Day 4

It had to happen, the dawn patrol call. This wasn’t so bad as dawn came after 7:30. The first night of frost and a 30-degree morning temperature. Oh, where are my mittens? In the drawer at home. Many layers later, zipped up like a two-year-old in a snowsuit, we climb into the van to head to…Yes, another church. Looking for mist in the valley and a church on the hill was the goal and our fearless Romania leader, Daniel, found just the right spot.

Frost on the ground, rising fog in the valley and a slowly illuminating light on the church spire made for the perfect picture. Walking down the road with cow bells clanging, we encounter three farmers and their herd. This time the communication was in Spanish, and I cannot tell you why. I tried German with no luck. After a visitation from three dogs, and a roundup of the cows, we were off.

The holy grail is finding a horse, wagon, and someone driving it. Magically one appeared just as we were about to leave. This is after three days of racing ahead with the van, scampering out onto the road, camera in the ready, only to have them turn and go a different direction.

Back in the van we left to head for Vama, a promised three-hour drive on winding roads. Along the way we stopped at an outdoor flea market, to wander amongst the clothes, mounds of cheese, vegetables, and horses. A table of cow bells presented three men with a hard decision of which bell to buy. Who knew there were so many choices. After lots of consultation and a thumbs up from me, they bought two with two different tones.

We drove amongst Austrian style ski homes on the edge of ski slopes, through pine forests, with a bit of changing color (not even close to Vermont color), along flowing rivers… and wait, a horse and wagon. Everyone jumps out of the van, starts to click away while the horse speeds up and most of us photograph the ass end of the horse. Not to be discouraged we start to walk after him, then we drive after him, and finally find him on a hillside with the horse unhitched.

Imagine twelve people standing around taking pictures of this man loading his cart with hay. For one hour we stood taking pictures, then collecting walnuts, then taking more pictures, then taking time-lapse pictures until he was finally finished. Now we were ready for the horse to be hitched and have our picture-perfect postcard of farmer, horse, cart, and hay slowing progressing down the hillside. No go… the farmer poses with his cart of hay, we plead for him to hitch up the horse, and he refuses. We finally give up, walk down the hill only to see him head for the bushes, a sure sign that he had other business to attend to.

The day ended with no more carts, well one full of manure, and a visit to see a woman decorating Romanian eggs.

Day 3

Rain today brought a challenge for photographing, but you never know what opportunity arises. We were off to the find the steam engine which had been used for transporting wood, cut from the forest above, but now offered rides to tourists.

The suggestion was made to stand in the middle of the train tracks because? Well, you know, steam engine trains do not go that fast. I safely stood on the side. A couple of blasts, several hisses of steam and the old lady puffed her way out of the starting gate. We then became train chasers as opposed to storm chasers. Whipping at record speed around curves we arrived at the promised bridge to get another shot as the train chugged by.

I imaged a normal bridge that arches over the train tracks, the train gracefully making its way under the bridge and me getting the ultimate shot.

In my dreams! Instead, we jump out of the van looked up and to our amazement it is a swinging bridge 20 feet over a raging river and the train tracks are on the other side. Be warned, when crossing a swinging bridge, one should always be first because the last ones, like me, enjoy exactly what it is- a swinging bridge. Not just swinging, but bouncing up and down and concentrating on trying to place one’s feet anywhere but where the missing boards are. After such antics we clamber up the side of the wet banks to watch the tail end of the train go by.

Our next adventure was a curvy road for miles on end, with a contest to see who would throw up first. Luckily, I do not get car sick, just seasick, but one other did. We were off to see the Merry cemetery, the recently renovated church, and an unusual cemetery. The rain began with a vengeance. While seeking shelter in the church we had an opportunity to photograph a baptism with the baby and her six godparents. The mother is in the background and cannot hold the baby, nor can the father. Baby preformed beautifully, sleeping through the whole experience. The freshly painted icons in the church and the other painted stories added color, charm and vibrance to the ceremony.

Outside the church is surrounded by brightly painted grave markers depicting a wood carved representation of the person and what they did for a living, or in their life. If they were a drunkard, the carved picture and the story below would tell the world about you. What fun, for those who could speak Romanian. A great way to keep the history.

Finally, the rain stopped, the sun came out as we entered another small village. We began a conversation with a local man who allowed us to take his picture, but first he wanted a picture with a woman. He chose his prey, and leaned in to give her a kiss, we thought on the cheek. He had other ideas and did a full kiss on her lips, not just to one lady but two. Neither of which were particularly happy

Day 1/Day 2- Clug

 “Your bag is in the airport” announces my air tag and I breathe a sigh of relief. After last years’ experience with Air Canada, where my luggage joined the pile of homeless suitcases, I did not expect much. I often wonder if my suitcase is in a deep depression wondering why I abandoned it, or perhaps it has found a nice person to adopt it. I must confess I do like my new carry -on so much better as it has four wheels and takes off at a moment’s notice. No more temper tantrums from the old two-wheel suitcase that would refuse to move if it stubbed its wheel somewhere. Meanwhile, a fellow traveler on our plane arrived at the baggage carousel only to find one side blown out and the lining barely holding the clothes together. Certainly, it was bullied by all the other suitcases jumping up and down on it.

“Why Romania?”, is the question people kept asking. “Why not?” I retort. I can’t give you one reason why I wanted to go to Romania. Could be the Eastern European rolled stuffed cabbage or maybe the plum brandy that knocks you off your feet, then again it might be the old women in their head scarfs, printed skirts sturdy legs and fallen arches, or the painted wooden churches. I don’t know why I wanted to go; I just did.

Entering Cluj you see the Russian architecture of the communist era. It is not until you get closer to city center, then the architecture changes and the old city emerges with cobblestone streets, Catholic and Orthodox churches, monuments to past kings, and priests. It has a way of wearing its history with pride but ask a Romanian and they will tell you the Russian occupation was a dark time for them.

We all piled into a large van and were promised an exciting day by our fearless leader, Jerome Woodhouse, and Daniel his side kick from Romania. Together they are like a comedy team feeding off each other. They are both entertaining and professional.

It’s the first half hour in the bus and we come to a screeching halt in front of a house with an elderly woman dressed in black, peacefully enjoying the sun. Out jump 9 Americans, two Canadians, and on Romanian all with cameras and huge smiles on our faces. Of course, it is perfectly natural to invade someone’s home, piling into the yard, and trying to convince the younger generation that “Great Grandma” wanted her picture taken. As it turns out she did, and within minutes we had her daughter, daughter-in-law and great granddaughter posing for pictures.

That set the tone for the rest of the day with stops along the way to photograph men loading grass into wooden wagons, and families loading corn for feed into corn cribs, watching a water wheel turning and pounding wool into blankets while another older woman fed hot water onto the wool. A felting process I thought stopped back in the last century or so.

We finished the day by joining a parade of cars honking and winding their way to bring the groom to the bride’s home. Again, we all piled out of the van, mingled with the crowd dressed in their finest or native costume and we, dressed in our finest jeans and Patagonia shirts, with cameras ready to shoot the festivities. You don’t think it is perfectly normal to have a van full of strangers join in the celebration? We were welcomed with glasses of plum brandy, cabbage rolls, cake, and lots of laughter.

As the wedding party hopped into cars, we followed in our van. At the edge of town everyone unloaded from their cars, and us from our van, and strolled along the road through the town to the church. Click, Click, click was the parallel sound to the drum, and violins playing beside us. A hike up to the church where finally the bride and groom come together, the priest shows up and into the church everyone goes. All the guests waving us in to witness the marriage. After about a half an hour we all made our way back to the van and to our guest house for the next two nights in the Maramures region. Don’t ask where that is, none of us know.

To the wedding couple who allowed us to join them, I wish them a long and lively life.

It’s Olive here. I am having an anxiety attack in the van at the Delaware Water Gap campground. I had to take my mind off of it and my Mom just opened her computer, so I decided to write the blog tonight. Anyway, I am sitting on her lap and blocking the computer, so I have to be the one to write.

It is raining, thundering and lightening and my parents do not seem the least concerned. I am shaking violently, so if I miss-spell words or get my sentences wrong it is because I am having trouble typing while shaking.

I am not sure why we have had long days in the car, but I am being told it has something to do with home. I have to tell you; my Mom can really pick the places that we stay. The KOA campgrounds are fine with me but no, she has to go off and find the places that “look so charming by the creek, in the woods” as she puts it. Doesn’t she know in West Virginia that creek and woods don’t exactly jive with charming?

Last night we drove into Elkview, WV. I did a google search and this is what they said. “It is a small town on the outskirts of Charleston. It is fairly average for West Virginia which is to say it’s pretty crappy by most standards.” She should have looked that up instead of falling for the description of creek side and wooded with birds singing. We drove down this long dirt road, getting deeper and deeper into the woods, with more and more pot holes until we came to a large dumpster overflowing with garbage. There was a cabin with a guy of questionable appearance, but my Mom, being my mom, rolls down the window to ask him if this is the campground. I decided to start barking to protect her in case he got any ideas.

He pointed to a sign with a number to call, which she did. Next thing I know she tells Dad to go on down the road and look for campsite #7, that is ours. We pull in (mind you there are other trailers there, but some looked to have been camping there since the 70’s.) and she gets out. Does this not sound suspect to you? A long dark, deep in the woods road, rotting garbage, no one to check you in just a voice on the other end of the line. I thought it best to stay in the van, but I am not a free agent in my desires, so the leash goes on and I am out of the van.

For one second, that was it. Suddenly there are a volley of shots from a 22 rifle and I am back in the van. But she isn’t. She is telling me, they are just a gang of kids up the hill taking pot shots at rats or something. Seriously, has she lost her mind? Pot shots at rats, gang of kids, 22 rifles, she has, she definitely has lost it. They slept fine, but me, I had one eye open all night.And this morning we were all alive, the birds were chirping. I think that is the only thing right in the description.

Earlier in the day we went to the Shaker Village at Pleasant Hill, Ky which was beautiful with large maple trees overhanging the main street (now a walkway). The buildings were really beautiful, but of course they would not let me inside. I did hear they had lovely shaker chairs, chests, pegs, brooms and interesting pictures of the people that lived there. At one point there were 500 Shakers in this town. I concluded after hearing the conversation, that these Kentucky Shakers were a bit more liberal because when they were told by the New England Shakers not to drink tea or coffee, they ignored the order. Dad loves the simplicity of their craftsmanship and their ingenuity. Mom just goes along with what Dad wants, but she is such a voyeur because she reads all the stories and then makes up her own stories about these people. She seemed to get a kick out of the woman who said when she died she would be known for her chair. Apparently, everyone had and made their own chair.

Mom did burst my Dad’s bubble when she stated; “You know, the place didn’t look like this in the 1800’s. This beautiful avenue we are walking down with the overhanging maple trees was a main public highway with horse manure, pigs, goats, carriages, mud, and merchants all going back and forth. Then the Confederate soldiers came in droves right down the middle of the street demanding to be feed by the Shakers. Those beautiful maple trees here, had to have been baby stubs just starting to grow.” Boy, how to burst a bubble. So much for the illusion of a nice shady avenue to stroll down while not touching your Shaker brothers. I do recommend this as a great place to stop.

Well friends, it is time to say adieu. I love this blog thing. I might have to have my own blog when I get home. I could tell you my adventures of the best place to hunt squirrels, the dogs that are stuck up and go around in their clicks, the best place to pee, and most of all where to swim. Oh, and a thank you to my Dad for drugging me, I am not shaking quite as hard. And a thank you to my Mom for letting me take over her blog.

Just a couple of picture:

Mom’s too tired to write the blog tonight so she told me to do it. It’s been exciting since we went to Oregon to meet my other favorite girls, Olea and Ellery. I know Tallulah and Matilda won’t mind that I spent time with the Seattle cousins. I spend most of my time with them. I’ve got to spread the love you know.

First of all, I got to stay in an Airbnb and sleep on the sofa and the king size bed. Heavenly. I went to the beaches and ran until I thought I could not take one more step. I created quite the stir when I showed all the people on the beach my Olympic swimming style.

But all that fun is behind me now and we are on our way home. Somehow, I hurt my front paws and I was limping pretty badly. I was kind of happy not to be running wild, but don’t tell anyone, I don’t want them to think I am a woos. We stayed in someplace called Rawlins, where they had a pretty cool dog park. I am starting to rate the RV parks by how good their dog parks are. And I am pretty hip now, I know exactly where they are, how the gates work etc.

Steamboat Springs was amazing. Except I had to go to the vet for my foot. Who knew running in the sand could mess up the pads on my feet. Steamboat is huge with tons of houses on the hillsides, they are everywhere you look. Stowe would be so upset, they have no ridgeline rules here. The ski trails look pretty good and steep. When we left we climbed out of Steamboat on Route 40 and came to a flat upper plateau where you could see cross country ski marks everywhere. My Dad was drooling, worse than me.

We stopped at this overlook which took in the San Juan mountains and acres of fields. Really stunning but I got bored and figured out how to get rid of my collar. Oh boy, did I have fun. I took off down the hill onto a very rocky area where they could not catch me. Then I really fooled them because I pretended to come back but took off up the hill when they got close to me. I was going to come back at my own pace, but they started to leave without me. I have never run so fast to catch up. What would I have done if they left me? No naps in my Mom’s lap, no belly rubs from my Dad, no gourmet food, no comfy bed. I guess I don’t have to tell you, they were not pleased.

Of course, they weren’t going to leave me, but it scares me thinking about being without them. And so tonight here we are in Kansas. Talking about being scared, the woman at the check-in gave us a code to the basement of the house if tornadoes come. Now that is something I have to think about, it sounds pretty bad. But I am told there has to be wind and there is none tonight.

Why would Todo live here? Look what happened to him, he ended up somewhere over the rainbow. That is not for me, thank you very much.

Do you notice that I have not had a say in this blog for quite a long time? I finally pitched a fit here in Point Reyes and I have gotten a say.

I want to tell you that I have not settled down, I still pant excessively even on Peggy’s lap. Well I actually give up after awhile and sleep. BUT, don’t have me go through one of those damn tunnels. They totally freak me out. What is a tunnel anyway. Why on earth do we have to go underground?

If I wanted to go underground it would be to chase gophers. I never knew there were such animals but I am very interested in finding them. I managed to dig up Janie’s lawn twice going after them. It was recommended that I not do that, but who can resist.

I was so excited to arrive at Janie’s house. I was the first one in the door, I sniffed everything, and promptly made myself at home on the couch. I got kicked off immediately which I do not understand. I chose the couch that was not white so what is the big deal? After that I got them to put my blankets on and I settled down for the MOST comfortable nap since this nightmare of a trip began.

I don’t know if I can take much more, where are we going and why can’t we just go home. Seriously what is wrong with Vermont. Ok, I agree the beaches are cool, and there are some pretty amazing smells BUT I don’t get to go off the leash and run around like I do at home. I tried to get them to leave me with my cousin Janie, after all she had a familiar smell as Peggy, but once again the dreaded leash was put on and I had no choice but to follow.

Yesterday in the Golden Gate park I was almost assaulted by a goose. I’ve got to tell you that goose was bigger than me. Not only that but there was a whole gang of them. I know they have gangs in San Francisco but Goose Gangs. They don’t need guns, they have those pointed beaks that look like they could kill you with one bite. I learned to stay clear of them.

Oh Maggie, why have you forsaken me? You said Henry was lonely without me. The least you could do is come get me. We are going to Oregon tomorrow. Do you realize this is as far as I can get from home in the U.S. Are these parents crazy or what?

We visited the International Museum of Folk Art in Santa Fe. I was in love from the moment I stepped foot in the door. Since so many of my sculptures are characters with stories that I create while making them, this museum was made for me. I took so many pictures while there, but none of them did the figures justice.

We spent three days wandering around Santa Fe where I became more aware of the influence of folk- art. When we left, we drove the Turquoise Trail and all along the way there was evidence of art assembled out of found materials. Bicycles on poles, painted bright colors, fish swimming in trees, giant birds and horses looking like origami but made of steel. Rusted pieces welded together to make all kinds of figures and shapes.

We pulled into Cerrillos, where Young Guns was filmed in the 1988. The town was hardly a town but in the center was a Catholic church, in the mission architectural style. Outside the church was a figure of Christ made out of a tree trunk, and inside the courtyard were the most beautiful statues of Mary, and an angel, also made from tree trunks.

The simplicity of folk art is what speaks to me. Look at the lines of the faces, and the hands, or the clothes, the suggestion of the smile, the eyes. The carved figure are crude but at the same time elegant and complete. Many times, we continue to embellish, when one simple line says it all.

It has been years since I have been in Santa Fe. It has grown considerably, but the old historic section of town is still there and as charming as ever. The forest fires are around Bandolier State Park, Taos and Las Vegas, NM. You can see the plumes of smoke in the not too far distance. The wind is blowing over 15 knots where we are and no plans to stop for the next couple of days. It is a bit un-nerving. We had planned to go to Taos, and Bandolier State park, it looks like we will be heading away from there, and over to Chaco Canyon.

We have stayed in some out of the way places with no Wi-Fi, hence no blog. Harvest Host brought us to a place in Amarillo called Mariposa. The pictures showed a beautiful glamping tent, a purple and yellow house as a community center and four RV sites. The philosophy was that of Biosphere I and II, an environmental experiment and artist in residence. Tailor made for me.

Except we drove down a gravel road dotted with rather unfinished houses, to the purple and yellow community center we were instructed to look for and arrived to a place that looked abandon. Our campsite was fashioned on a platform of dirt, stones, and scrub. It was 101 degrees, no shade whatsoever but a small breeze made it bearable. Clearly nothing grows here, and my dream of a place filled with green plants, and artists painting was far from reality. Not to be judgmental we stayed. We opened every window, the back of the van door, the side door,  put up the sun shades, put the chairs on the shady side of the van and began our night.

Shortly after that, the new EKKO Winebago pulls in with a couple from Oklahoma. Same reaction as us, but they also decided to stay. I got to tour their camper which is the same size as ours with better layout and fabulous storage underneath. However, I love my Winnebago Solis “TA DA” and have no plans to trade it in. They were very friendly and it was nice to have them there in this desolate place.

Hours later, the stars came out, the desert became quiet, the breeze blew gently through the van and I slept one of the best sleeps I have ever had. So, we should remember, sometimes it’s not about the first impressions, sometimes it is worth staying with the situation. Would most people have turned around? Yes. Will it look better in the summer, maybe? Would I recommend it, probably not, but I was glad to be there.

Olive’s Blog:

Hi Folks, Guess what? I won! I am now in the front seat of the car, with my cozy dog bed sitting on my mom’s lap, stopped my panting and sleep soundly listening to Audiobooks. I am not so sure she is comfortable, but I heard her tell my dad it’s better than all my panting. HA, I knew that would drive them crazy. I have peed in places so fancy like the Philbrook Museum, downtown Santa Fe, and the International Folk-Art museum. I really do not understand why those places will not let me in. I’d like to be educated too. Oh and I forgot to tell you, I ate in this cool restaurant on the second floor so I could look over the balcony and check out the handsome dogs on the green below. No short-term romance for me however. I still would rather be home but I am getting used to this vagabond life. NOT!

Images from the International Fold Art Museum. I did not work on these and some are a bit hard to see due to the lighting. The sculptor of the Indian women is one of my favorite, Alan Houser. I am a big FAN.