Last Monday night, we went and looked at campers at our
friend Tom Tucker’s RV Sales. We agreed
on two or three that we liked and were within our budget, both at the same
time. Larry would make the final
decision the next day when he could talk to Tom. The one he really wanted absolutely reeked
of mothballs. Ugh! Why do people do that?!!!
Larry was pretty sure we could air it out. ’Course, he told me it had been aired
out and smelt fine already – but when I stepped in, the aroma
blew me straight back out the door!
People who can’t smell anything should not tell people who can
that something has been ‘aired out’.
Right? Right.
Thinking we would be leaving on our trip to Boise, Idaho,
early Wednesday morning, I washed the clothes, the dishes, and then started
getting clothes and camper paraphernalia (dishes, pans, towels, food, etc.)
ready.
I was still feeling yucky. Mucinex and Tylenol Cold Plus and
Theraflu tea were valiantly attempting to hold the symptoms at bay.
By evening, the bed was piled high with
the stacks of clothes we would need. Camera,
binoculars, tripod, shoes, etc., were on the loveseat. I decided that was as far as I should go
without learning what, exactly, we were going to be driving to Idaho (the
camper was not yet a sure thing); so I went upstairs and scanned photos. Soon another album was done and the next one
started. Five more to go (plus the lost
ones, if I can find them). Here’s one of
my senior pictures.
For supper that night, I popped
multi-grain-encrusted fish and Dutch apple crumb pie into the oven (not in the same
dish, mind you!), and put corn on the cob on the stove (in a pan, you know).
Larry called from Tom’s place, telling me
he had narrowed it down to two fifth-wheel campers: the Eagle and the Laredo. The Laredo was the one that stank of
mothballs. But I knew that was the one
Larry really wanted, as it had the lightweight aluminum frame, and various
other components he liked.
I said magnanimously, “It’s your money,
after all; you can choose.” (Besides, I
couldn’t smell it, over the phone.)
He chose the Laredo.
I then behaved like all wives everywhere,
and griped, “Ugh, why’d you have to choose the stinker?!”
He laughed.
He laughed!
Wednesday morning, Larry went off to get the camper, which
our friend Tom had made ready for us.
Meanwhile, I went on trying to get over my cold. I have a hard time swallowing pills,
especially if they are very big. I cut one (Mucinex) in half Tuesday night,
tried swallowing it – and it got caught in my throat. Nothing really
scary, it wasn’t preventing my breathing; but it sure hurt! So I crushed the
other half with my little pestle and mortar. Yuck, that wasn’t very tasty
at all, and I even buried it in a bite of banana! Bleah.
In the middle of the night, not feeling so swell, I thought
I’d try a Nyquil gel tab, one of those things with liquid inside them. I
can’t swallow those at all – I got one stuck in my throat once a few
years ago, and it was scary. So I poked it with a knife tip, then
chomped on it until the liquid came out. Aauugghh, that was worse than
the Mucinex!
I only took one (half a dose), because I figured it might be
more potent, taking it that way. And I took the PM kind instead of the AM
kind, since I wanted to sleep for another hour or so.
I slept for another three hours! Does that mean
if I had’ve taken the full dose, I might’ve slept six hours? 😲 At least Lipton’s Theraflu tea is
quite helpful.
On my Quilt
Talk group, we were discussing how people seem to think that if we quilt and
own a sewing machine, we will be delighted if they ask us to quilt something
for them (usually intending to pay the price of a cheap blanket from Wal-Mart)
(or nothing, since we can make quilts out of scraps, you know), or, worse, that
we will gladly do altering, mending, or the constructing of ball gowns and
three-piece suits. Payment will be the
enjoyment we get from the exercise.
My
former neighbor lady used to ‘pay’ me for working on her computer, or for
sewing her holes together, with very old, very yucky fabric and trim, along
with a jar or two of fat, blunt, rusty pins that she’d gotten at estate sales. I once opened a package of bias tape – and it
turned to dusty confetti in my hands.
One day
when I was working in my flower gardens she drove by, stopped to greet me, and
told me she was going to a doctor’s appointment.
I
peered into the rear window of her nice (and expensive) little SUV. “Did you remember the chickens?”
She
looked blank. “Chickens?”
“Yes,”
I nodded, “to pay the doctor with!”
Her
face looked soooo funny. She might’ve
been cheap, but she wasn’t stupid!
Never
again did she try to pay me with icky old ‘sewing’ stuff.
That afternoon, I heard the chainsaw. Larry was pruning some branches from an
evergreen beside the drive, the better to be able to back the camper into the
driveway.
Here I am in Florida in 1975. I was 14. That’s
my dog Sparkle, best doggy in the whole wide world.
Larry had so many things to get ready on pickup and camper,
the sun was soon sinking low in the west.
We decided we would leave in the morning.
I fixed creamy chicken noodle soup for supper, and we had a
couple more slices of Dutch apple crumb pie.
After bringing the camper home, Larry brought in a bedroom
drawer from the camper, at my request, so I could smell it there in the house
(smelling it in the camper would do no good, since my olfactory senses would
already be overwhelmed with the mothball scent).
I was relieved that the drawer had no odor at all, except
maybe a new wood fragrance. It was
fine. This gave me hope!
He then set off an odor bomb in camper whilst running the
furnace fan, so as to distribute it throughout the ductwork. After the odor bomb did its work, since there
was no rain in the forecast, he opened all the windows and left it that way
throughout the night.
The next morning, I was glad to find there was no mothball
scent at all! I stuck my nose into the
couch and one of the stuffed rocker/gliders, and was so happy when I could
detect no mothballs whatsoever. This was
indeed a great relief.
Even if you can’t smell mothballs much (and if you
can’t, is your nose enfeebled?!), you should know that mothballs are made of naphthalene or
paradichlorobenzene, both of which are toxic to humans. These chemicals are solids at room temperature
and are formed into round balls, flakes, or cakes that slowly change to a gas
and become fumes in the air.
A friend suggested I try a honey-vinegar drink for my cold.
Back when that honey/vinegar/water drink got all popular in
the late 60s, Loren came dashing in the house, grabbed a glass, put a teaspoon
of honey in it, a tablespoon of water, filled it the rest of the way with
vinegar, and glugged it down.
“Whew!!!” he sputtered, shaking his head like a dog fresh
out of the pond. “That stuff’s stout!!”
I, who had stood silently watching this display, remarked, “I’ll
bet!” I contemplated. Then, “Daddy
does the vinegar and the water the other way around.”
“What?!!” exclaimed Mama, turning around quickly and looking
at him. Then, seeing his face, and putting two and two together, she
laughed ’til she cried.
Thursday morning, while
Larry did a few finishing touches to pickup and camper, I carried Stuff and
Things out to the camper, put everything into their respective places, and then,
after one last check on windows and vents, we headed west.
“Why do you camp?” asked
a friend. “Seems an awful hassle hauling
that thing around. I’ll betcha Boise has
a Courtyard by Marriott.” 😂
“Because it’s fun and,
theoretically, cheaper,” I replied.
Theories are made to be
proven wrong, and we would do just that – but that part of the story comes
later.
Knowing that my friend’s
idea of a ‘camper’ and what we actually have was a long distance apart, I sent
some of these pictures.
“Wow!” she wrote back,
evidently right properly impressed.
“That is not what I was imagining.”
“You were envisioning something more on this order?” I retorted, attaching the following picture.
I
sent a group text to the kids to tell them we were on our way.
Hannah
wrote back, “Hope you have a nice trip. Do you feel better today?” just as Victoria
responded, “Have a nice, safe trip!”
I answered Hannah, “Yes,
I think so, until I breathed diesel fumes a few minutes ago. 😜😝😵💫”
Teddy,
who borrowed the pickup recently, promptly wrote, “Sorry;
that’s the air freshener I left in there.”
“Yeah, you and Daddy
think those fumes are Eau de Parfum,” I remarked.
Teddy,
always concerned underneath his joshing, replied, “Not
really; if the problem happens again, tell Daddy the exhaust might need routes
out the side of the truck. The camper
might force exhaust back into the truck because it dumps down under the bed,
not out the side.”
“It was just because we
were stopped,” I assured him, “and I had my door open. It’s okay now.”
Victoria then sent pictures of Willie, dressed in a knitted
hat with cute little animal ears on the sides.
He’s such a sweet baby.
(And cute, into the bargain.)
(And you know I’m not prejudiced.)
Harvest is in full swing. This means that as we travel through the
Sandhills, which are covered with rolling hills of corn, beans, and
pastureland, we are constantly on the lookout for big farm equipment in the
roadways. Topping a hill at 65 mph to
find a big tractor and trailer smack-dab in front of you can be hair-raising!
We stopped at the Bessey Recreational Area near Halsey for a
bite to eat, and to fill the camper’s water tank and dump the
holding tanks (which were mostly empty, though the gauges showed they were
full).
All went well until we were out in the boonies of Nebraska’s
western Sandhills – and then one of the trailer tires blew out on a dark,
lonely stretch of road. Fortunately,
there was actually a small turnout – and it was even mostly blacktopped –
immediately after the tire blew out. The road was curvy and hilly and
narrow – but just a bit wider, where we were parked.
The flying rubber messed
up the fender trim on the camper, nearly tearing it off, and cracking it. We taped it; it’s still fixable. Fender trim for campers is not cheap.
Larry removed the ruined tire and put on the spare. I was very helpful; I held the light – and it
warn’t no easy job, mind you, with the wind gusting down through the gullies at
almost 50 mph!
A rancher in a nice four-wheel-drive pickup stopped to see
if we needed help. He said he had an impact wrench, if we needed
it. But Larry had one. The only trouble was trying to lift the
trailer enough to remove and reinstall tires, but he got it done,
somehow. And if I knew how, I’d tell you.
We then limped some 90 miles on west to an RV park, worrying
all the way, because while the blown tire was 10-ply, the spare was only 6-ply. At least we got the tire
changed without a storm hitting us. There was lightning in the sky not far to the southwest.
Levi texted me about that time, sending me an audio clip of
‘house sounds’, as he entitled it. I
could hear people conversing now and then, and a pretty hymn playing. He asked me if I could click on a link to
YouTube.
“I can’t look at anything
online at the moment,” I told him. “I
barely have enough bars to text, out here in the boonies.”
“Hmmm,” he answered. “You could try turning the Wi-Fi tower off
and back on again.”
“Haha,” I answered. “Yeah, if I could climb it in this wind. Must be blowing about 50 mph.”
“Remember to take your
umbrella,” he cautioned me. Then, “I
mean, parachute.” Another moment, and he
wrote, “Perhaps Grandpa could make a jetpack for you to get to the top.”
“With tape, hair tonic,
and paper clips,” I agreed.
“The classic duct tape
that magically has the ability to stay on for two years,” said Levi.
“We have gorilla tape!” I
told him. “Even better.”
We finally and gratefully arrived in Alliance. Our GPS took us to the J & C RV Park I
had selected.
The place looked like a house. Nothing but a house. And a garage.
We started pulling into the driveway, which angled steeply
downhill.
It still looked like a house.
I shined my Super-Duper, Extra-Extra-Bright Flashlight on an
unlighted sign I could see off to the right.
It read, “J & C Lawn Service”.
And indeed, down at the end of the driveway where our lights
were shining there was an assortment of somewhat old, somewhat antiquated
pieces of machinery that could conceivably be of use in a lawn service
company, if indeed they actually still ran.
We backed back out of the
lane and continued on, while I clicked on the only other RV Park anywhere in
the vicinity.
Nine miles north of town,
we arrived at Jeske’s Over the Hill
RV. As we pulled into a parking spot,
our lights shined on something across a field and down a hill. Carhenge!
We were camping right next to Carhenge.
I had never seen it before.
Carhenge is a quirky, to-scale replica of
England’s Stonehenge. There’s Larry
trying to collect a few car parts from some of the vehicles.
And I suppose now I have to ruin the joke and say ‘not
really’ for the sake of those more literal-minded individuals who might read
this. 😉
Friday, we spent part of the morning getting a new tire and having it mounted, then exchanging it for the spare. And then we tried to make up for lost time.
That afternoon, Hannah wrote to say that she had gotten the results back from the biopsy her doctor did on a rash she had thought was poison ivy. It’s not poison ivy. It’s some sort of severe, unknown, dermatitis condition. Her blood test showed inflammation. There’s a possibility it could be celiac disease, as Hannah knows she is highly sensitive to gluten. If that’s what it is, it is treatable by a zero-gluten diet.
In the meanwhile, she has
been quite sick and miserable. Please
pray for our daughter. She is very dear
to us. It’s hard to see one’s child
suffering.
The above picture was taken in the western badlands of Nebraska. Below is our first view of the mountains, some time after passing through Lusk, Wyoming.
These are the thunderclouds that came
boiling up over the range.
In the middle of Wyoming,
perhaps confused over the intermittent and sporadic service, my phone locked
up, and I said what Joanna said about their computer when she was three: “My phone is behaving to me!” And then, when Hannah asked her what it was
doing, “It’s just... just... looking at me.”
A few miles west of
Casper, Wyoming, we had another blowout. Good thing we had that
spare! Larry changed the tire, and we made it back to Walmart. All the other tire shops were closed. The workers in the Wal-Mart tire shop are,
uh, ... unworkified (Larry’s Uncle Clyde’s terminology for the
lazy). It was still 20 minutes ’til 7,
when the shop would close, and it wasn’t as if they were actually doing anything;
but they said there wasn’t time for them to mount a tire on a wheel and put it
on the camper. Larry said he could
put it on the camper, if that would help.
They shook their heads mournfully and told Larry solemnly, “We open
again at 7:00 a.m.”
Back home, we could’ve
gone to Bill’s Tire, and they’d have had us outfitted in four new tires in ten
minutes or less.
But this wasn’t Bill’s
Tire.
So we drove to the Fort
Casper Campground, found
a place to park, and had supper: beef stroganoff,
crackers, orange juice, apple juice, blueberry muffins, and bing cherries, and
were thankful we were still safe and sound.
The blown tires had messed
up stuff under the wheel well; that would have to be fixed. This last tire had ripped out the rest of the
insulation over it and had thereby brought down a waterline. At least the line itself was still intact;
there were no leaks.
This ruined any chance we
might have had of getting to Boise in time for the quilt show. So... we would instead go to the Tetons and
probably Yellowstone National Park.
I would have my quilt
shipped home. Accordingly, I wrote an
apologetic email to the lady who conducts the show for the Boise Basin
Quilters, telling her our woes, and asking her to send my quilt home after the
show.
I heard a few raindrops on the roof. We’d been hoping we wouldn’t have to drive in
any rain before fixing the underside of the camper; and now here we were at a
nice campground with the camper’s underneath staying nice and dry.
The tires were supposedly new, but of course we don’t know
how long they had been brand new.
Larry looked up the brand online, and learned that these China-made tires
have terrible reviews. He thought it possible we had hit road debris, too,
as both tires had blown on the same side.
But the next morning when he removed the two on the opposite side, he
discovered that one had cracks and splits between the treads right down to the
steel belts, and the other one had weather cracks all over the inside of it.
I wrote the Saturday Skim for my Quilt Talk group, and then
hit the hay.
The next morning, several flocks of Canada geese flew over,
coming in low to land on the North Platte River right next to the campground. Quite the choir, they were.
Saturday morning, Larry returned to Wal-Mart to get the tires
and various other gewgaws and froofraw at a Home Depot or a Lowe’s. We
needed a new faucet handle and a new showerhead (the previous owners must’ve
forgotten to drain it, and it froze and burst the side seam). He couldn’t
find any that perfectly matched, but they’re close enough. The showerhead has multiple settings, from
‘gentle rain’ to ‘hard spray’. He got
some waterproof insulation with which to repair the inside of the wheel well.
He worked on these things in the Wal-Mart parking lot next
to the tire shop while we waited... and waited... and waited... and waited with
all our might and main for the slowpoke workers(?) to complete the job of
mounting our tires. At one point, one of
them said in jovial tone, “I sure hope we can get those done today!”
“I sure hope so, too!!” Larry exclaimed.
Would you believe, it was almost 6:00 p.m. before we left
town?! At least I had my own little ‘house’
to stay in during all that lost time, and I had plenty of pictures to
edit. It poured rain part of the
time. Larry stopped his outside work,
came in and had a lunch, and then installed the showerhead and handle.
During a lull in the rain, I could hear a dove – but it sounded way different from doves at home. I never did see it, so I don’t know what kind
it was.
After half a dozen sympathetic
emails from quilting friends who thought it was the end of the world for me
that I wouldn’t get to the Boise quilt show, I wrote, “I don’t particularly care about the
show, really. It gets more and more of a trial to go to public doin’s
(should be a word) because of my eye problem.”
One of my emails, however, was of a different sort! It was from the lady at the Boise Basin
Quilters, and she was responding to my email telling her we would not make it
to the show to pick up the quilt.
She wrote the following:
“Dear Sarah Lynn, aka BEST OF SHOW,
“Congratulations! We
were not at all surprised that you received the Best of Show Award from
the Judges. Hope that softens the disappointment of not getting here for
the show.
“Thanks for emailing; I was hoping to see you tomorrow but ‘best
laid plans...’ Glad you’re enjoying Wyoming. I’m happy to mail the quilt back to you.
“Thanks again for entering and congratulations. Our photographer hopes to have the Ribbon Winners’ Pictures up on our website by Sunday.”
Can you see the three antelope in this picture? We must’ve seen hundreds of them throughout Wyoming.
Below are rocky ridges thrusting up through
the ground, caused by shifting and tilting of tectonic plates.
I
sent another group text to the kids, telling them of all our excitements and
excursions, and sending pictures of Larry ‘pilfering’ parts off the vehicles at
Carhenge. It was a few minutes before
they started responding.
Victoria
was first, with an emoji of amazement: 😳
Caleb
was next: “Sounds
like just another Thursday on vacation to me. 🥱 Glad you’re all safe, though. 😇😊”
Then
Lydia: “😂
I was thinking the same, lol. But
I was driving and couldn’t smarty text. Glad
you’re safe!”
I then wrote: “I was wondering what had become of all our
smarty-textin’ kids! It took 17 minutes
before I started getting any answers. 😂”
Hannah sent a picture from her Lilla Rose event near
York, with Joanna working at her table: “We’re doing business, and trying not to blow
away. 😂”
“Don’t let your canopy
blow onto your Palisade!” I exclaimed. “Are
you feeling any better?”
Victoria
answered my previous remark: “It took
me 17 minutes to read the story because I kept getting interrupted. That’s why it took so long to answer.”
Hannah
replied, “Yes, but my practical self wondered what in the world I was
doing, getting up at 6. 😴 The
wind is blowing away from the car, so we should be okay. Eating is an adventure. The bite blew clean off my fork.”
That reminded me of the
time I was once having a ‘luncheon’ with various members of the Keystone group,
and I tried cutting a piece off of the enchilada I was eating, and the plastic
fork broke and the tines flew off and hit one of the field reps in the face.
“Well!” he huffed. “If the secretary is going to throw
things at us, ...”
Levi, who had not gone with Hannah to her event, was
home cooking. “Cookies,” he wrote to
Hannah, sending a picture of a raw cookie on a cookie sheet.
“What kind?” asked Hannah. “Are you making them?”
Levi responded with his
recipe: “Melted 1 cup of cottage cheese
with 1 tbsp olive oil in saucepan.”
Hannah: “??!!”
And further: “You wasted my cottage cheese?!!”
Levi continued nonchalantly: “Added ⅔ cup flour and ¼ cup hot water with 2
tbsp brown sugar and mixed thoroughly. Bake
for 20 mins, brush with olive oil, and bake for 5 mins before taking them out
and leaving to cool.”
He added one more remark: “Very tasty.”
“What a kid,” said Hannah, after
relating this story.
“How could they possibly be
‘very tasty’?!” I said. “On the other
hand, if he eats them, I guess he didn’t waste anything, right? Does he know that there are various books
with these things called ‘recipes’ in them?
(Or maybe he’s preparing to write his own cookbook.)”
“He rarely follows a recipe for anything he makes,”
Hannah told us. “Last week he made
chicken egg salad sandwiches. I gingerly
took a taste, and found it was rather good!”
A while later, Hannah
gave us The Rest of the Story, concerning Levi’s cookies: “It tastes like cheesecake,” she said. “I only wish it didn’t get that last brushing
of oil. It’s not too sweet, and a little
tart, just like a good cheesecake. The
hint of olive oil is confusing my taste buds, though. 🧐🤔”
“It sounds a little bit
yum, and a little bit yuck,” I decided, and Hannah concurred.
“He
mixed up cookies with grilled chicken on that last bit,” suggested Victoria.
“Just be
sure to tell him not to put cloves in the soup,” I cautioned.
Hannah
laughed, “Don’t worry. All have
been duly warned of that. 🤣”
Hannah herself did that,
once upon a time, not too long before she was married. She was making a huge pot of
beef-and-vegetable soup, putting in all the spices she thought she’d seen me
toss in. Victoria, who was about 3, was
standing on a chair beside her at the stove, wielding a large wooden spoon, and stirring each
time Hannah sprinkled something else in.
In went the thyme. Victoria stirred. In went the sage. Victoria stirred. In went the garlic bits. Victoria stirred. In went the onion chips. Victoria stirred. In went the parsley. Victoria stirred. And then...
in went the ground cloves. Victoria
stirred.
Victoria stopped
stirring. She turned her head and looked
up at her big sister. Then she said,
said she, “Hannah. The soup used to
smell good.”
And she was right.
Lydia sent an adorable
picture of Malinda and Ian, writing, “He always puts his arm around her for pictures. I looked at this later and thought, they’re
really growing up fast!”
I wrote back, “They are such beautiful children. I
have often thought Ian looked a lot like my mother’s brothers... and sometimes
I’ve thought he looks like a picture I have of my father at about age 8 ------
but a few days ago I scanned a picture I took of Tim (Jeremy’s father) when he
was about that age, and I thought, Whataya know, Ian looks like him,
too! I think Malinda looks quite a
bit like her Tucker great-aunts, don’t you?”
Then, after rereading the above, I told Lydia an old story: “One time when you and Hester were about ages
4 and 6, you were quietly discussing with each other who each of your dolls
looked like. haha”
That evening, since we had lost so much time, we got Subway
sandwiches and ate them as we drove. I
told the boy I wanted ‘everything’ on my turkey/mozzarella/hot pepper jack
sandwich, but to ‘go light’ on the hot peppers.
!
If I had not have said ‘go light’, I wonder how many he would’ve put on?!!
>>...breathing
fire...<<
I called the Colter Bay RV Park next to Jackson Lake, and learned
there were no vacancies there at all – and that you have to go through
recreation.gov to get a reservation, and it’s best done months in advance. Other campgrounds near the park were also
full, and Larry suddenly got too tired to drive, as he often does.
We checked to see if
there were any nearby campgrounds. There
were.
Soon we were pulling into a rustic campground (though
it had full hookups) just outside of Dubois, Wyoming. The name of the campground is ‘Solitude’. They have no problem with light pollution there,
that’s for sure! It was so dark, we had
a difficult time determining where the parking spaces were. There was no office anywhere. But we figured we could easily enough contact
someone the next day to find out how much we owed. We’ve done just that plenty of times on our
camping trips, often on instruction from the owners themselves.
It was 38° that night as Larry backed the camper into a
space, and I walked to and fro with the flashlight. It had snowed in the mountains earlier that day.
Above are views from our front door at the campground Sunday
morning. Larry awoke me early to come
outside and see the sun coming over the mountains.
I was leaning down to get a close-up of this little alpine
gold daisy when suddenly a large boot smashed right down on top of the poor
thing. My ears flew straight up just
like Snoopy’s do when the neighbor cat slashes his doghouse to ribbons.
Larry, who’d been walking beside me but looking off at a
distant mountain covered with bright new snow, hadn’t noticed me stopping to
take a picture, and he certainly hadn’t noticed this tiny little plant
with a handful of wee yellow blossoms.
I howled.
Larry jumped, backed up, and stared down at the smooshed
thing with a bit of chagrin. Then he
leaned down and fluffed at it with fingertips larger than each individual
flowers.
I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh.
I took a picture of the flowers, and they looked remarkably
healthy. An hour later, I happened to
take another look at the little plant, and all the little stems were holding
their teeny blooms straight up, the blossoms opening wide to the sun, as if
nothing untoward had ever happened. They
have to be hardy, way up here in the mountains!
It had gotten down to 31° overnight, and there was frost on all
the plants and ground cover. But the sun
had not been up long before the temperature had made it up to 45°, melting all
the sparkling frost crystals.
Later, I watched a big raven strolling about. They’re so much bigger than our crows, and have such deep voices. Least chipmunks dashed around all over the place, chittering at each other and stuffing their cheeks chock-full, doubtless to carry back to their winter larder somewhere, hidden deep in the rocks and red dirt. Cute little things, they are.
Mountain bluebirds chirped and warbled and bobbed
about.
Then a flock of about 20 bluebirds flew
over, twittering as they went – but twitters usually mean birds are
fussing. And indeed a couple were pecking at each other as they
flew. Whataya bet one didn’t use his
turn signal, and his wife was reading him the riot act?
There are only 19 spots for campers in the campground, though it spans many acres up the side of the mountain. They are planning to add more spaces and a few more amenities to the park. There were only about three other campers there. As we were leaving, an elderly man came driving along in a pickup, and then stopped and checked on something, his actions making us think he might be a good person to ask about the price, and how we should pay.
We guessed right. He
was the owner, William ‘Bill’ Meckem. There’s
even a street in Dubois named ‘Meckem Street’.
A friendly man, he told us to call his manager, Eric, who could explain
how to pay online or accept our money personally. He tried calling him for us, but got no
answer. After a little chat, we headed
off.
Larry called the number, and left
a voice message. We were halfway through
town when Eric returned the call. I
answered Larry’s phone.
And then this Eric person proceeded
to act like we were common criminals trying to break into the bank and make off
with the safe. He could not understand
why we had not called and gotten reservations ahead of time. He gasped loudly when I said we had already
left the campground. He said he would
meet us in town, so I gave him our location, and told him where we would
stop. He said he would be there in a
couple of minutes, and added, among other things, “You should have called!” He probably wouldn’t have liked that any
better, since it was around 10:00 p.m. when we had pulled into the campground.
It turned out, the man is also
the town’s deputy sheriff. Judging from
his self-importance, he probably owns the Bubble Gum Factory, too. And the Shoelace Outlet, for good measure.
Eric Whozit found us in the empty
church parking lot. We had already
buried the bank vault. Just let him try
to find it, haha, hoo-hoo!
He raked Larry over the coals for
not getting a reservation ahead of time.
It didn’t even make a lick of difference that we had met and chatted
with the owner of the campground! Larry
was his usual friendly self, in return.
He handed over $50 in cash (what does it matter, how much Eric tells us
our parking spot was worth, when we swiped said cash out of the local till?),
and off we went.
In 15 short minutes, we had
changed our tune from, “Let’s come back to this pretty campground someday!” to
“Let’s never set foot in that place again!”
Maybe that’s a gallows up there
on that rocky cliff above the Twin Pine Lodge!
We left Eric the Red to enforce
the roolz in his small burg and headed for Grand Teton National Park.
On our way, we passed by the
North Breccia Cliffs, especially striking now with the new snow on them, and
the aspens in the foreground turning to gold.
We got to the Tetons and Jackson
Lake early in the afternoon. For a time,
as we drove along the east side of the lake, clouds covered the peaks of Mt.
Moran and the Grand Teton itself; but as we turned back south and headed for
the town of Jackson, the clouds finally lifted just enough that the peaks were
visible.
The park pass was $35 for Grand Teton National Park and $35
for Yellowstone National Park – or $80 for an annual pass to all national parks,
and anyone in our family or set of friends can borrow our pass anytime until
the end of October 2023. We got the annual pass. I remember when it
was $15 for the Tetons and Yellowstone together.
I have long hoped to go back to some of those National Parks
in the Canadian Rockies, which we visited in 1994. I’d like to see Niagara Falls, too. It’s
prettiest from the Canadian side, so they say. My parents and I were once
close enough to the Falls that we could actually see a misty spray in the sky –
but Daddy was on a mission (visiting a preacher friend), and intent on getting
back home in time for the next Sunday service. Same thing happened when
we were once within miles of the Grand Canyon. We topped a ridge and
could actually see the gap in the earth – but that’s as close as we got.
When we were at Four Corners with the four younger children,
I tried to get them to perch themselves with a paw in each state – but ... there
were strangers looking! Hester and Lydia, young teenagers by then,
immediately made themselves scarce, and Caleb, 11 or 12, giggling, also
declined. But Victoria, who was about 7 or 8, was game. She put herself
into all sorts of funny contortions, and happily grinned at the camera. 😄
After arriving at Colter Bay Village, we turned back south
and drove toward Jackson, hoping to find an RV park that wasn’t full and
overflowing.
We thought we found one, Hoback RV Park, on the south side
of Jackson. It was pricy – $100 a night
– but we weren’t sure we could find anything else. I made the reservations and tried to pay
online. None of my credit cards would go
through – and thank goodness they didn’t.
I received a ‘tentative booking number’, and an automated email
promising to hold a spot for us.
We arrived – and found a ratty old house with metal signs
nailed to porch posts stating “No Office” and “No Vacancy”.
The second sign was clearly in error. There was a lot of vacancy. The few campers in residence were obviously
there for the long haul, with protective skirting and stuff scattered all over
their yards.
We texted the owners... called the owners... left voice mail
for the owners... and emailed the owners.
We got no response.
Larry went and talked to a young woman who had driven in
with a pickup and horse trailer. She was
the daughter of the owners. “Yes, people
complain that they have a hard time reaching my parents,” she said, but offered
no solution before driving away again.
Larry and I walked through the park – and discovered that it
was totally unkempt and fallen into disrepair.
All the empty spaces were overgrown with Canada thistles, Scotch
thistles, and buffalo burr. The water
spigots were capped off, and the sewer connections were filled with gravel.
The restroom and shower house doors were all padlocked shut
(though several of the doors were falling off their hinges) – and the one
‘restroom’ was a bright green, topsy-turvy porta potty.
We departed hastily, and I set about making sure the credit
card transactions that had not gone through wouldn’t go through.
Several hours later, the owner of the property finally
answered my email, telling me she was sorry to hear about the problems (she
didn’t know?!), the transaction had been canceled, and she hoped we had a
pleasant evening and night somewhere.
Yes, well. We would
do just that, so long as it wasn’t at that campground.
I thanked her. Who
knows why the campground has gone to shambles. One never knows what other people might be
going through in their lives.
We drove 24 miles south to the Alpine Valley RV Resort in
Alpine, Wyoming. And there we found an
entirely lovely campground, with young ladies in cowboy hats (it is Wyoming, after all) to help people back in, level
paved spaces with lush grass all around, pretty picnic tables and chairs, and
Adirondack chairs and half-log benches by brick firepits. It’s a new campground, and it’s not fully
completed yet; but what is done is very nice.
Here’s Larry backing into our space, and here’s the view
from directly behind our camper.
Last night I read about a big,
bad wildfire – 15,000 acres – happening in the Nebraska National Forest near
Bessey Recreational Area, apparently caused by an ATV. The campground and the village of Halsey,
population 63, had been evacuated, along with residents of nearby ranches.
This morning I read that Highway 2 between Thedford
and Dunning had been closed, as the fire, named the Bovee Fire, had jumped the
road.
Nebraska National Forest and
the Bessey Recreational Area are right where we have gone ATV riding, camping,
and where we had lunch late Thursday afternoon.
That’s the route we took on our way west, and we stopped at the
Bessey Campground to put water in our camper tank.
Federal
and volunteer firefighters were battling the blaze. Today I read this sad news:
Firefighter
dies while battling wildfire in Nebraska Sandhills (1011now.com)
A firefighter died while actively
fighting the Bovee Fire in the Nebraska Sandhills on Sunday, according to
Region 26 Emergency Management. The
Purdum Volunteer Fire Department Assistant Fire Chief Mike Moody suffered a
medical emergency and died, according to the Region 26 Council. He was 59 years old. Moody had served with the Purdum Volunteer
Fire Department for more than 40 years.
Purdum is a small village with a
population of 21, twelve miles north of Halsey.
Today we planned to
explore the area around Alpine, Wyoming. Larry brought along fishing gear; he’d like to
fish in the Snake River. Earlier this
morning when I first ventured outside, it was 43°; but it got up to about 67°
this afternoon. The fresh snow on the
mountain peaks glistens and shines. It
really is beautiful here. The trees are
changing, so there are the dark evergreens, and then there are the deciduous
trees that are still brilliant green, some that are very pale yellow-green,
blending right into the very bright yellows and oranges of the aspens, and even
a few reds. There are scarlet and
crimson sumac bushes and ground cover here and there, mixed with the golden
fields – and a few luscious green fields of winter wheat. The skies have been spectacular – bright blue,
with billowing snowy thunderclouds mixed with dark grays, light grays, and
every shade in between, in layers from low-hanging wisps to streaks high in the
stratosphere. Well, actually, there is
little moisture high in the stratosphere; any visible clouds are likely in the
lower level of the stratosphere, i.e., the troposphere. (That’s my Word of the Day, haha, and “now I
can go to bed happy tonight, ’cuz ah done larnt sumpthin’”, as one of Larry’s
elderly aunts used to say.) If my camera
used film, we’d go broke buying and developing film!
I love this time of year in the mountains.
Larry installed his new backup camera this morning. Here he is making sure he got it adjusted
properly (the shots are stills from the video clip).
I sent the video to all of the kids. Hester answered first: “😅🤣🤣🤣🤣 Keira
says, ‘Silly Grandpa! I love him so, so
much!! 🥰’ but first ‘why is that man doing
that?’ 😅”
I suggested that Larry make
sure all the other campers’ backup cameras at the campground are working
properly also, using the same method he used on ours.
Our closest neighbor had
one of those gargantuan motorhomes with half a dozen slideouts. Reckon they would’ve appreciated the service?
He returned
with the pickup to collect a rolling Igloo icebox with a grill on top, a
receiver-hitch motorcycle carrier, and a chainsaw. Quite the haul!
Then we headed north along the
Palisades Reservoir to the dam.
The Reservoir is low, and there
are campers boondocking all over the dry lake bottom. I saw some people playing Frisbee with their
dogs there on the sandy shores – is it still a ‘shore’, when there’s
practically no water? (Picture was taken farther north, where there is still water.)
I have a picture I took on the shores of
Grand Haven, Michigan, with the sun going down over Lake Michigan, sailboats
silhouetted against the brilliant orange, yellow, and scarlet sky – and in the
foreground, a rotund man walking a tall, thin dog right past a “No Dogs on the
Beach” sign. Makes me laugh, every time
that photo scrolls by on my screen saver.
We stopped at the top of the dam,
got out to look at the scenic view – and then Larry spotted it: antifreeze dripping out from under his
pickup.
The water pump had failed. We
headed back to Alpine. Fortunately,
Larry had extra antifreeze along, so halfway there he refilled the truck, and
we made it all right without the motor getting too hot. At least it
didn’t happen while we were towing the fifth-wheel!
After dropping me off at the
camper, Larry went in search of a parts house.
He called a little while later to tell me that he was on his way to
Thayne, 18 miles to the south, where there are both Carquest and Napa. Canyon Auto and Diesel here in Alpine is only
a repair shop, not a parts house. In
Thayne, Larry found all the parts he needed, returned to the campground, and
went to work putting the new water pump in.
It’s in now, but just about the
time it was getting dark, he dropped a bolt that holds... uh, something... a
fan shroud, maybe? in place. Whatever
it’s for, it’s a vital component. He’ll
look for it again tomorrow when it’s light out.
If he can’t find it, he’ll ride his bike to the Ace Hardware store
that’s not too far away.
While he worked, I fixed
Progresso chicken noodle mix, adding a can of premium chunk chicken
breast. (I knew it was good before the
soup was done; I snitched a piece.) We
had mandarin oranges with it.
Larry likes to wave at me from
the bedroom/bathroom area of the camper as he goes in there and pulls the
sliding door shut. He goes on waving...
sliding the door shut – until his hand is caught at the wrist and he goes into
all sorts of contortions pretending he can’t get loose.
This is maybe why he likes
campers better than motel rooms? 😄
Pictures of the winning quilts at
the Boise Basin Quilters show have been posted:
https://www.boisebasinquilters.org/2022-quilt-show-winners/
Bedtime!
,,,>^..^<,,, Sarah Lynn ,,,>^..^<,,,
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.