No matter the weather when we get to Tierreich Farm, where I grew up in the Piedmont of North Carolina, we always go find the trout lilies.
Who, me?
Warm as this year is, they were past their peak, though we still found plenty down at New Hope Creek. And, as with almost every constant-seeming aspect of our stay here, they got me musing on how much continues, 6 decades on…and how that background throws into relief anything new.
Constant: my folks’ ridiculous driveway, which never bothered me before I drove a 22-foot-long van.
Vanna sez, “I’m driving over THAT?”
Don’t worry, Vanna. We’re parking you on this side and walking across. Because of…
…this drop. Yep.
Constant: my 93-year-old dad’s enthusiastic curiosity about ALL new gadgets, including Vanna herself. New: these days he needs a golf cart to go see things.
Dad & Mom, meet Vanna.
Actually, Dad’s a perfect combo of constancy and novelty. The fact that he had a stair-elevator installed in our basement stairs = a surprise. The fact that he really enjoys it = not at all a surprise.
I tried it. It is kind of fun.
Another example: he was one of the first I know to avail himself of the amazing technology in electric-assist tricycles (new). And he uses his just as he used to use his legs when he was marathon training: 20+ mile loop, with stop for a treat along the way.
I had to work hard to keep up with this guy!
My 88 year-old mom’s constancy exhibits itself in her physical fitness, her dedication to the woodsy life, and, I have to say, her beauty.
These tiny bluets, also known as Quaker Ladies, always reminded me of Mom, for their simplicity and lack of ego. (Though “Women” would work better than “Ladies.”)
Hi Mom!
Speaking of Quakers, something new at the farm is this track, built into what used to be our back pasture. Slowly, my folks are donating the remainder of their land to Carolina Friends School; this track is just the latest piece of that evolution.
If you’d like to understand why this land is going to a Quaker school instead of to me and my sisters, click here for a little history.
But Stevie, World’s Cutest Ass, remains as constant (and cute) as ever–thank goodness!
Pushing 40! There’s a reason people say “donkeys’ years”. (Unless they mean donkeys’ ears?)
I adore the ability to know a stretch of woods so well, I can look up into a huge old oak and know that the thick-looking middle part used to be a hole…which, over the decades, I have seen grow in, and close up.
You’ll have to trust me on this one.
Off course, the most constant part of The Mate’s and my Road Trips is their raison d’etre: worshipping at the altar of watching Tarheel basketball with our fellow Tarheel fanatics. Again, for those of you new to Wing’s World, click here for a brief recap.
Some food is also involved. (NC-style BBQ; collards; slaw; hush puppies & fried okra.)
One new thing I noticed, in DURHAM, of all places–home of arch-enemy -rival Duke: this supermarket display, featuring Carolina’s AND Duke’s colors.
How open-minded! Maybe this diversity stuff is taking hold after all. Or maybe they just want to sell more soda.
Another new thing, on the disturbing end of the scale: the heat here. 70-degree weather in March is quite common in this part of the state (as is snow and ice storms…click here on that topic). But 80 degrees? When the woods haven’t leafed out yet? That just feels WEIRD.
Pictured here: Gretchen trying to make the most out of too much sun in trees.
Unsettling as climate change is for all of us, I still take heart in this single tiny flower I met down at the creek. Not only is it persevering in the heat…it’s also just about the right shade of blue.
The Mate and I know already what fortunate folks we are. But when we come back to the Blueridge of NC, we REALLY know it.
Our friends’ big blue backyard
Thanks to accidents of history and confluence of taste, we have an embarrassment of dear friends in these mountains, and this year we were able to spend time with most of them.
Vanna, not so much. Our first set of friends live up at 3,500 feet; the drive up was only half as terrifying as the drive down. And their driveway?
fugeddaboutit
Because they’re wonderful people, our friends were able to secure a parking spot for Vanna at the edge of a neighbor’s property. We left her there for 3 days, schlepping our stuff the remaining 1/4 mile up the mountain on foot.
What happened to dancing w/ her what brung ya?!
This mountaintop neighborhood is a wealthy one. Some of the houses are, in my opinion, ridiculously large–especially when I learned that this one is empty more often than not.
But I have to admit, it’s pretty enough that I took its picture.
The lots up there are large enough to protect the sense of mountain-ness, and care was clearly taken in building the road.
Shouldn’t all roads be like this?
Aside from the fact that we adore our friends and they spoil us rotten, this was simply a very peaceful spot to hang out. It’s always hard to leave Butler Mountain.
Yes, that is the moon hanging out, waiting to say Good Morning to the sun. Honestly.
But our next stop was a picnic date with one of my VERY oldest friends (from Middle School) + husband + sister, down a few thousand feet at the French Broad River, which flows through Asheville. We chose this spot because we knew we couldn’t get Vanna into our friends’ driveway either. (slightly embarrassed eyeroll)
Lucky for us, the French Broad boasts a terrific bike path! And it was a gorgeous day. All this plus good friends & a picnic too.
Asheville is super trendy right now, and expensive, but I did find myself intrigued by this row of what I take to be “Tiny houses” down by the river.
Cute, right? But probably not a Tiny Price Tag.
From there we journeyed an hour to the northeast, to the South Toe River valley, home of the Celo Community and the Arthur Morgan School. I wrote about my Celo history two years ago; you can read about it here if you’d like some background (or just to learn more about this cool place).
South Toe River
THIS friend’s driveway was, finally, fully Vanna-accessible…as long as we took it slowly.
Also magically mossy. Believe it or not, our friend is not an Elf.
The sunny blue of Asheville departed at Celo, but the wintry woods are just as beautiful in fog.
The Mate doing his best impression of a rhododendron
To know these woods with such intimacy…to stare at them from a kitchen window or a sofa, to walk right out the door, to say the names of the creeks and the peaks…this, to me, is a privilege far beyond the simple joy of SEEING this place. That is our greatest gratitude, to the friends who have sunk roots here, allowing us to return again and again.
Till next time, White Oak Creek! Don’t you change.
Campering may be different from camping, but in one respect, road-tripping in Vanna Grey is no different than in any other vehicle. When it comes to route, THE WEATHER IS IN CHARGE.
And thanks to climate change, late-February weather has tricks up its sleeve we’d never have dreamed of when we started this road-tripping business a dozen years ago.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We left Albuquerque on Thursday in bright, innocent sunshine. If my Adventure Buddy Beth hadn’t been leaving too, we’d have been mighty tempted to stay.
‘Bye, Albu-quirky! Miss you already.
Drawing us forward, though, was a reservation that night for one of our favorite road-trip discoveries: gorgeous Palo Duro Canyon.
Pictured: Palo Duro in 2017. Not pictured: Palo Duro in 2024.
Imagine the prettiest little cousin of Grand Canyon, only 30 minutes from Amarillo (the big ugly child of a cattle feedlot and a monster truck rally).
But I shouldn’t be saying mean things about Amarillo. Right now it’s an endangered oasis in a hot desert of suffering, thanks to the million-plus-square-mile fire that was burning out of control just north of there. Just when we wanted to drive on through.
[Not pictured: The Smokehouse Creek Fire. Nor all the fires in Oklahoma, along the length of I-40…the route we’d planned to take.]
Weirdly enough, the top of the Texas Panhandle was also getting SNOW that morning—good for the fires, I guess, but one more reason for us to keep ourselves and Vanna out of trouble.
[Not pictured: “Some say the world will end in fire/Some say in ice.”]
So we ditched all plans, and our camping reservation (sob) and headed SSE to Roswell (not pictured: aliens), then straight east into…big sigh…West Texas. Which, as it happened, was delightfully snow-free, and NOT ON FIRE.
[Not pictured: West Texas, or the motel we defaulted to when we couldn’t find a campground that felt like it catered to—well, folks with discretionary funds and time. Vacationers, not those planted by necessity. I’m glad those campgrounds are there for those who need them. I just didn’t want to stay there.]
[Not pictured: those campgrounds.]
Our second day driving through Texas, we did score a decent bike path on the outskirts of Dallas…
(Not pictured: the stench from either a dump or a sewage plant—or both)But at least there were turtles!
…and a pleasant campground at a state park near the Louisiana border. We got there as darkness fell, and next morning I forgot to take a picture, so…
[Not pictured: Eastern Texas’s Martin Creek Lake State Park]
Next day we got another nice bike ride in Shreveport, Louisiana.
It’s the Red River, but it’s doing a pretty good Mississippi impression.
Along the way, I noticed that the clover we were zooming past all seemed to have spotted leaves. On closer examination…
Happy St. Pattentines Day? St. Valentrick’s Day? “I love you; good luck!”
It was a Tarheel Men’s Basketball Day, and since we’ve been missing a lot of games due to travel, we decided to treat ourselves to a motel in Clinton, Mississippi with a TV. Afterward, I took myself on a walk around the nearby campus of Mississippi College and made the acquaintance of some attractive trees.
when it’s such a relief just to have something to photograph#treenerd (Doesn’t it seem like this one needs a swamp instead of a lawn?)
The trees didn’t care about the Heels’ victory as much as I did.
On our last day that doesn’t include my home state of North Carolina, we managed to combine both recreation and camping by stopping at Oak Mountain State Park, just outside of Birmingham, Alabama. We’ve stayed here twice before and I’ve recorded our admiration for the park’s trails both times.
The place rocks. #geopun
Spring was busting out…
Sometimes this is all you need. Which is good, because this is all you get.
…including my favorite southern treat, the redbud:
Rather than swim with Black folks, white folks all over the country FILLED IN AND DESTROYED THEIR PUBLIC SWIMMING POOLS. The largest such public pool in the U.S. at the time? According to Dr. McGhee, it was right here at Oak Mountain, and it’s now an equestrian field. Next to which we camped.
(Not pictured: a huge public swimming pool filled with multi-racial families.)
Talk about erasure! We’d enjoyed the place twice and would have continued to blithely enjoy it without knowledge of this despicable history, had it not been for Dr. McGhee’s scholarship. I highly recommend her book; it will actually fill you with more zeal than despair.
But for now? It’s on to North Carolina, and all the friends and family and fried chicken and Tarheels that entails. I can just picture it. See you there!
Oh, so you finally remembered to take a picture of ME? This whole NC thing better be worth it…
It was hard to leave the Chiricahuas on Monday morning, and they didn’t make it any easier.
Love you too!
But we knew we were headed to a sweet spot on Road Trip XII: Albuquerque, home of my Adventure Buddy Beth (a former Lopezian & very gifted musician). It, and she, did not disappoint…and I’ll get to that in a moment.
Before that, though, social media has reminded me that this month marks the 10-year anniversary of my publication of The Flying Burgowski. Social media also reminds me (like a pushy theater mom) to make a little something of this fact. So here goes.
Who hasn’t yearned to fly?
Need a good, edgy, but heartwarming story to distract you from the headlines? Have a young person in your life (age 11 & up) who loves both fantasy AND real life? Click here to get your copy now…or, even better, ask your local bookstore to order it for you!
Shameless self-promotion: check. Now, back to Albuquerque.
The Mate and I love the place. Twenty years ago we spent 5 months in Santa Fe as part of his sabbatical, but realized later that its big, gritty cousin down I-25 was a better fit for us: less touristy, less expensive, and much better for athletic endeavors. Plus, ABQ has plenty of artsiness of its own.
Like this installation near Beth’s house, set up after the 2011 tsunami in Japan: it’s a “phone booth” for “calling” and connecting with faraway and/or lost loved ones around the world.…or this bridge over one of the old local irrigation ditches (not yet open, but still in use)
Though not as ancient as Santa Fe, ABQ still oozes that wonderfully understated adobe style:
It’s not just a wall. It’s a culture.
Most houses, modest or not, fall in with the local groove (though it’s not mandated, as in SF):
just some random house on my walk–but notice the basic materials.
Then there are the local flora and fauna, like this cottonwood…
My buddy Beth’s not a large person, but this tree makes her look like a Hobbit!
…and these Sandhill Cranes, stopping on their northerly migration to glean a field in the middle of the neighborhood:
Come here often?
Probably my favorite piece of Albu-quirkiness on this trip, though, was this vending machine installed outside a 50 year-old bakery…
Bakery’s closed? No worries, we got your treats right here!
…whose 86 year-old owner was still hard at work inside making empanadas, and New Mexico’s “state cookie”, the biscochito:
Not pictured: 86 year-old baker!
Despite greeting us with two days of HORRIBLE wind and blowing dust, Albuquerque redeemed itself today with perfect, still sunshine. It’s going to be hard to leave this place too.
Especially since the Texas Panhandle, and a good portion of Oklahoma, seem to be on fire. Not sure Vanna wants to go there! See you along the way…wherever that turns out to be.
Hi there–guess we all survived Post #666 together. Except for my mis-identifying our San Francisco son as Son One instead of Two–lo siento, m’hijos–everything worked. Let’s keep this trip going!
As the World’s Newbiest RVers, The Mate and I are learning the difference between camping and campering. What can go wrong with camping usually has mostly to do with the weather: are you too cold, too hot, too wet? Is your tent trying to blow away?
Campering, in contrast, offers an entire smorgasbord of issues. You are, after all, driving a tiny house.
Not tiny for US, you understand…but Vanna seems much less huge when compared to some of her…peers?
Again, I won’t go into details about propane and appliances and switches and all that other fun stuff that requires you to learn whether…that noise you’re hearing? Is that a GOOD noise or a BAD noise? Let’s just say the last week has been playing a bit of The Fortunately/Unfortunately Game with us.
Fortunately, we got out of Paso Robles and escaped the Atmospheric River drenching the coast.
From the car: crossing the actual Paso of Paso Robles (oak pass)
Unfortunately, the skies were still quite wet & gloomy in Twentynine Palms (see photo #1).
Fortunately, I got enough clearing to take Liza out on her first ride of the trip. Unfortunately, she immediately got a flat rear tire. (Lots of prickly stuff in the desert, even on the roads.)
Fortunately, we found a local bike shop and did errands while Liza’s tire was getting changed.
Unfortunately, Vanna’s battery completely died when we tried to start her up to go pick up Liza.
But FORTUNATELY, we weren’t out in the middle of Joshua Tree National Park, which has zero cell service…
If this isn’t called God’s Fist, it should be.
…so we were able to call a husband-wife mechanic team, one of whom came to jump-start us and lead us back to their shop, where the other replaced our battery. And because we are driving a tiny house, we were able to make & eat lunch while all the work was done!
Next up, Joshua Tree, hooray! Camping in Jumbo Rocks, one of the premier campgrounds we’ve never been able to get a reservation for! Site 92. Where are you, 92? Oh, there you are. Why is someone else’s camper parked in you?
Unfortunately, I had written our reservation into the wrong day of my calendar. It was the night before.At least I couldn’t blame that one on machines.
Oh Site 92, we barely knew ye! (Not pictured: us)
It was a long drive out of the park and back onto Interstate 10. But fortunately, as darkness fell, we were able to find an RV slot right on the Arizona border, which, in the morning, proved to look like this:
Not exactly the Colorado River of my dreams. Another difference between camping and campering.
Despite the unimpressive scenery, the next Fortunate item was the fact that this campground was ever so much closer to our next. So when we got here…
Lost Dutchman State Park, just east of Phoenix
…we had ample time for both hiking and biking! Fortunate fortunate fortunate!
Thanks to our friends Marty & Karen for tipping us off to this place!You just have to love desert survival archetypes!Our own personal campsite guardian
Once in Arizona, our fortune just kept improving. We stopped at the Tucson Airport to pick up our Adventure Buddies Kate and Tom…
adorable art installation at Tucson airport
…and headed straight for our Desert Happy Place, Western Side: The Chiricahua National Monument.
Hoodoo you love?
Since we pass through this area pretty much every road trip we can, I didn’t indulge my photographic impulses as much as I used to.
Tom & Kate provided this one!
But, I mean, you gotta get SOME of the flavor of Chiricahuas 2024.
One more?
OK, that’s it–I’m cutting myself off here.
Since Vanna’s not equipped for four, we stayed in a motel, then next morning drove the LONG way around, into New Mexico and back into AZ, to the tiny hamlet of Portal and the east side of these lovelies:
Desert riparian: my favorite ecosystem!
Since our favorite rental cabin was sold, we’ve started coming to Cave Creek Ranch: quiet, sweet, gorgeous, low-key, and chock full of birds. (And birders.)
Even with only my phone as camera, you should be able to see this Acorn Woodpecker.
They even have cardinals here–yes, actual Arizona Cardinals! (State bird of my home state, NC; I’m fond of these guys.)
Amazingly, Cave Creek has a resident cat, who apparently doesn’t bother the birds. “Beauty” is HUGE…and missing an eye, thanks to tangling with a bobcat, they said.
Beauty is a beast.
But my favorite critters around this desert oasis are the wild javelina. Or as I call ’em, piggies.
Taking a mud bath, right in front of our cabin. “Have you seen the little piggies, stirring up the dirt?”
Really, though–who needs critters when you have crags?
Crags. Salmon-colored crags. O the joy!
Our first night, the full moon rose over our cabin…
…and the next morning, the rising sun lit the crags an even darker color of salmon…
King salmon? Or maybe just lox?
…and my heart sang. Being here, neither camping NOR campering, is enough. Back to #VannaLife tomorrow, but for now, I’m just going to wallow like the piggies.
Note/warning: my WordPress stats inform me that this post I’m writing will be # 666. Here’s hoping nothing dire happens when I hit publish. Or maybe you should just stop reading now.
Still here? High-5! (and thank you, SF’s Golden Gate Park)
Road Trip XII got off to a rocky start. How rocky? Try broken emergency brake release lever…in the ferry line…in the dark…in the rain. That’s all you need to know. That, and the fact that wonderful Lopez supplied enough community magic to get Vanna Grey unstuck and off the island, eventually.
And we were off. Thanks to an appointment with our Darling Dentist of 30+ years, Dr. Norooz in Tacoma, we didn’t aim ourselves further than southern WA for our very first night of RV camping. Specifically: Paradise Point State Park.
A tad hyperbolic, the name, but the E. Fork of the Lewis River was pretty.
Because it was our First Meal in Vanna…
The stuff in the ziplock? Homemade bacon from Lopez piggies!
…I had to capture it for posterity:
Could I have cooked this outside? Yes I could. But not comfortably.
I won’t go into much detail about our RV learning curve: it exists! But I think talking about it might be pretty boring, except maybe to other RVers. Suffice to say I’m already surfing the blogosphere of other Roadtrek owners to answer my gazillions of questions, trying not to overburden our kind sellers by asking THEM. But this is a travel blog, so I prefer to focus on the places, not the transport. I covered that topic last post!
Next day it RAINED. ALL DAY. We took it slow, not expecting to get further than Crescent City, and we didn’t. The federal/state Redwood Park campsites were either closed or full, so I had reserved us a site at my very first KOA.
I call this “KOA Sunrise.” Because that’s what it is.
So far, so good. Vanna’s doing fine; we’re learning the art of downshifting on steeper hills without causing terrible grinding sounds. But really, all we’re longing for is…
…this.
Redwoods are why we road-trip. Also waterfalls, cliffs, crags, hoodoos, flowers…you get the idea. But just stepping into the forest at Prairie Creek (between Crescent City and Eureka, CA) is–well, it’s all we need.
They don’t even have to be fully alive redwoods! Except they all are.
In that place, even the non-redwoods assume some extra glory:
To be fair: you don’t need to go to CA to see maples like these; WA & OR have their share.
Fully soaked with beauty, we persevered on through several hours of truly HORRENDOUS rain and wind, including a scary crossing of the Golden Gate Bridge, to San Francisco and the current home of Son Two.
Amazingly, Son Two found us parking on his street along the Panhandle of GG Park…just three spaces up from our old baby, Red Rover the Subaru! Awww…
Immediately, it was damn the raindrops, full speed ahead! to get a speedwalk in Golden Gate Park, shedding the tension of all those driving hours.
Nothing like a little Street Whale to reduce tension! (Or Street Narwhal maybe?)
That park is such a blessing. I didn’t photograph the Great Blue Heron I took for a statue before it flew, but I did capture this guy trotting across the street:
No roadrunner. Just coyote!
This being San Francisco, I had to take a picture of a driverless car, because, really, can you think of an easier, flatter, more open city than SF to experiment with one of these?
Waymo stupid than it looks, even
This morning we left SF (once more in driving rain) for points south, and as I’m writing this (Post #666) I can affirm that the sun DID come out, and we DID receive its rainbow promise. But it was a pale version of this Tree of Light in the park near Son Two’s house:
a video does it more justice–google it and see!
Tomorrow we hope to meet the desert, with some REAL sun. But for now, on behalf of California, I’d just like to say: you know what? THANK YOU for all that rain. It was awful to drive through. But knowing what it means, we’ll take it any day.
When it comes to vehicles–hell, when it comes to MOST things except politics–The Mate and I are pretty conservative. Comfy with routine. Change-averse. Sure, we have our “ooh, shiny!” moments…but they’re mostly about stuff like new rain gear or boots. Maybe lawn mowers and nice casserole dishes.
But not cars.
“Who, me? Your devoted Red Rover who just got passed from Son One to Son Two?”
We’ve owned a good number in our nearly 45 years as a couple, and we’ve usually hated every minute of buying them. Our favorite moments come when our car hits that comfy-old-shoe phase. That’s our sweet spot.
Pictured: a sweet spot (Road Trip VIII, Great Basin NP, Nevada)
Since 2011, when we began our annual Road Trips from Lopez Island, WA to Durham/Chapel Hill, N.C. (where I grew up and where The Mate and I met), any car we buy becomes our official Road Trip vehicle. Starting with our then-car, Kiwi the Ford Escape hybrid:
R.T. I, hangin’ out at Jumbo Rocks in Joshua Tree NP…
She served us well.
It was cold enough in Zion NP, back in 2012, we considered sleeping inside Kiwi!
At the end of 2012, Son One’s hand-me-down car broke down once too often, so he inherited Kiwi, and we treated ourselves to the first-model Subaru Crosstrek. Who knew what trendsetters we were! You’ve already met Red Rover, but here’s one more look at her doing her Road Trip thing:
“Road-tripping to Vermont in March, REALLY? Who ARE these people?”
Lil’ Red drove us faithfully every year from 2013 to 2020–the year we headed home super-quick, in the middle of the first wave of COVID lockdowns, fearing our island might be quarantined by the time we got home. Later that year, Son One had to leave Costa Rica and refugeed on Lopez near us, so we used him as an excuse to hand-me-down Red Rover to him…and told ourselves we were doing our part to boost the economy by buying a Toyota RAV4 hybrid.
In 2021, of course, RAVie didn’t get out much. Vaccinations were just beginning. Her first road trip had to wait till 2022. But she got there!
RAVie in the Badlands: “So THAT’s what this road-trip gig is all about. I’m in!”
Today, RAVie is a sprightly four years old, roomy, running great–the perfect road-trip car. What’s NOT perfect: my back. Even after surgery, sitting hour after hour has proven to be…a challenge. Add to that the fact that, road-tripping in February and March, our camping gear only gets used a handful of days despite being lugged around the country for 6-7 weeks, and you get…
...the great Camper Search. Yes. Once The Mate and I decided a campervan would be the best solution to keeping cross-country road trips in our life, and once we’d gotten over our sticker shock of even USED vans (forget new ones!), I started looking at vans. So many vans. Van porn, it felt like. Facebook Marketplace and TheVanCamper.com never had such a faithful viewer.
And that’s how we met Vanna Grey. But! Before I introduce you, I just want to underscore how incredibly off-brand she is for The Mate and me. I don’t mean brand as in Chevy Roadtrek–which she is. I mean “brand” as in habit.
Example. Here’s the pair of new slippers The Mate got me for my birthday, because I specifically asked for them:
They’re Tevas, and they’re amazing.
But now go ahead and ask me: “Gretchen, for WHICH birthday did you receive those slippers?” I will tell you: “2021.” And if you follow up with, “So WHY haven’t you worn them yet???” I’ll respond:
“Because my old ones haven’t actually worn out yet.” Yep–over 2 years after I thought I’d need new ones, these are still going strong.
NOW you’re ready to meet Vanna Grey. NOW you’ll understand just what a momentous life change this is for me & The Mate.
Vanna Grey: more than a new car. SO much more.
To say we are a little intimidated is putting it mildly. We’ve never been RVers; our learning curve is STEEP. Bring on that comfy-shoe feeling!
“Just remember, if Vanna’s too much for you…you can always come back to me! Unless one of the Sons gets there first…”
But we’re also conscious of our incredible good fortune to be taking this step, and so very grateful to all the help we’ve had along the way. See you on the road!
The second half of our BC road trip reminded me of that old children’s book, “Fortunately, Unfortunately.” Except the other way ’round.
Unfortunately, the mid-part of BC that we had to drive through, East-West from Revelstoke to Pemberton, is very dry (which is why it’s so vulnerable to wildfires).
Fortunately, it’s also lovely.
Unfortunately, when we got to Pemberton, so did the rain.
Fortunately, waterfalls don’t care much about rain.
And I thought this hole was just as intriguing as Nairn Falls.Ditto for the mosses, and the river “potholes” in the rock!
Just above Pemberton is Joffre Lakes Prov. Park, which I’d heard was special, so I decided to make the drive up there. Unfortunately, this meant 20 miles up an evilly steep and twisty road. Fortunately, I learned ahead of time that you can’t even peek down the trail without an online reservation.
Oh…maybe that’s why the reservation?
Unfortunately, it was still raining. But fortunately, that meant fewer people competing for reservations, so I was able to get one. (And they’re free.)
Unfortunately, the hike is STEEP. But fortunately…I’ll let the photos do the talking now.
Middle LakeLil’ ol’ waterfall you pass on your way to Upper LakeFirst glimpse of Upper LakeHoly cow, am I looking right at a glacier?!Yep. Glacier. How else does that water get that color?
Unfortunately, I had to hike back down, and next day we had to leave BC and head homewards.
But fortunately, we hit a couple more pretty Provincial Parks on the way down Rt. 99, past Whistler, toward Vancouver: Brandywine Falls…
…which is also an easy hop-on spot for Canada’s exciting Sea to Sky multi-use trail.
Unfortunately the trail was a bit too steep and mountain-bikey for us,
but Fortunately walking your bike is good exercise…and it was still gorgeous!
Or make that “gorge-ous,” as in this one, which hosts a bungee-jumping bridge!
Unfortunately we accidentally drove past Garibaldi Prov. Park, one of the biggest in the province, because we didn’t think its raggedy access road could actually be the right road, and then turning around on the freeway got complicated.
But fortunately I got a nice consolation walk at Alice Lake, the definition of serenity:
So, yeah, unfortunately we finally had to leave “Beyond Compare” BC,
but fortunately I brought THIS image home with me, so I can transport myself with a glance…like right now.
O Canada–thanks for being! O BC–thanks for being the bestest, closest part to us!
The Mate and I have always had a huge crush on British Columbia. We’ve meandered up the Sunshine Coast, used Harrison Hot Springs as a base camp for checking out multiple provincial parks, thrilled ourselves with the Discovery Islands, and last September, spent two weeks exploring the lower half of Vancouver Island. And that’s not even counting the many times we’ve driven through on our way to the Rockies, murmuring, “Why aren’t we stopping here?“
Pictured: “Here,” a.k.a. some throwaway lil’ waterfall along Rt. 23
This trip was all about stopping here. Not traveling too far in any direction. Going in circles, even. Exploring parks we’ve never heard of. All in the name of soaking up the wonders of a place that REALLY needs a better name.
Beautiful Coastline? Best Countryside?
We started in Manning Prov. Park, especially of interest to me because it’s the terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail, of which I’ve hiked many sections.
Note the “You are Here” triangle up top
Since we were camped at Lightning Lakes, it seemed only fair to hike around them.
“2,400 miles–no thanks. 4 is fine.”
Bear Country? Bewitching Conifers?
The weather window started closing behind us at Manning, with snow predicted the next night, so we kept moving, down toward the flat(ter) Okanagan. We’d heard of the famous Kettle Valley rail trail, and in Princeton we did ride a section of it, but we also checked out trails in the community reserve of China Ridge, just above the town.
Thanks to the lovely woman at the Info Centre who sent us here! We’d never have found it.
The trails were more mountain-bikey than we usually ride, but we enjoyed our short stint up there.
Aspens! LOVE aspens.
Biking Country? Best Camping?
Next night we camped by the Kettle River, right where the rail trail crosses. Having had two rides that day, we just strolled some of it; the river was the best part. Notice the burned area in the back left? That’s from a 2015 fire. We were hyper-aware, this whole trip, of the fires still burning near Kelowna, and made sure to avoid the area.
Burning Cruelly? (unfortunately that “BC” could apply many place)
Following lovely Rt. 3 (the Crowsnest Highway) to Castlegar, we once again met up with the Kettle Valley River Trail, and rode another section…along the Columbia River. Yes, THE Columbia River–what we Washingtonians, and probably some Oregonians too, tend to think of as OUR Columbia River.
Horribly lowered by drought, dammed to within an inch of its life, clogged with industry…”Roll On, Columbia,” and good luck!
Behold Columbia? (That one at least makes some sense!)
After that ride, we swung north on little Rt. 6 to the tiny town of Slocan. We’d chosen Slocan because of its proximity to Valhalla Prov. Park, whose photos looked more national-park level than provincial.
Zooming in on Gibli Peak–gorgeous, but pretty inaccessible
But we soon discovered how hard it is to get INTO Valhalla.
It’s really a backpackers’ park, and we hadn’t come to backpack.
We ended up just hiking the bottom left portion of the lakeside trail, and that was PLENTY.
Big Cop-out? Maybe. But luckily for us, Slocan boasts its own rail-trail, which follows the Slocan River as it flows out of Slocan Lake.
Oh, OK. We’ll settle for this.
Slocan itself is a sweet, quirky little town with rainbow crosswalks and helpful volunteers in the library. We’d go back there in a minute, and maybe ride all the way down to some other simpatico towns on Rt. 6 with hippy-sounding cafes and bakeries.
Bakery Central? (I guess that applies to lots of places too) Biking Capital?
Even rockslides don’t stop these folks. You can hike right through this one.
Leaving Slocan, we decided to loop around a bit. The plan HAD been to camp 2 nights at Glacier National Park…but that weather window slammed shut, and we didn’t want to camp in snow. With an extra day before our hotel reservation in Revelstoke, we followed Rt. 6 back west in a squiggly semi-circle that took us back to–ta dah! The Columbia.
Or more accurately, ACROSS the Columbia, by FERRY.
They don’t even call it a river there, they call it Arrow Lake! Seeing that mighty river so abused brought us no joy. OK, a little joy. It was still fun ferrying across.
Burdened Columbia?
But that afternoon cheered us right up. First we got to ride yet another rail trail (Okanagon) along Laka Kalamalka, an honest-to-gods, true-blue, undammed stretch of watery glory…
On & on, just like this!
Looking across at another Prov. Park I wish we’d stayed in
…and then, that evening, near the lake, the Mate and I got our first Glamping experience, on a hydroponic farm!
Don’t worry, I didn’t know what a hydroponic farm was either.
Doug, the friendly owner of Utopia Feels glamping, gave us the full tour, including veggies:
Inside that white tube-tower, it’s raining!
…critters:
Silly & Billy, the goats, and Bad Bunny, enjoying veggie trimmings
…and of course, the glamping tents!
If anyone’s looking for an AMAZING wedding venue, I highly recommend this place!
I can’t say we’ll ever do this again, but it was a hoot and a half to do once!
And this is a SMALL tent. Some sleep up to six!!
Bountiful Campgrounds? Bodacious Comfort?
Bunny Cuddles?
Leaving the Okanagan behind, we turned north and east again, as if heading for the grand Rockies. But this time we stopped short, in the town of Revelstoke, home of…
…Columbia?! Is that really you?
…you guessed it: the Columbia River. Still dammed (just upstream from town), but looking closer to a real mountain river than I ever dreamed it could.
Beautiful Clarity!
Revelstoke nestles into a whole batch of mountains, including Mt. Revelstoke, which has its own national park. Clear skies were in short supply when we drove the single road in and up to hike toward the summit:
…but we got the idea.
Over the next couple of days, as the rains moved in, we took advantage of little breaks to revel in local awe (Revel? in Revelstoke? See what I did there?).
Creek showing glacial siltglaciers of Mt. Begbie, part of where that silt comes from
Just up the road (literally, up) from Revelstoke is Canada’s Glacier National Park, and it KILLED me to be so close and not go. But we were disinclined to drive in possible snow & ice. So…next time, B.C.
Best Choice?
But Revelstoke was quirky enough for us. Examples: Woodenhead, apparently carved decades ago by some dude for the fun of it, and adopted by the town:
Not creepy at all!
…and this Indian-German fusion restaurant we found.
Curry mit spaetzle? Jawohl!
After Revelstoke, stymied by weather to the east, we turned west. I’ll save that for Part II, because that part was
This is a person and a book I thought many of y’all would appreciate knowing about.
As David’s blurb puts it,
“At the heart of Hall’s approach is the empowerment of readers, encouraging them to embody greater tenacity and compassion in their interactions. By addressing family conflicts with a fresh perspective, readers can transform their dynamics and pave the way for a more fulfilling family life. Hall’s emphasis on recognizing the unique viewpoint of each family member is a pivotal cornerstone of his methodology. Through this lens, the book offers practical and actionable steps that lead to genuine understanding and resolution.”
Full disclosure: My own family has never sought counseling, nor have I ever purchased such a book. But as I found myself thinking, “David’s is a book I would buy,” I also felt like digging deeper: why is that? Which led me to this brief interview.
Me: How did you get into this business, anyway?
DH: I was a Goldwater Republican when I entered Harvard as a freshman in 1964. I’d been my high school’s student leader of an all-school mock political convention for which Bill Miller, Goldwater’s Vice presidential nominee, helicoptered into our school for the keynote.
As I came out of a lecture hall, a SDS [Students for a Democrative Society] leaflet asked if I knew who was the personal hero of Nguyen Kao Ky, South Vietnam’s then Vice President. The answer? Adolf Hitler. That leaflet set me on a new course of understanding the war in Vietnam. As I approached graduation, I studied the selective service laws and eventually applied and was granted a Conscientious Objector deferment based on the Gospel of Matthew.
That led to my being drafted halfway through the Master of Arts in Teaching program at the Harvard Graduate School of Education. I ended up working for the next 3 years in the Treatment Program for Habitual Sexual Offenders at Western State Hospital south of Tacoma. Deciding on a future after that led me to medicine and child psychiatry, wanting to get to kids BEFORE they offended.
Me: Can you describe a typical day of work with children in the past decade or so?
DH: My last decade of full-time work was at Island Hospital in Anacortes three days a week. I had a full schedule from 9am to 5pm working an hour at a time with kids and families ranging in age from 2-1/2 to 80. We’d sit facing each other while I listened carefully to their concerns and hopes for change. The process built on collaborative creative problem-solving exercises looking at new strategies that might replace interactive patterns of communication that continually led to conflict. The challenge was often finding ways to address longstanding histories of family conflict and sometimes significant trauma for parents and their parents, so we focused on breaking the grip of this cascade of intergenerational distress. A key was maintaining a no-fault, no blame approach to any of the emotional or physical trauma, establishing a trustworthy and nurturing environment in which the work could take place, and helping participants to be honest, articulate, and hopeful about healing their soul wounds.
Me: Your book focuses on family conflict. Have you played the role of family therapist in your career, or have you simply found that, with your individual clients, family communication (or its lack) lay at the root of, or exacerbated other problems?
DH: Several years into private practice of child psychiatry, I spent a year with Dr. Tom Roesler’s Montlake Family Therapy Institute learning strategies for dealing with family systems, which became the foundation over the next three decades for engaging conflicted families in healing conversations. I knew from my work with habitual sexual offenders that almost always family trauma lay behind their fractured personalities, often with parents whose fractured personalities continued what I came to call the cascade of intergenerational violence.
Me: I know you and your wife Anne have made international travel a staple of your political and moral lives, including many trips to Gaza. Do you feel a connection between your work with kids and families and your work between nations, or did those two strands of your life arise separately?
DH: My travels grew directly out of my awareness that how children are treated makes a huge difference in how they behave as adults and as participants in governing politics. My first international trip was to Tashkent, Seattle’s sister city in the 1980s. I went as the trip physician with a group of 15 teenagers who spent three weeks with 15 Russian teenagers putting together a “Peace Child” musical, which we performed in the local park at the end of the trip. Subsequently Anne and I took our church youth group on separate trips to Haiti and Tanzania.
Also in 1993 we began a series of medical visits to Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza, where we eventually focused on bringing outside medical training and accompaniment to physicians isolated by the Israeli occupation in the open air prison that is Gaza. I have come to see the way Israeli politics plays out with their immediate enemies in the Palestinian territories directly parallels the way the United States deals with its enemies halfway around the world.
David and Anne Hall in 2016
Me: How many times have you and Anne been to Gaza?
DH: I think 8 trips to Gaza beginning in Oct 1993. Our latest was just as COVID was breaking. We arrived in Gaza in late February 2021 then on March 5th we learned that COVID was likely to close the Ben Gurion Airport, so we got together and decided to leave the next day.
DH: This award is in recognition of my core leadership on the WPSR board for 38 of the last 40 years. I served 2-year terms as chapter president in 1991-2 and 2003-4.
When I retired briefly during our move to Lopez in 2011, the WPSR chapter president died, and the chapter collapsed. I was one of three who put it back together in 2013.
I also served on the national PSR board in the 1990s and was president of that board in 1997. I describe PSR/WPSR as my home community, the third leg of my personal grounding along with family and child psychiatry.
Working for justice in 2019
Me: How did you come up with the Nine Steps described in your book?
DH: My early child psychiatry family therapy experiences nudged me to summarize what I learned from the families I was working with.
The core lesson was learning to listen deeply and patiently, understanding that I didn’t really know these people until I could guide them toward more honest and open disclosure of their true feelings and experiences.
From my several years leading a peer-confrontation therapy group of convicted sexual offenders in the Washington State Treatment Program for Habitual Sex Offenders at Western State Hospital, I’d learned to listen empathically to their childhood stories of maltreatment, ostracism, and humiliation.
Dave and Anne recently on Lopez
Me: What would you say to someone (maybe a parent like I was, or my parents) who says, “Oh, my family’s fine–we just fight it out, we don’t need a book like this!”
DH: The choice to recognize conflict and deal with it is personal and belongs to every parent and family member. It’s when someone in the family says things need to change that I have a window of opportunity to be helpful.
Me: Thank you so much, David! I feel grateful for the opportunity to shine a little more light on some of the healing work you’ve spent your life on.