Love Tour 2011: The Climb

To the southwest, between Cowley and Byron there are what are known as The Sandhills.  Only now, as an adult, do I wish I had asked Kurt Talbot--a local geologist at one point--what formed them or why they are there.  To my adult eye, they seem quite a mystery, so unusual is their composition, but as a child I simply accepted their existence as our playground of sorts. 

My family spent a lot of time driving through and playing in The Sandhills.  Grandma Doty lived in Byron, and more often than not we made our way to her house through the dusty dirt roads of The Sandhills, sitting on the tailgate of a truck.  Those were the days when children were still allowed wicked, partly dangerous fun.  Our favorite tailgate game went like this:  Before leaving home, each of us would choose a toy--favorites, as I remember, were army men or tanks--and tie them to one end of a long string.  Once we hit The Sandhills we'd throw them out, and holding onto the other end of the string, drag them as far as they could make it.  The one whose toy lasted the longest was declared the winner.  Only once was there a near accident when Ken conducted an amature scientific experiment.  Apparently he'd lost his toy early on and had too much time to think.  In his young mind he began postulating that if he jumped off the truck backwards, running mid-air, he could, quite possibly, continue running once his feet hit the ground.  He always was sort of a strange kid.  Anyway, he soon found his theory dashed as he jumped, hit the ground, rolled, skidded, and landed in a dusty heap, the rest of us gaping in horror and surprise. The next thing I remember was him sitting on grandma's kitchen table, while mom bathed, cleaned, and bandaged his multiple scrapes.

That is the only time any of us got really hurt in The Sandhills.  The rest of my memories there are happy.  We had a lot of Easter Egg hunts in The Sandhills.  Their curious, sandstone formations made for fantastic hiding spots.  We hiked Castle Rock more times than I can count, inching our way through the crevice though there is an easier climb on the backside.  Somehow, to me, the view from the top is made sweeter by experiencing the claustrophobia of the crevice.  On a few of those trips, I carved my name in the rock at the top, along with everyone else in the area.  It serves as a veritable yearbook up there.  "Steve & Rhonda Forever.  Curt '85.  Travis 1991."  Hundreds of names and memories for the perusing. 

But the memory at Castle Rock that makes me giggle the most is the Memorial Day sometime in the early 80's when Ken, for whatever reason, brought along the giant, orange, plastic trumpet that resided many years in our basement.  I don't know where we got it.  Probably from some sporting event is my guess, but that thing really could blow,  especially when played by someone who was a fine trombonist.  Anyway, once we got to the top, we could see there were still visitors at the Byron Cemetery looking like mere ants to us hundreds of feet away.  No matter.  Ken stood on the top of that mountain and blew a few long, loud blasts, like some sort of angel announcing the Second Coming of Christ.  We watched as heads turned, looking for the source of such an announcement.  Surely it was not a reverent thing to do, but we thought we were very funny.  Our mother was not as amused.

Many afternoons were also spent at Slide Rock.  It was a popular keggar site, as witnessed by the burnt out ashes and myriad of broken glass bottles nearby, but for our family it was a kind of homemade amusement park.  "And why is this fun?  That's right!  Because it's free!"  Using pieces of cardboard as a sled, we took turns riding the well worn rut in the rock.  After a few turns, the sand started to break loose a bit and the path could get speedy.  One had to remember to wear old clothes to Slide Rock, as at least one person would always go home with a torn out behind.

As a teenager I played kick the can at Court House Rock.  I wish I could describe these places.  They seem to me other worldly, like something out of Luke's home planet in Star Wars.  It was a marvelous place to play Kick the Can.  This huge rocky structure surrounded by ridges, and divots, and indentions perfect for hiding, voices echoing back and forth off the walls.  Wonderful fun.

The Sandhills were also the site of the oldest joke in our family.  The ascent to The Sandhills from Cowley begins as you turn off the Cannery Road.  The pavement ends and the climb begins.  It levels out, momentarily as you cross the canal, but the final climb is steep, hugging the north side of the hill until the top where a severe right turn leads you to the flat mesa across the top.  Right there, there is a rock formation that, as far as I know, has no name.  It is large and rectangular.  To me it looks like a giant loaf of bread.  (But I love bread, so maybe that's just my belly talking.) Anyway, the reason this is important is because going the other direction, down into Cowley, and because of that severe turn, the road can look like it runs right into that giant rock formation.  And my dad loved, LOVED, taking newbies home that way, convincing them the whole time that he had lost his way in the dark.  "Boy.  I am not sure this is the right road.  Lee?  What do you think?"  He'd really play it up.  "The thing is, there is one road out here that leads to a dead end.  We sure don't want to be on that road.  If you're not careful, you can run right off the side of this thing...No.  We're fine."  Then he would kick up the speed just as we were approaching the turn, and it was some one's job to yell, "Dad!  Look out!" and scream just as the rocks came into sight.  Dad would "swerve to miss them" but actually make the turn down that steep decline.  For a brief moment, it did seem like we were roadless, and the poor guy in the back thought it was all over.  Obviously we are sick people, but we never got tired of that joke.  The more fear we could inflict, the harder we laughed.  We were all the newbie at one point.  In our family you had to learn how to take a joke.

The Sandhills are full of memories for me.  Wonderful, happy memories that define much of my childhood.  I think it is that way for all my family, nieces and nephews included.  Can there be childhood without The Sandhills?  I hope I never know, so we took our children there again on this trip.  This time to Castle Rock.  Even the baby made it up the monster.  It's not an easy climb, and when you get to the top there are no safety rails.  As a parents we see this hike a bit differently now, to which my brother Curt's constant worry can attest.  It is full of risks.  That is true.  "Be smart, and be safe," I repeated to the children.  But I remember this climb as a child.  Just like Logan I, too, was worried about the crevice.  Were we going to make it?  And if so, how were we then going to get down?  And just like her I climbed anyway.  She faced down her fear.  She felt the comraderie of her family. She made it to the top and carved her name in the rock to prove it.  She was proud of herself.  They all were.  Just like I was as a kid, in this place I love:  The Sandhills.

 Not all of us, but some:  Curt and his girls, Me, Thomas and our kids.

Love Tour 2011: The Adventure

The Hikers: Joe, Lauren, Devin, Griffin, Logan, Lincoln, Kaysie, Jamie, Max, Jacob, Hudson, and Cari.

There is a little place up in the Pryor Mountains above Cowley called The Ice Caves.  As a child, I heard my brothers tell of "going to the ice caves" with their friends, but in all the years I lived there, I had never been.  Last year, the day before leaving, I said as much to my brother Joe.

"What!?" he sputtered, as if I had just told him I had never breathed.  "Okay.  Next year when you come back, we're going to the Ice Caves."

I don't always believe my brother, Joe.  It's not that he lies, it's just that he is the eternal optimist and doesn't always foresee the realities that can get in the way.  "Okay...you promised.  I'm going to hold you to it," I warned.

This year, he was as good as his word.  We made it to The Ice Caves, and, as it happens in our family, it became something of an event:

"Ice Caves.  Tonight.  4 o'clock.  You comin'?"

"I don't know..."

"C'mon!"

"Okay.  Sure.  We'll go."

This conversation occurred when anyone walked into Mom's kitchen, and the "we'll" turned into 18 people and a picnic supper.

Now, I did say Joe was the eternal optimist.  "We'll leave around 4:00 and be back by 8:00," he assured us.

Uh huh.  Due to a road closure, terrible roads, Devin's (my nephew) failure to gas up, and Randy's (my other brother) old man driving, we got home at 11:00.  In that amount of time, we could have driven the entire length of the state.

Halfway there, Devin says, "I don't know if I'm going to have enough gas to get back."

"What?  Why didn't you fill up?"

"I didn't know we were going to have to go through Bridger.  This is taking forever."

"Well, you better stop, leave the car here, and we'll ride with someone else so you can make it back."

We loaded our group in with Cari and Jacob, leaving Devin's vehicle in the middle of nowhere until we could return.  In total we crowded 9 people into the suburban.  Devin and I shared a seat.  It was cozy to say the least, and maybe there was a tiny bit of complaining.

"Why is Randy driving so slow???" I whined as we watched him carefully maneuver around yet another giant pothole.  We were, literally, inching our way up the mountain.

"Can't you get around him?" voiced another.

"I think I could actually walk faster.  I'm not kidding."

"You know Karen's got be having a fit.  They love their car."

"You know she's going to have to wash it and vacuum it out tonight."

"Well she's waving.  That's a good sign."

"How much longer?" a child cried from the back.

"Maybe forever," an adult answered.

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

"I don't know."  The roads are not only primitive to say the least but also completely unmarked.  It is just a seemingly random spattering of dirt roads that cross each other once every several miles.

"It doesn't seem right.  It seems like we should have caught up with the others by now."

"I don't know.  I'm just following Randy."

"Yes.  We know.  He's taking forever."

"I am losing it back here."

Finally we arrived and unpacked the food.  The scenery was gorgeous, and for some reason fried chicken always tastes better in the mountains.

Top Left: The whole gang.  Top Right:  Devin, my seat buddy.  Bottom Left: Lincoln chowing down.  Bottom Right:  Karen and Randy.

After our bellies were full, we recovered our humor and were ready to set out on the short hike to the cave.  Now, dear reader, I have questioned how--or even if--I should share this part of the story.  However, I feel the deep need to explain Griffin's lack of pants in some of these photos.  All I shall say on the topic is this:  He started the trip with pants.  But, just as we were preparing to hike, there was a not so small accident in the outhouse.  Okay?  And after spending some time in there with him and suffering what I can only explain as a giggling fit of hysteria, I determined that we should simply dispose of them.  So no pants.  Or socks for that matter.  Thank heavens for the extra length on his borrowed jacket.  That is all I will say about that.

The hike to the caves was an easy jaunt on a dirt path, but it provided views that gave, and I shall quote Anne Shirley here, "scope for the imagination," which was just what I needed after the outhouse.  Wildflowers danced on every side, and pine trees stretched as far as the eye could see.  When Griffin and I finally caught up with the others, they had already descended to the cave.  Logan could hardly contain her excitement.  "Mom!  Mom!  Come look at this!" she called.

It was a curiosity of nature.  The temperature dropped 30 degrees once you stepped inside.  The floor was covered in ice, and frozen stalactites dripped from the ceiling.  My brother pointed out the hole in the floor near the back that connects to the lower room of the cave.  They have covered it over with a grate, but word has it you can get a key in the town of Bridger if you want to explore it.  I don't know if that's true, but I wouldn't put it past 'em.  Wyoming's funny like that.

All too soon it was time to head back home.  The sun was setting and we had a long drive ahead of us, which, according to Logan, was the only negative of the whole adventure.

Up from the cave.

 

But I have to say I didn't mind it at all.  I loved every minute of it. Thanks to my big brother, I finally saw The Ice Caves, and it was an adventure to remember.

Love Tour 2011: The Activities

On one of our first days in Cowley, we experience what arguably was the highlight of the trip:  An Evening at the Gams' Longhorn Ranch.  My longtime friend, Shelly, drove down from Billings, MT and met us at her parents' house to take the kids horseback riding, BB gun shooting, and haystack climbing.  Her dear mother, Sylvia, cooked up some yummies, and we finished the evening with an outdoor barbecue in their lovely backyard.  As I sat back in the soft glow of the sunset eating my s'more and looking out over Johnnie's alfalfa field, newly cut, viewing the sandhills in the distance meeting that crystalline blue sky, I concluded that it was just about a near perfect day.  And my children concluded that they wanted to move there and live in the country.  I can't say that I blame them.  It is a lovely way to live.  The older I get, the more I am drawn to wide, open spaces.

Maybe someday...  But, back at the ranch (quite literally):  Although Logan desperately wanted to ride the sorrel, they thought the white horse, Rocky, would be a better fit for her, and it wasn't long before she fell head over heels in love with that horse.  She came home to Arizona talking about her boyfriend Rocky.  And every time we would drive by the farm, she would wave and call out, "Hello, Rocky!"  Now she is talking about taking horseback riding lessons.  I have to admit, she kind of took to it like a duck to water.

I don't know if there could by anything better for a 10 year old girl than a horse.  And just look at my boy.
 

Does he not look like he was born in the wrong century? Shelly loaned him her BB gun for the rest of our vacation, and he had a ball! And though it would surprise some people, he was unusually responsible with it. Not one accident or cracked window at Grandma's house. Turns out, he's a pretty good shot.


It was a full day of fun!  Catch Shelly in some of these photos.  She really made it an adventure for them.  What a trooper!

And though they would probably hate me for it, here are our hosts: 





John and Sylvia, we can't thank you enough for opening your home to us. It was a delight and my kids will remember it always. Many thanks to you!

Love Tour 2011: The Friends

Maybe I've talked about these guys before.  These are just some of my favorite people--my peeps, as they say--from my college days.  The ones that make the whole world a little brighter.  After our stay at my sister's, we spent a couple of days with my friend Jen and some of our nearby friends who joined us.  I was only supposed to stay overnight, but Jen can talk me into pretty much anything.  This time it was remaining an extra day.  Admittedly, it wasn't a very difficult job for her, and my mom was gracious enough not to hold the delay against me.  After all, she loves these people, too.  In fact, they might be as much her peeps as they are mine.  The thing about having these kinds of friends, friends that have known me thaaaat long, is that they help me remember my soul, the person that I really am as well as the person I dream of becoming.  And in addition to all that, they make me laugh.  Really hard.  Our children got along famously, and our two days went by all too quickly.  The only trouble with these friends is that I don't see them often enough.

And for more entertainment, Jen and I took the kids to Casa Bonita's.  If you've ever been to Denver, please tell me you've been to Casa Bonita's.  I hadn't been there since I was a kid, and it was like stepping back into a dream.  It is exactly the same!  Sure the food is nothing to rave about, but, c'mon!  Divers tableside?  And the caverns!  Don't get me started.  The kids loved it as much as I did so many years ago.  We explored and really got our money's worth, I'll tell ya.  (And don't mind Griffin's sneer in the photos.  That's his thing right now.  You know that thing.  It's the thing a kid does suddenly and inexplicably which has the potential to drive a parent nuts, but she pretends she doesn't see it in hopes that it will just disappear like another passing phase...  Yeah.  That thing.)

Love Tour 2011: The People

For these guys?  I'd go anywhere.  They are that great in my book.

Siblings with Mom.  From left:  Joe, Randy, Me, Mom, Cindi, Ray, Ken, Curt.

(This isn't the best photo we took.  Don't worry.  There's one where we're all actually looking at the camara.   I'm just waiting for a copy from my brother...hint, hint...)

Mom and her girls.

Love Tour 2011: The Sights, part II

photo credit: travelpod.com

Wind River Canyon, Wyoming

I'll never forget bringing an LA friend of mine home to Cowley and showing her some of the local sites. We hiked to waterfalls, saw Devil's Canyon, climbed Castle Rock, watched the wild Mustangs, and standing in the middle of nowhere, clutching her Kate Spade bag, she gushed, "I can't believe this place! You're close to everything!" And we are, I suppose. Just a different kind of everything. We're close to the earth, and sometimes, as it stretches wide over us, we're close to the sky. Now that I've been away a few years, it's an everything I can't get enough of. I want to drink in each rise, field, cloud, and blade of grass. I have missed Wyoming.

Missed it so much that I watch carefully as the scenery changes outside my windshield passing first through the rolling cattle pastures of the southeast corner of the state. Grey clouds threatening another rainstorm only intensify the green fields where cows and baby calves stand peacefully munching. At some unidentifiable point on our passage northward, the surrounding terrain becomes a bit more rugged. The rolling quality of land no longer rolls so much as slopes and points. The ground angles toward the enormous sky like a mad wave, and rocky masses protrude from the ground. The grass becomes tinged with a bit of yellow and the sagebrush becomes denser, as though the artist of the scene became a bit carried away with dotting those silver green bushes across the canvas. Then just to add some more color, he drew in some wild alfalfa springing randomly along the road side, their purple and yellow blossoms nodding in the wind. It is a land perfectly created for the antelope and deer, which we randomly passed.

Then, soon enough, we are careening through the Wind River Canyon, the river writhing and sparkling beside us.  I have always loved this canyon, its winding path between sky high, rocky walls, and maybe it is the closest I have come to understanding those serenity mazes which are supposed to lead one to his/her center.  As we wind our way through its twists, turn, and three tunnels, I travel backward in my mind to the many, many times I have been this way before; on school buses, on family vacations, on my way to college, the trips tick off in my memory...always away, but always home again.  Centered.  Still.  At peace.

After the canyon, the farmlands of the Basin take center stage.  Alfalfa, wheat, bean, corn and sugarbeat fields turn the arid desert green.  Only the irrigation ditches stand as reminders of the hard fought battle these farmers wage.  Today the landscape is gorgeous.  I am not a farmer's daughter, so there is much I do not know, but to this unpracticed eye, the crop looks to be a good one:  healthy, tall, and thick, even at the edges.  I wish them a blessing, these fields, the backbone of this area's economy and the produce of our nation.  Sometimes, on days like today, when the sun is shining low in the horizon and that golden light slants sideways kissing the leaves and stalks of the field, I romanticise about moving to a farm, maybe buying a cow and some chickens.  It is easy to think that life would be so much simpler, so much more centered, so much more peaceful, but then I remember my dying garden back home.  It doesn't look anything like these fields, and I have to take my hat off to the keepers of them.  They rise at farmers' hours--that's "so early it's practically night" for people like me; they strain and sweat; they gamble against rain, wind, frost, and heat, not to mention pests; they get by most of the time, and then they do it all again next year.  Farmers don't get enough credit in my estimation.  Tonight, as I pray over the corn on the cob, the green salad, and the string beans (not to mention the sugar) I think I'll thank God for the farmers.

The fields stretching into the distance on either side of the highway are only interrupted once, and this interruption--the ugliest stretch of our entire drive--signals the nearing end of our trip.  Turning onto highway 310 and heading toward Lovell from Greybull, there is little visual interest and a lot of dirt.  Even by some evil trick of landscape the mountains seem to disappear.  On every rise I find myself scanning the distance to see if I can catch of glimpse of my hometown.  At last she is in view, and I joyously call out, "See the water tower, guys?  Okay...see the big white tower with the steam coming out?  That's Lovell's sugarbeat factory.  Now look just beyond it.  See the white watertower?  That's Cowley!  Just about a half hour now."  And just like that we are back in the land of farmers' fields and mountains.  The Big Horns and Pryor Mountain stand sentinels as we ramble downhill into the valley.

My little hometown has undergone a facelift these last two years.  The new high school is the first sight to greet us, brashly claiming its territory among the empty fields that surround it.  I'm used to the town kind of sneaking up on me, but this big ol' building practically jumps on us as we curve into town.  I like it; it's just going to take some getting used to.  That and some trees, I think.  Once I get passed it, I can't help but notice that the new subdivision continues to grow.  Some beautiful homes have popped up on the edge of town.  It's good to see.  And then, just when things are looking as I remembered, I nearly miss the curve gaping at the big, brick house going up on Tucker's hill.  That's a showstopper, I'll tell you.  I make the curve, despite my rubbernecking, but it isn't two seconds and I am ogling the new Cowley downtown.  It's wide sidewalks and newly planted trees; the stone and log breezeway in front of all the businesses.  It's really gorgeous!  So gorgeous that I nearly forget to turn into my mother's driveway; I am so accustomed to driving to the end of the block to u-turn around the median, which is no longer there, that I am not quite sure what to do for a moment.  Old habits die hard, and changes are never easy to make.

I sit there, in my mother's driveway for a moment feeling a little foreign in this once so familiar place.  The kid's scramble out, and I slowly slide from behind the wheel.  Changes are good I remind myself.  Certainly good for this place that I love, but it does make me feel out of place...That is until a familiar face drives by and throws me a wave.  Some things--perhaps the most important things here--never change after all.  I have come home.

photo credit: Gary Little via myfamily.com

Cowley, Wyoming Mainstreet, Today

Love Tour 2011: The Sights

 

Crossing six states to and from my beloved Wyoming was a visual delight.  Perhaps it is because I started the journey taking an unaccustomed route, seeing land that I have not passed in many years, but my eyes began to see, to wander across the hills and horizons, to wonder at the variety of beauty with which we have been blessed.

We began with the mountainous foothills of Arizona.  The fields of saguaro standing at attention against rocky crags jutting towards the sky, and though I've always said that I hate the desert, this can not be completely true.  I certainly don't hate this part of the desert.  There's something wild about it.  Something untamed that calls to me.  And the color.  The green of the scrub brush and cactus against the dark browns, and oranges and reds of the sand and rock throwing themselves up at that brilliantly wide blue sky.  It makes me wish I were an artist capable of capturing that savage beauty.  Alas, I will simply have to remember it.

Then we traveled on into the mountains of northern Arizona.  They are a wonderfully kept secret.  When most people think of Arizona, they consider only the desert valleys soaked with sun, but we have some amazing mountains, cool and lush with pine and prairie.  When we escape there from the summer heat, we love watching the temperature gauge drop 20 degrees.  The day we left it was 118 degrees, so it was more like 30, and I wanted to kiss every pine tree I saw.

The rest of the drive to Santa Fe was fairly unremarkable except for the sunset.  What the desert often lacks in visual stimulation for me during the day, it certainly makes up for when the sun hits the horizon.  Suddenly the sky is painted with slashes of orange, fiery pinks, and dusty purples as far as one can see.  God doesn't skimp on desert sunsets.

What I will always remember about Santa Fe are the charming, old, squatty, adobe buildings of historic downtown.  Turned into mostly an artists' colony, we traveled through, around, and in and out of it to get to the children's museum.  It is a bit of maze down there, especially when you are pointing and saying to your children, "Wow, look at that!" every two seconds.  Both Logan and I were very taken with it, and she decided that she wouldn't mind living there for a while.  I confess I daydreamed a little bit about perusing the shops, restaurants, and museums at leisure.  Their history seemed to speak from those old buildings.  I'd like to spend some time getting to know the voice of that place better.

As the desert began to fade through southern Colorado, I began to contemplate my deep love of mountains.  Once, while in college, I spent four weeks traveling through parts of Nebraska, Kansas, Illinois, and Wisconsin.  For the first few days in that country I felt unsettled.  Certainly there was some beautiful scenery.  Even the never ending wheat fields held some interest for me as they danced and rolled under the breeze, but still there was an underlying discomfort.  I couldn't put my finger on it, until I realized it was the horizon.  The land just dropped off out there.  For the first time in my life, there were no mountains in the distance.  No mountains between me and the end of the earth.  It felt foreign and strange, and lonely.  I've spent all of my life in the intermountain west, and the fingers of the Rockies have a great hold on me.  In Colorado, they start to get serious.

These are real mountains.  Not hills or mounds of earth that pass for mountains back East.  I mean heavy duty, massive, imposing, put-you-in-your-place kind of mountains.  You can't look at these giants and not realize your own puniness, and yet, to me, they've always felt like a kind protector.  Like a mother standing guard over her children.  On this day, she let us play through her grassy foothills, so green this year thanks to an abundant snowfall and the spring rain that continued to visit almost every afternoon while we were there.  We spent four days nestled near her base, and I felt myself unwind in the sunshine and warm scent of pines.  I breathed deeply, kicked off my shoes and wiggled my toes in the grass, only now and then interrupted by bickering children.  They were too busy wading and catching water snakes to make too much trouble.

Soon, however, we were off to Wyoming, traveling parallel with the Rockies, never out of her sight.  Almost immediately after crossing the state line, I feel it.  It's like slipping on my favorite pair of jeans.  This giant square marked out in imaginary lines on the planet, this quiet, unassuming, gorgeous piece of property, this is my homeland.  She isn't the kind of state that lays out her treasures for just anybody.  If you're only interested in passing through on I-80, you're never going to know her.  She knows who she is without needing that kind of momentary adoration.  She just gives those voyeurs the dross.  Now, those who spend a little time with her, who are willing to search out her hidden places?  She'll make you fall in love.

to be continued...

Love Tour 2011

That's what I've decided to call our almost four week trip this year because it was full of just about everything I love.  People, places, things...love, love, love.  I saw old and dear friends, the kind of friends (as one described it) that you want at your deathbed.  The kind of friends that make you feel right with the world. 

And then we saw family.  ALL of my siblings, in fact, which is no small thing.  I think the last time we were all together at the very same time was about 18 years ago.  At long last my mother will have a picture with all of her children.  See?  Dreams do come true!

Then finally Mr. Wicke joined us, and our little nuclear family was complete to make the trip home.  Love that guy!  We ate giant ice creams, saw ice caves, rode in big trucks, played at a water park, saw the Harry Potter movie, rode horses, hiked, swam, biked, and played.

And believe it or not, I was not ready to come home.  That's how much I loved our vacation this year:  Love Tour 2011.  Details coming.

Home to Nest

I am home.  Sleeping in my old bed.  Looking out at my old street.  Visiting with my old neighbors.  Home.

Smiling, I sent my kids away on their bikes this morning with a dollar each to get an ice cream at The Cowley Mercantile.  "Go ahead and explore if you want, I called.  Just be careful on this main street."  And as I walked back into the house, I hoped they would be gone a long time.  Not because I didn't want to see them, but because I wanted them to experience a kind of freedom that they do not know.  A kind of freedom that gives birth to an independent spirit. 

By experiencing life on my own terms, I came to know myself.  I want that for my children.  And so I come home and push my children out of the nest, in a place where I know it's safe for them to land.

Letters Home for Mr. Wicke's Birthday

Dear Mr. Wicke,

I missed your birthday.  We weren't there.  No cards.  No gifts.  I am glad that your brother filled in and brought you a cake, lighted some candles, and sang to you. 

In honor of your birthday, I am keeping your children alive and (mostly) happy.  But they miss you, my darling.  And I miss you, too.  Most of all, I am sure.  These summer trips without you serve only to remind me of how much I need you on a daily basis. 

And so, if you are sure of nothing else, know this:  That your 41 years on this earth really do matter.  That our lives would be empty without you.  That you are the best father and husband we could ask for.  Know that, and then when we see you again we will celebrate in person.

xoxo,
Your Wifey

p.s.  Griffin is not nearly as good a bedfellow as you.  I have been kicked, smacked, rolled on, and bounced around.  AND he won't let me put my cold feet on him.  I miss you, even in my (interrupted) sleep.

A Little Over Halfway

Nine hours to Santa Fe.  Only the last 1 and 1/2 were unbearable.

The next morning, an adventure at the Santa Fe Children's Museum.  One of the best children's museums we've ever been to.  Wished we could have stayed there all day.  Instead, we drove an hour to see the Bandalier National Monument cliff dwellings, only to find out upon arrival that they were closed.  This despite calling twice and checking their website to make sure they were open due to the fire in the surrounding area.

My conversation with the poor park ranger at the entrance:

Me:  I am so mad!  We have called all morning and the message said you were open.
Him:  Sorry about that.  Yeah, there is (blah, blah, blah...something about the largest land fire...)
Me:  I'm not mad about the fire.  I get the fire.  I'm mad that your outgoing message and your website says you're open and we drove 2 hours out of our way!
Him:  Yeah.  Sorry about that.
Me:  Someone really needs to change that message.
Him:  Well, due to the fire we haven't been able to reach all of our phones.
Me: (dumbfounded silence.  ALL the phones?  It's the main line!  And does a fire inhibit the internet as well?  What is he talking about?!)
Him:  Did you see any signs in town?
Me: No...we did not.  (As in, "If we had do you think we would be all the way up here talking to you right now?!)
Him:  Hmm...yeah...we are going to get some flashing signs to put in Santa Fe, but...
Me:  (Blank stare.)
Him:  Are you going on to Los Alamos?
Me:  How much farther is it?
Him:  20 minutes.
Me: Do they have cliff dwellings there?
Him: No, but they have--
Me:  Then no.

Good times.  Me just making memories for my kids.  Memories that include two additional hours to the 6 we already had before us.  Boo...

But the last 4 days have been spent with my wonderful sister and her family.  Their home is so gorgeous that my children think they are at a resort.  A resort filled with cousins and an aunt that spoils them rotten.  They never want to leave.  But leave we must.  Tomorrow.

Time to get packing.

On the Road Again

photo credit: Dumb.com

We are packed up and hitting the road this morning on our looooong trip to see Grandma in Wyoming.  This time we are making our way through Colorado where we will stop and see my sister, nephews, niece, and great nieces and nephews.  (Yes.  I am a great aunt.)  So tonight we will stay in Sante Fe, maybe seem some cliff dwellings along the way, and take in the local sights (if we can leave early enough in the morning.)

The next day we will make our way to Colorado where we will stay for a few days before driving the 10 remaining hours to Mom's house.  There we will stay for two weeks until Mr. Wicke joins us; then we will drive home through Utah, visiting some friends on our way home. 

Almost 4 weeks of...I'm not sure you can call that vacation...but we're going to try.  I've got the movies loaded up, books on tape, treats, and Dramamine, which should make 24 hours in the car alone with three kids do-able.

Send us positive thoughts.

Discoveries in San Diego

at Coronado

some things I learned/relearned about this kid:

he is a great traveler

he is curious

he will watch the same movie 13 times in a row

asking him not to spill is like asking the wind not to blow

he wants to know just about everything

he wants to tell anyone what he knows

he may be a little nervous at first, but once he gets the hang of it he's pretty fearless

he has no concept of time

he has no concept of money

he'll get grouchy before he realizes he's hungry

he loves crepes

he has a big heart

he loves me

and I really, really love him.

Feeding the bat rays at Sea World.  We spent two hours with them.  Not kidding.

More bat rays.

We're still there and still loving it!

Watching the polar bears.

In front of the USS Midway.

He loved the self-guided tour of the aircraft carrier.

More careful listening.

He was fascinated with the airplanes.  Grandpa Wicke (Col. USAF Ret.)  may have a pilot on his hands!

Spring: Officially Broken In (the finale)

I was jumpy.  Like a battle weary soldier who expects another attack at any moment.  Every ten minutes I took the temperature of the situation.  "How's everybody doing?  Logan?  Good?  Griffin?  Emily?  Everybody good?  Okay.  Just checking."

Ten minutes later, "Griffin, Logan, Emily?  Everybody still doing alright?  Okay.  Good."

Ten minutes after that, "Everybody still feeling alright?  Logan?  Griffin?  Emily!"  Catching her reflection in the riewview mirror, I saw her holding the licorice bucket, which I, by the grace of Heaven, had left accidentally near her.  "Ems.  Why are you holding that bucket?  Are you feeling sick?"

"No," she meekly answered.

"But...why are you holding that bucket?"  I was confused.  "Are you going to throw up?"

"No," she quietly answered again.

"But..."

Griffin piped up, "She already did."

"What?!  Emily!  Why didn't you say anything?!"  She is the first stealth puker I have ever encountered.  I hadn't heard a thing.  "Mercy!  You have got to tell me when you feel sick, honey," I said as I again pulled over.  I opened her door.  "Watch out Griff," I instructed as I popped his seat forward.  "Here, honey.  Hand me that.  You can't have a bucket of vomit on your lap all the way home."  Without a word, she shyly handed it over.  I dumped it and cleaned it out.  Wet wipes have won my heart forever. "Do you want to get out?  Walk around for a little bit?  Get some fresh air?" 

"No," she quietly replied.

"Okay, no.  You  need to get out and get some air.  C'mon.  Walk around a little bit."  Griffin gladly bounded out to join her.  After a few minutes I asked, "Okay, Ems.  You feeling a little better?"

She nodded.

"Alright then.  Let's get back in the car.  You want to sit up front?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, no.  I shouldn't have phrased that in the form of a question.  You need to sit up front.  Okay?  Okay.  Logan, honey?  Move.  Emily needs to sit there."

We made the necessary seating adjustments and were off once again.  For the next ten miles I ruminated over the oddities of the whole situation.  Finally I couldn't take it anymore.  "Emily.  Emily," I repeated as I pulled the earphone out of her ear.  "Am I scarey?"

She just looked at me with her big eyes.

"I mean are you afraid I'm going to get mad?  Like, 'Arrrrrrrgh!'" I said growling at her.

She giggled and shook her head.

"You know I love you, right?"

She nodded.

"You know that if anything happened to your mommy or daddy I would take care of you like one of my own babies, right?"

She nodded.

"Okay then, you need to talk to me.  I know you get shy around everybody else, but I've known you since you were born, and I think I've seen you almost every day since.  If there is a problem, you've got to tell me.  Maybe you don't talk to everybody else, but you talk to me, okay?"

She nodded.

"Nope.  I'm waiting for words here.  You are actually going to have to say some words."

"Okay."

"Okay!  We're going to shake on it, right?  We have a deal, right?  From here on out."

As I reached over, took her hand, and shook it hard, she responded with a simple, "Okay."  She put her earphone back in, and I quietly shook my head.  Sometimes dealing with children is like unwrapping an inigma inside a conundrum.

It was only a few miles before the sites of Mesa began springing up around us.  In that time I reflected over the events of the last few days.  Looking at it with my adult brain, I considered the possibility that we may have been better off staying at home.  Perhaps we had bitten off more than we could chew here.

As we pulled into our subdivision (and never had it looked so good to me) I turned off the sound, flipped up the TV and said, "Okay, guys.  On a scale of 1-10, how much fun did you have on your vacation?"

"A 10!" Logan enthusiastically yelled.

I admit, I was shocked.  I was leaning toward a 4.

"An 11!" Griffin cheered.

"A 9," Emily added.

"Did you miss your mom a little bit?" I questioned.

"Yeah."

"Yeah.  I get that.  But if your mom had to work anyway and you could have been at home or the cabin, which would it be?"

"The cabin!" she smiled.

And that's when I knew with certainty that children and adults do not see the world in the same way.  Not at all.  And that's a great thing.  Because while I take away some battle scars from this trip, they are simply taking away great memories.  And that makes it all worth it.  Every little bit.

Spring: Officially Broken In (part 3)

The stop seemed to do Lincoln some good, and he was more content as we began driving again. I was just starting to breathe easier when I heard Logan from the back, "Mom. I don't feel good."

"Oh, no. Okay. Come on up front. Look at the road. Griffin, hand me that tub. Take deep breaths honey."

She fought off the nausea, and it wasn't too long before she reported that she felt better, but then she said, "Uh, Mom?  Emily's trying to talk to you?" referring to her best friend that was riding along with us.

"What?" I couldn't hear her clearly.

"Emily is trying to talk to you."

"Oh, sorry, Em. What did you say?" I heard only muffled phrases from the far back seat. "What?"

This time I heard her loud and clear: "I just threw up."

"What?!"  No warning.  No I-don't-feel-good.  Just threw up?  "Oh, my goodness. Okay...Okay...um, just a minute, and I'll find a place to pull off." I figured I'd better let Jen know in the car ahead and called her. "Hey, Jen. Yeah, I'm going to have to pull over. Em just threw up," I said scanning the roadside for a possible stop.

"Oh, no. Is it bad?" she questioned.

"I don't know. I can't see back there."

"Well, do you want me to stop?"

Truthfully I did, but realistically, what could they do?  Moral support at best, right?  "No. That's okay. We'll be fine." I felt brave just saying it. I spotted a little grassy outturn and slowly pulled over as I hung up. "Okay. Don't worry, Em. Everything is going to be fine. Just let me get back there," I said as I stepped out of the van. Walking around, I pulled open the opposite door, and said, "Alright, kids. Get out so I can get back there. I pulled the seat forward, and my bravery fled.

She was covered in vomit. How a child can throw up that much so silently is still beyond my comprehension. It was all down her shirt. Some of it was still cupped in her hand. It was covering her blanket, pooling between her legs and all over the floor. At that moment I looked up and saw Erin, in the third car, blow past us.

"There they go," I said to no one in particular, but watching their vehicle disappear into the distance I knew with a certainty that comes in specific moments of motherhood that I was indeed the mom.  You know how I knew?  No one else was going to clean up this mess.  No matter how gross is was.

I looked into Emily's eyes, those big, imploring eyes, and said--both to her and to me-- "Aw, honey.  It's going to be just fine.  Don't you worry."  But as I looked for any useful items in the car, I realized just how unprepared I was.  I had wet wipes.  That's it.  "You know what?  We are going to have you cleaned up in a jiff.  I have got to have a plastic bag in here somewhere...don't I?  Don't I?" I said as I looked under seats, in the glove compartment, in the stowaway bin, in the door pockets...nada.  "My kingdom for a plastic bag!"

"Mom.  The baby's crying."

"Yes, Logan.  Thank you.  I am well aware of that."  How could I not be?  Every time a car whizzed past, he screamed with fright.  There were a lot of cars.  The noise, the smell, it was all a little too much.  "Okay.  Okay." I just had to figure out what to do.  I pulled the baby out of his carseat.  "Logan, you watch the baby way over here," I said, plopping him in a patch of grass far away from the road.  "You keep him here and don't let him anywhere near the street.  Can you do that?"  She assured me that she could.  "Okay.  Now there has got to be something useful back here," I stated assuredly as I opened the trunk.  Rummaging through the box of food I had brought to the cabin, I found a package of hotdog buns.  "Okay.  This will work," I declared flinging hotdog buns over my shoulder.

"Mom!  What are you doing?" Griffin demanded.  "Why are you throwing those away?"

"Because I need the bag, son."  As if wasted food was my biggest problem.

"But--but--I could have eaten those."

I stared at him incredulously.  "You want a hotdog bun?"

"Yeah."

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

I snorted derisively.  Spotting one bun lodged in the twiggy branches of a stubby tree, I said, "There's one in that tree.  Do you want that one?"

"Yeah."

Shaking my head in disbelief was the only argument I could muster.  "Fine.  You want to eat a hotdog bun out of tree?  Fine by me," I said as I dislodged it and handed it to him.  "Go to it.  And leave me alone for a minute," I added.

Griffin was busy munching on stale bread; the baby and Logan were busy inspecting wildflowers and blades of grass; time to get to work.  "Okay, Em.  Why don't we get rid of that blanket first..." I removed it gingerly and tossed it outside.  "Alrighty.  Hmmm...where to begin?" I started dabbing at her with the wet wipes.  They seemed incredibly small.  A thousand wetwipes later, we had her cleaned up well enough to get her out of the vehicle.  "Okay.  You stand right there for a minute, and I'm going to find you some other clothes.  You'll feel a lot better in no time," I added as I unpacked the trunk.  Of course her bag had to be at the bottom.  I couldn't help but wonder at the sight we must have been making.  Kids everywhere.  Bags everywhere.  Other travelers must have talked about us for at least two miles.

Having finally found another change of clothes, I said, "Okay, sweetie.  Let's just get these dirty clothes off of you.  Careful now.  Let's try not to get it in your hair."  I cleaned her up as best as I could.  The person who invented wet wipes deserves a Nobel Peace Prize.

"Hey.  That's better.  Right, Em?"  She nodded.  "Well, you go over there with Logan while I take care of the rest of this, okay?"  She ran off and I stared into the backseat of hell and tried to think of anything else.  That's the key when dealing with vomit.  You just can't think about it.  Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I cowgirled up.  "Okay.  Let's go," I said to no one but myself.

After cleaning off the blaket as well as I could, I put it and the dirty clothes in the hotdog bag.  I pulled out the booster seat and the floor mat, and was thrilled to discover that none had gotten in the carpet.  I wiped down the leather seats (which have been worth every penny, I might add) and the wall, and then finding a water bottle half-full, used the rest of its contents as sparingly as possible to clean both the booster and floor mat.  It was at this point, while on my hands and knees cleaning out the grooves of my all-weather car mat with a wet wipe that I noticed the girls had wandered away leaving my baby to crawl dangerously toward the street.

"Logan!" I scolded as I picked up baby Licoln.  "You are supposed to be watching him!"

"Why do I have to do everything?!" she whined.

(I'll let the irony of that statement just settle for a moment.)

"I tell you what," I barked. "I'll trade you!  I'll watch the baby and you can come and clean up vomit.  Okay?  How does that sound?"  On the Richter Scale of Irritation I was at a 9.0.

She was silent.

"Alright,"  I said through clenched teeth.  "You keep him with you and don't take your eyes off of him.  I am almost done."

I finished as best as I could, repacked the car and called the kids.  "Alright kids.  Let's get going.  Back in the car.  Emily?  Do you want to ride in front?"

"No," she responded quietly.

"Okay, but let's put you right in the middle so you can see the road, alright?  How does that sound."

And we were off.  Again.  Almost home.

...but I forgot.  Almost only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes.

(to be continued...)

Spring: Officially Broken In (part 2)

I had a feeling it was going to be bad when the older children went home early with their friends leaving me with five children under eight in my vehicle. I suspected it could be a very long three hours, but as I told the other moms the night before, "It's probably going to be fine. You know how you visualize the worst case scenario? That's probably what I'm doing, and in reality it's going to be fine."

It was worse than the worse case scenario.

Just getting out of town took 45 minutes. First we had to haul the garbage out as there is no garbage service at the cabin, which is really no problem except that one of the bags flew off the roof of my car. The good and bad of caravaning is that someone was behind me to retrieve it. Good for me, bad for them.

Next was a stop for gas. While filling up the cars, Erin informed us that her tire pressure light was on. Luckily I always carry a tire gauge (in the glove compartment, not my pocket), and after a quick inspection found that two of her tires were indeed slightly low. "Just pull over to the air station, and I'll put some air in for you if you want," I offered. I pulled in and parked, turning in my seat to field yet another request from the back seats.  When I, at last, turned back, wondering what was taking so long, I saw what I hoped I wasn't seeing...but, sure enough, Erin had backed into a little white car that had pulled behind her to fill a propane tank.  Luckily, his car was not damaged, but Erin's bumper had taken quite a little hit on the corner. There was a good five minutes when I think Erin temporily lost her mind: "I hate this car! I didn't want this car in the first place! Ethan is going to kill me! I have the worst luck in the world! My house flooded! Aaaaaaarrrrgh!"  (Jen and I refrained from mentioning that the house flooded 5 years ago.)  While Erin blew off steam, I stood mutely by while Jen thanked the gentleman for his kindness and understanding. When Erin had recovered herself--which she did in an admirably short time--she said, "Oh, forget the air! Let's just get home!" Unfortunately, it was going to take us a while.

We pulled into traffic and set our course.  By this time, as we had driven a total of 15 minutes, a child in the head vehicle was already carsick, of course. We pulled into CVS for a little Dramamine. Looking back on it, we should have insisted ALL the children take it, but we were under the scenario that the worst had already happened. Oh, little did we know.

Finally, forty-five minutes after beginning and 5 miles later, we hit the open road.  Fifteen minutes after that we were pulling over again.  Erin stepped out of her vehicle and I rolled down my window.  "Griffin says he's feeling really carsick and wants to ride with you."  She had graciously offered to take him in her car to help relieve me and had bribed him with video games, which is like crack to Griffin.  If he wasn't interested in a DS, I knew he was really not feeling well.

As he stepped into the van, he was ashen.  "Hey, buddy.  Are you alright?"

"I don't feel good."

"Okay, I want you to watch the road for a while.  Let's put this vent right on you and take some deep breaths okay?"  Looking around I spotted the Costco licorice tub.  I emptied out the last few pieces and handed it to him.  "If you throw up, do it in this, alright?"  He nodded, and we pulled back onto the highway.

Already tired of his car seat, my baby started to bellow. "Hey, guys. Guys! Guys!!!" One look in the rearview mirror confirmed that the children had fallen into a TV trance. They were glassy-eyed. Their mouths were hanging open. They were oblivious to the screams of a baby. "Logan!!  Logan!!!"

"What?!"

"Where's the baby's bottle?" I said trying to sound more gentle than I felt.

"I don't know."  She hadn't taken her eyes off the TV.

"Well, look."

"Here it is," she sighed.

"Could you give it to him?"

It quieted him for a moment. Only a moment.  The children have an uncanny ability to block out his wailing.  I do not.

"Logan."

"What?! Jeesh!"

"Honey. I'm sorry, but you are going to have to help me. I have to drive. Here," I said handing back a baggie of Cheerios, "give these to the baby--one at a time, please."

"Why do I have to do everything?" she muttered under her breath.

There was a whole string of things I was tempted to mutter under mine.

The baby was not going to be appeased.  The screaming continued.  The only thing left to do was to check his diaper, although I had just changed him before we left.  "Logan.  Logan!!"  She tore her eyes from the screen momentarily.  "Is the baby stinky?"

Her eyes drifted upward again, and leaning only marginally to the left she made a face. "Yeah."

"Great."  I muttered.  I phoned Jen in the car ahead.  "Hey, sorry, but I think I've got to pull over and change a diaper."

"There's a town coming up in about a half hour.  Do you want to wait 'til then, or--"

"No.  He's really screaming.  I'm afraid if he's poopy he might be getting a rash."  I needed a second opinion.  "Just a minute, Jen.  Hey, Griff!  Griffin!!"  Then back to Jen I complained, "I swear!  Nobody is listening to me."  I moved the mouthpiece away from my lips.  "Hey, Griffin!"  He finally stirred.  "Is the baby stinky?"

He, too, did not make eye contact.  Leaning slightly to the left, he muttered, "No."

"Oh, boy.  I don't know what's going on, Jen.  Just a minute."  I was getting irritated now.  Yelling over the baby I said,  "Hey!  You guys!  Look at me for two seconds!  I need to know if the baby is poopy."

No answer.  No movement.  To hear Jen tell it, this is possibly where I lost my mind.

"Somebody put your head down there and smell the baby's crotch!  Smell the baby's crotch!!!"

They never did come to a consensus, and when we pulled over and I unstrapped the baby and tugged him out of his seat, no poop.  None whatsoever.  If my children read this as adults, they may want to consider writing Jen a thank you note for her sense of humor.  It may have saved their lives.  So as not to waste yet another stop, we made everybody use the outhouse at the rest stop.  We were determined that we would cover more than 20 miles before we stopped again.

(to be continued...)

Old Friends, Insecurities, and Waaay too Much Information

Can you imagine anything worse than seeing your old high school boyfriend four months after giving birth? Yes. How about when he just married a woman 10 years your junior? I mean, when she talks about crow's feet, she is actually referring to the anatomy of the bird whereas I am discussing a relatively new feature of my face.

But, as it turned out, she and I do have one thing in common. We both did something really physical in the last year. They ran a triathlon together, and I pushed something the size of a watermelon out of my woohoo. Of course her physical activity probably left her with a six pack and mine left me with a stomach pooch that in all likelihood I will never get rid of, but...whatever.

It isn't at all that I wanted to work any subtle charms on the old him; it's just that I don't want to be thought of as a dodged bullet. No woman, at least one that's honest, wants to be seen with a sense of relief, as in, "Wow! Glad I didn't get stuck with that one."

And these are the thoughts that I was dealing with as we all stood together visiting in my home town: me, Mr. Wicke, our children, said high school boyfriend, his wife, his brother, his brother's wife, their kids...you get the idea. As happy as I always am to see them, it is a group that is bound to bring up some insecurities, which I was doing my best to put behind me when Logan stood in front of me, poked me in the belly, and said, very loudly, "Your tummy's squishy."

Awkward pause inserted here.

Clearly it was up to me to break the silence. "Isn't she cute?" I laughed. And to her, "That's because there was a baby in there four months ago. Now go play."

Ahh, children. Why is it that they choose to be honest at the most inconvenient times? As the conversation continued, I considered this as well as the cost of renewing my gym membership, but then two things occurred to me: 1) I really hate the gym, and 2) the money might be better invested in a muzzle.