El Paso

It was on impulse that we left Las Cruces, NM and headed south, back to Texas.  El Paso was calling. Perhaps it was Bucky's continued yearning for BBQ.  My yearning was left behind at Jack's in Nashville.  For me, nothing matched our friend Nate's pulled pork in Talkeetna.  I was done searching for the perfect pork or brisket.  But, such was not the case with Bucky.  As we moved deeper into the world of Mexican food, I sensed his fear in leaving the land of barbecued beef,  having not yet experienced the BEST Texas had to offer.  I think he missed the "best" when he looked at the Atlas and didn't include Austin in our travels.  It was with regret that I folded up my lawn chair and said goodbye to our neighbor on his trike in Sunny Acres.  How could I know that a 55+ RV community would be so pleasant, having the nicest private showers and bathrooms I've ever experienced.

                                     Our neighbor, Bob on his trike facing the beautiful Organ Mountains.

The mountains surrounding Las Cruses surprised us.  Once again, so little is shown in the Atlas. We enjoyed our stay and thought it would be well worth a second visit.  Sunny Acres offered RV storage for $41 a month.  Now, what would that be like to fly down, spend time here or tour around, park again and fly home????? I'm not sure if it was the mountains, the clean bathrooms or the Rib Cage that impressed Bucky.  How convenient that the Rib Cage, professing to have the best ribs in Las Cruses was just a mere 3 blocks away from Sunny Acres!  Better yet, Bucky parked along the curb, ran in to order, hurried back, fixed our cocktails and we settled comfortably into our mobile living room enjoying the mountain view.  Within minutes, the Rib Cage waitress knocked on the cabin door carrying our dinner.  Moving just a few feet  placed us at the dinette where we enjoyed take-out mesquite smoked ribs, eaten in.

During the 50 mile drive from Las Cruses to El Paso, the Organ Mountains of NM melded into the Franklin Mts. shadowing El Paso, again, an unexpected surprise.  Living in Vermont, we have experienced an international border, but nothing like the Mexican border.  Without a clear understanding as to where the Rio Grande was as we headed into El Paso I commented, "Look at that hillside, it looks just like Mexico."  Brightly colored, flat roofed houses, closely gathered together on the hillside to my right.  Focused on the colorful house, my eyes overlooked the high fence that lie in front.  It wasn't until we left El Paso on the same road we had come in on, that I saw the fence and several Border Patrol parked along the river.  When I saw the river and how very narrow it was, it seemed as though an easy swim by even an unskilled swimmer could land one in the US.

Taking pictures as we spend along was difficult, but, this is Mexico through the fence.  So close, but for some so far.

We easily parked the RV outside the City Plaza which that day was hosting a bowling tournament, which explained the small groups of people that we kept passing wearing matching colored shirts.  
At first, I thought flight attendants then I saw the "welcome bowlers" sign.

 The hills close to El Paso

                                       Always looking for interesting architechture.

The brochure we obtained at the Texas welcome center showed El Paso street as the location for shopping downtown.  We decided to take Fisher with us, giving her some exercise.  Upon returning to the RV, she showed her disapproval with our decision by sideways digging on our bed.  This is something she only does when trying to alleviate discomfort.  She does this by sliding on her side while making violent jerking movements with her front paws, as if to exorcise the demons within. Once on El Paso Street, I regretted my decision of taking French instead of Spanish in high school.  Growing up so close to the Canadian border, the thought was that French would come in handy.  It never did! 
El Paso Street was a total surprise, if it were not for knowing that we hadn't crossed the Rio Grande.....we could have been in Mexico!

Fisher attracted a lot of attention.  Folks spoke to us in Spanish pointing to the dog, to which I said, "thank you", not having a clue what was said.  Every child wanted to pet her and one toddler ran from her mother saying, "woof, woof" with a Spanish accent.

                                                                        Why the masks?

                                 Mannequins the likes of which I had never seen, butts facing the sidewalk!

Several times I said to Bucky, "I feel like I'm in Mexico."  If I had looked more closely at the map, I would have seen that the families, each pushing at least one stroller laden with one or two children plus purchases, had just walked a few blocks into the US after crossing the Sante Fe Bridge from Juarez, Mexico.

Leaving El Paso and Texas, I was surprised by Bucky's choice for dinner.  The sign said Hawaiian Barbeque. Now, that ought to be different!



And, so it begins....AK 2019

Our annual drive to our cabin in Talkeetna, AK began mid-day Sunday June 16, 2019. Two days later outside of Cleveland, we watched the odometer of our motor home, affectionately named "the Hawk", roll over to indicate 100,000 miles.

Cleveland often lives in fog off Lake Erie

Our nights are usually spent at a Walmart parking lot. This style of travel isn't for everyone, but it works for us. I use a Walmart directory giving location and phone number. There are many Walmarts that deny overnight parking so it's become necessary to call in advance and not to assume it's allowed. Upon arrival, we find space to put our longish rig and head in to buy a few necessities. Knowing how box stores are placed, I scope the area on the trip in to see the best options for coffee in the morning. It's often McDonald's, but no complaints from me with Green Mountain Coffee to start my day. When safely parked, we press the magic button that puts out our slide which significantly enlarges our living area. At this point, we transform from a rolling metal box to a fully self contained tiny house. Next, I move to the couch, feet up on the footstool and wait for a refreshing drink to be placed in my hand by Bucky who works the bar.  This is followed by dinner prepared by whom ever is not walking the dog. And finally, we pull down our black out shades and call it a day......drive, sleep and repeat for 10 days. At the Indiana Walmart shown above, we watched from our large dinette window as Amish families arrived in vans with non-Amish drivers. While the drivers waited, families shopped and returned with loaded carts. In a process that appeared to have been preformed time and time again, goods were removed from shopping carts and placed in marked tubs. Each family appeared to have a designated area within the attached utility trailer where their tubs were then placed. When all passengers had returned to the vans, seats were taken and the drivers pulled away. We watched as 5 or 6 vans and trailers were loaded. I tried to find a connection or maybe a disconnect between the Amish lifestyle, as I know it, and the products from China within Walmart and the overall Walmart shopping experience. It struck me as not organic!

14 year old Fisher on her 9th Alaskan round trip

This year marked our our 11th journey to and from Alaska. Once on the road, we are focused on putting miles beneath our tires. Fortunately, Bucky and I are in agreement about this. It's not that we don't notice and enjoy the scenery around us, we do, but our goal is to get to Alaska and do our sightseeing there. Yet, on this trip, we took time to visit a couple who introduced us to Alaska in 2008, Amber and Dave. They no longer live in Alaska, but have made a green oasis of a town, Petersburg, ND their home, located just off Route 2 (known as the Hi-Line), In this tidy town of well kept houses with unlocked doors and manicured green lawns, they have found a caring community of hard working neighbors. Dave still travels to Dutch Harbor, Alaska located on the Aleutian chain to work on airplanes, but with 3 weeks on and 5 weeks off he has plenty of time to fish for Walleye on Devil's Lake or one of the smaller lakes near home. North Dakota is a harsh land, but abundant in resources.

Since we hadn't seen these folks since 2011, we had some significant catching up to do. Dave was invaluable during our first Alaskan visit in 2008. That year we experienced the sinking feeling of having completed a goal and not planning beyond that. In this case, the 5,000 mile drive had been our goal each day of travel and upon arrival, we had no next step planned. The Anchorage Walmart is one that doesn't allow overnight parking so even our go to camping wasn't possible. We were unsure whether to head north or south, but we knew staying in Anchorage wasn't for us. It didn't take long for us to retrieve the folded piece of white paper given to us before leaving VT by our daughter, Carlisle, with Dave and Amber's phone number on it. She had said, "these are really nice people who will help you if you need it". That time had arrived. We were discouraged when our call to them was not returned for a day or two. We had yet to realize that many Alaskans work far from home and can be away for weeks at a time. Finally, we received a voicemail and Dave's cheery voice encouraged us to leave Anchorage, for this we needed no convincing, and we soon arrived at their home in Palmer, AK about 45 minutes north. This was to become our home away from home that first summer in AK. We parked on vacant land next to Dave and Amber's home with our picture window looking up at the jagged snow capped summits of Twin Peaks. and never tired of staring up at two jagged snow capped Using binoculars we could watch Dall Sheep negotiate the rugged rock terrain. Each morning, Dave and Amber would leave for work and Bucky and I would head out in the RV for destinations suggested by Dave We located the restaurant near Fairbanks that served grapefruit pie, we fished for Sockeye on the Kenai River, we loaded the RV on a ferry from Valdez to Whittier watching sea lions and ice burgs float by. We saw glaciers from above while flying in a float plane from Lake Hood, the largest seaplane base in the world. From a boat on the Gulkana River, Bucky caught his first King Salmon that tasted so delicious cooked on the grill that evening. The fish wasn't all that was hooked!! We knew that this was just the beginning. Each time we returned from an excursion, Dave and Amber listened excitedly to the tales we told. We celebrated our summer successes and upcoming departure that summer feasting with our friends on the largest King Crab legs I have ever seen! The huge state of Alaska had been made a little smaller through the knowledge we had gained.
During our time in Petersburg we reminisced and talked of the changes in our lives. Dave lost a son while Amber gained several grandchildren. Both expressed love for their new living situation, but I overheard Dave tell Bucky that he missed AK, when Amber and I were gabbing about grandchildren. Alaska penetrates one's soul with its beauty but can drive one away with its untamed nature.
Our stop in Petersburg provided the "pause that refreshes" and the fresh walleye, generously given by Dave, tasted fantastic that night while overlooking the Walmart smile!
My mantra as we cross state line after state line is, "when we finally get to Montana"..... Montana with her wide open views, grazing cattle, curious antelope, grain elevators, freight trains and quiet strength marks a half way point in our trip, but more importantly, Montana exudes an essence of hard earned freedom that appeals to us. In Chinook, MT we once again brought the Hawk to a stop and spent an overnight with former Vermonters, Tim and Judy. With typical western hospitality, where family is paramount, we met all the grandchildren including the newest grandchild. This brand new baby boy is already adored by his three, young, girl cousins and every adult present. A heart warming gathering of loving parents and children, with several dogs brushing our legs under a table laden with pot roast, cold drinks, followed by sweet cake, makes MT hard to beat.

threatening MT sky

Malta, MT

Saco, MT

Saco, MT

canola field Malta, MT

Chinook, MT

to be continued

Winter's End

It's been a wonderful winter, lots of snow, freezing cold and hot blazing fires, but now I'm ready for  warm winds to lift my laundry hanging on the line. I want to dangle my feet off the dock and into the cool pond water. I want to hear the sound of outboard motors. I want to taste the sour lime of a vodka tonic while sitting on my deck rather than feel the burn of whiskey sipped by the fire. Today I watched the thermometer rise and fall. It reminded me of my children when they first climbed the barn ladder. Rung by rung, cautiously moving upward only to reach a point where fear caused retreat and slowly back down, rung by rung. As I poured my morning coffee, the thermometer read 8 degrees, by nine it had climbed to 15, now at mid day it stays firmly planted nearly where it started at 10 degrees. My husband and I were born and raised in Vermont. His parents were both native Vermonters. Only those born in Vermont understand the presumed importance of a Vermont birth. My brother was born in Boston and moved to VT with my parents when he was three months old. We never miss the chance to remind him that he's NOT and never will be a native Vermonter.  

My parents, each being only children, left their parents in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin to raise their family in Burlington, Vermont. To them, I'm forever grateful.  My mother loved winter. Her internal temperature was peculiarly hot. As a child, I knew it was VERY cold outside when she would trade her thin gloves for a pair of leather mittens. Both my parents embraced winter. We skied, we skated, we built amazing snow structures and there always seemed to be plenty of snow.

That's me in red and my brother behind in the checked coat.

Dad would spend nights flooding the yard near our garage so we could spend as much time outside as possible skating with our friends. Although our family traveled often, I never remember us taking a warm weather school vacation. I do, however, remember going further north to Montreal or Quebec City so we could experience real winter!

My mother, brother and me in Stowe to watch the Nationals, around 1953 or 54.

No fancy ski wear and climbing by foot to access the trails.

Some of the snow sculptures created by the fraternities at the University of Vermont during Kake Walk (a winter festival no longer held) were ornate. There was competition between the fraternities and sororities. Lines of cars would drive through Burlington to see what had been created, often during the coldest nights.

As of February 16th, 2019,Vermont was experiencing the 6th snowiest winter on record. 81 inches of snow has fallen on the city of my birth, South Burlington, Vermont, which is 2 feet above normal. My mother would have loved every frozen inch of it! Here in Ripton, the fun began over Thanksgiving week. What was first seen as "just a taste of winter" was built upon and the snow never left. Snowmen built that week, lost their heads and their middles during the dieting rain of January, but their bases remained and are now buried under new snow.  All Vermonters know of the "January thaw". In recent years, it seems to occur more often than just in January.

This month, after some rain and snow melt, the farm fields bordering Otter Creek flooded. This was followed by bitter cold temperatures turning the frozen fields and surrounding swamp into a skater's paradise. One could skate for miles. 

Our family and two onlookers

Hot dogs, marshmallows and hot chocolate!

Now, it's March and the snowbanks surrounding the house have lost some height. I'm able to see the dock that extends out over our pond, piercing through a blanket of snow. There are even some patches of dry brown grass between the house and barn. Mounded dirt tunnels indicate a  subterranean highway being used this winter by moles. The dog will have fun investigating these. The nights remain cold, between 10 and 20 degrees, while the daytime temps are now in the thirties. It's sugaring season. 

Sugaring is a family activity. Youngsters marvel at the way slightly sweet sap flows from the tree into the bucket. It's hard for them not to have a taste! I personally have never liked the taste enough to drink large amounts as some folks will. I prefer it as syrup.

These trees are in Lincoln, VT

Grandchildren make great helpers!

We no longer hang pails on our maples, but many in our town partake in backyard sugaring. It's a lot of hard work! In a few days it will be Open Sugar House weekend in VT. Most sugar houses invite the public inside to see the art of boiling maple sap into sweet sticky syrup. There might be plain donuts to dip in syrup or sugar on snow. Large houses often serve a full pancake breakfast. Sugaring is a time honored tradition in Vermont.

                              

Years ago, sap buckets and spouts were made of wood. I have several old wooden sap buckets which I use as wastebaskets. I would assume that making wooden buckets was once an important trade. 

Smoke and steam rising from the roof of a sugarhouse tells folks nearby that boiling is occurring. Boiling sap is often an end of day activity, often extending well into the night. Once the sap is on, the process has to be completed. Wood fired evaporators require attention. Sitting, watching the pan, can be a time to swap stories and visit with family, friends and neighbors.

Today, March 20, is officially the first day of Spring. The sun is warm enough on my front porch that I've dragged a plastic lawn chair from the cellar and placed it in the sun. I plan to use it while I watch the icicles drip and feel the sun's warmth on my face. It's going to be rejuvenating! Then, perhaps this weekend, we'll head to a local sugarhouse to sample Vermont's liquid gold. 

AK Moose

The clouds clung to the green hills while rain hammered out a rhythm on the cabin's tin roof. I didn't feel guilty on such a day to be lying on the cabin floor, gazing at the ceiling and reflecting on the past week. Pine knots resembled the eyes of many people spying down at me. Some looked like small children's eyes while others were the wide open eyes of shocked adults. The wood grain surrounding the knots added to the imagined shapes. The circles and ovals where branches had once sprung, now became shapes in nature. One honey colored knot with long dark streaks radiating outward, became a shooting star. Two small dark knots, close together with vertical lines extending down, was a small owl with wings at its side. Much like Rubin's vase, which one person sees as a vase and another sees as two faces staring at one another, I manipulated the same pine knots from one shape to another by glancing away or blinking my eyes.

Our hunting trip began on a less than perfect day for flying. The plan was for our daughter, Carlisle, to fly her Dad, Bucky, into the hills first. Once there, he would set up camp while she would return to town to retrieve gear. I would wait in town catching a ride out later with our friend in another airplane. As is often the case with Alaskan aviation, inclement weather changed all that. Fortunately, a few breaks in the afternoon clouds allowed three of us to get into camp. Now, we stood on the grass strip listening, our eyes searching the sky, hoping to hear the sound of the Citabria approaching. We knew that despite Lisle's desire to fly herself to camp, she would smartly turn back if the weather window began to close. I uttered a sigh of relief when I caught sight of black wings against the grey sky, followed by the reassuring purr of an airplane engine.

watching and waiting

and she's down 

the plane, affectionately known as Woody, has wings that look particularly sharp from behind 

Alaska is a wild land and it's always a comfort to have those you love safely together. A week of hunting lay ahead, an exciting time made more so by the sighting of several nice bulls on the flights in.
Our hunt started quickly the following morning when two bulls were spotted before breakfast. The cabin provided an excellent spot from which to watch animals as they traversed the hills. Being able to have a cabin as our base camp was pure luxury. Bucky, Carlisle and I usually hunt with tents for shelter.  Rain was predicted for our entire stay, so having a dry place in which to hang our wet clothes and cots to sleep on, was heavenly.

the cabin was dwarfed by the surrounding hills

glassing near camp

                                                                      Woody tied down 

On the first day of our hunt, patience was the skill most needed. We were excited that the two bulls seen before breakfast, appeared to be headed in our direction. Then, for no apparent reason, they suddenly veered from their original path. With uncanny speed, they headed up and over the hills and out of sight. Later we determined it was a response to other moose being in the same area! Two bulls and a cow were subsequently seen approaching from the opposite direction. Despite the enormous size of these animals, the thick brush cleverly concealed them from our view. Once they were located, the hunt was on. We re-positioned and waited.

the runway made it easy to move about

                                                          watching as the first two bulls disappear from sight

on stand

                                                                   now it's a waiting game.

We decided to move from the cabin walking about a half mile down the runway and set up near another mining cabin beside the creek. An old bulldozer became our hunting blind providing elevation and concealment. Here we sat uncomfortably for the next few hours wondering if the three animals we had seen were still around or had they buggered off like the earlier two bulls?  Then, movement in the willows simultaneously caught our eyes announcing a moose's presence. It was a bull! His antlers thrashed against the willow branches while he browsed. We sat frozen, our binoculars glued to our eyes. The discomfort of our hard metal seats was forgotten.
What followed, was a lengthy assessment of the animal's antlers. The rules on moose hunting are very strict and specific. We had to be sure that this bull's antlers met the criteria for harvest. The bull remained partially hidden in the willows making it impossible to see his antlers clearly. We watched and waited. Then suddenly, the break we had hoped for occurred. The bull began moving toward us. He exited the brush, and proceeded to walk mere yards from where we collectively sat holding our breath. As he ambled by, he turned his head providing a definitive view of his antlers, clearly identifying him as a legal bull.

We froze in place as he passed by.

patience paid off

The Alaskan moose is the largest North American subspecies of moose. An Alaskan moose can stand over 6' at the shoulder and weigh over 1000 lbs. Caring for the meat of this bull became our top priority. It's a time consuming task to field dress, butcher and transport an animal of this size. We were lucky to have plenty of daylight, sharp knives, and a short pack. A few nicks by the knife were bandaged and there were plenty of laughable moments. The meat was placed in game bags and hauled to the bulldozer where it could hang and cool for the next several days.

Wet vegetation and stream crossings made hunting in waders the best option.

rack of ribs

hunting blind turned meat pole

Occasionally, the clouds and fog lifted, exposing the Takosha Mountains.

The cabin we were inhabiting did not have an outhouse while the one where the meat hung had a comfortable one. It was ideally placed near the creek which provided background music as well as a handy place to wash up. This coffin sized building had no door allowing a fabulous view when seated.

outhouse with a view

This gold mining relic sat in the creek beyond the outhouse.

The following morning, I took the half mile walk from our cabin to the outhouse. I carried the 22 rifle in hope of flushing a Ptarmigan. I was asked if I would check the meat and the gut pile before returning and I said I would. As I walked, warblers hopped in the willows, singing freely and unafraid while ground squirrels loudly voiced their disapproval from holes hidden from view. I stuffed  my hands in my pockets in an attempt to warm them. The creek ran cold with early signs of Fall. I scanned the stones beneath the water and along the banks, not really knowing what gold would look like, but hoping there would be no doubt should I happen to see some! My hands began to warm as I approached the bulldozer. The meat hung as it had been placed and the cool night temperatures left it smelling sweet. I walked with caution toward the gut pile, mindful that this was prime bear country. Despite having this thought in mind, I was startled to see a sizable black spot appear in the brush. I stopped walking as the bear raised onto its hind legs in an effort to locate me. I was relieved to see it was a small bear and as I slowly backed away, it returned to all fours loping off. We encountered each other again in the open at a much greater distance and once again the bear rose to its hind legs to get a better look at me. This gave me time to look through my scope. I had no intent of shooting a bear with a 22, but wanted a magnified look. The white blaze on its chest stood out from the glossy black fur and then in a flash it was gone.

taking a walk

pyrola

crow berry

Wilson warbler

layers of green and meat haul

Knowing that bear were in the area, we decided to move the meat closer to home so we could monitor it. The same small bear was seen several times near the gut pile during the week. A wolverine also visited the pile.

strong young backs make light work

meat near the fuel tank

The meat was gone through again and some was re-cut and re-bagged. 

Antlers in velvet are a work of art.

During the week, we were "unreachable", shrouded in clouds, low fog and peaceful grey skies undisturbed by airplane noise. This is bad when you want "out", but for us, it meant no visitors and no hunters flying in on us. Bucky and I wandered in the hills, treating ourselves to sour blueberries while fantasizing we were AK homesteaders. The emerald hills on which we walked met the cold clear water of the creek at the valley floor. We used this water for drinking, cooking and washing. Walking to the creek after dinner to do dishes never seemed like a chore when surrounded by such beauty.

As our week ended, the clouds lifted as if knowing it was time for us to head back to town. We raced to pack up camp, taking advantage of the weather window to make a hasty retreat. When using airplanes as part of a hunt, time can sometimes move at warp speed or in slow motion. I guess that's what keeps it interesting.

heading home

goodbye sweet cabin

glacial rivers

more meat processing at home

Hours turn into days, days into years and precious memories are suspended in time. The shared meals, card games played, cabin sleep sounds, solitary walks and nature's boundless gifts become etched into the hearts and souls of those lucky enough to share in the experience.