not plantain chips, but otherwise we were reasonably historically accurate. + + + +After lunch we drove over to the re-enactment area. There was a museum, but I knew the kids didn't care that much, they were in a rush to get to the real stuff, the replicas and actors. There turned out to not be many actors around, but those that were there were great. One man, who was captain of the guard, put Elliott and another boy each in charge of an imaginary squad and walked them through their duties. + + + + + +The highlight though, were the replica ships. Only one was open, but the kids got to run all around it, go below decks, see the hold, and even the captain's quarters -- pretty much everything but climbing the rigging. This was extra entertaining for them because I wrote them a book a few years ago about a family that lives on a boat in the year 1710. These ships were a different design, but close enough that I could say, yes that's how Lulu and Birdie (the main characters in the book) would have cooked, where they would have slept, etc, which gave them a kind of connection to the book that goes beyond anything I could ever write. + + + +It was fun for me to watch them all infected by this fascination with the past, this thing we call history. It has always struck me that we do ourselves a great disservice by cutting off the past, putting it outside our "reality," the world around us. The past can be in the present. It can be all around you all the time. Many cultures have this view. Our view of the past as something "back there" is a choice, and from what I have seen, it is not a natural one. At least not to kids. Kids are ready to step into the past as a real and living thing. It *is* a real and living thing for them when we get out of the way, which is what I try to do as much as possible. + +Unfortunately, after Jamestown we decided to see Colonial Williamsburg. This was a mistake for a variety of reasons, and to tell the full story would be a post of its own and to be totally honest, I don't want to ruin Williamsburg for anyone else. But because I know you're going to ask, I will go with my grandmother's advice and say nothing. Yes, we went to Williamsburg. And then we went home for the day. + +Undeterred by Williamsburg, we went back the following day to check out the Yorktown battlefield, which was also divided into a museum, re-enactment area, and actual battlefield. This time the kids were into the museum and we spent several hours walking around talking about the revolutionary war (the war of colonial aggression to my British friends). The kids were especially taken with the signs that said "please touch sword" rather than the usual, don't touch anything signs you see in most museums. After wandering around the working farm out back, we drove out to the battlefield, but that one failed. To a kid, a field is just a field. + + + +We drove into the little town that was nearby and found a fun little maritime museum, that consisted mainly of one man's amazing model ship building prowess. From early colonial ships to modern warships it was a historical tour of American shipbuilding in miniature. But more than anything it was the sort of small museum where everyone is incredibly enthusiastic and kind and friendly. All volunteers, doing it for the love of it. It helped restore the kids' faith in grownups I think, which was a little shaken after Williamsburg. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-11-08_halloween-in-the-outer-banks.txt b/jrnl/2023-11-08_halloween-in-the-outer-banks.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc4b525 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-11-08_halloween-in-the-outer-banks.txt @@ -0,0 +1,44 @@ +--- +title: Halloween in the Outer Banks +url: /jrnl/2023/11/halloween-in-the-outer-banks +location: Oregon Inlet, North Carolina +--- + + From Virginia Beach we drifted south, making the short drive down to Oregon Inlet in the Outer Banks. Our plan was to spend a couple of weeks there, visit friends, get some time at the beach, and then head to Ocracoke for Thanksgiving. It was pretty good plan, but it didn't work out that way. So it goes. + +We arrived on a nearly perfect day at the end of October -- sunshine, clear skies, hardly any wind. + + + +The first week we were there the days were in the 70s, the nights cooling off to the low 50s, which is perfect temps for living on grid in the bus. Although there are some electric sites at Oregon Inlet, we've never felt the need for them. There's plenty of sunshine for our solar (no trees) and we prefer to the non-electric sites backed up against the dunes, a short walk from the bus to the shore. + + + +We got plenty of time in at the beach that first week. We went [seining](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/06/seining-with-val) again with our friend Val (the main reason we came back here was to see friends we made on our last trip), and went bird watching around Pea Island. + + + + + + + + +It wasn't long after we arrived in the Outer Banks before Halloween rolled around. In our family Halloween has always been a big holiday. This year Elliott spent hours designing and then building out his own green demon costume. I would take no outside assistance. + +But something has changed about Halloween. The Halloween vibe has shifted from the kind of playful, mock-scary decorations of the past, to an overabundance of plastic horror movie stage props. I read somewhere that ticket sales of horror movies correlate closely with several economic indexes -- as the economy gets worse, horror movies get more popular. + +I'm no economist, but this makes sense to me. As the world gets genuinely scary, our fantasy worlds have to up the "scary" tropes to continue to offer an escape. I think this plays out in Halloween decorations too. The change in the Halloween vibe has really accelerated over the last two years as the economy has cratered. Neighborhoods decorated with dismembered body parts says a lot about the quality of life in them I fear. + +Whatever the case, our kids are not fans of the horror movie vibe, so we decided to head the Elizabethan Gardens, which had a Halloween festival and trick or treating setup the weekend before the holiday. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +It was one of many local events we've ended up at over the years where after about half an hour we realize we're the only ones there that don't know everyone. I rather like it when we parachute into someone else's world for a few hours, and everyone was very kind and welcoming. Although I did have to explain to the kids there was no way they were going to win the costume contest, which was decided by popular vote. Outsiders don't win popular votes. They had fun though, and loaded up on candy, which, let's face it, is the important part of Halloween. + +Corrinne was complaining to another friend about the whole horror movie Halloween thing, and she told us to come to her neighborhood, which was suitably old school and not into the horror movie thing. This turned out to be true, so the kids got to go trick or treating in peace after all. It really was an old school neighborhood, pretty much just like [being back in 1984 ](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/08/everyday-1984). Val joined us and we all wandered around for a few hours, gathering candy from strangers, as you do on Halloween. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-11-29_dunes.txt b/jrnl/2023-11-29_dunes.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..182f042 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-11-29_dunes.txt @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ +--- +title: In The Dunes +url: /jrnl/2023/11/dunes +location: Oregon Inlet, North Carolina +--- + + > Nothing can be more useful to a man than a determination not to be hurried.—Henry David Thoreau, Journal, March 22, 1842 + +Mornings grow colder with every passing day. The sunrise edges a little further south every time I crest the dunes to watch. The wind howls most mornings, a biting cold that cuts through the layers of wool I pile on in a futile attempt to keep warm. But the sunrises. Never the same, always spectacular. + + + + + +In the popular imagination, living in an RV -- or #vanlife as my editors at Wired insist on calling it -- is one of leisure and relaxation. We all spend hours drinking coffee in the sunshine, reading in hammocks, doing yoga on the beach, or in my case, hanging out with my wife and kids.i + +I have been known to spend a while drinking my coffee in the sunshine, and our family is together almost all the time, but by and large, this is not how I've been spending my days lately. It *should* be how I spend my days. It should be how we all spend our days, lingering over the things we love, but life has a way of finding other things to eat up our time. + +I get to the point where I feel antsy whenever I am not doing something. Maybe antsy isn't the right word. I feel like I *should* be doing something whenever I am *not* doing something. That creates a low grade stress that permeates life. When you're feeling like you should be doing something else it pulls you out of whatever you're trying to do and you end up doing nothing. + +I did not use to be this way. I remember, and I have even written about, finding peace in [doing nothing but listening to the rain](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/07/time-and-placement). + +What happened? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Somewhere in the last five years I lost touch with that ability to relax into any situation, an ability I think is the key to traveling well. How did I lose touch with something so essential? + +I don't know exactly, but I know that these days I feel like there is always something that needs to be done: a meal that needs to be made, an engine that needs to repaired, a child that needs attention, a thing to write, a thing to edit, a thing to call in. Something always needs to be done that keeps you from doing what you want to do. + +That probably sounds a lot like your life as well. That's why I am writing this, to let you know that the solution to feeling overwhelmed is not buying an RV and hitting the open road. Modernity will find you, and try to hurry your life along, even out here. + +This is where Thoreau comes in. "Nothing can be more useful to a man than a determination not to be hurried." I'm sure if he were writing today, Thoreau would say "person" rather than "man", but the point is that it takes *a determination* not to be hurried. Thoreau wrote that in March of 1842, in case you were thinking hectic lives were a recent phenomena. + +I dug through a 1906 copy of Thoreau's complete journals to see if there was any additional context to that thought, but there isn't. It's a single line set off by itself, no connection to any of the ideas around it. It stands on its own though I think. + +Something about Thoreau's phrasing, "a determination", made me realize that not only was I hurried by things that should not be hurrying me, but that this state, this feeling of always needing to do something, was a state of existence I had *allowed* myself to fall into. I lost the awareness of it that you must have to resist it -- because if you aren't *determined* not to be hurried, you will be. You are in charge of how your mind works. It's your responsibility to stop the hurrying. + +That's why I like Thoreau's particular phrasing here. It takes work, determination, not to be hurried. If you aren't working at it, life is going to rush you along with no time to appreciate the sound of the rain or enjoy that coffee in the sunshine. I find it both heartening to know that Thoreau had this problem, and somewhat depressing that Thoreau had this problem -- despite being nearly 200 years on, life seems to be no less noisy. Same as it ever was. + +It was around this time that I started running out over the dunes to watch the sunrise every morning. It was driven mostly by a desire to see what was over the hill from the bus. From the bus all I could see was the sky and I would wonder, what does the sea look like? So I ran over the dunes nearly every morning. Sometimes with a camera, sometimes not. I had to see what was on the other side. + + + + + + +After I did my morning rituals out there I would sit down and watch the sunrise. It was rarely the relaxing sort of reverie you might be thinking, this is the Outer Banks after all, and it's nearly December. Usually the wind was blowing at least 10 knots and the temperature was rarely above 40. Mostly I sat with my teeth chattering, desperately wishing I was back in the warm bus, unable to feel my toes, but there to watch the sun rise and do nothing else. To force on myself the unhurriedness of sitting still, observing the world. + +It took a while to work. At first I was trying to hard to get something out of it. That doesn't work. It wasn't until it became routine that I started to find my way back to the relaxed kind of energy I was seeking. + +The key turned out to be bringing my notebook with me, not to write down some profound insight, I had none of those, but to write down all the things that were on my mind instead of the sunrise in front of me. It's not until you clear all the hurriedness out of your mind that you can begin to relax. You can never relax when you feel there are other things you need to be doing. The secret to being relaxed is to be okay not doing the things that need to be done. + +There is no true relaxation until you are mentally free of all the hurriedness, that feeling that there's something you should be doing. The way to get to that state, for me anyway, is to write down everything that needs to be done, know that it's all in a notebook I can look at from time to time, and then get on with life. It is of course one thing to know this intellectually and another to stay on top of it. + +There's an interesting dichotomy at work here: in order to relax, you need to be disciplined. This is where I failed. I was not being disciplined in my determination to remain unhurried. I was not doing the work of keeping my life organized so that I could in turn relax and be unhurried. + +As an aside, I find the larger lesson here fascinating and instructive: the path to wisdom seems to begin in the mundane ability to keep track of your commitments so you can get them off your mind, which then frees your mind up to thing about other, if not higher, than certainly more interesting things. + +In the end it wasn't going into the dunes to watch the sunrise that brought me back around to a more relaxed state, it was bringing my notebook with me and clearing my mind into it. Once that was done, I could watch the sunrise without worrying that I should be doing something else. It's not a solution exactly, more of [an ongoing practice](https://luxagraf.net/essay/everything-is-a-practice). Not only in the dunes, but everywhere, carving out time to empty your mind of commitments so that you can be free to live a more relaxed, unhurried life. Not a grand revelation, just a short run through the dunes and a little while sitting still. If only it had been a bit warmer. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-12-06_repair-fail.txt b/jrnl/2023-12-06_repair-fail.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf1dbdb --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-12-06_repair-fail.txt @@ -0,0 +1,64 @@ +--- +title: Repair Fail +url: /jrnl/2023/12/repair-fail +location: Oregon Inlet, North Carolina +--- + + One of the most underappreciated, least talked about aspects of repair is the hierarchy. There are repair wizards and there are newbies and there are the rest of us, somewhere between those two poles. This hierarchy of skill and experience requires that you earn your way to the top. Experts in repair are experts because they have done it, not because they think they can do it, or they say they can do it. There's no way to fake expertise in car repair. The thing either starts or it doesn't. + +It's a long road to expert. The more experience you gain, as you work your way up that hierarchy, the more you see the summit recede in front of you. You start to know how much you don't know. It's one thing to be able to do basic things like [replace a head gasket](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/10/going-down-swinging), it's a whole other thing to be able to listen to an engine and know a head gasket needs replacing. The latter is a kind of total understanding of the system that takes years, possibly decades to obtain. + + + +To really understand a system all the way from top to bottom is to hold a total cognitive model of the thing in your mind and be able to access it intuitively. To get that is a hard won process with a steep learning curve. You will fail. You will fail over and over until you learn. I find this dynamic interesting because those are two things I truly dislike -- failure and asking for help. Both are essential if you want to repair things. + +I hate asking for help more than I hate failure, so for me, learning to repair anything is a trial and error and error and error and error and error and give-up-and-ask-for-help process. + +This process is important. You can't shortcut it. You need those moments of crushing failure and ineptitude. Otherwise your sense of yourself can outstrip what you're capable of, which is usually referred to as "having an ego." Or worse that self-image becomes so fragile you avoid situations that might force you to alter it, and when it is inevitably punctured you go all to pieces, which is worse than ego -- no ego. + +Fail early, fail often. + +Still, it's one thing to understand this process intellectually. It's another to live it. + + + +About two weeks into our stay in the Outer Banks the Jeep started acting funny. There was no definitive thing I could put my finger on, just an intuition that something was wrong inside the engine. Deep inside the engine according to my hunch. I did what anyone would do. I ignored it. Until one day it became audible on the way home from the grocery store. Thunk thunk thunk when I accelerated. + +For a long time there had been a tapping sound that I somehow instinctively knew was a bent rod. Despite two mechanics telling me it wasn't. I took off the valve covers and sure enough, there was a bent rod. But that wasn't all, I ran the engine with the covers off and realized one of the exhaust rods was no longer lifting the tappet. This was on one of the two cylinders that always had slightly sooty spark plugs when I checked them. So far it all made sense. I ordered some rods and some new lifters. + +Unfortunately the heads on the AMC 360 engine do not allow you to extract the lifters. I had to pull the intake manifold off. I didn't want to do that at a campsite in the sand dunes so I rented a storage unit to work on it and had it towed up. + + +It took me two days to unhook everything and get the intake manifold off. I pulled out the lifter in question. The bottom of it, which rides the cam lobe, was worn down a good 3/16th of an inch. It was then that I realized my original hunch was right, the problem was deeper, I was treating symptoms. The nagging suspicion that I was out of my depth and plain wrong began to set in. + + + +Since I was waiting on new lifters I thought I might as well take off the passenger's side head. The Jeep had always leaked oil toward the rear of the engine on that side. It was almost impossible to see where the leak was coming from, but I thought maybe the head gasket was bad. It turned out I was wrong. Fail number one, but that one was minor, a wasted morning and $40 for a new head gasket. I put the head back on and torqued it down. + +At that point I'd spent the better part of three days hanging out alone in a storage unit, talking to my GoPro as I recorded everything I did. Still, I was optimistic, I was having fun. We weren't due to leave for another five days. I had time. + + + +Then the parts got delayed. Thoughts about opportunity costs started to creep in. I spent a day thinking about all the other things I could be doing. Everything has opportunity costs. I could be playing with the kids in the dunes, visiting with friends, writing things I wanted to write. Instead I went back and forth between the storage unit, the mailbox to check on parts, and various parts stores. Still, I was optimistic. + + + +Long before I ever did any vehicle repairs I rationalized not doing them by saying that I could earn more money working the hours I'd be working on the vehicle, so it "made more sense" to pay someone else to do it. This kind of "sense" only really makes sense on a spreadsheet though. The truth is I was scared to try repairing anything because I didn't have a clue how to do it and knew I'd probably screw it up. + +I started to think about that rationalization from the opposite direction though -- does it make sense to spend this much time working on a vehicle when what I really want to do is enjoy a warm day with my family or taking pictures of the dunes at sunrise? + +One day I was sitting in the storage unit drinking coffee and I realized, I am done with this. This isn't the way I want to spend my time, my family's time. The Jeep is an incredible vehicle and I love it. If we lived in a house and I could work on it when I felt like it, it'd be perfect. But that's not how it works on the road. There's the added pressure of time, the need to move on. The Outer Banks was getting colder every day. We were waking up to frost on the windows and clouds of breath in the air. We needed to be in Edisto for Christmas. We're supposed to spend January on the Georgia coast. All of these things felt like they might be slipping away, and for what? So we could drive the Jeep? Is that what we're doing here? + + + +And yet, the Jeep is by far the best car I've ever driven. It is an absolute joy when it's running well. The kids love it. We all love it. I hated to give up on it. + +The lifters finally arrived and I put everything back together. I left the valve covers off so I could make sure the new lifter was working. The kids came with me that day, and I let my daughter start it so I could watch the engine. It turned over and caught. But the thunking noise was still there. And that was when I realized oil was only coming out of the rod that I'd replaced. Not out of any other rods. That's when I knew something else was wrong. I was out of my depth. I had failed. It hadn't even occurred to me that oil should have been shooting out of all the rods all the times I'd started it with the valve covers off. That should have been extremely messy and it never was, something else was wrong. My uncle suggested the oil pump was probably dead. Either way, I was out of time, we had to get moving if we were going to make Christmas down south. + + + +I punted. I called the mechanic I'd almost called to begin with. He said he didn't have room for it on his lot and couldn't get to it until after the holidays. Damn. I called some other mechanics, none of whom really grabbed me but I had to do something. I settled on one, called a tow truck, and sat down to wait for it. The original mechanic called me back. He said he'd make room, bring it on by. I took that as a sign, redirected the tow truck and dropped it off. + +I took everything out of it, somehow found room for it in the bus and we hit the road with everyone in the bus, something we haven't done in years. It's fun to travel that way, but not terribly practical for us right now. + +A few days later the mechanic called with bad news. The engine was a mess, the cam was blown and half a dozen other things had gone wrong. It needed to be completely rebuilt. Corrinne and I talked. Then we talked some more. We love the Jeep, but in the end, it was just too much to keep going with our life on the road. One engine to repair is enough. We decided to move on and put it up for sale. I'd like to see someone else rebuild it. It's a great car. But it's not for us right now. I'll miss the Jeep, but it's time to get back to what we love about this life. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2023-12-20_winter-storm.txt b/jrnl/2023-12-20_winter-storm.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6aaccc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2023-12-20_winter-storm.txt @@ -0,0 +1,56 @@ +--- +title: Winter Storm +url: /jrnl/2023/12/winter-storm +location: Wilmington, North Carolina +--- + + The afternoon of the day we decided to leave the Jeep behind a ranger stopped by to tell us they were closing the campground the next day due to a large storm front that was headed our way. Winds were expected to be in the 50 MPH range, with gusts even higher. We've sat out a storm with [winds like that in New Mexico](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/01/eastbound-down). It wasn't fun, but we're still here. But that wasn't an option this time. Fortunately we were planning to leave the next day anyway. + +We crammed all the backpacking gear and misc stuff from the Jeep in the back of the bus and hit the road the next morning. We cut inland and headed south for somewhere to sit out the storm. Driving the bus in the rain sucks and I wasn't about to do it with everyone on board. + + + + + +I also wasn't crazy about camping anywhere with pine trees when the forecast was for days of soaking rain followed up by high winds. Unfortunately nearly every campground on the Carolina coast is full of pines and oaks. I've seen too many trees come down in too many campgrounds to risk it when I don't have to. We found a hotel south of Wilmington and booked two nights. + +The storm came on slowly. The first morning not much happened. I decided we probably had time to check out the nearby battleship North Carolina before the brunt of it hit us. The kids and I grabbed an Uber over to the battleship. We had the place to ourselves, which was fun. We wandered around below decks for a couple hours, getting hopelessly lost a couple of times, but having fun nonetheless. + + + + + + +
+ + + + +
+ + + +By the time we came back out the parking lot was starting to flood and I was a little worried about getting a ride back. It took a bit, but eventually we found someone as nutty as us and made it back to the hotel safe and sound. + +I alternated between hanging out in the hotel, taking the kids to the indoor pool, and checking on the bus. Just to the south of us North Myrtle Beach took a beating, and up to the north of us Wilmington flooded. The Outer Banks had plenty of overwashed roads and high winds as well, but nothing nearly as bad as had been predicted. Curiously, where we were, other than a good steady rain for 24 hours, nothing much happened. + +The next day we hit the road again bound for Edisto, winding our way through Charleston and then the marshland to the south. + + + + + +Two days later Elliott turned nine and I turned forty-nine. + +It was a very revolutionary war themed birthday -- army men, books, costumes, anything at all related to the revolutionary war. His sisters carved him wooden figures as well, two British and two patriots. The only non-revolutionary war gifts he asked for were bacon and chocolate. + + + +
+ + + + +
+ + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-01-03_low.txt b/jrnl/2024-01-03_low.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e22ae4 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-01-03_low.txt @@ -0,0 +1,33 @@ +--- +title: Low +url: /jrnl/2024/01/low +location: Edisto Island, South Carolina +--- + + Oak leaves shimmer and dance in the wind. Morning sunlight filters in through the trees, the rays fighting their way through wisps of Spanish moss. + + + +You can find this scene anywhere in South Carolina below the fall line, a vague geographic boundary that runs along the southeastern part of state, where the hard rock of the mountains gives way to the softer sand of the coastal plain. This is what they call the lowcountry. Marshes and ribbons of water. A place where everything is a little bit different. Dolphins in rivers, moss in trees. + + + + +We've been coming here off and on for decades. Always in the off season. Usually to Edisto, a small island at the edge of the world. A small island that is slowly, inexorably being pulled into the new world that has previously ignored it. + +Nearby Charleston swells. Eddies of retirees swirl in from New England, the mid Atlantic, all weary of winter. The old southern culture is sinking like the land, pulled under the rising tides of something new. + + + +People like to say they want to go somewhere different, but it's been my experience that most people, the minute they get there, set about making it just like the place they left behind. + +One day all that will remain of the old lowcountry culture will be like the dead, weather-worn trees on the beach at Botany Bay, making a lonely stand against the inevitability of the waves. + + + +For now there are still pockets to be found. Hidden places. If you know where to look. + + + + +Don't ask me. I'm not from here. I have no secrets to give. I am just passing through. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-01-17_fortified.txt b/jrnl/2024-01-17_fortified.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4d1e69 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-01-17_fortified.txt @@ -0,0 +1,77 @@ +--- +title: Fortified +url: /jrnl/2024/01/fortified +location: Fort McAllister, Georgia +--- + + From Edisto we worked our way south, stopping off a Hunting Island for a few dismal days in the cold and rain, camping in a site that was just a smidge above actual bog. We escaped that dreariness for the much more uplifting Fort McAllister, the first of a string of forts we wanted to check out on the Georgia and Florida coast. + +This area is a bit different than the Low Country, it's still part the sea islands, a string of over a hundred barrier islands along this stretch of the Atlantic coast -- from the mouth of the Santee river, just south of Myrtle Beach, all the way down the coast of Georgia into Florida. But the land upstream is different, and so the coast is different as well. + +We've spent quite a bit of time in the South Carolina barrier islands, but we never made it here to the Georgia coast until this year. + + + +The Georgia coast lacks any of the maritime forests like you'll find in some sheltered spots in South Carolina, but makes up for my having quite a few more forts, which makes it a great place to explore early American history. + +Fort McAllister is a civil war era fort, built by the Confederate army to defend Savannah against Union forces coming upriver to attack. There were three forts defending the river leading to Savannah, Fort McAllister was the first as you came up river.The interesting thing about the fighting here and at Fort Pulaski just up river (more on that in a second) was that this was where both armies tested their latest and greatest innovations in both naval armament and coastal defenses. Right here, war fighting around the world changed forever in 1865. + + + + + +For most of the war the main enemies here were heat and disease, but toward the end the Union navy came, and it came with some of the first iron clad gunboats. No less than four ironclads with huge 15-inch cannons bombarded the fort for 5 hours... and did next to nothing. The earthenware walls absorbed them and men rushed out and shoveled the dirt back in place. The fort shelled the ironclads and also did little. The shells bounced off the ships, though that had to be incredibly loud to those inside. + + + + + +Eventually the fort fell, but not because of the navy, because the army swung around south, bypassing Savannah to attack McAllister first. McAllister fell with very little fighting and the navy advanced to our next stop, Fort Pulaski, which I think of as The Last Fort. + +Fort Pulaski was made of brick and withstood an incredible amount of shelling during the war. You can still see the pockmarks and shell scars on the walls of the fort. + + + +Pulaski held up until it met the new rifled cannon. At that moment the day and age of the fort ended. The rifled shell was too accurate and too devastating. The commander of the fort quickly surrendered before the magazine was hit and everyone in the fort killed. The rest of the world took notice. Very few forts were built after the shelling of Fort Pulaski. + + + + +After Pulaski we moved south again, and it turned extremely cold for a few days, but we managed to find a nice day to explore Fort Frederica, a pre-revolutionary war fort on St. Simon's island. Frederica was the southern most outpost of the English colonies and responsible for holding off the Spanish, who controlled Florida at the time. It did its job under Oglethorpe, twice if I remember correctly, after which the Spanish gave up. + + +
+ + + + +
+
+ + + + +
+ + + + + + +For the kids this one was definitely the highlight thanks to a room full of dress up clothes and games they could play. I was more intregued to see something I'd read about in William Bartram's journals. Bartram passed through in 1774 and it was already in ruins, which makes it kind of amazing that there's anything here at all, but you can still see the stone outlines of most of the buildings in the town. + + + + +After Fort Frederica we packed up and headed south, bound for a place that's been on our list for a long time, but we just never seemed to make it: St. Augustine, FL. St Augustine was built around the fort, Castillo de San Marcos, which has been restored and is now a national monument. Sidenote, did you know National Parks/Monuments no longer take cash? The government won't take the currency of the nation at the national monument, tells you everything you need to know about the future of that currency. Anyway, we paid. With a card. And walked around the fort, which was monolithic in way that showed its Spanish origins. Spain was a genius with stone in this era. You see it all over Mexico too. Massive stone churches, government offices, forts, everything was stone and hugely overbuilt. It looks overbuilt to this day. It's magnificent. + + + + +We really liked Castillo de San Marcos, unfortunately we made the mistake of venturing across the street to see what the town was like and things went downhill. + + + +I was going to say, we're not really fans of tourist towns, where every experience is carefully curated and managed by someone, but, then, is anyone a fan of this? You might argue that since this exists all over the place, that people must like it, and perhaps this has some merit, but we've also reached the stage of civilizational decline where it doesn't really matter what we want, this (whatever this is) is what we're getting. + +Whatever the case, we spent about 10 minutes wandering around St. Augustine and were ready to head back to the bus. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-01-31_microcosm.txt b/jrnl/2024-01-31_microcosm.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..131ce18 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-01-31_microcosm.txt @@ -0,0 +1,60 @@ +--- +title: Microcosm +url: /jrnl/2024/01/microcosm +location: Gulf Islands National Seashore, Florida +--- + + We sprinted across Florida, from St. Augustine to the far end of the panhandle in two quick drives. We stopped in the middle at the Tallahassee Car Museum, an odd little museum with a few campsites out front (not everything on Harvest Hosts is a farm). + + + +The kids and I wandered around the museum for a while, checking out the cars and other antiques, but the extremely dry air was weird and uncomfortable. I understand the reasoning there, but it's a bit much to go from tropical Florida humidity to Arizona desert dry in the span of six feet. + + + +The next day we were at Fort Pickens, part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore and one of my favorite, and least favorite, places in all our travels. + +Fort Pickens is an oddball spot because the natural aspects, the beach and dunes, the crystal clear water, it's hard to really say anything bad about the place. Who can argue with this? + + + + + +The problem with Fort Pickens is that it's the most mis-managed public park we've ever encountered. Everyone sees it, except the managers of course. From the park employees to people camping with us, everyone feels it, but we put up with it because of the location. + +I think this year will be our last for a while though. I can deal with asshole camp hosts, rangers who do nothing but yell, but when the park shuts down at the hint of a storm, with no warning, no refund, and nowhere to go that just doesn't work. At Fort Pickens this has become commonplace, a thing that happens several times a year. In all the months we've spent in the Outer Banks -- which sees far more and far stronger storms -- we've seen the campgrounds shut down exactly once, when a category 3 hurricane hit. We even [rode out a nor'ester](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/05/separation) that flooded the campground and it didn't close. + +We were lucky at Fort Pickens this year because some locals told us the sheriff wouldn't care if we spent the night in a nearby state beach parking lot. That's where we waited out the oh-so-dangerous storm. That never showed. But I felt bad for the people who'd driven a thousand miles and now either had to spend $400 a night on a hotel room or just go home. Either way, your vacation is ruined. + +I tend to take a philosophical view of these things, since the alternative is, well, there isn't an alternative I can see. We've reached the stage of civilizational collapse where you get what you get and there's nothing you can do about that. So I take the philosophical, or perhaps abstract view is a better way to put it. + +To me Fort Pickens is a microcosm of the collapse of our national government. The distant park managers, ensconced in their posh homes in Atlanta, 350 miles away, attempt to decide what's best for the park, for the visitors, from a distance that makes it impossible for them to know what's actually happening. That's if their intentions are good. I am unconvinced they are. Much as we don't like to admit it, some leaders suck at leading. Some are just in it for the status and power. + +Sound familiar? It's how you get this. + + + + +The storm was supposed to come in on Friday, but of course no one who makes decisions about these things works the weekend, so once the park was closed, it wasn't opening again until Monday at the earliest no matter the weather. Never mind that the storm never hit, and the sun never stopped shining. The TPS reports required to re-open weren't done until Monday. And then the park forgot to send out an email and tell everyone it was open. We only knew because we were sitting there watching the gate. + +The sheriff I talked to (who was very nice about letting us stay in the parking lot for the weekend) had a few choice words for the feds, they were accurate, but I won't repeat them here. Just don't forget that we, my fellow taxpaying American, we own this place. + +And it is a beautiful place. + + + + +
+ + + + +
+ +This is why I call it a microcosm of the nation. America is a beautiful place, the land, the cultures, the people. Unfortunately we've let a very small, selfish, malignant minority take it over. And no, I am not a democrat, or a republican, a leftist or a rightist, I see no difference between these things. They're all the same. The solutions to the problem won't come from the people who created the problem. + +Nor will it come from resistance. What you resist persists. The secret to robbing power from power is to ignore it. Governing is a hallucination of those in the government. Ignore it. Withdraw from it where you can. Buy less, trade more, work in the margins. Live in the margins + +The current managerial class is out of ideas. Eventually their power will collapse, someone new will step in with some new answers and the process will repeat itself. As it has, for millennia. + +In the mean time, I try to keep my children in mind. They're going to live further down this timeline than I am. It may get considerably rougher, it may not, who knows. All I know is that I want to hold their hands for as long as I can, and show them some beauty before more damage is done. \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-02-21_fly-navy.txt b/jrnl/2024-02-21_fly-navy.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae4c1a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-02-21_fly-navy.txt @@ -0,0 +1,51 @@ +--- +title: Fly Navy +url: /jrnl/2024/02/fly-navy +location: Pensacola, Florida +--- + + The one upside to [getting kicked out of Fort Pickens for a storm that never hit](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2024/01/microcosm), was meeting the pilot. + +The bus, wherever it goes, is conspicuous. It is especially conspicuous in the middle of an otherwise empty parking lot. Next to the parking lot was a collection of condos, and several people came over, curious about the bus. One, who was walking two dogs, stopped to let the kids pet them. + +We got to talking and mentioned that we were headed to the recently re-opened Navy Air Museum, and he said, "oh, a couple of my old planes are in there." Say what? It turned out that had he been a Navy pilot and flight instructor at NAS Pensacola for many years. + +Elliott is currently fascinated by war, as I think most young boys are at some point, but he's especially fascinated by planes, which is why we were headed back to the Navy Air Museum. Knowing that he was talking to someone who had actually flown the planes he has models of was almost too much for him. + +Later the pilot brought out some of his old flight logs for Elliott to look at, and then, when we were leaving to go back to Fort Pickens, he gave Elliott a pair of his Navy wings. It will be some years I imagine before the significance of that sinks in, but I put them in a safe place in the mean time. + +We [went to the Navy Air Museum](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/03/island-sun) once before, but the kids were young enough that they don't have many memories of it. We tried to go back last year, but the base has been closed to the public since the [shooting in 2019](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naval_Air_Station_Pensacola_shooting). This winter the museum finally re-opened to the public. After a couple of days back at Fort Pickens we had to leave for 24 hours (you can't stay on federal land for more than 14 consecutive nights), so we went over to Big Lagoon State Park, which is just down the road from the Navy Air Museum. + + + +Like most men my age, I wanted to be a naval aviator. After Top Gun came out, who didn't? I went so far as to apply to the Naval Academy. I even met with my congressman to get his endorsement (required as part of the application process). I was pretty sure I'd be accepted, but unfortunately, junior year in high school, when I was doing all this, it became apparent that I wasn't going to be able to hide my less than perfect vision. + +I ended up with glasses and my dream of flying for the Navy went away as soon as I put them on. I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do in the Navy, so I dropped my application to the Naval Academy and moved on to other things. But I never lost my awe for flying, or my love of naval aviation history. + +The Navy Air Museum has an immense collection of planes spread across three huge buildings, with a few outside as well. It's the best collection of navy planes I've ever seen, and to have someone we knew tell use where his planes were made it that much more fun. + + + + +At this point I think I sound like a broken record, but what makes the Navy museum great is what makes any museum great: letting people actually touch things. The Navy Air Museum has plenty of cockpits to climb in, fuselages to crawl through, and even a presidential helicopter where you can sit down inside. + + + + +There's some good historical information too, including a few of my favorite museum displays, the diorama. + + + + + + +The dioramas, and more broadly, history according to the Navy, would lead you to think there was nothing so exciting as war. My first thought was that that's ridiculous, but the more I walked around the museum, the more I wondered if maybe the Navy is right. + +While some people would like to deny it, there is a part of human beings that seems genetically hardwired to enjoy fighting. Every culture I'm aware of has produced a warrior element dedicated to fighting. And yes, many people in those warrior elements like it. I understand that feeling. I feel it in JuiJitsu. It's satisfying to submit someone, I imagine the satisfaction is even greater the higher the stakes get. + + + + +The kids were drawn to the dioramas because they gave a glimpse of life as it used to be, from wooden huts of the world wars, to a Vietnam era berth on an aircraft carrier. I'd be lying if I said those glimpses of life didn't look appealing. I'm sure sitting around drinking wine in a wooden hut in France, circa 1917 *was* fun when nothing else was happening. The part where people came and dropped bombs on you, killed your friends, possibly killed you, that's the part left out of the diorama. But what if that part only served to make those moments of peacefulness more valuable? What if you need struggle to appreciate the lack of struggle? + +What if when we're looking back at earlier times and finding them more appealing than our own, we aren't looking at history through rose-colored glasses? What if what appeals to us isn't the so-called simpler times, but the opposite, harder times? What if hard is good, struggle is good, and that's why the past is so appealing? \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-03-20_mobile-bay.txt b/jrnl/2024-03-20_mobile-bay.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2608562 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-03-20_mobile-bay.txt @@ -0,0 +1,36 @@ +--- +title: Mobile Bay +url: /jrnl/2024/03/mobile-bay +location: Meaher State Park, Alabama +--- + + We maxed out our time at Fort Pickens. After six weeks, it was time to move on. We had planned to go to New Orleans, and then up into the Ozarks, before heading back up to Wisconsin for the summer, but given how mild the winter turned out to be, we decided to press north sooner than usual. + +Our first stop was not far away, Mobile Bay. We've driven by Meaher State Park a dozen times by this point but we'd never stopped. This year we decided to see what it was like. We were a little early for bird migration, which is one of its claims to fame, but it's right in the middle of Mobile bay, so it had great views. + + + +It's also right down the street from the battleship Alabama. + + + +The USS Alabama was a lot like the [battleship North Carolina](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/12/winter-storm), but without the cool paint job. + +What it did have, was the nicest ice cream bar of any of the three battleships we've toured. All things considered, the kids decided the Alabama was the best place to be stationed. Not only did it never take any significant hits in its lifetime of service, the ice cream situation was unmatched in the Navy. So far as we know. + + + +The mess hall on the other hand left much to be desired. + + + +Like the North Carolina, the Alabama's main gun turrets were open to explore. + + + + +We'd planned to check out the city of Mobile too, but the weather conspired against us with rain and thunderstorms most of the time we were in the area. We never did make it to downtown, but one of the great things about living this way is you don't really have to worry about missing something, you can always come back. + +Despite what you often hear, I've come to feel like the road is long, that life is long. There's plenty of time, and no reason to rush. That feeling that we need to hurry up comes from living in the future. We're in a rush to get to the futures we imagine. There's nothing wrong with planning for the future, but I try to make sure I'm living in the here and now and not rushing through today to get to tomorrow. + + \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/jrnl/2024-03-27_illinois-cliffs.txt b/jrnl/2024-03-27_illinois-cliffs.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..127b7b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/jrnl/2024-03-27_illinois-cliffs.txt @@ -0,0 +1,65 @@ +--- +title: Illinois Cliffs +url: /jrnl/2024/03/illinois-cliffs +location: Ferne Clyffe State Park, Illinois +--- + + If you look at a map of the U.S., there's a few routes that will get you from Pensacola FL to Wisconsin. They all have one things in common: they pass through Illinois. Unfortunately, there isn't much camping in Illinois, and what camping there is... is generally not great. We've stated in [small town](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/06/prairie-notes) [city parks](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2023/05/going-up-north) the last couple times through, which were nice enough for a night, but not someplace you'd want to spend any time[^1]. + +But nothing is all bad either. We call the route we take Maximum Illinois since it enters at the southernmost point and exits at the northern most. Somewhere in there we knew there were great places and we were going to find them damnit. + +We considered some places on Harvest Hosts, but those are generally only for 24 hours. We needed somewhere to stay while a snow storm (hopefully the last!) dumped a foot or more where we were headed in Wisconsin. This is how we ended up at Ferne Clyffe State Park, which had never quite fallen at the right mileage point for stopping. This time we did an extra long day and made it. It's good we did because Ferne Clyffe is without a doubt the nicest place we've been in Illinois. + + +
+ + + + +
+ + + +We pulled into a nearly empty campground, which was fortunate because we hadn't even thought about making reservations ahead of time. I can't tell you the last time we did that. I loved the place already. + +It was still very much winter when we arrived the last week in March. The tree limbs were still leafless, skeleton arms scratching at the still-wintery sky. But Ferne Clyffe was lush with lichens, moss, and ferns growing in clusters wherever water leached out of the limestone cliffs and beautifully carved canyon walls. + + + + +After six weeks in the tightly-policed, don't-even-think-about-climbing-it "nature" of [Fort Pickens](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2024/01/microcosm), the kids were eager to get climbing all over Ferne Clyffe. Happily there were no signs telling them not too, and no one around to tell them otherwise. We pretty much had the place to ourselves and climb they did. + + + +There seems to be a fundamental human need to climb. I don't mean technical rock climbing, I mean getting to the top of things. I have no idea why. To add to Edmund Hilary's famous quote about climbing Everest, the best I can think of is, *because we're alive, and it's here*. But then asking *why?* rarely leads to interesting experiences, *why not?* is a more rewarding guide to life. + +Whatever the case I've noticed that when there are rocks or trees to climb our kids are happy. Almost all their favorite spots, like [Valley of Fire](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/09/valley-fire), [Zion](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/09/zion), and [the place in Utah I never named](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2017/08/canyoneering) among others, all have rocks or trees to climb. + +Ferne Clyffe had a network of trails running through the various canyons (one main canyon with a couple of offshoots). It's not a huge place, but it was enough to keep our days filled with hiking and climbing and birding. + + +
+ + + + +
+ +I got the kids jeweler's loupes for studying and sketching. The endless moss and lichens of Ferne Clyffe gave them a chance to use them. Studying moss through a loupe you quickly discover that the form of the surrounding forest is repeated in the carpet of moss. What we call moss is in fact tiny forests living on the rocks and fallen trees, living at a different scale, but nearly identical means. The smallest thing is in the biggest thing, the biggest thing is in the smallest thing. + +"Learning to see mosses is more like listening than looking," writes Robin Wall Kimmerer in her book *[Gathering Moss](https://bookshop.org/p/books/gathering-moss-a-natural-and-cultural-history-of-mosses-robin-wall-kimmerer/8632077?ean=9780870714993)*. "Straining to hear a faraway voice or catch a nuance in the quiet subtext of a conversation requires attentiveness, a filtering of all the noise, to catch the music. Mosses are not elevator music; they are the intertwined threads of a Beethoven quartet." + +To be unhurried in our world has come to seem a luxury. It's not. Anyone can do it, but it does take effort. It does mean being quiet, listening, taking the time to be [calm, careful, and conscious](https://luxagraf.net/essay/craft/simple-machines-complex-tasks) of what you're doing. I like to keep in mind something I read once that your power is proportional to your ability to relax. Do you have the power to relax right now? Use it. + +The loupes are nice because they make it easy to shut out the rest of the world visually. They narrow your focus to a tiny part, which you can then carefully explore, watching it unfold into its own world. You can then stack loupes and narrow it down even more if you want. + + + + +We looked and listened, hiked and climbed. + +It was a good week. Good enough in fact that when we all got sick toward the end of it, no one really minded. We spent a few days indoors recovering, and then headed north for the one state park in Wisconsin that opens on April 1. + + + +[^1]: One of the things we figured our very quickly in our travels is you should never camp within 20 miles of the border in a state where marijuana is legal (like Illinois). This is where every meth head from the surround states will camp when they come to get their weed. The campgrounds will be run down, trashed, sketchy, and full of meth heads. Usually it's more depressing than dangerous, but it always sucks. Rockford, Trinidad, Paducah, Illinois Beach, etc. \ No newline at end of file -- cgit v1.2.3-70-g09d2