The value of a strong family
This was a good day. My brother, Chris and sister-in-law, Sonya came to our campground at around 11:00 and we all had lunch in Williamsburg, then drove up to Gloucester,Va., about 30 minutes away. They wanted to see how this RV thing works and I think they were inspired to find a way to do it themselves one day. It was a good visit. They said they want to come stay in a cabin when we are up there in Gloucester next month. I’m going to look forward to that, knowing how precious the weekends are to them. It was nice just hanging out with them, with no expectations or baggage. It was easy, and I need easy right now.
I realized today that if I had moved anywhere else I would not be able to get my feet on the ground so quickly. It is great to have my family here to fill in the empty space that was created in my heart when I left my daughters and my few close friends in California. Even though I have always had friends, I tend to be more cautious in relationships than most people. I need a lot of time to develop trust and to understand how much to give and how much to ask for. Yet, friendships blossomed over time in California, and I felt like I really was surrounded by people who loved me and who I loved.
Over the past seven years I worked hard to strengthen my relationships with my daughters, Jennifer and Rebecca, and to slowly nurture and deepen the few, true friendships I had with Jeanne, and Karen and Michele and my various yoga friends. I had to trust that they would still hold me close in their hearts just because I knew I would hold them close in mine. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, leaving all of that, but I also knew I would blend right in with people who I know and who know me.
My family is not perfect, but it is something solid that I know I can count on. It is so easy being with them. I know what to expect. There doesn’t seem to be any judgment, at least not much, and the teasing has mellowed down to a trickle these days. I trust them. All of them. I know I can tell them anything and they will still love me. That is a good feeling when I am not even sure where I will be living or what I will be doing in the next few months, much less who I am in this current moment.
I think that they respect me for making such a hard choice to pick up and leave my very full, very active life and start over here. I know they are glad I came “back home,” and fully expect that in no time we will be calling each other regularly, going to lunch or to some event or another, or to one or the other’s house, and comparing notes on how hard it is to raise kids and lose weight and keep going to work everyday. Life is hard. There are times when you simply want to give up and wallow in self pity. A good family understands that, but won’t let you feel sorry for yourself any longer than necessary. I feel fortunate to have such a family. I just wanted to acknowledge that.
How much farther?
Sunrise on Hilton Head, July 2, 2012
Am I there yet? I guess I’m not sure. I know “The East Coast” was the destination, and I am definitely there. But am I really there?
It has been 38 days since we left Northern California and in that time we have seen more than some people see in a lifetime. Everything from redwoods to the desert to the Grand Canyon to 1,000 miles of tree lined highways and an ocean that waited patiently for us—we’ve soaked it all in. This country is filled with open space, lots of it. Farmland, rocky plateaus, canyons and dusty deserts paved the way for the rivers and hills and grassy fields and swamps in the south.
The sky would be clear and blue for two weeks straight, then there would be a day-long show of clouds, threatening rain, but never actually following through. It was excruciatingly hot from the time we entered Arizona until just yesterday. It seemed like the heat wave would never end. By the time we got here we were craving an afternoon thunderstorm. And we got not just one, but two, so far. The dogs didn’t even mind much. We sat inside snuggled on the couch and waited for the sky to release its energy onto us, knowing that the cooling effect would last at least until the next morning. There’s nothing like a thunderstorm after a long hot spell, and we’ve been through a very long hot spell.
*****
After we left Hilton Head I didn’t feel like writing or taking pictures. It was as if nothing could compare, or compete, with that small taste of paradise. We thoroughly enjoyed our stay there—went to the beach almost every day, early in the morning and later in the evening, ate good food, walked the dogs a lot, took advantage of the clean, beautiful showers and laundry facilities, rested when we needed to, and met new and interesting people every day. I wanted to stay there, yet I knew there was some unknown reality waiting for me just ahead.
That reality is the fact that we need to make some decisions about exactly where to settle and what to do when we settle there. I know I need some stability so I can get back to my yoga practice and maybe even start teaching again. Plus there’s all that furniture and household stuff we’ve got in storage. I know I want to eventually live in a house with a porch and a small yard, among other things. Yet, I also know that I have learned to love this lifestyle. Traveling is good for me, mostly. I’ve adapted to living in this small space and having a simple, uncomplicated life. I love seeing new people and places and things, even if they aren’t pretty or easy on the eyes. I can create a hundred stories a day when I am on the road. I could write a book in a month if given the chance. But, maybe I have been given the chance. Maybe this is the book. Or maybe this is just one of the chapters in one of my books.
For now, this book, or chapter, is finished. I have called this file “RV Trip” on my computer and maybe that is just fine. I think I will take a week or two to transition into the next chapter which will be called….well, we’ll see about that soon enough.
Full moon, July 3, 2012
And the moon’s cycles continue, no matter where we are or where we are going.
Beaufort: How things change and stay the same
I’ve been back and forth to Beaufort many times since I officially “grew up” there. It must have a hold on me because I never get tired of being there. Beaufort, like Savannah, is a place frozen in time. During the Civil War Beaufort surrendered to the Union Army and became one of their southern headquarters. Because of this most of the historical homes and buildings were preserved. And yet, Beaufort has also kept up with the changing times. There is a sense of vitality and solidness here that makes you feel like they have the secret to longevity or a magic spell that sends you into another time. I could go on for a while about this place that I called home for a full 1/3 of my life, but I will start with these few photos and hope to convey the gravity of the place.
“The Castle”
While we were standing outside this famous house, a horse and buggy tour group came plopping by. We got a small history lesson, some of which we already knew. This house is one of the oldest houses in Beaufort, nearly 200 years old. The oak tree in front is believed to be almost 500 years old. The house was used as a hospital during the Civil War and is reported to be haunted. I knew a woman who lived there for a while and she confirmed this fact. She said she saw “figures” at the ends of hallways, and “felt things” while she lived there. According to the tour guide it is one of the most photographed homes in America. I know I’ve taken at least 30 pictures of it over the years. I have also photographed this scene right next to it a few times:
Marsh view of The Beaufort River
When we were there on Monday I noticed a sound I had never heard before. It was a bubbling sound, like someone popping bubble gum. Sam said it is swamp gas, spewing out into the air. Now I know why Beaufort has such a distinctive smell!
The “Big Chill” house
We call this the “Big Chill House” because that movie was filmed here. There have been several movies made in and around Beaufort: The Big Chill, Forces of Nature (Sandra Bullock), The Great Santini and The Prince of Tides (both by Pat Conroy), as well as parts of Forrest Gump. Here is a picture you might recognize from Forrest Gump:
Shrimp boats
Beaufort, SC is a place that is steeped in history; the Civil War is just the tip of the iceberg. It is a string of 20-something islands that each have thier own versions of history. Families trace their connections way back here. Grandparents pass down the stories that their grandparents told them, and there is a deep respect for the land and the water. Water is the life blood of this place. You can find fresh seafood everywhere and if you don’t like your fish fried, well, you just ain’t southern. Everyone is welcomed though. Native Beaufortonians know the value of tourism and are pleased to give you directions or tell you a story about when they were little and this or that happened.
I have one more picture that means something to me. It is of a huge old oak tree that sits on the edge of the bank of the Beaufort River off Bay Street. I rode my bike here many times and sat under that tree, like I sat on the beach, pondering the big questions of life. I feel some ownership of this tree, even though I know it will one day crumble to the earth like all things do. It has a spirit like every other oak tree here; for untold years it has seen the generations come and go; it has watched over the shrimp boats passing through, and the sailboats anchored out in the river, and the youthful bike riders on their life’s journeys. Here she is:
Grandmother Oak Tree
If I never see Beaufort again I know I will have certain images burned into my mind: the easy, flat ocean, the centuries old houses on “The Point,” the marshy views of the river, and one or two special oak trees who remind me how strong I can be if I only believe in myself.
Beaufort is a place that gets under your skin and becomes part of you. And you don’t have to live there to still feel like you are a member of its society. What a gift I have had to be able to “grow up” there and to come back so many times to reassure myself that things are still the same in the ways that matter. I know I’ll be back, but I also know I don’t need to go back because Beaufort is in my blood.
Hunting Island: Where I pondered the big questions and got all that sunburn
Atlantic Ocean from Hunting Island State Park
This is the view I have been waiting for. I spent so much time here when I was young, both as a child and as a young adult. Hunting Island State Park is a gem at the southern tip of South Carolina. It has seen many hurricanes and had much of its sand sucked out into the Atlantic. Its lighthouse has been moved at least twice in my lifetime. It is a dream beach for me. I like my privacy when I go to the beach. For me it is a place to meditate and soak in the subtleties of the natural world. As I remember it, there is always enough space here for everyone. And that horizon opened up the world to me. I would come early in the morning with my lawn chair and towel and bag of goodies and would rotate my chair with the sun so I got a perfectly even tan on my young innocent body. Sometimes I would stay all day, using cocoa butter and baby oil to intensify the sun’s effect. Most days I left with a sunburn. Some days I left with blisters. I didn’t know about sunscreen back then. I just wanted to be tan like all those girls on tv.
That lesson has been learned. There is no tan in my future. But I can still enjoy the beach and the sun as long as I use common sense.
On July 2nd (Sam’s birthday) when Sam and I went there we set up in the shade and slathered on the sunscreen.
ahh, finally!
We dipped our feet into the water and stood there until we felt the sun penetrating through the sunscreen.
our feet in the Atlantic Ocean
Our visit to Hunting Island lasted only a couple hours since it was so hot, even in the shade, and there was no breeze. It was still and hot and determined to stay that way. But we got our fix. I stared at the horizon that I have stared at hundreds of times in the past. I saw a calm ocean with warm water. I saw happy beach combers, wandering here and there. I saw children basking in the perfection of a summer day. On that straight, flat horizon, I saw emptiness and potential. I saw myself sitting here in this very spot many more times. Life is truly good.
No worries. We will be back.
Hilton Head Island: Dripping with Spanish Moss and Southern Hospitality
After we left Savannah we drove the familiar road toward Hilton Head Island, SC. When I lived here Hilton Head was a place for golfers, tennis players and people with money. At least that was what I thought. It still is that, but those of us who are not golfers or tennis players or part of the one percent are also allowed “on the island.” I guess we always were, I just made an assumption back then. This place is a beautiful, picture perfect example of the sophisticated southern way of life. The island is well maintained down to the exact size of the stop signs and style of the buildings. It reminds me of Colonial Williamsburg, but with an island theme.
We were delighted to find that our “campground” is actually an exclusive time share property only for motorhomes. People buy a site for their motorhome and either live here all year or rent it out for part of the year. Each space is different. some are landscaped. Most have garden art and patio furniture. One has a waterfall.
neighbors
every site has its own unique landscaping
garden art
empty space
We feel priviledged to be here especially since it is not very expensive compared to other places we’ve stayed. We’ve already met some of the “locals,” who come from all around but stay here for most of the year. Even in the heat people spend a lot of time outside, walking their dogs, riding bikes, playing tennis, just sitting under the canopy drinking iced tea. There is also a nice, big pool and clubhouse where they have regular group gatherings. I saw a sign for an outdoor market every Saturday with fresh veggies and seafood. There’s a club called “The Looney Loop Group,” for residents who live aroud a circluar corner of the wooded area and “have parties and make lots of noise.”
I am in love with this place and this way of life. I am determined to find a way to get back here and maybe even live here part time….yoga for seniors? traveling art therapist? freelance writer? It all sounds good.
Savannah, GA: Been here before; Will be back again
Savannah, GA is a place most people have heard of. It is an iconic southern town, complete with blocks and blocks of southern mansions, situated around circular parks with fountains and benches and as many oak trees as they could save. Spanish moss is everywhere–on the oaks, of course, but also on the magnolias and the crape myrtles and the boxwoods. The birds and bugs love the stuff. It makes a great home for both.
I’m sorry to say that I didn’t get any good photos of Savannah, this time, but we do plan to come back when it’s not 100 degrees and 95% humidity. You have to take your time here and stroll casually through the parks and down the streets noticing old ladies who walk hunched over looking at the ground but keeping one eye looking at you. This happened last time we were here. I have that photo…somewhere…
Sam suggested I take videos of our short drive through Savannah,which I did, but I’m still working out how to put them into a post. For now, this is what I have of Savannah:
savannah waterfront
savannah waterfront
Heat Bubble: From Columbus to Savannah and Beyond
Written on June 30, 2012
It was so muggy this morning that my glasses fogged up when I went out to walk the dogs at 6:30. Then the camera lens fogged up when I tried to take pictures before we left. The outside of the RV was wet with condensation. We had it pretty cool inside and I guess it stayed warm and muggy outside last night. Just another reminder of where I am now.
Here are the things that make it clear where I am:
- Everyone says “Y’all.”
- The highway is lined with pine trees.
- The dirt is either orange or sandy or both.
- Going outside at night means hearing cicadas and frogs “singing” at the tops of their lungs
- Going outside at night means being bitten by mosquitos and gnats, unless you use bug spray.
- Going outside at any time of the day or night in summertime feels like walking into a sauna, which I seem to be adapting to pretty easily. It is comforting to me, like an envelope of warm heavy moisture, slowing me down and giving me the opportunity to sweat naturally again.
So, imagine all of this, the sounds and sights and complete oppression from the humidity when you look at the pictures I took at the campground outside of Columbus, GA.
one of the lakes at Lake PInes campground
rustic cabin
old timey church through a foggy lens
Airstream
The owner of this place must be an Airstream collector because there were about six of them in various sizes and shapes. It brought back some memories, since I was slowing down and all… I guess we used to live in an Airstream when I was 5 or 6. I do remember it–me and two of my brothers sleeping together in one bed, a picture of us all looking out the front window, and later, me being laid down on the couch by my bus driver one day after school. It turned out I had appendicitis. My dad was in Okinawa and my mom had four of us to care for. My brothers were all younger than me and at least one of them was still in diapers. I can only imagine the stress she must have endured during that time. We saw this very same Airstream in a trailer park across from where we lived when I was in high school. A miracle? Maybe not. Military families move around a lot and they tend to live in similar places.
We left the lakes and the dense air with all the Airstreams behind and drove off toward Savannah, GA.
Struggles in the South
This was a melancholy day. I couldn’t sleep last night for various reasons, then when I did go to sleep at 4 am I had one of the most disturbing dreams I’ve had in a long time. Basically, I had no control over any aspect of my life and submitted to a cultish leader who, not surprisingly, was very charismatic and easy to get along with. It gave me the creeps and I couldn’t shake it off for most of the day.
We stayed in a very small, very isolated campground in a place called Cordova, Alabama last night. I wrote a little about it in my last post. When we left this morning the GPS seemed to be uncertain about which way to send us. We were totally dependent on this thing to get us back onto the freeway, so we just did what it told us to do…until we realized we were headed into a dead end. The roads were narrow, and bumpy, and hilly, and deserted. And then we found ourselves in the middle of this devastated town. It was surreal. I thought I was still dreaming for a while. But I got the camera out and just started snapping photos from inside the RV while trying to keep Sam from driving down a road with no exit.
In April of 2011 Cordova, Alabama was hit by two tornadoes in the same day. These were category four tornadoes. Thirteen people were killed that day. their town was destroyed beyond recognition. The main tornado traveled 150 miles. Cordova was a small town with very old buildings and a lot of mobile homes. Here are some of the pictures I took while we were trying to find out way out.
As we continued to weave our way around this broken town we realized why the GPS didn’t have a clear path out for us. All the roads had been closed or re-routed after they were destroyed. I had called a couple of restaurants the day before and got messages that the numbers were no longer in service. I now understand why. The town is no longer in service.
Here is a website with info if you are interested.http://www.srh.noaa.gov/bmx/?n=event_04272011cordova Or you can just google “cordova, alabama tornado, 2011.” I’m sure there are hundreds of other towns with this same story–tornado plows through, tears everything up in its path, disappears into the sky and leaves people in the deafening silence with nothing to do but stand and look up at the sky in disbelief.
Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama: This must be the south
The landscape hasn’t changed much since we entered Arkansas from Oklahoma. Today we drove through the south western tip of Tennessee, diagonally through the north eastern tip of Mississippi and again diagonally through the central portion of Alabama, stopping near Birmingham. It all looked pretty much like this:
Tennessee? or Mississippi? or Arkansas? or Alabama? All I know is it was highway 78, or 22, or 4. They all had signs on the side of the road.
We planned to stay near Jasper, Alabama, about 50 miles west of Birmingham. We stopped in the town of Jasper just to check it out. Here are a few photos I took from the RV when we were looking for a place to park:
a whole block full of empty stores
Main Street, USA
Outside the courthouse in Jasper, Al. There were painted donkeys all over the main street. (?) A mystery.
There is no doubt that we are in the south now. Everyone we talk to, besides each other, has a real, unpretentious southern accent, complete with all the y’all’s you could ask for. It is a slow and thoughtful way of talking and there is no energy wasted on trivial emotions, especially when it’s hot out. We parked the RV and as we were walking through a parking lot looking for the entrance to the only restaurant in town, this girl flings open the window and yells, “Kin I hep y’all?” It seemed like everybody on the street looked at us and laughed. It was obvious that we weren’t locals since we were walking IN the drive through line AGAINST the traffic. People were being very patient though. We asked if this was a sit down restaurant and she just smiled and pointed us in the right direction.
Once inside we got a real taste of Americana. The place was peppered with tons of flags and Uncle Sam’s and red, white and blue decor. Most of this seemed like it had been there for at least 20 years.
Hickoryland BBQ, Jasper, Alabama
Parts of the ceiling were falling in due to some sort of moisture problem and there were lots of plastic flowers, I guess to add color. There was a table of older men sitting near the back having coffee and talking about the mill and how hard it was to find good help. The waitress was complaining because the “air” wasn’t working. It WAS over 100 again outside and she seemed like she was having hot flashes on top of the intense natural heat of the day. She kept running to the bathroom and coming back out flapping her shirt up and down like a fan. She made us feel like we were bothering her by coming in and ordering food on this day when the air wasn’t working. We ignored all that though, having just been rejected by the haves and the have-nots in Memphis.
We ate our lunch and navigated the narrow backroads to “Sleepy Holler” Campground, which is off of “Buttermilk Road” near “Union Chapel Mine Paleozoic Footprint Site.” I guess there are fossils nearby if we’re interested. When I looked up their website I found that the campground is run by some of my distant relatives. They have the same last name as my father anyway. If I get a chance I might ask them if they’re from here or farther up the Appalachain Trail. I also saw a headstone in the cemetery with my dad’s name on it. Maybe my “family” is bigger than I thought it was.
Tomorrow we will drive through Birmingham and Montgomery, probably stopping for breakfast and lunch, then going to Columbus, GA. I’m guessing the landscape won’t change much and neither will the accents. I love it–the rolling hills and the way people talk. I feel at home again. Even though I don’t speak with a southern drawl, I understand it and appreciate it the way you appreciate good music. It feels soft in my ears and easy on my soul.
And maybe one day I’ll talk like these folks my own dang self!
Some artsy stuff from Memphis
We did find this wall of fame around the corner from Beale Street. There were about 10 of these Picasso-style paintings lined up on the wall of a building. Our photos didn’t turn out so great, but here are a few that are representative:
on the road to simplicity 