Arrived in Stowe last night around 7 pm, what a beautiful sight. The church steeple illuminated, the streets alive with people, and our home ablaze waiting for us, with two very loud and very happy dogs greeting us, Olive and Henry. Henry, my granddog was visiting us for the week-end, actually he pretty much lives here, and Olive could not believe it was us. I think she had given up on us ever coming home. In turn, we were just as excited to see them. Amazing how dogs manage to worm their way into your hearts, no matter their issues or not. That was the hardest part of the trip, not seeing the grandkids and the dogs. The adult kids are busy with their lives and basically, I talked to them pretty much off and on every day. Although, leaving the Smith tribe behind in Washington is always pretty difficult. Not being part of their lives every day like the rest of the Smith clan is hard. Yet, how can I complain, as the rest of the family could have been scattered here and there, yet here they all are.
We did get to see the Upper Peninsula in Michigan and experience the magnitude of Lake Superior and Lake Michigan. Going over the bridge back to the States there was no horizon. The lake could have been the ocean, for no land was in sight on either side of the van. I am sure sailing these waters is just as challenging as sailing in the ocean.
It has been a trip that I have dreamed of for years. People have asked many times why I wanted to go to the Dakotas, and I had no answer other than I was curious. Now I know. They are beautiful. North Dakota has a lot of diversity in the landscape and the Theodore Roosevelt Park was amazing. But each state offered so much.
One thing that struck me about many of the towns we went through along Route 2 and 6, was how they have remained frozen in time. The buildings felt like facades built for a Western cowboy scene with flat faced storefronts, abandoned and boarded up. A few restaurants and stores with windows that look like they have never been cleaned but have more likely suffered the winds and dust of the prairie.
As we got closer to the Upper Peninsula the towns took on a more prosperous look. I loved all of the street art, with murals painted on the sides of buildings, large humorous sculptures, especially Paul Bunyan and his Blue Ox. It gave the towns so much personality. Not the stodgy old New England look.
My overall impression was the vastness of the landscape, land and sky for miles on end. What a privilege to live in such a diverse country. I just wish we could come together and work together to make this country what it truly could be, diverse culturally and politically yet keeping in mind we are all neighbors, we should hold each of us with respect and celebrate the diversity in each person. Then our country would really stand “For liberty and justice for all.”
Back in “TADA” we are headed for Miles City, Montana and onward to perhaps Minot, ND. Can you believe there is another Stave church hiding out there? What is it with these Norwegians, they are everywhere and once again that pesky gene of Shap’s has sniffed out another Stave church. To top it off, while staying with the kids we visited the “Norwegian” town of Poulsbo, WA. The grocery store in the center of town has to be the best in the U.S. for cheese and crackers etc. from Norway, Scotland, Sweden, and Holland. However, they also have one of the best supplies of licorice and the only place I know of getting “Mokka Bonner” chocolate candy. You can’t even get it in Bergen, Norway, except certain days and even then, it is scarce.
Arriving at Coulter’s I took a COVID test to make sure I was negative, what a relief to find out it was, as I suspected, a good old fashion cold. To think two years ago I would have complained about a cold, now I am relieved.
There is nothing better than stepping through the doorstep of family after a long trip. Just seeing your kids, and grandkids welcoming you (whether they want to or not) makes you feel relaxed, feeling all is well with the world. With Olea and Ellery wanting to show you everything new, wanting to see the van, wanting to just be with you, it fills you with a love that is hard to contain.
I did not have that experience with my grandparents. On my mother’s side the relationship was very formal, as long as I followed the rules of behavior I would be tolerated. I never remember any affection, a hug or even sitting close to them or being read to. On my Dad’s side we were never there much. They were country folk and we mostly went there for Sunday dinner where I remember three kinds of meat, vegetables, pies, etc. all being served. The rest of the week would be leftovers heated up. There might have been a chance of having a softer kind of relationship with them, if I had been able to spend the night or time alone. I remember Grandpa Smith would love to have me sit on his lap. The only problem was he had a huge stomach and it was hard to find a place to sit.
My great grandmother, Grandma Hostettler, lived with us. She is the one that I have the closest memories of. She took my brother’s clothes, mine, and other bits of material and made quilts out of them. To this day, I have those quilts and share the story of the different bits of cloth with my grandchildren. She also made little doll quilts for my dolls. She made her last quilt at 95 with her glasses and two magnifiers.
My goal, since I have had grandchildren is to be the most assessable, fun, loving, energetic grandmother I can be. I hug, kiss, tickle, and give them as much affection as possible. I also want to give them as many opportunities to expand their horizons. As I tell them all the time, it is my job to spoil them, and they take full advantage of it. Of course who can resist any or them even when they are 19 years old. First two pictures are a dance fashion show.
Bainbridge Island is a charming commuters community just off the coast of Seattle. The ferry goes back and forth all day long. It can be reached by a bridge which heads South to Tacoma. It has the feeling of being in a small country town untouched by the hustle and bustle of Seattle. Huge Cedars, Spruce, and Douglas fir forests offer excellent hiking throughout the island and stone beaches are easily accessible. If not for the specific West Coast trees, you would feel as if you were in Maine. Mt. Rainer sometimes shows itself from the living room window of Coulter and Amy’s house, and just across the street you can watch ducks and seal swim in the harbor. It is an ideal place to grow up no matter what age you are when you come to live there.
We left Monday morning after taking the kids to school, a tearful good-bye, as we do not see enough of them, then got in line for the ferry. A beautiful morning with the sunlight illuminating the boats in the harbor, and the gentle rocking of the ferry relaxing you into a sleepy lull before you begin the next leg of your journey. Whatever your journey happens to be.
I love watching the people on the ferry trying on different personalities for them, jobs they may be off to accomplish, shopping trips for the day, art openings to attend. The occasional dog goes by, but I suspect more of them are in the cars. Before you can even think about settling into a book you are at your destination.
Within minutes of unloading we were on Route 90 and off to our destination 12 hours later at Three Forks, Montana. We pulled into a KOA campground,( I will give this one 5 stars for environment and cleanliness,) at 9:30 only to find there was no reservation for us. We were able to find the manager, got a lovely spot (not that we could see it) and went to sleep.
The moon rose last night bringing a beautiful orange glow touching the mountain tops. The sun left us with a candy colored rainbow glow along the same mountain range. We drove onward thinking to ourselves, could there be anything more beautiful than what nature offers us each day? The question was answered this morning as dawn awakened us to a glorious sunrise. And so, we continue our journey eastward, just as we journey throughout our lives, with the sun rising and setting and the moon following her cycle. In this cycle we can allow ourselves to choose the beauty before us, also allowing us to see that same beauty in others. The cycle reminds us that even the days where we cannot see the sunrise and sunset, it is still there within our reach. It is our choice to decide how we approach each day. I chose happiness and beauty. This is the lesson I hope to leave for my grandchildren.
Have you seen anything more ridiculous than this turtle fireplace?
Our goal was to go from Whitefish, Mt. halfway to Palouse, WA., ending up on the 14th in Palouse. First off, TADA needed attention. She wanted her oil changed and she informed us she needed a bath. We found a Jiffy Lube in Columbia Falls, MT who took her in, and fixed her up. We pulled into a rather seedy car wash, she was not as happy with that, however despite the car wash appearance, we managed to scrub her getting most of the flies off her front. We did get her name plate cleaned so that made her happy. She is very proud of being one of the only vans on the road from Vermont.
We went up to Whitefish Mountain to see if we could take the gondola up as there was no way I was going to be able to hike it. Not only did I have a cold, but the altitude would have finished me. The gondola was not running so we decided to have lunch in Whitefish and then leave
Driving down on the backroads we passed beautiful mountain scenes but for the first time since we left we did not stop and take pictures. Our destination for the night was a Blueberry farm somewhere near Priest River, Id. or was it Washington. We kept going back and forth between the states, so I was never sure.
Pulling into the farm, I spotted another Solis van, this is the first time I have seen one on the road. After settling in, I strolled over to introduce myself and mainly to ask him if he was able to figure out how to get hot water. Apparently, the only thing we were doing wrong was not being patient by waiting 20 minutes for it to heat up.
What a lovely Harvest Stay, parked in between blueberry bushes, a small flower garden outside our door, we were really happy. It is free, but they do ask for you to buy something which is never hard to do. We left with blueberry syrup, vinaigrette and goat milk soap. As we pulled out of the road, we spotted a huge yard of goats with two Emu’s guarding the herd. I could not resist stopping to take pictures of the goats. However, the Emu’s wanted to have their picture taken first. Not being a bit bashful they stuck their heads right up to the camera and pecked at the lens. Meanwhile, little goats were nibbling my clothes, and another wanted my face mask.
Cute, would hardly be the right word for them. They were so curious, soft little mouths, beautiful faces of all different colors and stripes, so engaging I could have stayed for hours.
The goat owner I believe took better care of his goats than his house, he clearly loved them. They all had names. He did not have a big enough herd for goat milk or cheese and did not make the goat milk soaps the blueberry farm sold. He had names for all of them and talked to them as if they were all pets. I found out later he sells them to people that want goats but tends to keep many of them.
We began our journey down to Palouse as Shap was in hopes of getting pictures of at least one large combine thrashing the wheat. Come to find out with the drought, they harvested early in August. Still, the scenery was not to be believed. The camera did not capture the beauty of the undulating hills, or the vastness of the open land. One could see for miles and miles, as the terrain rolled before us like a gold carpet. Lines made from the combine as it cut the wheat showed through in the afternoon light while in the depressions of the hills, there were circles interconnecting with each other adding another dimension to the landscape. I could only imagine flying over these fields seeing these markings and thinking this was a message from aliens. The color of the landscape amazed me as we drove mile after mile on roads cutting through these fields. Once in a while a homestead would appear with trees around it or nestled against a large hill. The winds were fierce, and I could only imagine how barren this would be in the winter.
Following our map to the Boyer Park State Park and Marina in Colfax,WA., we are settled in for night along the Snake River. We came down a winding road providing us views of the Snake River and the valley below. Now we sit on the banks of the river, a river boat has just passed by with passengers enjoying the view from their cabins and we watch the sunset as the geese settle down for the night, our only companions.
Tomorrow we take off for Bainbridge Island. Looking forward to seeing our kids and granddaughters, a real bed, and nursing my cold (not Covid) in one place. This trip has been amazing. More to come when we wind our way back to Stowe. TADA has anxiety issues, like our dog, and did not want to be left alone in Seattle for the winter. She informed us, she needed to come back home. I think she wants another adventure before winter sets in.
Woke up and am back to normal, heating pad, and Beth’s Arnica from Stowe did the trick. Looking forward to a massage in Whitefish. I have to say, we certainly find ourselves in the strangest RV parks. Harvest Host is not coming up with options, Boondocking also is not that great. Our choice seem to be either “All Stays”, “Campadiem” or “KOA.” Last night we stayed in an RV park next to the highway in CutBank, MT which looked a bit seedy but the spots were nice, it was clean, the showers and bathrooms were in an enormous Quonset hut where country music played all night long. Actually kind of soothing in a building that was otherwise a bit spooky.
I have to take back my intentions of not staying at a KOA. The last two were really good. Three nights in Spearfish, SD and now in Whitefish, MT they offer sites that are farther apart with trees amongst the camp sites, so you do not feel like you are staying in a parking lot. Basically, they are like Motel 6, you know what you are getting. It is the camping sites that make the difference. But the showers are hot, and the laundry is clean.
We were off to Glacier National Park by 7:30, with stops along the way to take pictures. We did not arrive on the East Side, St. Mary’s Visitor Center, until around 10:30. We were early enough that the beginning of the trip on the “Road to the Sun” was not crowded. But after several stops, a couple of short hikes in to photograph, we got to Logan’s Pass where it was completely socked in with fog and the parking lot was full. We headed back down to the Western side zig zagging on the narrow road, coming too close for comfort to the rocks on the side, but we succeeded in getting down. I only breaked for Shap a couple of times and freaked out twice when the rocks arrived one inch from the passenger window. He did a fabulous job.
On the way to Glacier, we rode through one of the reservations. Nothing could have been more evident than the poverty. Homes and trailers crowded in, on small plots of land with no grass around them, most of them in terrible repair and some of the trailers looked unlivable. For me, it was so shocking because it really brought forth what our government and our ancestors, and probably our fellowman, have done. Forcing the Indians who wanted to preserve their traditions and their tribal lands onto land that is nonproductive, barren with no means of supporting a family is in your face as you drive by.
I questioned if the poverty these tribes experience is more intense or if it just as intense in the rest of the U.S. ? I can’t answer this question, as I have not traveled to these areas. I know Vermont and I know what poverty looks like in Vermont, but I do not know what it looks like elsewhere in places like Appalachia or the Southwest or even in the cities. I am fortunate I realize every day.
What I question is why in the United States people go hungry. We grow more food than we eat, we send it overseas, but we do not seem to be able to feed our own people. No one in America should go hungry, and yet they do. Where are those one percenters who could feed all of these people with small change from their investments. Instead it is the churches and the local people who take up the mantel. They should follow the example of McKenzie Scott, who quietly gave money to every state. Vermont alone got $9 million dollars for the Food Bank with no strings attached. Can you imagine what that has done for such a small state?
Hunger is one of my biggest issues because I have seen it first hand while teaching school. I see it first hand when traveling the roads of Vermont. The breakfast programs, the lunch programs and the backpack programs for kids to take food home for the week-end still do not do enough to feed families, seniors, and homeless. How do we solve the hunger issue? I can only do what I can at home, but as I traveled through the reservation today, I could only feel helpless.
Glacier National Park is a treasure, but then all of the National Parks I have been to are treasures. Each one offers its own uniqueness. I remember traveling on horseback with the kids to the Gila Wilderness when they were young. Three million acres preserved, one of the first preservations in the U.S., with box canyons that are inaccessible and they are their own environment where even the animals cannot get out. These treasures are open to all, and it is the foresight of people like Teddy Roosevelt who have saved this for us.
We got up early, so we could arrive in Cut Creek, MT at a reasonable hour. Where is Cut Creek? I had no idea, off Route 2 somewhere close to Glacier National Park. Sometime in the middle of the night I had a back spasm, so sleep was illusive after 2:30 AM. I was anxious to get up, so I would not have to try and find a comfortable position lying down. There were none. We left by 7:15 only to be escorted out of town by hot air balloons rising in the morning light.
As I got out of the van in great pain, to take pictures along the way, I reflected on aging. I have trouble accepting my 76 years. I still think I should be in my 40’s, the same age as my kids. I don’t know where the years went, but I know that I have done some hard living on this body. I seriously do not think there is a part that has not been operated on, except my head. My bones creek, my muscles spasm, and I look in the mirror and wonder what happened to me. I don’t think I am old. but my body tells me otherwise.
After one day into the trip, I find out a friend has died, then two weeks into the trip, another. Both had health issues. We are getting to that age where we are losing old friends. My Dad told me when many of my friends died in their 50’s, this was to be expected and then a lull until I got into my 70’s. It is frightening to think that in 14 years I will be 90, yet I hope to be.
These thoughts do not depress me. although I miss my friends that have died. They give me pause to think what I want to be doing for the time I have left. And that propels me to today, and tomorrow and the next. So, I climb out of the van and take pictures of old dilapidated houses decaying in the prairie because they stand there with dignity, giving a sense of place in the middle of acres of wheat fields.
The sun creates a wave of light yellow across the fields, illuminating the side of an abandon house, while the clouds form voluptuous puffs against a azure color sky. Grain silos stand tall in the middle of these fields, while birds circle in large flocks, swooping round and round, then just as quickly fly away.
And onward we go, watching trains with their heavy cargo chug along beside us. Passing through towns which look like movie sets from the 1940’s, abandoned Main Street storefronts, now an afterthought of a town long ago. Sometimes I feel like I am in a Larry McMurty novel, a cowboy riding through towns left behind. Or at other times, I can imagine Lewis and Clark making their way up the Missouri River, or Teddy Roosevelt riding through the Badlands.
The pictures I take will become a record of America, they will find their way in my art, but the pictures I imagine in my head are the ones created by novelists, photographers, and historians. They have been preserved through the passing of time from one generation to the next. We are the story tellers of our own lives, and I hope I tell my story well.
Twenty years since the World Trade disaster and I am roaming the United States. I remember the day it happened, such an unbelievable shock, and my daughter in NYC. I look out on a vista today and think how lucky we are not to have to see troops and check points at every road side. We are still free despite the last year of COVID. Think how many people are not.
No one goes to North Dakota, they say. Well they should. The Theodore Roosevelt National Park is one to see. It is not as well advertised as others, but it is a gem in the middle of what one person has called a “dull state.”
Driving from South Dakota to North Dakota is an endless highway of flat prairie land until you get closer to North Dakota. The trees are starting to change, and the golden color of the leaves stand out in contrast to the green of the trees and the dull beige of the prairie land.
This is truly the place where you can sing loudly:
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day
North Dakota is just that. Driving through the park. the buffalo roamed right next to the van and in front of it. Taking pictures of them was challenging because they were usually walking away or grazing. Getting a facial picture was near impossible. It reminded me of when I took the grandkids to Africa and all I seemed to have were “butt pictures.” I kept telling them I was going to make a “Butt Calendar” and I kept my promise, they each got one for Christmas, each month a different African animals butt. Now I have Buffalo butts.
It was pretty exciting to be a few feet away from the obvious leader of the group and to be able to get some pictures worth keeping. It took us a half an hour to go about 100 feet as the buffalo were not going to move for us. The male buffalo was the size of the Subaru in front of us.
I really wanted to see wild horses and at the end of the day we spotted them up on a ridge. Shap and I climbed another ridge, looking out for rattlesnakes, and cactus or the odd charging buffalo.
I really wish the horses had been in the setting sun as the pictures would have been much more interesting. But I got to see them and that was my wish.
My friend Andree has “Helen” the parking goddess who guides her to the best parking spots. Even when there appears to be not one spot available, there is always one for her. We have “Nigel” with his Australian accent, as our trusty road guide. He has taken us over dirt roads so remote I can’t imagine he could find them thru satellite and on Google maps. Thanks to him, we have experienced back roads so narrow you wonder how two cars can pass. But then they are so deserted there is no need to worry.
The whole purpose of this trip was to go to the Badlands. Ever since I was on the Vt. Nature Conservancy Board I have wanted to go there. It is an area that the Nature Conservancy has helped to preserve, and it has always fascinated me.
In my mind Badlands meant prairie, but little did I expect the volcanic stone that formed craters in the prairie lands. Coming upon craters etched deep into the prairie land, they created a sub terrain landscape. If a film maker wanted to use this area for filming a futuristic film, they could find no better place. With valleys made of volcanic rock, they stand out like white bleached pyramids or castle-like shapes. Trees crowd together in what seems like the only place water may be found. They are a good shelter for the animals and birds from the extreme heat.
Looking in the distance a long horn sheep clings to a crevice, thousands of feet off the canyon floor. It never moves, just stares ahead. I wonder how it will ever get down or how it ever got there. Another sheep lies in a crevice in the baking sun. Later on, I discovered one walking on the side of the road minding its own business. I stopped to take a picture and suddenly there were cars pulling up from nowhere. The sheep tossed his horns, crossed the road, jumped up on a steep rock, then pulled himself up to the top, stood proud as if to say; “Hello, My Kingdom.” He sauntered off the cliff like he was on flat ground, wagged his behind at us and strolled away into the distance.
Have you ever played “Whack-A-Doo?” That game must have come from watching Prairie Dogs. I laughed so hard to see these creatures popping up and down. It looked like the same Prairie Dog was popping up all over the field. A bit of comic relief.
How does color present itself is an interesting question? In the Fall in New England color bombards us from everywhere and we love seeing the leaves turn. But what about color in a landscape that is bleached? How the light reflects off these mounds, that have erupted from the earth, is important to seeing the color in this landscape. One minute it is white and grey with occasional green and yellow from the trees, flowers and wheat. Then you turn a corner, the light changes, and a series of large mounds show their layers of reds, yellows, dark grey and white. The color is so subtle you are not sure you are seeing it. But as you drive along this color becomes just as intense as the Fall leaves.
My dream was fulfilled, I got to see the Badlands. So diverse, from a distance it looks like a large city with the large eruptions, then as you get close up you see acres of flat prairie land with valleys of sandstone eruptions. What a marvel.
The Black Hills and Mt. Rushmore were just as interesting and are quite the contrast to the Badlands. Where the Badlands are mostly flat prairie land with underground and aboveground interruptions pushing their way through the earth, the Black Hills take on the look of a forest with winding roads, pines, birches, lakes and green wherever you look. Approaching Mt. Rushmore is when you see the large granite eruptions rising majestically out of the forest. Impressive and breathtaking are words that come to mind.
The four Presidents loom over the landscape looking not as us, ( the people who have come to see this phenomenon), but to the future. The Presidents are full of life; the eyes reflect light and the tilt of their heads show their personalities. I was awed by this sculptural feat. I cannot imagine how they chose the rocks to sculpt, how they were so precise in their blasting of areas, how they were able to scale the faces from the models and have them be precise. Watching the videos of the men working, hanging in Bozeman chairs while drilling was breath taking. This was not on my list of “must see”, but since we were here I wanted to go. I cannot imagine missing this in my life time. As much as we joke about adding Trump, as much as it seems so insignificant to the generations who were not involved in the conception, it is an achievement that deserves to be one of those wonders of the world.
These simple words tell it all:
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America!
Truly we live in an amazing country, we should put aside our differences and come together to preserve what is so unique about us. Our people are as diverse as our landscape. We need to appreciate all of it. As Mr. Crisp, a one-time legislator and farmer from South Dakota told us over a chat in a parking lot at The Bad Lands… out here you have to be Republican. But you know what, after talking to him, I’d vote for him Republican or Democrat, he was a good guy.
There is something irresistible about a motorcycle. Is it the shiny chrome gears showing off a pattern of circles, rounded lines, or is it the shape with the forward motion implying there is danger ahead. Or is it the color or the lack of color? The big bad-ass black and chrome monster snorting, simmering, waiting to be unleashed. Maybe it is all in your mind, the long haired cool guy with leather chaps choosing you to hop on behind. Or is it past memories of being on the back of a motor cycle, holding on and feeling like life could not be any better. Whatever it is, these machines are like the guys from Chippendales, they are lined up performing for you, showing off their gears and chrome like muscles, flashing their colors like pieces of clothes being thrown in your face, smelling of leather and beckoning to you to get up and dance with them right out to a new life. Here are my Chippendales:
What is it about Norwegians? They must have a gene passed on in their DNA where they can sniff out any hint of Norwegian heritage, no matter where they are. That’s right, we were sitting in a campground off the highway, staring at Devil’s Tavern, having breakfast, when I gave Shap the task of finding out what was around Sturgis. Designation was to a motorcycle rally going on over the week-end; yet I was hoping he would also find a few hiking areas in the Black Hills for us to explore. Nope, he found a Stave church right smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood in Rapid City. Off we went. More about that later.
I set the alarm for 6 AM so we could be on “Dawn Patrol” as it was called in Cuba. The worst part is getting out of bed, but a peek out the window of the van and I was up. The most brilliant sunrise was happening right over the canyon wall where we were parked. Grabbing cameras, we started shooting. The sun did not hit Devil’s Tower until about 7:00 and then it all happened. Shot after shot, Shap and I snapped pictures, as the sun rose. Morning illuminated the side of this monolith, while sweeping soft light spread out over the land surrounding it. A magnificent sight and well worth the early morning wake up.
Back at the van, I found Shap lounging in bed, I handed him a cup of coffee and went off to the showers. We ate breakfast at the restaurant where Jesus loves us, and hit the road shortly after. Pulling up to the entrance of Devil’s Tower, we experienced our first line to get into a National Park. Having spent the night practically on top of it, we decided to forgo the park and move on. Up close, Devil’s Tower is even more impressive with its striated walls reaching to the sky. A rock climber’s dream, I am sure.
Our next big adventure was in the town of Aladdin, population 15 (actually now 12). We discovered an old coal mine, took several pictures there, read about its history, collected Ponderous pinecones, then backtracked to the general store which proved to be an interesting collection of antiques and any kind of odds and ends you could think of. I met one of the sales people who grew up in Middlebury, Vt. She told me she made a pack with her husband, who would not go any farther east, she would only live in this area of Wyoming because it was green and there was a change of seasons. She missed the covered bridges and the seasons of Vermont.
Arriving in Rapid City we drove through a residential neighborhood to get to the Stave church. This was built on the home site of a devoted Lutheran for his Lutheran minister in the 1960’s. Built from plans of Stave churches in Norway, this small but exquisitely beautiful church with its bell tower, stone walls, and sculptures along the “Peace Path” graced the Ponderosa pines and manicured lawn with elegance. Carved outside, but plain inside, music filled the church bouncing off of the high ceilings and surrounding one with reverence. Sitting on the wooden austere benches it was easy to take a breath and meditate on the beauty of the structure.
Getting back in the van, Shap’s next suggestion was the antique car museum and I put my foot down. I did not want to pull into the camp site in the dark. It was the right decision because when we pulled into Suzy’s campground I took one look and we drove right through. Not only was it right off the highway, but it was basically a field with RV’s parked in the blazing sun right smack next to each other. KOA looked great for sure. So here we are in Spearfish in a KOA and happy. There is grass, trees, and not a cement parking area. There were no Harvest Host sites close by and after reading reviews of campsites near Sturgis, this looks like our best bet.
Deadwood, Sturgis, the whole area is like a Western idea of what it was in the 1800’s interspersed with Walmart, quick marts and the like. Heading for the hills tomorrow to walk in the National Park of the Black Hills and finding the Presidents. Oh yes, we will have a bit of a motorcycle photography thrill along the way.
Leaving Denver behind we headed out to Devil’s Tower; a 7 hour ride on back roads. We quickly got out into the open prairie land cruising along, absorbing the landscape before us. Straight road ahead, with fences, telephone poles, abandoned barns, cornfields, cattle and occasionally horses. Coal trains pulled by engines with fifty or more containers behind them,would rumble by, usually close to town. It brought back memories of sitting at the railroad crossing in Gettysburg waiting impatiently for the train to pass by. No matter that the train passed by the same station where Lincoln descended to give his famous address, this was not even a thought in my teenage mind. How many times the whistle would blow, the lights would flash, and we would dash across in my trusty ‘59 Fiat 1100, exhaling a sigh of relief not to have gotten stuck in the middle of the track.
I diverged from our road trip north. What was interesting was the diversity of the terrain. We would be driving along prairies, not a tree in sight, and suddenly a row of Cottonwoods would appear, snaking their way across the landscape following an old stream that must still provide water for them. Then the next minute they were gone. Where the Cottonwoods followed a curving path, the snow fences stood straight and proud along stretches of highway. Whizzing past us were side roads with cattle crossing grates and beautiful iron signs forged with the name of the ranch. Finally, in the distance I saw one of the signs with horses grazing nearby, so we pulled off the road and began to shoot pictures. What fun this turned out to be.
We crossed the cattle crossing to get closer to the horses and after a few snapshots, the horses decided to find out what we were doing. Out of the five horses, there was one grey one who was definitely the most curious. He started toward us while we were photographing them, came right up to me, blowing a snuffle into my face. Now I am not a lover of horses, but how could I resist the gentle breeze of his breath and the soft velvety feel of his nose. His other companions came toward us and investigated us, then turned back to eating grass. Meanwhile Mr. Grey continued to insist on being petted. If we stepped away to get a picture of them, his nose was at the end of my lens. We finally crossed back over the cattle crossing to take a few distant shots, Mr. Grey tried to follow, but stopped at the crossing,with a forlorn look he stood and stared at us. We said our good-byes and climbed back in the van.
Continuing on our trip we stopped to photograph windmills standing solitarily in the middle of acres of prairie, cattle grazing, farm equipment cutting and thrashing the corn, beautiful scenery, and one bad ass motorcycle guy.
I could not believe the beauty of the landscape here in this northern corner of Wyoming. It is hard to put into words what you experience as you drive along. There are so many quick impressions, like the dash of a watercolor paint brush adding a hint of deep color to a painting. One minute you are looking at brown prairie grasses, next adobe red rocks cutting knife-like crevices through the land. Farther along the road climbs, revealing hillsides dotted with pines, then just as quickly we are back onto flat highways with hills in the distance. Finally, Devil’s Tower growing dark in the last rays of sunset. Minutes go by, the sun slips to the edge of the landscape just as we pull into your campground to a sign assuring us, all is right with the world, because Jesus loves me and Trump is protecting me with the Second amendment. Too late to move on, I must remind myself to keep an open mind, do not judge, have faith we are all good people and we all care for the same thing. I hear in my mind the phrase of the song:” This land belongs to you and me.”
And how lucky are we to live in this incredible land, to experience all of its beauty. What a privilege I am being given to be able to see all of the sunsets and sunrises.
Go wild with the Smith's 